CARGO - Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

It was my day off. No mops, no brooms, no gravity scrubbers. 

There's a fake window in my cabin. If you've got a window in your room you don't feel like you're down deep in the middle of a spaceship. You aren't trapped at all! You could pull that curtain back and desperately climb to freedom whenever you wanted. Except the curtain doesn't open. There's just a light behind it.

The light is programmed to shine brighter on my day off though. That's thoughtful. Or maybe it is a careful psychological choice, designed to maintain morale. Which is still thoughtful, I guess.

I showered, I dried myself. I opened the closet where my Janitor uniform hangs. 

"Not today, Satan," I told it gently, and I moved it aside. 

I put on my civilian clothes. I pulled on my civilian shoes. I looked in the mirror, and I tried to smile. It looked forced. So I put on my civilian reasonable look of contentment. 

"Let the good times roll."

I opened the door and I started my day. 

Jonathan was waiting for me. Leaning against the wall in his crew uniform. He was twenty five years old, maybe. Thirty. I can't tell the difference anymore. He was young. 

He was young, but he treated me with respect. The fact that I was eighty one years old didn't matter. The fact that I was technically a resident of this retirement facility didn't matter. We both worked for a living. He worked in logistics and implementation. I worked in janitorial.

To Jonathan that was all that mattered. He wasn't being kind or generous or any of that dog garbage. He just honestly didn't care. I was another crew member. He treated me the same way he treated everyone else.

Which is to say, he hassled me. 

He handled logistics and delivery for some of the ship's smaller robotics programs. Service animals being the main one. It was the reason he kept showing up at my door. It was the reason he was leaning against the wall in my hallway.

"Good morning," he said. 

"Promotion?" I asked. "Congratulations. Holding up walls is probably a lot more rewarding than hassling people about robot dogs."

"I'm not trying to hassle you, Charles. Did I bang on your door? Did I ring your bell incessantly? No. I've been waiting until the ship said you were awake. You think I like getting yelled at?"

"I didn't yell at you," I said. Jonathan looked skeptical. "I expressed my opinions firmly."

"I need you to sign off on the specs for your service animal. Then I'm gone." He holds up his tablet to me. Like it was somehow my problem.

"No thank you," I said, at a very reasonable volume. "I don't need a service animal. I work hard, I am good at my job. I carry my weight."

"I'm not the bad guy here," Jonathan said. "I don't want to bother you on your day off. But you asked me not to interfere with your workday. You were very clear on that. And if you ever responded to your messages, I wouldn't have to be here at all."

"I respond to every official message I receive." 

"A single question mark," he said. "That's not a response."

It was the perfect response. A single question mark. It could mean anything at all, or absolutely nothing. But it was a response. You couldn't say I didn't respond.

"I think my message was very clear," I said. "I don't know how I could have made it more simple." I smiled. "I hate seeing you so stressed out, Jonathan. You don't want to end up needing a service animal yourself." 

"They're going to send me again," he said. "They're going to keep sending me."

"Then this isn't goodbye," I told him. "It's 'see you soon.'" 

I walked off toward the elevator. There. Now I was smiling. Now my day could begin. By the time I turned the second corner, I could already smell the forest. It was going to be a good day. I could feel it.

The elevator ride down to the transfer deck was a quick one. Still, it was enough time to notice that whoever was assigned to clean the elevators didn't take very much pride in their work. I leaned down instinctively. The undersides of the handrails weren't clean. The bottom of the control tablet had dust on it. There were so many delicate electronics hidden in these walls. 

Dust. I fought the urge to wipe the underside of the panel.

No. 

It was my day off.

The elevator let me out on the transfer deck, and there was no line. Only Marlene, standing in front of the automatic door to the sterilization room. The door wasn't opening for her. She stepped back and then stepped forward. Still nothing. Her hair is a sharp silver, and it suits her. She is eighty five years old and she has better posture than I ever had.

"Is it broken?" I said, and she turned to grin at me.

"No, it's me that is," she said. "Hi Chuck! I figured it out. I killed myself officially in the computer records. I borrowed some medical credentials. Okay I falsified some medical credentials. Okay, I hacked it. Anyway, now I'm buried at sea! Flag draped casket. Drifting off in the asteroids or whatever. Nobody on the ship can track me. I'm invisible." She lowered her voice. "I can do what needs to be done," she said, cartoonishly ominous. 

I reached where she was standing and the door recognized me. It slid open with no problem at all.

"See?" she said. "Perfect working order!" Her service animal was clinging to the collar of her shirt. A small bat, with a snub little face. I can never remember his name. "Prom," she said. "You always forget. He doesn't mean anything by it, Prom. You've got a weird name is all. Hard to form associations. Mnemonics or whatever. What? Oh." She smiled at me. "I never went to my high school prom," she said to me. 

"How am I going to remember that you didn't go to your high school prom?"

"Oh. Well." She didn't miss a beat. "You didn't go to my high school prom either! Surely you can remember that. This isn't rocket science. Anyway I wasn't allowed to go. I was suspended for hacking. I changed everyone's grades by one percent."

"One percent?"

