Topic: Tales of Tomorrow

Future Astronaut

Date: 2014-06-12 21:37 EST
Jon's best work was done at night, in the star heavy hours between sunset and sunrise, when the earth rotated him away from Sol and the sky burned with the luminous milky clustering of the spiral galaxy's soft edge. His mind worked faster in the dark after twilight, as though sleeping neurons in his brain only came out when the noise of the sun no longer beat down upon them. Ideas came easier, quicksilver and substantial, seeds bearing fruit of cogs and machine, algorithms and formulas.

Maybe it was just the silence and isolation. It left him undistracted and able to focus. Maybe it was something mystical and mysterious. He had read that Newton did his best work by candle light, deep into the night. Maybe it was the muse and inspiration of the stars and moon, lofty goals he would some day reach. Or maybe, just maybe, it was nothing so complicated, and it was just his heritage, owlish genetics manifesting themselves as a predilection for the predatory hours of the day.

Heck. It might just be that it was easier to find good episodes of "The Twilight Zone" sometime around 2 am than at any other time.

Whatever it was, Jon found himself awake late into the night more often than he made it to bed on time, and the day before Easter was no exception. He sat reclined in his chair, dressed comfortably in rocketship-and-moon-sporting PJs, watching "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street". A large bowl of popcorn was set on a stack of boxes next to the chair, only lightly buttered and salted. Too much of either caused too many problems for his already poor health.

Most of his machine children had long ago returned to their various nooks and corners and stations to power off and dream, but Hobbes remained awake, occupying the couch and wrapped in a blanket. Hobbes liked this episode considerably less than Jon, but had long ago acknowledged the Loki of the Marrow family as the ruler of the remote. What Jon wanted to watch, all watched. It was just the way of things.

The new apartment suited everyone well. Though he wouldn't admit it out right, at least some of his satisfaction in the living situation was the knowledge that it came from family and had housed family, making it something of a small section of home in a foreign land, a Texan embassy in RhyDin. James price was reasonable, the power and load bearing of the building more than adequate, and it's location within the city better than he could have hoped. It did not leave a lot for what he needed, but that was okay. With the money he was saving on the price of the apartment, he could rent another space in the city for his lab.

Besides. If he burned down this building, too, he was pretty sure he might be kicked out of the family.

Jon had left the windows of the apartment open to let in the cool breeze and subtle sounds of the deep night. A glimmer of moonlight splayed itself onto the wooden floors, pouring in through the windows like cold mercury. The television was turned down to a soft static; Jon knew the lines by heart, and if it were any louder it would wake the rest of the apartment up and start a "Twilight Zone" marathon.

"I'm not really sure what to do, Hobbes. I know we were betting on getting help, but.."

Hobbes beeped in a short series, finishing Jon's sentence for him.

"..yeah. We shouldn't be surprised. We knew it might not work."

Another series of beeps ended in an upswing. Hobbes was Jon's first real success with AI, and preexisted his work with voice synthesizers. Though Hobbes had been offered an upgrades to one, the robot had always politely turned them down.

"That's pretty much it, really. It's onto the back up plan now." Jon shrugged and frowned. On the television, neighbors were accusing neighbors.

Hobbes turned away from the television, pointedly looking Jon in the face with all of his sensors. Jon's response was to make a distinctly worried face.

"Don't give me that look. We both knew it would come to this."

Beepbeepboop"

"I'll have to sort that first. I met someone who might be able to give me a job that would be acceptable," code for 'where I wont have to make weapons or give you guys away', "and would pay well enough to get us started."

Hobbes considered this for a moment, remaining silent. Before he could comment, Jon added, "And I'll tell them when the time is right. If they know why I came out here now, they'll interfere and try to stop me. It's best they know after the fact."

Beep, beepbeep. Beep"

"Regardless of the outcome. Yeah." Jon sat in the noise of the night for a while, watching black and white images flicker past on the television, before finally giving into the need for sleep. He set the remote next to Hobbes on his way to the bedroom. "Don't stay up all night, old man. Tomorrow's a busy day."

Boop.

"Yeah, I love you too. Night."

Sometime later, after Hobbes was quite sure that Jon had slipped into a deep sleep in the barely unpacked bedroom in the back, Hobbes switched the channel to his favorite television show of all time. A guilty and, by Jon's standards, outlawed pleasure, it was the robot's answer to combat sports:

BattleBots.

Future Astronaut

Date: 2014-06-12 21:38 EST
"No, mom. I haven't found any work yet. I've been looking, and there are a few promising leads, but things are a lot different here than at home and it's not like I can just contact an agency or submit my resume online. It's very old school. ..You'd like it." Jon stood at the window, phone held lightly to his ear, and looked up at the stars through the breaks in the light cloud cover. A half finished bottle of cool beer sat in the open window frame, left there the moment he heard the phone ring. His mom always called at night, which suited him just fine, and almost always knew exactly when he'd be free to talk. She was a sharp woman, and probably one of the few people Jon flat out admitted was smarter than he was.

"Oh, Honey Bunny, I don't know about that. I was talking to Cynthia and from what I've heard, it sounds like too much adventure and too much excitement for me. I'm happy right where I am." Her voice was warm and measured.

"You go on trips all the time. All kinds of foreign places." It was true. Not that Jon was angling for a visit, but it was a better topic for conversation than his continued lack of employment.

"With your dad. I go with your dad and we bird watch. That's how we met, you know." Proud. Meeting Jon's father was one of her happiest memories, and she'd told both her children the story so many times they had all lost count. Jon was already bracing for another telling, how she'd seen this intelligent and handsome man out in the woods on a search for a rare snowy owl, but it didn't materialize. Instead he could just feel his mom smiling over the phone.

