PROMPT: As humankind expanded into space and colonized, they began to notice that something on Earth kept humans alive longer, more than just oxygen. Without it, humans only live to be in their mid 30's. The human race has no idea what this missing key is.
“Maybe it’s love.” She pulled the ridiculous bag down out of the overhead luggage rack, narrowly missing his head.
“Love.” He ducked under the ridiculous bag and pulled his own sensible black bag out from under the seat. People were beginning to move toward the exit in a way that suggested that the door was open.
“Yeah, love. I mean, it’s a fundamental human thing, right? It’s something...”
“I love Mom and Dad, and I’ve never been to Earth.” Not yet. Not for another twenty-three hours, according to the schedule.
“Yeah, but... I mean. What if it’s, like, love of Earth? Like, Earth itself.” The ridiculous bag didn’t have a shoulder strap, just these huge long handles; she had to cock her whole body against its weight to keep it off the floor, so moving down the aisle toward the door was like a weird asynchronous penguin waddle.
“Love itself of Earth itself.” He was on verbal autopilot, looking around at the crowd and thinking about what was coming next, and only incidentally granting a little time to the task of having a conversation.
“Sure,” she said. Waddle waddle. “Love of... I don’t know, a specific gravity, or a particular wavelength of light, or...” He looked back at her, making sure she was coming along.
The passenger compartment was a little bit fractally inefficient in its design, aisles ridiculously curved among the sea of chairs, every little section of chairs as inconvenient as the whole thing, and all of the little clusters equally far from a door. He was vaguely wondering if there was some sort of queueing theory at work, some designer’s idea of making a line move along at some optimum rate.
It wasn’t, in his opinion, working.
“You don’t die without love,” he said. “I mean, it’s important, but...”
“Sure you do,” she said. “Babies die without love. Like, there are a thousand thousand stories of people dying because they don’t have love.” The ridiculous bag banged into the back of his calf.
“The babies thing is a myth, there’s complicated...” He looked around. They were almost at the door. He looked back at the huge, curved array of floor-to-ceiling windows around the outer wall of the lounge; the trip had been so long that the amazing, incredible view of outer space had become just another background to the appallingly banal experience of commercial travel. He was suddenly aware that after he went through the door, he wouldn’t see this again, for years, maybe ever.
“It’s not a myth. If you don’t get enough touch, enough human contact...”
“The galaxy is full of human contact,” he said, absently. “This part of it, anyway. You don’t have to go to Earth for human contact.”
She shrugged, which was a gimpy, lopsided gesture because of the ridiculous bag. He looked down at the bag and up at her, then out at the stars.
He reached down and took the bag from her, slinging its ridiculous handles over his shoulder, the bag hanging on his back; it wasn’t that heavy, and carrying it would be better than watching her struggle with it, especially as they got toward the core and gravity went to zero.
Beyond the beige chairs and the blue carpet, the stars shined all around him.
“Maybe it’s love.” She pulled the ridiculous bag down out of the overhead luggage rack, narrowly missing his head.
“Love.” He ducked under the ridiculous bag and pulled his own sensible black bag out from under the seat. People were beginning to move toward the exit in a way that suggested that the door was open.
“Yeah, love. I mean, it’s a fundamental human thing, right? It’s something...”
“I love Mom and Dad, and I’ve never been to Earth.” Not yet. Not for another twenty-three hours, according to the schedule.
“Yeah, but... I mean. What if it’s, like, love of Earth? Like, Earth itself.” The ridiculous bag didn’t have a shoulder strap, just these huge long handles; she had to cock her whole body against its weight to keep it off the floor, so moving down the aisle toward the door was like a weird asynchronous penguin waddle.
“Love itself of Earth itself.” He was on verbal autopilot, looking around at the crowd and thinking about what was coming next, and only incidentally granting a little time to the task of having a conversation.
“Sure,” she said. Waddle waddle. “Love of... I don’t know, a specific gravity, or a particular wavelength of light, or...” He looked back at her, making sure she was coming along.
The passenger compartment was a little bit fractally inefficient in its design, aisles ridiculously curved among the sea of chairs, every little section of chairs as inconvenient as the whole thing, and all of the little clusters equally far from a door. He was vaguely wondering if there was some sort of queueing theory at work, some designer’s idea of making a line move along at some optimum rate.
It wasn’t, in his opinion, working.
“You don’t die without love,” he said. “I mean, it’s important, but...”
“Sure you do,” she said. “Babies die without love. Like, there are a thousand thousand stories of people dying because they don’t have love.” The ridiculous bag banged into the back of his calf.
“The babies thing is a myth, there’s complicated...” He looked around. They were almost at the door. He looked back at the huge, curved array of floor-to-ceiling windows around the outer wall of the lounge; the trip had been so long that the amazing, incredible view of outer space had become just another background to the appallingly banal experience of commercial travel. He was suddenly aware that after he went through the door, he wouldn’t see this again, for years, maybe ever.
“It’s not a myth. If you don’t get enough touch, enough human contact...”
“The galaxy is full of human contact,” he said, absently. “This part of it, anyway. You don’t have to go to Earth for human contact.”
She shrugged, which was a gimpy, lopsided gesture because of the ridiculous bag. He looked down at the bag and up at her, then out at the stars.
He reached down and took the bag from her, slinging its ridiculous handles over his shoulder, the bag hanging on his back; it wasn’t that heavy, and carrying it would be better than watching her struggle with it, especially as they got toward the core and gravity went to zero.
Beyond the beige chairs and the blue carpet, the stars shined all around him.
No comments:
Post a Comment