"It makes all the difference in the world, Charles." The door closed again, and Marlene waved her hand in front of it. Nothing happened. "Wave at the door," she said. So I waved at the door.

It slid open.

"Ooooooo," she whispered. "I'm a ghost."

And then she turned and walked away.

On the other side of the sterilization room I entered the forest. I sat on one of the benches and I took my shoes off. The dirt under the skin of my feet was soft. I loved the feeling of my weight sinking into it. Like it was accepting me. Alive. 

Paths led off in all directions. In between the leaves and the trees. Between the bushes and moss and vines that sprawled across the forest floor. The ground mint. There were so many different species of plant life here. The whole deck of the ship is devoted to this forest. It stretches up to a canopy of leaves. And higher. The sunlight is bright here, near the entrances, but down the paths it gets darker. Quieter. 

I loved the cool air. I loved to feel life all around me. There are sixteen decks dedicated to forests and algae colonies. Only one of them is open to the public, though. Curated. A giant park for the staff and residents to visit. The plants are more diverse. The whole deck is landscaped to include benches and more vibrantly coloured flowers. Miles and miles of pathways and hidden valleys, they tell us. Streams and low hills.

The forest deck was divided in two. This was the Afternoon Forest. This was where I liked to spend my day off. So I could see the leaves. So I could watch the tree branches sway above me. The other half of the deck was devoted to the Night Forest. Glow ponds and lamppost lined paths.

Today I was after a softer sort of darkness, though. Shadows and peace. I went as deep into the forest as I could. Far from the entrances and the staff on their lunch breaks. Far from the guided botanical tours of various species that the residents could take. Deeper. 

I loved the feeling of soft soil under my feet, but I didn't want to step off the path and crush the moss or the small mint-smelling leaves. I didn't want to hurt anything. I just wanted to be surrounded by life. I would love to disappear into those trees, though. To just sink into the unknown.

I found myself a thick tree beside the path and I sat down. The bark was soft with decay through the thin fabric of my shirt. 

I imagine that there is a door, way back from the path, where only thin shafts of simulated sunshine reach the forest floor. A door that leads to stairs. Not an elevator, but old stone stairs that are carved down and down into the other decks. Where stranger and more wild forests of plantlife grow and bloom and live.

The other decks are off limits. They are part of the life support system. They provide the ship with oxygen. A delicate balance, we're told. Those decks are protected from our prying eyes and our unbalancing interference. It's all very technical.

But I know better. I know that the decks get wilder and wilder below. That eventually they turn to swampland, to marsh, to salt water and plankton. Giant creatures in almost pure darkness, move gracefully through the kelp, creatures moving so slowly that you can hardly tell. God, if I could just find that door and…

"Charles," The voice startled me out of my dream. Soup stood above me. My deck supervisor. Even he looked more peaceful down here. In the slivers of light through the canopy above. "There you are," he said. He crouched down. It took him a moment, but he didn't wince or make a face. He just took his time. It gave my eyes a moment to really focus again. 

"Oh for fuck's sake. I don't need a service animal," I told him. 

"I heard," he said. "Jonathan came to see me." Soup looked up at the trees and smiled. "It really is nice down here. I can see why you like it. "

"Did I hurt his feelings?"

"You know, I think you did. Just a little." Soup said. "He has duties just like the rest of us, Charles. He can be a bit insistent, I know. He's particular. It's frustrating for him when he can't finish a task."

"Maybe he needs fifteen minutes in the Wellness Room?"

Soup was the supervisor for our whole deck, and everyone just called him Soup. He liked it. He interpreted it more like Superman than Chicken Noodle I imagine. He didn't act like anyone's boss, though. I'll give him that. Sometimes he was a bit too friendly for my taste. Personable, you might call it. If you were feeling generous.

"He's just the messenger," Soup said. "Your last medical put you on the list to get a service animal, and in my experience that means you're getting a service animal."

"I'm old, not an invalid," I said, and immediately cut myself off. Soup knew. He was only a year or two younger than me. He knew how I felt.

And I was being judgmental about the service animals.

I remembered Yukiko's cat, nuzzling her chin down in Yellow Circle. Her job is to sit with the dying. 

She doesn't nurse, or clean, or care for the residents in any physical way. She simply makes sure that they aren't alone. When they wake up in the middle of the night, she's there. She's there to say, "I'm here." This whole ship is a retirement home, and there are hundreds of different jobs. Her job is to be there so nobody has to be alone before they die. 

But that means her job is to be there when they die, too. 

To stand up, and turn the lights off afterward.

So, Yukiko has a service animal. And I respect that. The work she does is important and it is necessary. If a service animal gives her any comfort at all, I'm glad. It isn't a weakness to need help. And human beings aren't always going to be there for you.

"If you don't pick, they just send a dog." Soup said.

"I don't need a service animal. I enjoy my work. I enjoy my days off." I looked at him. "Well, I usually enjoy my days off," I corrected myself. The edge in my voice didn't bother Soup at all. Not his problem. He shrugged. He stood up again, and this time he winced with the effort. "It's the moisture down here," I said.

