Will McIntosh - Love Minus Eighty

“I don’t understand. Did you see my accident?”

He forced himself to look at her. It was by far the hardest thing he’d ever done. “Miss West, I’m the one who hit you.”

It didn’t seem to register. A few precious seconds ticked by. Then confusion spread across Winter’s face. The lines of confusion melted away, and she stared at Rob with a startled lucidity that made her look almost alive.

“You’re the one who killed me?”

He’d looked away again, was staring at his hands. He forced his gaze back to her face. “Yes. I came to tell you how sorry I am.” The words sounded absurd leaving his lips, like so many puffs of air sent out to heal a broken spine, a burst aorta, a mile of crushed intestine.

Winter sounded like she was choking, then Rob realized it was a laugh. “You’re sorry.”

“I know it’s worthless, but it’s all I have to offer you.”

“Were you drunk?”

He looked at the timer. Three minutes left. Three more minutes of this to endure, then he could go back to bed and die there. “I’d been drinking, but I wasn’t drunk. I was under the legal limit.”

“So you were only slightly impaired. I guess that should make me feel better?”

“No. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not trying to make excuses. Yes, I’d been drinking, and I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and I fucking hate myself.”

She stared at him, her eyes bright and wet. He didn’t think the dead could actually cry. “I don’t know what to say to you. You have no idea what a nightmare this is. You get to leave. I have to stay. Maybe no one will ever wake me again, and I’ll stay in this box, in this wall, dead…” She made a sound in her throat that made Rob want to clap his hands over his ears.

“I’m so sorry. If there was anything I could do, I would. I would gladly change places with you.” He glanced at the timer. “Oh, God, I only have one minute.”

Her eyes opened wide, like a wild animal caught in a trap. “Please. I don’t want to go back in there. Let me stay alive for a few more minutes. Just a few.”

The dread in her voice, the pleading tone, bored a hole right through him. He sobbed, put his hands over his face. “I can’t. I don’t have any more money.”

Winter made that terrible sound again. “Please. Please don’t—” Her eyes widened farther, and all at once she went silent. For a moment Rob thought the refreezing process had started, but there were nineteen seconds left.

She looked at him. “You said you’d do anything. Did you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“Then promise me you’ll come back. Promise you’ll visit me from time to time, so I know I won’t spend forever dead in this drawer.”

“I will,” he said immediately. Her words were like a lifeline. He could do this, at least. “I promise. I swear.” The relief he felt was like a vise loosened from around his soul. “I will.”

The timer reached 5:00; the light drained from Winter’s eyes as if they were connected to a power source. Her pupils dilated as the glass cover slid silently over the top of her crèche. Rob turned away. Behind him, he heard her crèche retracting into the wall.

He’d noticed very little on his last visit, cocooned in his own fear and depression, but now he walked a little easier. Not easy, but easier, his boots clicking on the heavy marble floor as he passed row upon row of bridesicles in the long room, their crèches nothing but rectangles set into the walls in floor-to-ceiling grids. He passed what looked like a family sitting around a crèche. The cloak was drawn up so tightly around the woman inside that she seemed nothing but a disembodied head.

There was a smell in the air, something vaguely familiar that would have been pleasant if he’d felt more relaxed. Just a hint of it on a slight artificial breeze. Toasted coconut, maybe? It reminded Rob of some of the swankier restaurants Lorelei had taken him to, where scents were piped in like an olfactory concert.

His dad had been right: look Winter in the eye, own up to what he’d done, do what he could to make it right. He’d do whatever it took to keep his promise. Keep working long hours, spend nothing.

Down an open lift, he reached the vast main room of the facility, the only room that wasn’t long and narrow. There was a supplement bar and dine-in restaurant tucked into one corner, and in the center a breathtaking multilevel fountain resembling a vertical maze.

He passed a screen hovering over an open crèche—a virtual date, no doubt—and caught a snippet of conversation as he passed.

“I’ve done a lot of good for this community—”

He’d have to abandon his dream of making it as a musician. Performing in Low Town bars didn’t pay enough to make it worthwhile. The thought of giving up his music hurt almost as much as the idea of giving up his system. Not having his system the past few months had been like not having his right hand. No, worse; he’d rather lose his right hand than his system. Maybe he could allow himself that one indulgence.

He stopped walking.

No. He wasn’t going to start making compromises on this promise. Full effort. No bullshit. He wanted his father to be able to look him in the eye and feel proud, or at least not feel ashamed. If he lived at home and gave up his system, he could visit maybe three times a year. And he would; he would keep his promise, no matter what.

Rob sent a message to his manager at the reclamation center to see if he could pick up some extra shifts.

Veronika turned her face toward the sun, enjoying the heat on her cheeks, trying not to think of the wrinkles her older self would have to endure. Ultralight copters flitted less than a hundred feet above, looking so much like giant, brightly colored dragonflies. It was worth the substantial toll she and Nathan were paying to lounge on such a high, isolated platform. It was rejuvenating, to be so far from the dense crowds of the city. Almost like a spiritual retreat.

“You know what’s missing from this?” Nathan gestured at the view.

“Nothing?”

“Masseuses.”

“Oh.” She dropped her head. “I was perfectly content two seconds ago, now you’ve pointed out a shortcoming in my paradise.”

Nathan shrugged. “I’ll just have to plug the hole in your paradise.”

Nathan’s fingers flew across his system as Veronika wondered. Massages? That was an awfully intimate suggestion. Downright romantic, almost.

“So I paid Winter a visit,” Nathan said.

Veronika jolted. “Oh my god. You’re kidding. What happened?” It had never occurred to Veronika that visiting Winter was even possible, but she was in the minus eighty, so of course it was.

Nathan rolled onto his stomach so he could face Veronika. “I felt like I owed it to her, to pay my respects. After the timing of her death and all.” He reached up to work his system. Veronika was pretty sure he was working with a client. “Anyway, it was a mistake.”

“How so?”

He half whispered his answer, like he was saying something obscene. “She wanted me to visit regularly, like I was a part of her family or something.”

Veronika remembered lying in bed when she was twelve, trying to imagine what it would be like to be a bridesicle. She’d just learned about the program that afternoon, from her friend Marcy Tayback, and imagining herself in one of those crèches had filled her with such awful dread. “I know you can’t afford to do that, but I can understand her being desperate enough to ask.” She couldn’t imagine visiting someone there; the idea made her skin prickle. “It would be rancid hell to be a bridesicle. Not that I have anything to worry about.” Veronika didn’t expect Nathan to argue, since getting selected for the program was based on physical beauty.