Alienation

The man laughed, and the guards broke their silence. 

“Shut up.” said one. “What’s so funny?” said another at the same time. The man didn’t respond. 

The man was sitting, uncomfortably, in a steel chair. His hands were taped together behind the back. There was blood running from a small scratch from his forehead, and a little more staining the surface of a thick bandage wrapped tightly across a large hole in his shirt. Across from him, the woman held up her hand and moved her head very slightly. The guards fell silent again. 

“Look, I understand you’re in a difficult position, but so are we.” she said. After a pause she continued. “I think it’s more likely that you’re a bystander, but we have to make sure we explore every possibility. The sooner we have everyone’s story the sooner we can finish the investigation and let out the ones who didn’t do anything wrong.” 

The man smiled, but winced in pain and didn’t bring himself to a real laugh. 

“I’m the son of a milkmaid.” he said, breathing shallowly. “You can kill me, but you can never go back. Everyone knows already” 

“I’m not sure I understand.” said the woman, brow furrowed. “Are you ok?”

--- 

At age seven, Will witnessed his first miracle. It changed him for the rest of his life. 

---

“That’s great!” said Will. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. The boy was seated at the kitchen table, and Will was leaning over him, reading his work. “You understand why that happens, right?” 

“Yeah.” said the boy. He looked relieved. 

“So.” said Will, standing up and turning to lean against the table and look the boy in the eye. “Now do you understand why they use a parabolic curve?” 

The boy considered this, and then nodded. Then, surprised, he said “Oh!” Will grinned. “It’s really that simple?” asked the boy, excited. 

“Yep.” said Will. “But it’s not easy to make it happen. It takes a lot of people. Everyone really.” 

“But we’re already doing that.” said the Boy. “We’re already building rockets.” 

Will nodded. “We might take some wrong turns here and there, but that’s just politics. History only moves forward.”

“Will we ever get to go?” asked the boy. 

Will smiled and folded his arms. “If you do well enough in Science and Math you might get to.”

“What about you?” asked the boy. 

“I’m too tall.” said Will. 

The boy scowled. “That’s stupid.” Will laughed. He hugged his son. 

“It might not be us who get to go, but someday we, the big ‘we’ are going. Nothing can change that, even if it takes a million years. Everyone’s a part of history, and we get to know that someday we are going to go out there.” 

The boy considered this. “Well, ok, but too tall is a stupid reason.”

Will chuckled. “Yeah, I think so too, trust me.” 

---

“I don’t think we’re going to go to space.” said the boy.

“You’re too tall now anyway.” said Will.

“You know what I mean.”

They sat in the car, silent for a long moment. 

Will turned to the boy. “People are going to space. It’s different, but we’re still going.” 

“No.” said the boy. “Only the people who can afford it go now. It’s different.” His head rested against the window, and his eyes stayed on the edge of the road. “It sucks.”

“Yeah.” said Will “But we’ll go again.” 

“It feels like we’re going backwards.” said the boy. 

Will shifted. He was uneasy.

---

The Man sat in the only shade and watched the ashes twirl in the wind. It had been a hard day, and it showed on his face. He kept his eyes on the ashes as long as he could, but minute by minute it became harder to tell them from dust on the wind. They danced over the trees and into the surf, just like Will asked for.

The man held onto an empty urn that read “William Jones 1954-2022” and cried, only partly for his dead father. There were no gulls in the surf, and the trees were a dirtier softer green towards their tops, singed in the heat. The only planet he knew was dieing, and the man was worried that the future his father had been certain of wouldn’t happen. 

---

The man loaded the last file. While waiting for his computer, he watched the clock and tapped his foot. When it loaded in and the video was ready to play, he hissed. 

He placed the usual introductory segment at the beginning, then a segment from the end of the recording summarizing the interview. He chose two segments from the body of the interview to include in the preview, and ended it with the usual title card. Then he played through the new preview to check the timing. He continued to tap his foot. 

“Let me ask you this senator, do you have a place on the ship?” 

“I’d love one.” said the interviewee sternly. “But I’ve got a job to do, and ultimately it’s Mr. Steele’s private property and it’s up to him.” 

The reporter cocked their head. “Do you agree that, given what’s happening, leaving this sort of thing up to a private citizen’s personal decision is the best way to do things.” 

The Senator shook his head. “I’d pick differently than him, but that doesn’t make the ship my property. Unfortunately I went into politics, not space exploration.” he gestured dismissively and scowled, “I don’t think some extraordinary expropriation of any private citizen's property is appropriate. The emergency we’re all going through is serious, but using it as an excuse to vastly expand the powers of the government would only make things worse. The American people are going to get through this the same way we always have.”

The clock turned, and the man interrupted the video, saved and submitted it, and left. When he got to his car, he turned the Air conditioning to maximum. Sweat rolled down his face in sheets, and he held his arms away from his body because he could feel them sticking. 

It was 112 degrees. 

---

“I don’t think I can handle it.” said the man. Mary looked up at him from across the table, sharply. She set down her food. 

“The job I mean.” he said, quickly. 

“Oh.” she said. There was a pause. “Are you going to quit?” 

The man stammered, and fidgeted with his water glass. “No! I’m going to stay as long as I can.” He sighed, and smiled slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” 

She shook her head and began eating again. When she’d finished chewing, she asked “It’s no big deal. We’ll start looking for a better job for you again.” He sighed, and she looked up at him again. “I am surprised though. I thought you were doing better.” she said.

He shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hide anything from you. I am doing better, but I still can’t stand working for these ghouls.” She considered this, and set down her food again. 

“Have you thought about what you want to look for?” she asked hesitantly. 

He shrugged again. “They’re all ghouls.” He laughed. 

“Have you thought any more about going to therapy?” asked Marry, quietly. 

---

“Alright, in the end, capitalism won the cold war.” said the man after catching his breath. He adjusted his arms against the steel chair. “And now you’re winning a war against the planet because all you know how to do is fight.” 

The woman sighed, and shook her head. She gestured slightly, and the guards moved around the table. 

“Your side won the cold war, but for 89 minutes, the son of a milkmaid went to space, and whatever you do to me or anyone else, you can never change that. Even when we all burn, we’ll never bow and scrape and beg your boss to save us, because we know that what’s out there is out destiny, and-” 

And then they shot him.