The blue blur of Neptune slid by underneath them, a faintly curved horizon slanting across the gallery window in the bar. The twisting ribbons of the planet’s atmosphere glowed in the spotlights on the underside of the Trident. It was an unsettling sight. It seemed too close. Ted thought he should hear the planet roar.
His footsteps clicked on the marble floor as he entered the room. Unidentifiable music drifted through the still, cool air. Above the bar hung an illuminated canopy, twinkling with a thousand champagne-coloured shards of glass. Glowing in the golden light beneath, there was a selection of just about every alcohol imaginable.
The décor aimed for rich and sumptuous but it fell short. With laughter and the chink of glasses and a little bit of warmth, maybe it would get there. But the Trident wasn’t a busy hotel right now◦– Ted wondered if it ever was◦– and of the couple of dozen tables here, only one was occupied.
As he reached the bar, he glanced out of the window again. A shadow was biting at the stars. (And he tried to ignore the one, slightly brighter dot in the distance. The Sun, so far behind him.) The silhouette of a new ship, coming in to dock. At least the Trident would have more guests soon.
He wondered who they might be. He wondered if they’d meet. He wondered if there was any point.
There was no server at the bar; you were supposed to just help yourself. Despite the price he had paid to stay here, and for FentiCorp’s services, he still felt awkward about that, so he poured himself a modest gin from a gem-blue bottle, then smothered it with tonic. He took a couple of deep swallows before he went to join Marco at the table.
“How did it go?” Marco’s eyes reflected the shimmering gold light from the bar. “Everything okay?”
“I guess. Well. It was a bit…” He put his drink down and turned the glass this way and that, staring at the clear liquid. “I mean, didn’t you find it weird?”
Marco shrugged and sipped at his own drink. “We’re outta here,” he said, flicking his fingers towards the window. “What does it matter?”
Ted gulped at his gin again. Marco drained his own glass, then slipped into the next chair round the table, closer to Ted. He put his hand on his knee. “Make it better?” Marco’s eyes sparkled in the dim light of the bar. Oh, those champagne eyes.
Ted laughed. He leant over and kissed him. “Not tonight, babe.”
Marco’s hand climbed higher. “You can’t refuse a man on his last night in the solar system.”
“Second to last.”
“Details.” Higher still. “We’re condemned men now. Nothing left to live for. Nobody looking over our shoulder. May as well enjoy the freedom.”
Ted shuffled his leg away. “Seriously,” he said, trying to inject amusement into his voice but◦– really? Condemned? “Just leave it, Marco.”
Marco stiffened and sat upright. “Fine.”
“Don’t be like that. It’s been a weird day.”
“Sure it has, yeah.”
“Marco, baby.”
Marco pushed his empty glass into the centre of the table. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”
Condemned. Like what? Like the way a building is condemned? Uninhabitable. Unsafe. Ready for demolition.
Or like a soul is condemned?
Ted hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d come back to find Marco in bed, sleeping◦– or, more likely, pretending to sleep. He’d lain down next to him, but his thoughts would not lie down too.
Ted was annoyed. He didn’t like being unable to sleep, and on the rare occasions insomnia had troubled him, it was because there were too many thoughts whirling round his head. The last time, it had been when they were first talking about selling their liferights. All those things to think about: what would their friends say? Their family? Could they afford to buy passage out of the system? Did they even really want to leave, knowing they wouldn’t be welcome back? They would have to give up everything, but was it worth it? It was no wonder Ted lost a few nights’ sleep to that decision.
But tonight, there was just the one thought. And that single thought wouldn’t let in any others, and it roared like Neptune should be roaring.
They were leaving behind their bodies. What remained after that was condemned.
Ted quietly got out of bed, grabbed a robe and slipped out of the room. The corridor outside was chilly and silent. The tiled floor was cold beneath his bare feet, so he headed down to the lounge, where he could grab a coffee and enjoy the deep pile of the only carpets aboard the Trident.
He turned the corner into the lobby, and he heard the drone of a vacuum cleaner coming from the next room. There was someone in the lounge, cleaning those precious carpets, by the sounds of it. But the hotel was automated. There was no one else here. Just Ted, Marco, and their…
Ted’s clone passed the open door of the lounge, pushing the vacuum ahead of him. Ted froze. He stood by the corner of the corridor, hovering half out of sight. Just about the last thing he needed was a conversation with his clone. He needed to clear his head, not muddy it further.
He watched his clone for a moment, crossing this way and that past the open door. The clone was almost smiling. He seemed… Ted thought the best word for it was ‘content’ and, for a moment, he was reassured. Maybe this was the right thing after all, for his copy as well as himself.
In a few days, once Ted had left the solar system for good, that clone would head inwards, back towards the Sun, back to where he was needed. The property of FentiCorp, sure, but he had a guaranteed job for life. And, thanks to the behavioural conditioning that was part of the force-grow process, his clone would be happy. He’d have a fraction of a life, but it would be enough. For him.
Ted slipped back round the corner, out of sight. He leant against the metal wall and sighed. Maybe Marco had been right all along. Maybe they didn’t need their liferights, because maybe their life was just a piece of shit. FentiCorp was welcome to it. About the only good thing they had was each other◦– and they got to keep that, along with a ticket to a new life out there, beyond the edge of the solar system. So what if they leave behind a couple of familiar-looking shells. Who gives a shit?
That’s the past.
What they get in return is the future. All their screw-ups put behind them. A fresh start. A blank slate.
In the end, Ted stayed up all night, watching old movies in the entertainment suite. His eyes were dry and sore when he finally realised what time it was. He rushed to the restaurant to find Marco, breakfast done, finishing off his coffee.
Ted sat down next to him.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “I was just feeling a bit shitty. I shouldn’t have been so weird with you.”
Marco arched a sniffy eyebrow as he drained his cup. “Good morning to you, too.”
Ted grabbed Marco’s free hand and squeezed it. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. Marco smiled, despite himself.
“So how do you want to spend the day?”
“One thing,” Marco said, “before all that.”
“Anything.”
“Just answer me honestly. You want to go back, don’t you?”
Ted glanced out of the gallery window and instantly regretted it. He knew how it would look to Marco, how it would seem like he was casting one last, longing gaze at home, and so he knew he wouldn’t believe his answer when it came. But it was the truth: “No. I don’t. I promise you.” He squeezed Marco’s hand again. “I was just feeling a bit funny about… about what we’re leaving behind.”
“What we’re leaving behind? What are we leaving? Your dad, who hates me? My fucking family, in and out of fucking court every five minutes? Or maybe your glittering career in civil engineering. You make sewers, Ted. People literally shit on your job.”