"Be nicer to Jonathan," he said. "He's just a kid."

"Lots of people are nice to Jonathan already," I said. "I bet he finds me refreshing."

"He does not find you refreshing."

"Well, he's wrong."

"I'll let him know."

I watched Soup walk away, and just before he disappeared into the green, he stopped.

"Treacle," he said.

"What?"

"I couldn't think of the word. It's like treacle. That's how it feels down here in the forest. I really can see why you love it, Charles. Treacle." He smiled to himself for remembering the word, and then he was gone and it was quiet and soft and cool again.

For a while I tried to relax back into the daydreams of whole oceans beneath me. Sea creatures that have long been extinct, brought back to life by genetic scientists with a twinkle in their eye. Not for any reason but because they could.

I love the idea of life that isn't us. Plankton and sea worms a dozen decks below, in hidden oceans. All of them living their secret lives without ever seeing a human, without ever being seen by a human. I have always loved the idea of life that goes on without us, that thrives whether we are there or not. It makes me feel like I am a small part of something bigger. Unimportant in the best possible way. 

Eventually I climbed to my feet. Braced my hand against the tree for balance. There was a dull ache, but I ignored it. Moisture in the air down here.

The elevator ride back up to my home deck was uneventful. Nobody was around. Off at work, or asleep. It was quiet. I walked down two long hallways before I realized I was being followed. I could hear a whispering sound behind me. And I caught a glimpse in the reflection of a glass panel. There was a shape. Small and blurry. Low to the ground. It moved in a strange see-saw motion. Unfamiliar. Alien. 

When I turned around, he stopped. I don't know dog breeds. He was small and grey and old, and he was missing his front left leg. That explained the hitch in his giddy-up. His left eye was completely white. He sat down, a few feet from me. We looked at one another in silence. 

So they were done asking. 

He didn't wag his tail. Which is fair enough. I didn't wag mine. He just looked at me, head cocked to one side. I had never seen a service animal like this. Service animals were robots. And they were all perfect. Fun. Cheerful. Comforting. 

Pretty.

This little guy was not pretty. 

"Did anyone ever tell you you have a face for dog radio?"

His tongue hung out from the exertion of walking, and his breathing sounded laboured. He ignored my insult, and laid his head on the floor. He kept looking at me. Not pleading, just curious. Watching.

"I don't need a service animal," I told him. "I don't care what the medical tests say about my feelings. Or my psychology. Or whatever box they think I ticked." 

I stood there staring at him, trying to feel indignant. But he wasn't running at me or jumping on me all excited and fake. He looked tired. I felt bad about the dog radio crack. He didn't choose this anymore than I did. He wasn't trying to cheer me up. He was just sitting there, struggling to catch his breath. 

I started to feel like an asshole. 

There was no reason to let him wheeze like that.

"Let's get you a drink, at least," I said. I turned and walked toward my cabin. Then I stopped and looked back at him, waiting. He climbed to his feet and followed with his awkward walk. He didn't come into my cabin though. He stayed in the hall.

I filled one of my cereal bowls with cool water. Not too cold. I find it hard to drink water when it is too cold. Maybe it's the same for dogs. If they make robots that are too dumb to come inside, maybe they make them with cold-sensitive teeth. 

When I opened the door again, he was still there. He still wouldn't come in, so I went out. I set the bowl of water in front of him. He sniffed it cautiously and then he started lapping it up like he hadn't had anything to drink in weeks. He was splashing it everywhere. I'm surprised any of it got into his mouth.

"I don't really think you're dumb," I said, watching him. "I wouldn't go into a stranger's cabin either. Hey. Hey, slow down. You're gonna make yourself sick." He did not slow down, though. 

I could hear the hum of the ship's engines deep below, quieter than the splashing gulping small wet noises that were getting all over the floor. When he finished, there was water everywhere except the bowl. He had a collar. I reached down and ran my fingers around it. There. A name tag. 

"Hi Mitchie," I said. "I'm Charles."

He only had one good eye, but in the clear bright eye there was something that seemed very real. He didn't hold himself like one of the service robots. He didn't want to nuzzle me, or tell me how smart I was. 

If anything, he looked tired. He looked like he just needed a home. 

"It must be a hard life out there for ugly robot dogs."

Maybe that's what my psychological profile had told the ship. Maybe that's a kind of service animal, too. Not everyone needs something to take care of them. Some people need to care for something. Was that what I was missing? I'd never even considered it.

I have my work, and my trips to the forest. I'm not unhappy. 

And I don't think I'm lonely.

But I wanted to help him.

Mitchie. 

I wanted to help him, if I could. I looked down at him, like I was making up my mind, but it was already decided. He needed a home. I could give him that. For now, anyway. The ship was just going to keep sending people to bother me about it. And maybe I'd like him. 

Maybe he'd like me. 

I picked up the bowl. Was I going to have to be crouching down every five minutes? Boy, that was going to be fun.

Mitchie put his head on the floor right in a puddle of water, and closed his eyes. 

"Get your head out of that," I said, and he looked up at me. I pushed the button to open my cabin door. "People are gonna think I'm your service dog, you little dipstick."

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