The Settlers (29 page)

Angelika follows him up the stairs, then leans in his bedroom doorway and watches.

He stands before the closet, at a loss.

There's the beige sweater that Marguerite made for him before he shipped overseas.
Or the soft blue one that she knitted in front of the downstairs fireplace for their tenth anniversary.
There's the sad rust-colored one that he wore when he found her in her chair, cold and peaceful.
And there's the green one that she made for their first real family vacation.
He had worn it in Hawaii despite the heat.
 

My traveling sweater, he had called it.
 

Bernard picks up the hanger and turns to Angelika.
He holds the sweater up and raises his eyebrows.

Angelika studies it, then nods once.
 

Bernard carefully removes the sweater from the hanger and pulls it on.
He replaces the hanger in the closet, then runs his hands over the remaining sweaters.
He gathers them in his arms, draws them tight.
He tries to hold the sob deep inside so that Angelika won't hear it, but he fails.

He feels her small hands encircle his leg.

Bernard cries and cries and cries.

He is the oldest man aboard the shuttle.
 

Even now, over a century after the first settlers fled Earth, citizens over the age of fifty are not permitted to migrate.
Angelika, in this case, is Bernard's saving grace.
She has inherited her parents' settlement rights, but as an orphan, she cannot migrate without a guardian.
 

Bernard slips through the loophole.

The shuttle traces a golden path through the sky like a sparkler.

Angelika attends a school in the fourth district of Argus City, and Bernard is assigned employment there as well.
He is grateful for this closeness.
He cannot bear the idea of Angelika being whisked away each day while he, at his age, travels equally far to put items into boxes for hours and hours.
 

Instead, he stands in the school's cafeteria, watching children eat lunch, and intervening when childhood warfare erupts.
He is happy that the children are generally well-behaved.
His diplomacy skills have rusted in the years since Sara was a child.

The days are repetitive, and Bernard settles into the routine with groaning bones and tired hands.
Soon he will be too old for this, and what of Angelika then?
He worries daily about her future.
When he dies, what will happen to her?
 

Machine-class residents have little control over these things.

Bernard wakes to a thumping at the door.
Angelika is at his side, pulling at his hand.
When she sees that he is awake, she points at the door to their quarters.
 

He nods.
I'm awake, child.
 

He makes his way across their small home to the door.
 

Who is it?
he asks.

Courier, comes the reply.

Angelika retreats into the corner of the room and sinks to the floor.
She hasn't grown accustomed to people visiting their home yet.
 

Bernard opens the door a sliver and leans into the gap.
 

The woman outside says, Congratulations, sir, and hands Bernard a slim package in metallic charcoal-colored paper.

What is it?
he asks.

Turn it over, she says.
 

He does.
Embossed on the paper is a single word:

ONYX

I don't understand, he says.

The courier says, I deliver maybe one of these every six months.
Don't question it.
 

But what is it?
 

You should open it, sir, the courier says, and walks away.

Bernard carries the package to the dining table and sits down.
 

Angelika comes over.
She looks at the package questioningly.

Bernard holds it up, turns it over, shows her the embossed label.

She looks at him with the same question in her eyes.

I don't know, he says.
 

His fingers seem to be trembling.

Inside are three objects.

The first is a small, silvery card.
 

Bernard inhales sharply.

He turns the card over.
There's an empty rectangle printed on the surface, but nothing else.
 

He looks at Angelika.
Her curiosity is apparent.

He presses his thumb against the rectangle.

The card shimmers to life, revealing an identity profile.

Micah Roderick Sparrow

0627J007-1211-E

H 5'11"
 
W 192

Bernard says, Oh, my.

He shows the card to Angelika, who betrays no recognition.
 

Do you remember?
Bernard asks.
We met this man on the shuttle.
He tried to give me this card then.
 

Angelika shakes her head.
 

Right, Bernard says.
I had forgotten that you were asleep.
Well, this man was there with us.
He wanted to give me his card, but the authorities wouldn't let him do it.
 

Angelika just looks at him with big eyes.

Bernard smiles, then touches the rectangle on the card again.

Micah's profile shimmers away, replaced by a single red line of text:

Deceased September 12, 2185

Bernard gasps and drops the card.
 

Angelika jumps.
 

My god, Bernard says.
He stares at the card as if it were a weapon.
Then, carefully, he picks it up again.

He stares at those words.
 

Deceased September 12, 2185

Oh, that poor man, Bernard whispers.

Angelika points at the rectangle, which is pulsing gently.

Bernard sighs, and presses his thumb to the card.
 

Micah's epitaph vanishes, replaced with a new profile.

Bernard Samuel Hinske

1244M943-8920-R

H 5'9"
 
W 164

Bernard has no words.
 

He stares at the card for a long time.
His own photograph stares back with warm, tired old eyes.
Then he remembers the other objects in the box.
 

The second item is a silvery booklet.
The cover reads

Welcome to the ONYX Program

Bernard opens it briefly, sees the mountain of words inside, and closes it again.
 

Angelika reaches across the table for the third item, then looks up at Bernard.

He nods.
It's okay.