Jennifer Wells - Beyond the Stars - At Galaxy's Edge

And now he was sitting in his usual chair at the cafe on Bickam Boulevard, enjoying his last cup of coffee.

It tasted like victory.

He typed the final few lines of one of the last messages he’d write.

Anyway, Su, it really is great up here. But I have some unhappy news for you. I’ve been feeling ill lately. Not sure how long I’ll last. Could be years. Could be days. Just thought you’d like to know.

Signed,

He tapped send , glanced up at the TV monitor hanging nearby. Scarlet Paredes was talking earnestly into the camera with a grave expression on her face. Hell, what now?

Before he could turn the volume up, his hand device started beeping with an incoming call. The screen showed Doctor Pratt’s face‌—‌the medical center’s chief.

“Frank,” he said, tapping the line open.

“Mr. Bickham, I’m afraid we have terrible news.”

Oh. Shit. He was too late.

He was too late.

Ed Smith must have gravely overestimated how much time he had left. And Frank had fiddled and twiddled and now...

He’d lost. The second man on Mars would always just be that. The Second.

“Yes?” he said, tentatively.

“You know the boy? Wixam Hanuman? He’s taken a turn for the worse.”

Frank jumped up with a start. “Wix? What’s wrong?”

“The injuries he sustained are healing, but they’ve revealed an underlying condition that has now been aggravated by what he’s been through. Long story short, he’s in desperate need of a blood transfusion.”

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be by to visit him in the morning, if that’s ok. Please tell his parents that if there’s anything I can do‌—‌”

“Actually, there is something you can do, Mr. Bickham. It turns out that our Wixam has a very rare blood type, rendering all our blood stores we have on hand useless for him.”

Shit.

“And...?” he asked, tentatively, though he knew, and feared, the answer.

“ And it turns out that the only other person with that blood type on Mars is a Mr. Frank Bickham. I’m afraid that Wix doesn’t have the three months it will take the next shipment to arrive from Earth. He needs the transfusion, Frank, and he needs it now.”

Shit.

But there was no internal debate. The response was automatic. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He tapped the channel closed, and collapsed back into his chair.

Shit.

Poor Wix. He’d only known the boy for a few days, but he’d visited with him for hours already. He was another one of his great-grandkids now. Like Samantha.

The history books would have to wait. And he might have to put a twenty-four hour watch on Ed Smith. Possibly put him on precautionary life-support. He could arrange for that, right? He was Frank frickin’ Bickham.

His handset beeped again, indicating an incoming message. It was from Su. He’d received Frank’s message and must have immediately fired off a reply.

Bickham. Great news. My status as Mariner Valley colony member #10,451 is approved. See you soon!

Etcetera? That was a shot across his bow. Su was taunting him. And he’d be here in three months.

Shit.

The blood transfusion was quick and painless. But the baggy circles under little Wixam’s eyes were disconcerting. Frank glanced nervously from Wix to his parents sitting nearby. His mother, a small, pretty woman, was making a valiant effort to contain her distress, and tousled her boy’s hair, forcing a thin smile. His father sat stoically in the corner.

“Are you feeling ok, Grumpy?” said the boy.

“Me? You’re asking me if I’m feeling ok? You’re the one in the hospital bed, kid. Have you looked in a mirror lately?” he said with a good-natured smile. He’d gotten the impression early on from little Wix that he was the type of kid that appreciated a gentle ribbing, and his giggle confirmed it.

“They said I’ll need your blood for a long time.”

“Yeah, well, let’s not think about that. I’m sure they’ll come up with a way to fix you good. You’ll be healthier than I am within a few days, and I’m as healthy as they come.”

Wixam nodded solemnly. “I thought maybe, instead of coming to the hospital for more transfusions, I thought maybe we could stuff you into my backpack and just hook up a tube between us.”

His father looked mortified. His mother’s jaw hung half-open.

Frank laughed. “You got it, kid. If you can carry me, I’m all yours. Your own personal blood bank, on tap at all hours of the day. Just save a few pints for me, wouldya?”

They continued their banter, and before long little Wix’s eyes got droopy and he fell asleep. Frank glanced from one parent to the other. They both looked like they hadn’t slept in days.

“Mr. Bickham, thank you so much for doing this. I have no words...” the mother trailed off.

The father nodded. “I don’t know what we would have done if you weren’t here. If there’s ever anything you need, anything at all, please let me know. My father is the vice president of Interplanetary‌—‌just one word from me and it happens. Whatever you want.”

A wicked thought crossed his mind. “Can you revoke Jerry Su’s colonist application?”

“What?”

“Just kidding,” Frank said with a wry chuckle.

The father laughed nervously, and yawned. Damn, these people needed sleep.

Frank tapped a finger on his armrest. “I know what you could do for me.”

“Name it.”

“Go to bed. Both you and your wife. Get some sleep‌—‌I’ll be here all night.”

They both stared at him.

“No, I mean it. He needs you,” he said, pointing at the sleeping boy, “but he needs you to be awake, alert, and healthy. Go to bed. Don’t make me pull rank,” he added, with a grin.

After another round of profuse thanks, they left.

“Just you and me, kid. And I’ll be damned if you leave before I do.”

An hour passed, and he was dozing off when something jolted him awake.

“Mr. Bickham?”

Dr. Pratt was looking at him through the half-opened door.

“Yes, Doctor?” he croaked.

“Would you mind coming back tomorrow evening? I want to build up a short-term supply of your blood. Just in case... you know.”

Frank nodded. It wasn’t immediately clear to him what you know meant, but it didn’t matter. “Very prudent. In fact, how about we build up a long-term supply? I can come in twice a day for the next two weeks or so, if needed. Let’s make sure we have at least a year’s worth, wouldn’t you say? At least until the next shipment comes in from Earth. I assume they’re going to send over a supply of his blood type?”

Doctor Pratt’s face broke out into a huge smile. “Yes, they will. You never cease to amaze me, Mr. Bickham. Yes, that would be perfect. God bless you.”

Pratt left him alone with the boy, and his thoughts.

Two weeks. Build up enough of a supply, make sure that the boy would live a long, happy life, and then Frank Bickham was heading to the history books.

“Grumpy?”

The boy’s small voice made him jump. “Yeah, Wix?”

“Don’t ever go anywhere.”

Dammit. Kid’s not helping. “I’ll be right here, kid. On Mars. Forever.”

“Good.” The kid’s voice sounded remote and slurred, as if he was sleep-speaking. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too, kid.”

And it was even true.

The urgent call from Dr. Pratt came early in the morning on a Tuesday. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Bickham. Your friend went into a coma late last night. He was just in for a regular checkup, and keeled over right in the office.”