David Simpson: Post-Human Trilogy

Craig’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the forward come-on, but there was something about the young woman’s demeanor that seemed to make it innocent enough. He took it as a compliment and smiled.

“You feel that?” the doctor asked him.

Craig wasn’t sure what she was referring to. His first instinct was that her forwardness was starting to cross a boundary. Just as he was going to speak, ruining the Freitas test for the sake of politely cooling the woman’s jets, she spoke again.

“No shortness of breath. You could keep this up for four hours before you’d need to take another breath. Congratulations. You’re officially a super soldier. ”

The notion of being a superhuman hadn’t crossed Craig’s mind until that moment. It was surreal. What she said was true: He’d felt no shortage of breath. Like most technological marvels, it was difficult for him to fully grasp it, so he just accepted it with a slightly marveled shake of his head.

“So what happens when they run out of air?” he asked.

“The respirocytes will…” She smiled again as she thought of the absurd euphemism bubbling to the surface. “…expel themselves.”

“Ah,” Craig replied.

“You can get up now.”

Craig sat up as the doctor uploaded her results onto a larger wall screen behind the small bed. “Thanks. That was…different.”

She smiled. “Now you can tell your wife she’s doing good work. The fruits of her labor are breathing for you. When you’re ready, just start breathing again and the respirocytes will shut down.”

Craig nodded and smiled sideways. “I will.” He turned to leave but turned back quickly on a whim. “Hey, what’s your name?”

The doctor replied, “ Daniella . It was nice to meet you, Dr. Emilson.”

Craig walked quickly—nearly running—toward his bachelor’s officer barracks as he pulled his phone from his pocket and began dialing the number of his wife’s laboratory. As he crossed the threshold into his room, the phone was already ringing. He slipped the phone into the ultrasonic dock that sat upon a modest wooden table and pulled his hardback chair over so he could sit. He waited eagerly for his wife’s answer. “Come on,” he whispered to himself.

“Hello?” his wife’s voice finally spoke. His heart soared.

“Sam! I was worried there—”

“I never miss a call when we schedule it, baby, and I never will,” she replied soothingly.

“I still couldn’t help worrying.”

The irony of Craig’s words weren’t lost on Samantha Emilson. “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be in a constant state of worry.”

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Craig replied, almost too quickly. “How’s your day going?”

Samantha wasn’t oblivious to her husband’s clumsy attempt to change the subject, but she decided to let it go for the moment. “The feds were here again,” she replied, her aggravation clearly audible. “That’s three weeks in a row now.”

“Did they copy all your files again?”

“Yeah,” she replied resignedly. “Every day they come in here, we spend the whole day being ordered around, showing them the same things we showed them the week before. It’s getting impossible to accomplish anything with them around.”

“You’re getting things accomplished, all right,” Craig replied.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, for starters, I’ve got respirocytes in me as we speak.”

There was silence on the line for a few moments before Samantha’s holographic image suddenly appeared, her face and shoulders hovering above Craig’s phone in crisp detail, interrupted only occasionally by the interference in the atmosphere. “Are you…serious?” she asked, her eyes unblinking.

Craig pressed the red ACCEPT button on his phone so his wife could see him too. He nodded sincerely. “I can hold my breath for four hours apparently.”

“I can’t believe it!” Samantha replied, astonished as she held her hand up over her face. “It’s real? They’re really using them in the field?”

“Well, you knew that already,” Craig said, smiling.

“I did, but…well, it’s different when you’re not limited to test subjects anymore—when it’s someone you know. It’s amazing to think they’re really out there.”

“They are.”

“I have to tell Aldous,” Samantha suddenly blurted, instantly jarring the smile loose from Craig’s face.

“Aldous? Since when are you and old man Gibson on a first-name basis?”

Samantha’s attention snapped back onto the eyes of her husband. “I’ve worked in his lab for three years, Craig. I think it’s about time he finally asked me to stop calling him ‘Professor . ’”

“I don’t like that,” Craig replied. “The way he looks at you—”

“Stop it, Craig. You’re being ridiculous. He’s a sixty-year-old man.”

“I still don’t like it.”

Samantha smiled. “You can’t possibly be jealous of a man twice your age, Craig.”

Craig’s train of thought changed as he looked into the eyes of his wife, so clear and bright that he felt as though they were right there next to him. In reality, hundreds of miles separated him from Sam, and that distance would be far greater in just a few hours. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“I’m sure you have a lot on your mind,” Samantha replied understandingly. Her thoughts quickly moved to speculation, and her voice lowered. “Why did they give you respirocytes? Where are you going where you won’t be breathing?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Craig replied.

Samantha quickly began putting the equation together in her mind. “Wait a second. They’re not sending you into fallout, are they?”

“Sam—”

She could read him like a book. “Oh my God! No! Craig, no! Tell them you won’t go!”

“They don’t exactly ask.”

“You can’t go! Respirocytes aren’t going to save you in there!”

“Sammie, baby—”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me, Craig! I’m not a child!”

“I know, but sweetheart, listen—”

“What can you possibly say that will make me okay with you heading into nuclear fallout?”

“I never said where I’m headed,” Craig began, “and I promise that you don’t know the kinds of precautions that are being taken. You and Aldous aren’t the only scientists inventing new tech for this war, you know.”

“This shouldn’t be happening, Craig,” Samantha replied, her disapproval cemented. “We don’t support this war. We don’t support this ridiculous Luddite government. I’m sick of this! You shouldn’t be there.”

“I’m here to help people, Sammie,” Craig replied. “I’m not brilliant like you.”

“Not brilliant? Craig, you’re a doctor!” Samantha retorted, nearly aghast at her husband’s self-diminishment.

“But I don’t have your inventive mind,” Craig continued patiently. “I can’t help the world the way you can. I can’t help the whole world with brilliant inventions. I can only hope to use the technology people like you invent to save one soldier at a time. That’s the only way my life can be meaningful—like yours.”

“This is wrong,” Samantha answered, holding her head in her hands. This was how almost every conversation ended ever since Craig had enlisted. Tears were forming in her eyes as she became further exasperated. “Risking your life for a mistake won’t give your life meaning. Competing with me won’t give your life meaning.”

Craig was at a loss for a moment. His wife had never openly acknowledged what they both knew: They were in competition with one another. Ever since they’d met in their first year at university, they’d raced against each other toward an invisible finish line, with Samantha always seeming to be the inevitable winner. Now, Craig feared he was racing toward a cliff. “This mission is important, Sammie. If it’s successful, this war will be over a lot sooner than the world thinks.”