"The Space Between"

PREVIOUSLY: "Funny Story"

THE SPACE BETWEEN
By Curtis C. Chen

"How's your migraine?" Barrett asked.

"Better." Liz shifted in her armchair. It should have concerned her that Doctor Sawhney had a ready supply of placebo pills on board, but she could see where they'd come in handy with elderly hypochondriacs. "How was your thing?"

"Pretty awesome," Barrett lilted. "I'm editing the video now. You are going to be so impressed."

Liz closed her book and watched Barrett fiddle with his laptop for a while. She looked around the ship's library. It was about half full of other passengers relaxing with books, drinks, games, or just with each other.

"How do you do it?" Liz asked.

Barrett looked up from his computer. "Well, first I import the video from my camera—"

"Not that." Liz smacked his shoulder with her book. "How are you so happy all the time? I've never seen you upset or even irritated. Other people get depressed; why don't you?"

"I get depressed. Were you there when we watched Titanic?"

"I'm serious."

He nodded and closed his laptop. "Okay, this is going to sound dumb, but... every morning, when I wake up, I tell myself I'm going to be happy, that it's going to be a good day."

"That's it?" Liz squinted at him. "That actually works?"

"That's just the first step," Barrett said. "Look, I'm not saying this would work for you, since your job's a lot more stressful than mine—"

"I'm not asking for advice," Liz said. "I just want to understand. I want..." She looked away. "I want to know more about you."

Barrett gave her a lopsided grin. "Well, at least you didn't say 'we need to talk.'"

Liz shook her head. "Okay, you wake up, it's going to be a good day. What next?"

"I just keep telling myself it's a good day," he said. "No matter what happens, no matter how bad or how difficult things get, I remind myself how lucky I am. I'm healthy, I have clean water and plentiful food, I have a rewarding career and wonderful friends." He smiled at her. "I'm a very lucky man. And that makes me happy."

Liz thought about all the times she'd been infuriated by Barrett's apparent obliviousness. He wasn't actually clueless, she realized. His optimism was a monumental effort in the face of all the evil and hardship in the world.

Liz saw pain and suffering every day in the ICU. She couldn't just ignore the darkness by focusing on how she was mitigating it. It wasn't enough to light her one candle.

But maybe Barrett could help her. If she asked, he'd rattle off a list of things she should be happy about. And he'd do it in such a friendly, reasonable way, she would have to believe him.

Maybe that would be enough.

She leaned over and kissed him.

"I'm glad we came on this cruise," she said.

"Me too."

"You know what we should do later?" Liz grinned. "Karaoke."

Barrett made a face. "I thought you wanted me to be happy."

The book made a satisfying thump against his forehead.



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"Funny Story"

PREVIOUSLY: "Dinner Conversation"

FUNNY STORY
By Curtis C. Chen

Dejah Thoris' sickbay was subdued and cramped when compared to the ship's passenger spaces. Liz played with the interactive drug compendium on the wall while waiting.

Doctor Sawhney hurried in, pulled the privacy screen closed, and frowned at the wall computer. "This terminal should be locked."

Liz shrugged. "You should change the password from the factory default. So what happened yesterday in the excursion area? Another drunk guy? Some kid messing with the controls?"

Sawhney held up a hand. "I cannot legally divulge names. And I cannot confirm that the passenger in question was attempting to commit suicide."

Liz gaped for a moment. "With a note and everything?"

Sawhney nodded. "His cabin stewards found it. And no, I can't tell you what it said."

"Fair enough. But you were there an awfully long time..." Liz snapped her fingers. "You were talking him down, weren't you? You're the closest thing to a therapist on this ship, and you must have malpractice insurance."

"We have two medical professionals on staff," Sawhney said, "and every crew member is trained for—"

"Don't change the subject. I know you're bound by doctor-patient privilege and the threat of a lawsuit, but what if I run into this guy later?" Liz shrugged theatrically. "And what if we start talking, and I accidentally utter some trigger phrase that causes him to attempt suicide again?"

Sawhney frowned. "That's highly unlikely."

"But it is possible. And preventable."

The doctor sighed. "I do not envy the hospital staff who have to work with you."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Come on, spill."

"I am not a psychiatrist," Sawhney said. "But this gentleman exhibited clear signs of clinical depression. He was supposed to have come on this cruise with his wife—it was their thirtieth wedding anniversary—but she divorced him last month, rather unexpectedly. He decided to sail alone. I don't know when he decided to kill himself.

"Fortunately, all our airlocks are interlocked, and the only override is on the interior controls, but the gentleman managed to jam the doors closed. It took our engineers some time to set up a bypass. Meanwhile, I had to make sure he didn't break anything else, like the exterior window."

