End of an Era

"No. Spin. A journey, a trip, a ride."

"Ah," said the brachiator. "This we can do."

"Really?" Klicks was practically jumping up and down.

"Now hold on a minute," I said.

"Seize time? No link."

"Klicks, we can’t go up in that thing."

"Why the hell not?"

"Well, look at it. It’s alive, for God’s sake. We’d have to go inside it."

"Hey, man, if Jonah could hack it in the whale, I’m all set to try my luck in a breathing spaceship. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity."

I shook my head. "Have you ever noticed how many once-in-a-lifetime opportunities come at the end of a person’s life? Count me out."

Klicks shrugged. "Fine. But I’m going." He turned to the brachiator. "Can we do it now?"

"Our business here is concluded. Now is fine."

Klicks jogged alongside the brachiator, over to the gray tongue entrance-ramp. I cringed as he stepped on it, but, although it yielded slightly, he didn’t seem to stick to it as I was afraid he might. The ship continued to breathe, expanding and contracting slowly. Klicks made it to the top of the ramp before I shouted out, "I’m coming! Wait up!"

I ran up the tongue and into the mouth.

Boundary Layer

The mind is its own place, and in itself
Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.

—John Milton, English poet (1608–1674)

I came in the front door of our house, pulled off my Totes, and placed them on the Rubbermaid mat. When I was a child in the 1970s, February in Toronto had been a month full of snow. But recent Februarys had been quite mild, with the spring rains starting before Valentine’s Day. I hung my trench coat and umbrella in the closet and made my way through the front hall and up the five steps to the living room. Tess was sitting on the couch, reading a magazine on her datapad.

"Hi, honey." I sat down next to her, brushed aside her red hair, and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"Howdy, stranger." Her husky voice, so unlikely given her tiny frame, carried no hint of sarcasm, so I ignored the little dig about the long hours I’d been keeping.

"How was work?" I said.

"Okay." Tess was a pension and benefits counselor for Deloitte Touche. She made more money than I did. "I think we’re going to get that contract with the provincial government."

"Good," I said. "That’s good."

The left window on her datapad was showing an article about mergers amongst American advertising firms. The other window was filled with an ad from the Franklin Mint for a collectible chess set, with pieces shaped like classic sitcom stars from the twentieth century. I read the ad.

"Tess," I said at last, "I’m going out of town for a few days."

"Again?" She pouted slightly, her full lips curving downward, her green eyes studying the carpet. It was an expression I always loved. "I thought you were through traveling for a while, now that the Chinese thing is over." The Second Canada-China Dinosaur Project had taken me away from her — something neither of us enjoyed — for four months last year.

"I’m sorry, Lambchop. This is important."

Sarcasm did tinge the throaty tones this time. "It always is. Where are you going?"

"To Vancouver."

"What’s happening out there?"

"Nothing, really. I — I just have to do some research at one of the university libraries."

"Can’t they E-mail you what you need?" She indicated her datapad, the ubiquitous window on the world.

"Nobody seems to be able to find the information I want," I said. "I’m afraid I’m going to have to do some digging for it." I paused for a moment. "Say, do you want to come along?"

Tess laughed her throaty laugh. "Vancouver in February? No, thank you. I can get all the freezing rain I want right here." She touched the bookmark button on her datapad. Her freckled arm reached out to slip around my neck. "Can’t you do your research in Orlando? Or Freeport?" Her eyes danced, twin emerald flames. "It’s been years since we had a proper vacation."

"I wish I could."

She ran her fingers through what was left of my hair. "Maybe I shouldn’t let you go. There are a lot of lovely Japanese ladies out in British Columbia. I’ve seen the way you glue your eyes to Canada a.m. every morning. You’ve got the hots for Kelly Hamasaki."

Was it that obvious? Kelly, queen of the radiant smile, was the most gorgeous newscaster North American television had ever seen. "Very funny."

"Seriously," she said, with a tone that made clear that her intention was anything but, "how do I know I can trust you with all those west-coast beauties?"

I felt something snap deep in my chest. "Christ, Tess, I’m the one who’s leaving you here alone. How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you won’t jump in the sack with — with God knows who while I’m gone?"

She pulled away from me. "What’s gotten into you?"