Michael Sullivan - Hollow World

In the last few days, Ellis had seen marvels. He’d traveled to the depths of the ocean and outside the solar system such that he could spit in the eye of the meager accomplishments of the Mercury Seven. He’d gained what he’d come for—a cure, a new lease on life. Looking at the cheap assortment of sporting-goods-store junk, Ellis could only think about what he’d lost. He longed for a good cheeseburger, a normal toilet, and the sound of traffic or his computer booting. Even the things he used to hate he missed: endless commercials, driving in traffic, the sound of his cellphone, even the vicious fighting between Republicans and Democrats. What movies had he missed? What achievements? What disasters?

He popped another candy in his mouth, closed his eyes, and saw himself helping Isley with his math homework. Then he was shopping with Peggy for a television, then just raking leaves on a Sunday afternoon. Memories—perfection in an airtight glass—frozen in untarnished beauty.

He spotted the glint of gold under the raincoat—Peggy’s rings. He reached into his pocket. Ellis still carried his wallet and phone, though he didn’t know why. He just couldn’t bring himself to discard anything. He flipped past his license to the photos of Peggy and Isley. Fuzzy, pocket-scarred—he should have brought more pictures. Why didn’t he bring pictures?

He missed Peggy.

He pressed the power button on his phone. Lights came on. He checked his messages. Peggy’s call was still in his voicemail. He pressed play.

“El? Oh goddammit, El, pick up! Please pick up.” Her voice still quivered, still frightened. “ I need to talk to you. I need to know what you’re thinking…I’m sorry, okay? Seriously, I am, and that was years ago. I don’t even know why I kept the letters. Just stupid is what it was. I’d honestly forgotten about them.

“I know I should have told you. Jesus, I wish you’d just pick up. Listen, are you still at Brady’s? I’m driving over. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. We can talk then, okay? Please don’t be mad. It wasn’t Warren’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, really. It just happened, and I know we should have told you, but…well…If you get this before I get there, don’t go anywhere or do anything crazy, okay?”

Ellis was crying when he pressed the return call button.

He listened.

Silence.

Her name was Sol.

She wasn’t really a female, but Ellis thought she was close enough. The voice and mannerisms were there, even though Sol had been born years after the sexes were being phased out. Sol was a first-generation standard pattern and had no number designation after her name because Sol was the oldest living human in existence—or had been until Ellis challenged her for the title.

Pol had obviously thought their meeting would make for a good promotional stunt, and was probably right, but Pol hadn’t stuck around to see the performance through. The Chief Councilor had other matters that day and, after introducing them, left Ellis and Sol alone. Although the visit was advertised, the crowds stayed away. Ellis wasn’t certain if Pol had anything to do with that, or if Sol herself commanded the sort of respect that meant unwanted guests would refrain from intruding on her privacy.

They were in Sol’s home, a strange and cluttered collection of memorabilia from her long life, and Ellis felt it was the most normal home he’d visited so far. For one thing, there were books—actual paper books—and an old tablet computer. She had hats, and sunglasses, and pens. A dresser, a closet, a clock, and a coatrack with coats. Sol’s most beloved possession was mounted on the wall above a faux fireplace and was a photo of a real woman. Asian eyes wreathed in short black hair looked out from the silver frame.

“That’s Network Azo,” Sol told him. “Savior of the world. People were always waiting on God back then. My mother was very religious and told me not to put stock in Azo, that she was just another person and would eventually break my heart. People always felt that way then. No faith at all in people, just in old stories and books.”

A whistle erupted from the kitchen, and Sol held up a finger. “Tea!” she shouted and rushed off.

Ellis watched her scurry out of the room in her flower-print dress, thinking how much like an old woman she acted and yet she still looked like she was twenty-five. Sol was in fact beautiful. Different from the others, with facial features not quite to the final stage, the real difference was that Sol had hair—hair she kept short and black.

“How do you like your tea?” Sol called.

“Really more of a coffee guy.”

“Cream and honey it is then.”

She returned with an old-fashioned silver tray and dainty porcelain cups that steamed. “Don’t you just love authentic tea? I mean steeped, not made . I shouldn’t say that in front of her, though.” Sol pointed at the portrait above the fireplace. “But I think even Azo would still appreciate the effort it takes to run hot water through leaves. She believed in hard work.”

Sol took a sip and smacked her lips in a most undignified manner. “Ah…that’s the stuff.”

She waited until Ellis tried his. The color of caramel, it tasted almost like a mocha latte.

“Good, right?”

He smiled.

Sol looked back up at the picture. “She never did, you know. Net Azo never did disappoint me. My mother was wrong. My mother was always trying to find fault with others. Everyone used to do that. They hated the idea of heroes for some reason. Used to say they wanted them, but always sought to destroy any who tried. They hated the future too—which is what accounted for everyone being so disappointed, I think. When you expect tomorrow to be concrete, even if it isn’t, you feel it is because that’s somehow better than being wrong. But I never did. I knew Azo was a true hero. She was perfect. Abraham Lincoln freed the American slaves, but Network Azo freed everyone.”

“You had a mother?” Ellis asked.

He was looking down at the little beige cocker spaniel sleeping on the floor, its big ears splayed out like Dumbo. The animal showed gray around its muzzle and hadn’t moved during the entire visit. It only opened its eyes briefly when they had arrived. Perhaps Sol had the oldest dog too.

“Uh-huh. Back when I was born we still had surrogate parents. The ISP provided the DNA pattern, but I was raised by Arvice Chen in the affluent Predat Sector. She wanted a daughter, but got me instead.”

“No father?”

Sol shook her head. “Marriage was an oddity by that time. People were all moving underground. It was a whole new world.”

She took another sip, then set the cup back on the saucer, where it made a petite click. “Lots of changes were happening at the time. No one who has it good ever appreciates change, you know. Like my mother—she hated change. Hated having to leave the sky and go to an early grave , as she called it. I honestly don’t know why she volunteered to raise me. She certainly wasn’t a forward-thinking woman. Maybe she thought she could influence the future through me. She imagined the future would be worse than the past, some awful disaster. Most people did. And just to be fair—it did look that way. The Great Tempest had come, and millions of people were swept away. The Apocalypse, my mother had called it—ever heard of that?”

Ellis nodded. “People said the same things in my day.”

Sol smiled. “I like you, Mr. Rogers. You like my tea?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got good taste too.” She winked. “So, what’s it like traveling through time?”