"So what did you say?" Liz asked. "How did you convince this guy his life was still worth living?"

"We sang."

Liz blinked. "Sang?"

"I noticed he was speaking in very strange phrases. One of the crew recognized them as song lyrics."

"You have to tell me what song."

"No. Believe me, it was nothing special. Anyway, we played a karaoke track through the intercom, and I started singing, hoping that the gentleman would respond.

"I don't know why this particular song was special to him. Maybe it meant something to him and his ex-wife; I don't know. I must have talked to him for half an hour, but it was the singing that brought him back." Sawhney shrugged. "Sometimes, words alone aren't enough. It takes more to make a connection."

Liz nodded. "Was it an Elvis song?"

"Please go away now."

CONTINUED IN "The Space Between"...



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"Dinner Conversation"

PREVIOUSLY: "Phobos Cruise Crazy"

DINNER CONVERSATION
By Curtis C. Chen

"More shrimp cocktail, sir?"

Barrett nodded. "Don't mind if I do!"

"Thank you, sir." The server piled more tiny pink crustaceans onto Barrett's plate, followed by a dish of dark red sauce. "Please enjoy."

Liz elbowed Barrett in the ribs. "Slow down there. You're going to make yourself sick."

"Well, obviously," Barrett said. "It's not a real sea voyage unless somebody gets sick."

"You're hilarious. And we're not at sea."

"Metaphorically."

But she wasn't listening to him anymore. Her own words rang inside her head: "at sea." They weren't on the ocean, but Liz was feeling somewhat lost.

She looked around the cavernous, multi-level dining room. An army of servers and wait staff maneuvered around the labyrinth of tables, dishing out food, refilling wine glasses, and generally making sure that none of the seated guests had to do anything but eat, drink, and be merry.

Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I just don't know how to be happy. Liz looked back at Barrett's smiling face. Maybe you should be with someone who does.

A burst of applause sounded behind her, and Liz turned to see two uniformed crewmen approaching the Captain's Table: a tall, Nordic-looking man with large hands, followed by the dark and compact Doctor Sawhney.

"Sorry we're late, folks," the Norseman said, bowing slightly before he sat down. "I'm Captain Erickson. And I believe some of you have already met Doctor Sawhney, our ship's physician."

The two officers walked around the elliptical table, shaking hands with each of the diners, then took their reserved places. Captain Erickson sat directly across from Liz, on the short axis of the ellipse, and Doctor Sawhney took the empty seat on her right.

Conversation meandered for a while, from food to wine to the ship's specifications to each passenger's occupation and reason for coming on this particular Mars cruise. An older gentleman was loudly telling the story of how he and his wife had met when Liz looked over at Doctor Sawhney and saw that he wasn't particularly interested, either.

She leaned toward him and said, "Tell me about the incident. The one that occupied you for so long."

Sawhney blinked. "We had a passenger in the airlock."

"Isn't that what the excursion area is for?"

"He wasn't wearing a spacesuit."

Liz leaned closer. "What happened?"

Sawhney shook his head. "I'm sorry. The situation has become more... complicated since I spoke to you at the staircase. I'm afraid I can't offer many more details."

"Well, what can you tell me?"

"Wouldn't you rather talk about something besides medicine? You are on vacation, after all."

Liz tilted her head. "You think I became a nurse because I don't like discussing medicine?"

Sawhney shrugged. "I make no assumptions."

"Come on. I'm sure whatever you have to say will be more interesting than Mr. and Mrs. Rubenstein's meet cute."

The doctor looked up and across the table. Liz followed his gaze and saw the captain watching them with a passionless smile.

"Not here," Sawhney said.

CONTINUED IN "Funny Story"...



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Coming Soon!

"The Space Between" will be published on Friday, February 22nd, 2013.

Coming Soon!

"Funny Story" will be published on Friday, February 15th, 2013.

Coming Soon!

"Dinner Conversation" will be published on Friday, February 8th, 2013.

"This Scene Lacks Tension"

THIS SCENE LACKS TENSION
By Curtis C. Chen

"Your music sucks," Julie said as she picked up the garbage bag.

"Maybe your taste in music sucks." Marco opened the trunk of their unmarked police car. "Ever considered that?"

Julie hefted the bag of dead traffic-bot parts into the trunk, then used her phone to scan the code-tag so the convicts who had cleaned up the freeway would get their work credits. "You know shit about music. You just don't like anything that's popular."

Marco slammed the trunk shut. "There is a rich cultural heritage of sonic experimentation in the Balkan states."

Julie opened the passenger door and got in. "And you should re-tag your obviously pirated audio files with proper metadata. You work for the five-oh, you could at least pretend to respect copyright law."

