The Settlers (21 page)

Mae, I don't want to live in space.
I want to live right here, in this house on this shore with this view and this rain and this creaky old pier and these trees.
I want our kids to plant their own trees in this yard and watch them grow to a hundred feet tall.
I want them to carve little notches in the door frames each year to see how much
they've
grown.
I want to fill this house with a lifetime of our things so that one day there's this pleasant clutter that we'll always find some memory buried in.
I want a happy and long life right here, Mae.
And I want you with me.
 

I know all of that, Micah.
And don't worry.
You'll win.
You'll get to have all of that.
 

Mae, come on --

No.
No, that's what you want.
I know.
You want me to sulk for a couple of days, then get over it, and we'll get old and wrinkly and pretend that there was never a time when we fought about this.
You might actually forget about it for real.
In fact, I know you will.
That's what you do.
You've got one big-ass rug in your brain, Micah, and you're really good at sweeping shit under it that you never want to see again.
 

Mae, please --

No!
No, that's what's going to happen.
You'll be this oblivious, cheerful old man, and all of our grandchildren will love you because you're so happy, because you're living the perfect life you've always dreamed of, and every day is just a vacation for you.
And they'll have less of a connection with me, because they'll know, somehow, somewhere deep inside, that something isn't quite right about Grandma.
They won't know what it is, but they'll be able to tell, because when a person has a dream that they've dreamed of their whole life, and they don't get a single chance to accomplish it in the single life that belongs to them, they just sort of wither inside, Micah, they dry up and rot on the inside, and the nice thing is that nobody can see it on the outside, not really well, so everybody else can pretend that everything is okay.
But not me, Micah.
I'll get the great pleasure of dying a little inside every single day that you get to have the life you want, and I have to put my own dreams in a fucking box and fucking burn it.

You're on the eighty-fifth floor, the escort had said.
I hope you're not afraid of heights.
And if you are, just imagine two things.
First, remember that there are four hundred fifteen floors that are even higher than yours.

And second?
Micah asked.

Oh, just that you're already thirty thousand miles above the place where you were born, the escort said cheerfully.
 

That's reassuring, Micah said.
Is it really thirty thousand miles?
 

Thirty-two thousand miles, six hundred feet.
Or something like that.

Huh, Micah said.
Hey, before -- before you said that everything would be explained.
You know that my Onyx card isn't actually mine, right?
 

You inherited it, the escort said.
Right.
Don't worry about that.
We have quite a few inheritors.
It's not unusual to inherit an Onyx card without having taken the classes.

There are classes?
 

Oh, yes.
Every Onyx-class candidate takes a twelve-week course on Earth after they're identified.

What sort of classes?
Micah had asked.

Oh, everything from what to expect from an artificial-grav environment to how to interact effectively with an A.I.
to a history series about the stations, the escort said.
Pretty basic orientation stuff, really.

So what do, um, inheritors do to learn this stuff?
 

I'll introduce you to your A.I., the escort said.
Let's zip up to your floor, then.

My A.I.?
Micah had asked.

Sure.
It'll be great, don't worry.
 

Do I have to have an A.I.?
What if I just want to be alone?
 

Oh, that's the best part, the escort said.
You just tell the A.I.
to go away.
Just say, Bob, I'd like to be alone.
And there you go.
 

Bob?
 

Well, you can name yours whatever you want.
I'm sure somebody chose Bob for theirs.
 

But not you?
 

Oh, I don't have an A.I., Mr.
Sparrow.

You don't?
Micah asked.
Why not?
That seems unfair.

I'm Machine-class, sir, the escort said.
 

Machine-class.
 

It's grand, sir, the escort said cheerfully.
Your A.I.
will teach you all about it.
I'm sure you'll enjoy it.

Machine-class, Micah repeated.

Yes, sir.
Let's take the lift now, shall we?
 

And up they went.

I don't think you should go.

It's not up to you.

Maybe.
I guess.
But I wish you wouldn't.
 

This is kind of serious, Micah.
It's a good opportunity for me at work.
If I do well, it might change the way they perceive me.
Who knows, it could turn into a promotion, even.
 

I don't like you going away when we're in the middle of a fight.
 

I don't like fighting with you, Micah.
 

I don't like fighting with you, either.
We should just call a cease-fire.
Truce.
 

That only works when it's not an important fight.
It won't work for this.

What if you don't come back?

Is that what you're afraid of?
 

I'm afraid you won't come back.
 

I'll come back.
Even if it's just to get my stuff.
 

That's not funny.
 

I know.
 

Are you serious?

I think a little break will put things in perspective, Micah.
But it's not going to change my point.
 

Then why take a break?
We'll be in the same place then that we are now.

Because I'm tired of sleeping badly because we're both all worked-up over this.
It'll be good for us.
You need the break, too.
 

I don't.
I don't want it.
 

Micah, it's just two weeks.
I'm going to be working.
You'll be working.
We'll hardly notice it.

I'll notice it.
 

Micah.

I will.
I'll come home to this place, empty.
You'll go home to a fancy hotel, probably nice dinners with your boss, who knows what.

Don't imply anything.
That's not going to help.

I'm sorry.
I can't help it.
I'm a wreck thinking about you leaving.

You'll have this place to yourself again.
You love it here.
It'll be good for you.

I don't want it to myself.

Micah.
Make the most of the two weeks.
Think about something else.
Work on a project.
 

I could build the crib.
The one we talked about.

Don't do that.
 

What?
Why not?
 

Micah, don't do that.
You know what you're doing.
Don't do that.
Build a bookcase or something.
 

Shit.
You aren't coming back, are you.
You're really not coming back, and you already know it.
You're just dragging this out.
Well, if that's what you're going to do, then do it.
Rip it off, Mae.
Do it.

Micah, it's a work trip.
I'm coming back.

You don't want me to build the crib.

You're just being awful to yourself if you build it, Micah.
We aren't ready for kids and won't be any time soon.
We have real things to figure out here.
 

I can't believe that moving to space is the thing we have to figure out.
I can't believe moving to space is the thing that might ruin us.
 

Well, that's a problem.
You even treat the idea of this problem like a joke.

Oh, I didn't mean it like that, Mae.
I --

I think you did.
Look, I'm going to pack.
We can talk a bit more tonight, and in the morning I have to fly out.
My flight is at six, so I'll be gone early.

Where's the trip to?
 

Tokyo.
 

Where are you staying?

I don't know.
I have the itinerary somewhere.
You can have a copy, okay?
But Micah, I want to treat this like a time-out.
I don't want to talk to you every night.
I don't want to hear about your day.
I want time to think about our future without you putting your foot in your mouth.
 

I can't even call?
 

Look.
I love you.
I have always loved you, and I always will, no matter what.
But Micah, you think that my biggest, most life-long dream is a farce, and you're standing in the way of me ever even having a chance to accomplish it.
So yes, we have things to figure out, and no, I don't want to talk to you for a little while.