Mark McGinnis - The Simpleton

Cuddy Perkins stopped suddenly in his tracks and stared blankly at the tall line of trees before him. He tried to recall how he’d gotten there, but knew his forgetfulness was not out of the ordinary—nothing to be concerned about. He continued on, reveling in the enveloping coolness of the forest. He’d entered his favorite place in the whole world. A magical place. It made sense now—that he’d be here. He continued forward, allowing his hands to slide across the rough bark on two opposing stout tree trunks. Trees he neither knew the names of, nor particularly cared to know.

Though he knew deep down he’d walked there many times before, still, something strange was going on. He turned his attention to his feet. As he stepped—first with his left foot, then with his right—he carefully watched his size 13 Keds. Yup … they felt funny. He made a face—tightened his lips while squeezing his eyelids tightly shut. It was his I’m so stupid face . Bending over, Cuddy used his thumb to rub off some caked-on mud to expose the section of rubber where his toes were. He rubbed some more but the arrow still wasn’t there. Then, using the same thumb, he wiped the other shoe and, sure enough, there it was! The arrow Momma had drawn with a Sharpie. He’d put his shoes on the wrong feet again. Weighing the hassle of taking them off then putting them on the right foot it would be way too much trouble .

Cuddy continued on, walking ever deeper into the woods, still feeling somewhat out of sorts. He briefly wondered if he were dreaming. His dreams, so vivid, often seemed more real than when he was wide awake. And where is Rufus ? Glancing back, he already knew he wouldn’t see his dog there. “Rufus!” he called out anyway into the shadows behind him.

The sound of trickling water helped orient him to his present whereabouts. Hurrying up his pace, Cuddy caught the glimmering reflection of the sun in the little creek ahead. When he leapt over the water, landing on the opposite bank, his shoes sunk into the mud and gave a sucking sound when he pulled them free. As he continued walking alongside the winding brook, he was mostly content with life.

For the second time that day, Cuddy stopped suddenly in his tracks, uncertain if he was awake or dreaming. In any event, he was pretty certain that what he was seeing, sitting there up on a rock, was indeed an angel. The fact that this particular brightly glowing spectacle wasn’t wearing any clothes did seem quite odd, but, there again, he wasn’t sure what angels were supposed to wear—or look like.

A breeze cooled Cuddy’s face, carrying along with it the musky fragrance coming off the nearby brook. Momma had talked about such things in the past, sometimes when she read to him before bedtime. Things like heaven . And angels. Sometimes Cuddy would dream of the things she’d read to him about.

Standing up, the angel was nearly as tall as Cuddy was—over six feet tall. Cuddy remained perfectly still—he held his breath. Suddenly, the angel looked around, as if he’d detected another presence. A rabbit ran into view and just as quickly disappeared into a nearby thicket. The angel stared after the critter for a while—then, slowly he walked away—going deeper into the woods.

Cuddy felt a chill run up and down his back. He wished he’d worn his sweatshirt and that he’d wake up from this strange dream.

More and more of late, Tow had a tendency to be cynical. He already knew that. It wasn’t news to him. Soweng’s dying words, two months past, had told him as much. She’d said, “Don’t you see the irony, Tow? Of those who still see the promise of things to come… a future for our kind… one that is better than the past… it is you who will become, after everything we’ve endured together, the one… the final torch holder.” She coughed and blood appeared at the corners of her mouth. Her smile was genuine and her eyes misty—her fate so tragically sealed many months before. As Tow held her in his arms, she reached up a hand and gently touched the side of his face. “…stay the course… take us home.”

She died then. Not five minutes later, or two minutes later, but right then. Tow wondered if she’d known how he felt about her? That he’d loved her ever since the first time he watched her walk, more like glide, onto the Evermore ’s bridge, three years ago.

An audible alarm tone began to reverberate throughout the ship. “We’re being shadowed, Captain Tow,” the AI orb said. “It is one of the three Howsh vessels.”

His gaze snapped away from the forward observation window and the view out to open space. He looked expectantly to the empty captain’s chair. With renewed urgency, he strode to the other side of the bridge to check the helmsman readings. His heart sank; this was not how it was supposed to be—the captain dead, the helmsman dead. Everyone dead. Loneliness pressed in around him—an avalanche of lonely despair. How could he continue on alone? He wondered, for the hundredth time, if he was up to the task—its sheer enormity weighing on him.

Back at the forward station, he found his drink and brought the half-filled cup of xicachan nervously up to his lips. A good portion of the lukewarm stimulant sloshed down his chin and onto the controls in front of him. He badly needed to relieve himself. Attempting to stand, he instantly was reminded his left leg was injured during his most recent clash with the Howsh.

White-hot searing pain shot up his leg—spikes starting in his foot and ending in his upper thigh. Pounding on his leg with a clenched fist wasn’t helping any, so he waited a moment for the pain to subside before awkwardly hobbling out from the oppressive bridge. Hesitating, something occurred to him: it just might work… He glanced over to one of the unmanned consoles, mentally willing an environmental system’s configuration menu to download, and it immediately popped into view, six feet away.

Tow raised a hand, distantly manipulating the virtual menu settings. Immediately, the ship’s gravity generators reconfigured, and he felt the heavy weight on his leg subside somewhat. Feeling new relief, he thought, why didn’t I think to do that before?

Tow ceased limping his way toward the ship’s stern and turned back toward the bridge. “How close are they?” he asked, speaking aloud into the empty compartment.

“Within seven hundred twenty million clicks,” the anthropomorphic voice came back. The AI orb then appeared around a partial bulkhead. Seventeen inches long and eleven inches tall, the orb was shaped like an elongated sphere. Black as obsidian, the orb was the AI’s singular outer connection with the physical world. It silently hovered nearby. At the sphere’s apex was a concave circular section, an aperture of sorts, from which a faint blue light emanated—the orb’s ever-watchful eye. Its opposing ends had two mechanical articulating arms—each with four finger-like appendages.

Tow weighed his strong urge to urinate against saving an entire species from extinction. He grudgingly hobbled back toward the bridge. Hurrying, he miscalculated the effects from resetting the gravity generators and found himself bicycling his legs—now being nearly weightless—two feet off the deck.

“Now seven hundred and five million clicks.”