When the World Ends by J. L. Forrest

Author:J. L. Forrest [Forrest, J. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Robot Cowgirl Press
Published: 2018-08-30T22:00:00+00:00

XX. Visions, Part III

A premonition—

White walls. White couches. White floor. White bathrooms. White bedrooms. White hallways. White furniture. White toothbrushes. White clothes. White lights.

Emerald accents. Patterned pillows. Charcoal cabinets. Mauve sheets. Silver utensils. Earthy orange plates. Enameled cookware.

Lightless outer space, as seen through clear diamondide windows.

No stars. We’re too close to Earth’s reflected glare, and this generates too many lumens, blotting any starshine.

I am riding in a cushioned, comfortable, enclosing chair on a Pod which is attached to a Carrier which is clipped to the Cogs which spiral around the spine which is the Corkscrew. Each Pod consists of four Rings. Once outside Earth’s gravity, a Ring’s rotation generates a centripetal equivalent of one gee for its passengers.

Each Pod rises at fifty kilometers per hour, and to reach our shuttle connections to the Orbiters will take thirty-three days. The energy required to ascend is less than a millionth of a twentieth-century rocket.

Cailín sits in the chair across from me, no longer dressed in leathers and furs but in a mint-green jumper, a vermillion scarf around her neck. Her lips, too, vermillion—makeup covering the violet of her mouth. Once long, Cailín’s hair is now short and bobbed.

Next to her sits Sadzie, clothed similarly, her hair blacker than Cailín’s. She wears a silver necklace, which I assume endemic to her tribe, but I don’t really know. She smiles at me.

Beside me, Cuth settles in his seat, hands folded in his lap. He fidgets, worries his lip, and stares past me out the window, mesmerized by the Earth, which spins relative to our Pod. Some passengers can’t watch out the windows or they throw up.

On one revolution, with Earth behind us, I glimpse our destination. The ship, formed like a double donut, hovers thousands of kilometers away but appears so god-sized it feels as if I could grab it like a frisbee.

An attendant brings tea and snacks. In a nearby play area, a group of children tussle. At a white table, two old farmers deal cards.

Seeing Cuth, how contented he is with me, with Cailín, with Sadzie, I know I’m dreaming.

Do inhibitions exist in dreams?

Cailín kisses Sadzie’s cheek, and Sadzie gazes at me, her eyes darker than mine, like raw cocoa or rich mulch. This is her dream too, and she leans toward me.

Our kiss tastes sweet, and whatever reserve she may have harboured melts like a spring frost in five degrees of global warming. She eases into the kiss.

The Carrier shakes.

Lights flicker and a metallic boom beats our eardrums. The Pod rattles and spins. Angular momentum translates into terrifying force, throwing anyone not strapped down, smacking bodies into bulkheads. Someone’s blood stipples my face.

The Corkscrew wobbles, bows, and breaks. Like a failing steel cable, but orders of magnitude more powerful, the line snaps, leaving the Carrier at the mercy of Earth’s gravity. The jolt of free-fall ratchets my stomach into my throat.

“We’re already dead,” Cuth shouts, “we just don’t know it yet!”

Another boom, and the Carrier tilts. Fire wraps its shell. The Carrier swims in fire.

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