This was originally published on my main blog, trans/plant/portation.
Chamber Speed
She watched him type into the screen, blazing away. He was quite the typist. His fingers sped over the glass, each a blur, as if he were doing something important enough to require orchestration. But it was important, Leitha figured.
“What are you selecting,” she asked, leaning over his shoulder. “Can we afford all of this?”
“I’m checking.” He answered slowly, not one good at multitasking. He dreaded doing any of this, but they were past last resorts.
“How much can we bring?”
“Enough, I think. Not much, though.”
He knew what they needed to take with them. Their vehicle, clothing for each of the two seasons that colonists would have to endure. They didn’t have enough money to cover bringing any dependents, but that was fine since they weren’t parents. SwiftSure Ltd. sure made applicants paid for every single thing—all of their inanimate objects would be quantified, typed, and weighed before boarding the chamber, supposedly in order to ensure that they received all of it back after the trip. He hadn’t told Leitha about how they paid for organic matter, because until this morning he didn’t really know himself.
“We need manual labor,” the recruiter from SwiftSure had said. “You look like a fit young man.”
“Yes sir.” Daffid had felt the need to oblige him. And he was basically fit, that just didn’t matter so much to him. The comfort of the recruitment station, the safety of leaving Earth, the possibilities for escaping as a particle of light, to be recombined somewhere else and have a chance at living to old age, that was why he was there. Any hint of laziness in his temperament didn’t matter. If this is what it took to get out, so be it.
“You married, Mr. Said?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How long?”
“Three years, sir.”
“That’s a nice time, three years,” the recruiter said, clicking through some kind of system on his tablet. Daffid couldn’t see, but he’d heard that answering any question wrong simply ended the interview; rejections were turned back out on the street.
“Okay,” he said, printing out a small slip of cardstock and handing it to Daffid. “Fill out the manifest tonight between 18:30 and 20:00 hours. The system will calculate your payment. I think you’re really going to like the colony.” With this, he clapped his gloved hand on Daffid’s shoulder, a hand that felt like cold lumber.
He looked at the system. He was short $500. Damn it.
“Oh no, we don’t have enough money,” asked Leitha. “Should we leave the vehicle?”
“We have to have the vehicle, it’s how I can get the highest-grade employment.”
“Oh.”
He asked her to fix up supper and he’d figure it out. She kissed him on the cheek. He listened to the pots banging in the kitchen, not far away. Inventorying the list again and again, he singled out items until there was nothing left to cut. The last resort after the last resort, what was that called, he wondered. He was glad to hear Leitha cooking even as he feared he’d vomit. His fingers flew over the glass effortlessly, and then he was done. He cleared the screen and walked into the kitchen, threading his fingers into hers as he strung a series of kisses down her neck. He just couldn’t leave her here to fend by herself. This was better.
“We have to be at the chamber around the corner with our things at 09:00 tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding cheery, “we can do that. I’m so excited, Daffid.”
“Me too,” he said, behind her as she stirred their dinner on the stove.
The chamber ride was instantaneous and exhilarating even though of course he wasn’t conscious for it. He felt like his cells were on fire, a blue lightning that kept coursing under his skin even after the lab techs awakened him.
“Said, Daffid,” said a tech in blue scrubs, “your items are at Bay 17. Your wife is at the medical incoming building, Building number 4. You should get your items first.” He handed Daffid a map.
Ignoring the instructions, Daffid hurried to Building number 4. He called out for Leitha.
“I’m here, Daffid?” He pulled aside a curtain to see her sitting up on a gurney, fondling her stump.
“I feel like it’s still a part of me,” she said, muttering and looking like she was in shock.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
She wiped away his tears with her remaining hand. “It’s okay,” she said. She swallowed hard. “We needed to keep the car.”