"Look who's talking." Marco started the car. "Okay, where are we going now?"

Julie entered a passcode into her phone to decrypt the traffic-bot's last download coordinates. She waited for the map to load, then pointed westward.

***

The woman who answered the door of the large two-story house at the end of the long dirt road looked to be at least eighty years old. She grinned broadly at Julie and Marco through the screen door. Julie hoped they weren't dealing with a crazy person. There had been no other houses within five miles.

"Good morning, ma'am," Julie said, holding up her ID badge. "Portland Police. We're investigating some vandalism which occurred near here, and we need to check your UIA box for some information."

"Oh, of course, dear," the old woman said. "I'd be happy to help. But, if you wouldn't mind?"

She gestured toward the NO SOLICITORS sign that hung next to the door. Julie held her badge up to the sign and let the hidden sensors detect the RFID embedded in the badge, handshake with the onboard crypto chip, and verify her identity data.

"Officer Julie Nickerson," the sign said in a synthetic male voice. "Portland Police Bureau, Computer Security Section, badge number 6331. Authorized for law enforcement activities in Oregon state and Clark County, Washington. Supervisor, Lieutenant Lawrence Mitchell. Contact portland-oregon-dot-gov-slash-police for more information."

"And your friend, too, please," the woman said, still grinning. Julie wondered if her face had frozen like that after too many church socials and tea parties. "You can't be too careful out here, you know."

Marco held up his badge for the sign to scan. "I don't need to come in."

"Just pretend he's not even here," Julie said.

"Most people do," Marco added.

"Nonsense," the old woman said, after the sign had verified Marco's identity. "It's very nice to meet you both. I'm Margaret Whitaker; you can call me Margie. I was just making some tea. Please, come in and sit down for a minute. You can spare a minute, can't you?"

"That sounds lovely, thank you," Marco said, moving past Julie into the house.

"You don't even like tea," Julie grumbled as she followed him.

"Free food, man!" Marco replied.



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"Her Story"

HER STORY
By Curtis C. Chen

In 2023, Amanda learned something about her daughter.

She found the doll's head jammed under the living room sofa. She didn't see the rest of the doll. Her first stop was Barry's room.

"Have you seen your sister's Barbie?" she asked her son, brandishing the head and hoping to elicit some sign of guilt.

Barry shook his head and went back to programming his Hexbugs.

Amanda proceeded to her daughter's room, fearing an imminent tantrum but wanting to get it over with before Donald came home from work.

"Colleen," Amanda said as she stepped into the doorway, and stopped.

Her nine-year-old daughter was hunched over her teatime table, prying open the torso of the AI-Barbie with forceps and a craft knife. A small pile of wires, circuit boards, and microdot sensors lay on the pink plastic tabletop.

"Colleen," Amanda said, kneeling and holding out the doll's head, "are you looking for this?"

The girl looked, shook her head, and smiled at her mother. "No thanks, Mom. I don't need the head. There's nothing inside there!"

Amanda nodded, put the head on the table, and went back downstairs.

***

In 2032, Donald failed to keep his family together.

"You can't just leave," he said as his daughter flung clothes into a suitcase.

"We're done with the estate stuff," Colleen said. "I need to be in Cambridge next week to sign for the scholarship."

"You're really going to go." Donald folded his arms. "You're going to fly across the country and leave your brother and me here."

"Jesus, Dad, you're both grown men." Colleen opened a closet.

"We're a family!" Donald said, louder than he had intended. He took a step forward, but stopped when Colleen flinched.

He waited for her to look at him, but she only turned away.

***

In 2099, Colleen helped her brother end his life as a human.

"How long will it take?" Barry asked.

"Oh, about fifteen minutes," Colleen said.

"That fast," Barry murmured, flexing one arthritic hand.

"Your genome's a good candidate." Colleen booted the autodoc. "Runs in the family."

"Too bad this wasn't available for Mom."

"It wouldn't have helped her. The tumor was in her brain."

The autodoc's manipulators whirred to life, cycling through their startup diagnostics.

"Is this going to hurt?" Barry asked.

Colleen coughed out a laugh. "You probably should have asked that before signing the consent forms."

"Speaking of forms, they told me I'd have to re-integrate," Barry said. "Is that true?"

"We do all the paperwork here at the hospital," Colleen said. "Don't worry, you won't have to stand in line at the federal building."

"But I'll be a new and distinct legal entity. A post-human being." Barry looked at his sister. "Was the transition difficult for you?"

Colleen stared down at her genetically engineered, double-thumbed hands and softly glowing green skin. Then she looked at the old man who was her brother.

"We're not just the sum of what came before," she said. "We're more. We're different. But we don't forget the past."



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