8. The Twin Quitters
They organized a feast. The wolf preferred to remain in the shadows, far away from those filthy humans, but at least they knew where to find him and how to talk to him. They received permission to hang a few lightbulbs in their cave, to set a nice mood. He delivered his part of the deal—enough food for the coming weeks—and everyone was happy.
Everyone except Tibre. Jassia and her husband also hadn’t been seen yet.
He viewed the preparations from a distance. The home cave looked beautiful now, with all the lights and laughter, he could still see and feel that. His dancing and playing children still gave him a smile, but he’d refused any invitation to join that party. He still wasn’t able to eat a single thing. And the only thought that stuck around was: this is all meaningless, because even that food will run out, and one day my children will also grow old and die.
Jassia’s husband suddenly stood next to him.
“You know,” he said, “I never thanked you enough for helping my wife and keeping her safe. It really comforted me, all those years, to know you were with her on one adventure or another. I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost my sweet Jassia.”
So Jassia still hadn’t told him anything. Coward.
“That’s nice to hear,” said Tibre slowly. “How is it? Between you two? Jassia let slip … that you wanted her to be home more often … and other—”
“Oh, well, we just talked about that. Things are great between us!”
“Ah yes. Of course.”
As he walked away, Tibre grabbed his wrist and studied his eyes. But Jassia was right: she had to tell him, not anyone else. And she was also right that maybe, just maybe, Tibre was proud to see his son and her together.
“I wish you joy at the party. Where, erm, did you leave Jassia?”
“She wanted to view the memories in the other lightbulbs, before we have to give them away. Always working, that crazy girl.”
Tibre stood. His stomach had stopped growling—it had seemingly accepted that no more food was coming. The Dwellers in the home cave used their Echobelts and wooden sticks to create music now. He allowed himself a few more moments, taking in the happy sight, then left the party for good.
Jassia sat cross-legged on the floor of her cave. Her hair fell around her like a veil, and her eyes gazed at the dirt as if she wanted to look through it.
“I couldn’t tell him,” she whispered. “How can you look in those sweet eyes that love you … and say you want to end that?”
Tibre had no response. He settled next to her on the floor, as the lightbulb before them played its memory.
Humans in a cave. But this cave was far bigger, perfectly square, and had sterile white walls.
“No! Go somewhere else. This shelter is full!” yelled a man in army uniform.
“They’re all full!” lamented a woman.
The lamps glued to their ceiling flickered. The entire memory shook. For a second, all the light was gone, followed by a series of loud bangs. Then silence returned, but not safety.
The shelter was packed. Families sat on the floor and held each other’s hands, crates contained enough food and drink to survive for a while, and weapons piled up in corners.
Someone grabbed a black box that made noise. “Shelter 4A has collapsed. I repeat: shelter 4A has collapsed, we can’t contact them anymore.”
“I must return to the surface!” yelled a man in uniform. “Holed can’t be saved. We must flee while we can.”
All people in the shelter let the quitter know what they thought. But he got his way.
The memory sped forward and showed the planet surface now. That same man stumbled over rubble, collapsed homes and splintered trees. It was rare to see something left standing, or still emitting light. In that darkness the man became nothing but a shadow between shadows, mud between mud.
He found survivors of shelter 4A. Five parents, nine children. Blood streamed over their faces. A boy had lost his hand. An elderly man made circles. In his paranoia, he pointed his metal weapon, attached with a strap to his body, at anything that moved.
“It’s been like this for fifty years,” mumbled the elderly man. “I love my home planet, that I do. But nothing’s left of it. If you have a spaceship, take us please.”
The final years of Holed looked horrible.
Suddenly Tibre leaned forward. What had he seen? The gun. The gun in the hands of the elderly man.
He looked at his Echobelt. And then Jassia’s Echobelt. They were nearly identical.
Exactly that type of object hung from the humans in the memory. Only the elderly man had attached it to his hips; the others wore it as a necklace, or underneath a hat, or wherever it fit.