After a moment, "Uh-huh. I know, I know. We all know. Handsome man, snowy owl, funny little owl calls, et cetera."

"The most handsome man." She murmured, then laughed. There was no doubt she believed it with all of her heart, just as much as she knew that most other people found Jon's father to be more dorky and gangly then handsome. It amused her deeply.

"Mooooom." His eyes rolled back into his head.

"We had a picnic that same day." She teased.

"Mooooom!" It was the part after the picnic that he hated the most. The part about the kissing.

"Mmhm. So handsome." And she laughed again. Jon could hear his dad laughing in the background, probably listening in while his nose was in some book or paper on the ornithology.

"Okay, okay. In the morning I’ll see if I can get some interviews. Maybe Concon knows of someone who's hiring. I got a phone number to call, the guy who owns the Wonderplex I was telling you about, so I'll try that, too." Jon had been defeated. They would talk about jobs after all.

"Tell Coco I said hi and that we love her." Not even Jon's mother used Concon to refer to Constance. It was solely his nickname, born less out of cleverness and more out of his complete inability to say Constance or Coco when he was tiny. It had come out Concon and stuck.

"I will. I've seen John, too, and James briefly. I'll let them know you two said hi the next time I run into them." Jon tried his best to skip over John's name and get to James, but immediately he heard an amused gasp on the other end of the phone and knew it hadn't worked.

"Ooooh. You neglected to mention John was there." She sounded absolutely tickled. "Does this mean John Squared is back on the prowl again? Are you two going to pick up the ladies?"

"Mom!" Jon was exasperated.

In the background, Jon's dad was laughing again. He couldn't make out what he said, but it was clearly a question. Replying, his mother said, "I think that's a yes. Our little man is out there breaking hearts."

"I haven't met anyone, mom." Well. He hadn't brought anyone home, at least.

"Liar." Laughing, sweet and loving.

"I'm not seeing anyone!"

"Mmm. I believe you. You're not seeing anyone — yet. You better bring them home to meet us when you do." She was only half joking.

"Thaaaaaat's not happening." He wasn't joking at all.

"Hold on, your dad wants to say something." Jon heard them exchanging the phone and used the moment to take a very quiet sip of beer.

"Hey Kiddo!"

"Hey, dad. How are you?"

"I'm great, I'm just great. Have you seen the latest "Hobbit??" It had been out for months, but it wasn't like Jon's dad to go see anything in theatres. Movies just didn't exist until they were something he could watch at home with the wife, sharing a bottle of wine and a cheese plate.

"Yeah, of course. Opening night." In costume, even. Jon avoided telling his dad that he'd seen actual dragons in RhyDin, since it would just make him worry.

"Hey, I have a quick question for you.."

Oh lord, Jon thought. He's going to ask about his computer. As much as he had tried to teach his parents about how to use and maintain their computers, it had never stuck, and they refused to accept any other solution except to fix it themselves. Which meant calling their son, the wiz, for help. "Yeah, dad?"

"It's about the computer," of course it was, " I'm having trouble with it."

Jon spent the next twenty minutes walking his dad through zipping pictures and attaching them to an email. Old family photos. By the end of it, Jon's head hurt and he didn't care to have pictures of him and his cousins from the summer of "88.

"Okay. I'm going to hand you back to your mom now. Thanks kiddo! Love you!"

"Love you too, dad." He meant it, but now he really wanted the phone call to be over. His beer was getting uncomfortably warm and, if he was being honest with himself, bed was sounding like a good option, too.

"Hi, dear. I know you're itching to go, but I just want to know if you're okay." The light sweetness that had been present in her voice earlier was gone now, replaced with a concerned gravity.

"I'm not itching to get off the phone." A lie and an evasion. He immediately regretted saying them.

"You are, too, and you didn't answer the question." And they had been of no use.

Jon sighed, and for the first time tonight turned away from star gazing to look back into his still unpacked apartment. "I haven't had an attack since I moved here. I've been out jogging. The air quality is good. But.." Jon paused, unwilling to say what came next.

"You're not getting any better."

"..No, I'm not getting better. I have an appointment back home next month to see if the environment is having a positive effect, but so far I don't think we're going to see the results we wanted."

"Give it time. Your system just needs to adjust."

"We'll see, mom. We'll see. Hey, look, it's late, and I need to get up early in the morning if I'm going to get everything done on time. I love you, tell dad I love him. You guys be good, okay?"

"..Okay hun. If you don't want to talk about it, we don't have to talk about it. I'll call you again real soon. Do you want me to send you a care package in the mean time?"

A care package meant home cooked food, comics, and little treats. Of course Jon wanted one. "Sure, sure. Hobbes wants to know if you can pick up the latest issue of Saga for him."

Quietly laughing, "Of course. I'll stop by the shop tomorrow and pick up everything in your box. Good night, dear. We love you." In the background, Jon heard his dad ditto the feeling.

"Love you guys, too. Night.? Jon hung up after he heard the click on the other end of the line. Tension in his shoulders and chest dissolved into the uncomfortable weight of depression, which was now threatening to drag him down and ground him. Any time he talked about his health went like this. Sometimes he wish he could just be someone else, anyone else.

He finished his beer and took the empty bottle into the kitchen, dropping it into the recycling bin. In the least, he thought, he had managed to avoid tipping his hand. If he could only keep it up for a few more months or years he might actually get away with it before someone in the family showed up to drag him home.

Jon went to bed with a heavy head and a heavy heart and tried to lose himself in the deep waters of sleep.