“This … this is us.”
“These are our ancestors from long long ago,” mumbled Jassia.
“It is … it is not a musical instrument. It’s a weapon.”
“And we have lost the ammunition long ago,” whispered Jassia.
The humans in the memory fled. They entered a green-brown spaceship, hidden by the thick vines of a jungle. The memory kept playing, though, until a bear entered view.
The darkness was suddenly evicted by a light. A lightbulb had turned on.
“Is this really that important?” asked a voice, just out of frame.
“Yes. Ismaraldah agrees with me. And these people, this planet Holed, can use all the hope and brightness in the world. Our lightbulbs mark important events, yes, often tragic or involving death. But the important part is that they provide light when everything seems dark, Enra. Do not forget.”
As the spaceship left, the lightbulb was “released”. It floated across the surface. It mostly illuminated rubble and pain, and the smoke trail of the only spaceship that fled in time.
The memory ended.
Jassia let out a deep sigh and fell backward, flat on the stones. Tibre did the same. As if their bodies had lost all their bones and their brain had turned to soup.
“I spoke to the wolf,” she mumbled. “All those pretty images we see? Those beautiful civilizations, with spaceships and all? Well, well, that didn’t happen in a month or a year. Or ten year. That happened over hundreds of thousands of years. Only if you work hard, and are lucky, and aren’t exterminated by others who have Flashweapons before then.”
She cried. “I’ve been a silly, silly girl. I worked until I was sick, my entire life, day and night, because … because mother said I had to. And I believed her. Because I believed I could grow old in an advanced, beautiful civilization. But we are never going to see that, Tibre!”
Her fist banged the stones, time and time again. “Maybe we do have the secret to traveling with the speed of light. But we don’t know it! Maybe we’ll one day become a society that travels the galaxy and achieves greatness. But we’re not going to experience it, nor will our children, or their children’s children, because it takes too long!”
He could do nothing more than place his hand on her shoulder. He couldn’t tell her that she was wrong, or had to keep hope, or any other comforting words. Because he agreed fully. In a way, hearing her say his own worst thoughts gave him comfort.
The music from the party shook their cave too. Once in a while they heard the faint laughter of a child, or a speech held by someone who mostly praised the food. Borrick had probably said something silly that made everyone laugh. Or his children played hide-and-seek, with the added challenge of dodging the party lights.
He wanted to see all those memories inside the other lightbulbs. The curiosity was there, and the desire to learn and experience new things. But it was like he suppressed it. As if he didn’t allow himself to admit there was still fire in his heart. The fire inside every living being that just wants to live.
A smile appeared.
He lacked the energy to get up. And that was fine, because for the first time in a while, he felt content. He lay on the cold floor, but at least he had a cave, as opposed to the collapsed shelters of Holed. He had to work hard, but at least he had a home and something to eat. He’d been very unlucky, but he also had a loyal and kind friend at his side, and children who played games all day.
Jassia was said because her expectation, her wish, hadn’t come true. Not because their current life, on their current planet, was that bad. The most optimistic of all the Dwellers was brought down, sobbing next to him, because she wished so hard for things that couldn’t come true. If she hadn’t wished it, there would’ve been no problem. If she hadn’t seen those bright and amazing futures in the memories, there would’ve been no problem.
When Piponre entered the cave too, Jassia found her smile back. He gave her a kiss, helped her up and cleaned the dirt from her hairs. The love between those two crackled and sizzled and burned brighter than all the lightbulbs.
He’d brought food for both, but mostly for Tibre. He embraced his father and helped him up too. Then he pushed a large slab of meat against his lips.
“Dad. Please eat something. Come on. Come on!”
His children were growing up and starting new families. But they’d always keep caring for their old family. Even if their father acted childish and irresponsible, by staying in bed all day and giving up. For all their faults, humans at least had society.
His mind seemed cleared up. He finally saw the truth that had been right before their noses all this time.
“Follow me! To the Linecave!”