CADE
“Don’t do this,” said Cade’s father, Ben Coleman, standing in the doorway the morning of the expedition, preventing his son from leaving the family’s living quarters.
Ben Coleman was a good head taller than Cade, and a good hundred pounds heavier, with more fat visible on his frame than muscle by far. His receding hair had more orange in it than red, and boasted a few smudges of greyish white. The fingers on his big hands were like vices, tightly gripping the doorframe. His round, protruding belly was like a big doorstop, ready to bounce Cade back if he tried to push through. He was wearing a white work apron, and the lower end of it cascaded down over the front of his belly, making a wrinkle down the middle of the dense plastic material. Though he leaned forward, towering over Cade imperiously, his face told a different story from the rest of his body language. He looked terrified.
Cade took a deep breath, adjusting the strap of his pack against his shoulder. From the moment his father had stepped into the doorway, he’d mostly stared forward, fixated on that white apron, but now he raised his gaze.
“And what do you want me to do?”
“Stay!”
Cade sighed. “Ben...”
“Don’t call me that!” Ben said, letting go of the doorframe with one hand so he could point in Cade’s face. “I’m your father! When did you become like this!?”
A complicated question with any number of answers. None of which would satisfy Ben, that was for sure.
“Is this really how you feel about me?” Ben went on. “No respect? Don’t care what I have to say?”
“It’s not so much that,” Cade said. “We just...disagree.”
“On what? Your safety? The safety of our family?”
Ben leaned closer, intruding into Cade’s space. Cade deliberately didn’t move, didn’t wince.
“She needs you now more than ever. Can’t you see that? The Cloister is stretched thin, right now. They need me in the food processing bay, and your mother needs you.”
Don’t look over at her. Don’t. Not right now.
But then, of course, Cade did.
Cade's mother, Mariah Coleman, was in front of the prep station next to the sink, getting Ben’s lunch ready.
She was unresponsive to the situation, of course. She had her head down, focused on her work. She was muttering, conversing with no one in particular. She wasn’t aware of this conversation taking place. She certainly wouldn’t be participating in it. Not consciously.
Her long, thick, unkempt hair draped one side of her face as she worked, coming down to her elbow and waist. She’d stopped grooming properly a long time ago. While Cade made an effort to brush and comb her hair now and then, he didn’t always have the time, particularly these past few days. He also didn’t quite have the heart to cut it. She’d always kept her hair long. She liked it that way.
“You have a duty to your family, Cade. I’ve tolerated the time you’ve been putting into your ‘computer’ work, and your extra-curricular activities, but you really are taking things too far, this time.”
Maintenance of the Cloister’s computer systems was just as crucial as food processing, but there wouldn’t be any point in trying to explain it. He would simply refuse to believe it.
“It’s not just the fact that you’re going to be gone,” Ben said, realizing that Cade still wasn’t going to respond, taking the chance to push forward with his argument. “It’s the fact that you might not ever come back.”
“If I don’t go,” Cade said, “Then the Cloister will be destroyed. It’s a certainty.”
“There’s nothing certain about it. You haven’t been around as long as I have. Dangers come and go. The Cloister always remains.”
It was pointless. And Cade had suspected as much.
The entire tapestry of The Cloister was woven and held together by threads of faith. The bunker was safe and secure, because people believed it was. Even now, in the face of certain disaster, everyone continued to work and live as normal, as they’d always done, because they believed their home was immutable. As long as they kept their heads down, and continued to work and pray, everything would work out.
Only, that wasn’t entirely true. Not this time. This time was different.
“Just think of it as a salvage mission,” Cade said. “We’re looking for technology we need. Tools we can use to help people.”
“Perhaps,” Ben said. “But what I don’t understand is why it has to be you.”
Because I’m smart, and resourceful. Because I have the skills. Because I’m one of the few who are actually willing to go. Because I’m still young enough, and discontent enough, to believe there’s something better out there, and to actually try for it.
All things there would be no point in saying out loud. Cade had already fallen into the trap of trying to defend himself, justify his actions.
Why?
“I’m sorry,” Cade said, standing firm. “But I’m going to be late. I need to go.”
The damage was visible as Ben took a step back. “Just like that? You’re not even going to say goodbye?”
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“...Goodbye, then?”
“No.” Ben pointed, his face drawn in severe angles. “To her.”
Ah. Of course. One final shot. A Hail Mary. A guilt-trip grenade. Pull the pin and see what happens.
Still. He was right, wasn’t he? What was Cade thinking, wanting to leave without saying goodbye?
Besides the fact that it would be hard. That it would make setting out on this endeavor all the more difficult. Saying goodbye made it all real, practice more than theory. It meant...
...the truth. That I really am abandoning her. Even if it's for a good reason. Even if I don't actually have an option.
I'm leaving her behind.
But that was all the more reason to say goodbye, wasn't it?
She was still focused on her work. Head down. On autopilot. Even as her mind degenerated, her body relied on muscle memory to keep moving, which meant she could still do certain tasks. In this case, chopping up veggies and cured meats, placing them inside tupperware containers, for Ben's lunch.
"Mom?" Cade said, putting a hand on her shoulder.
No response to his touch, or his words. Which was to be expected. She had her moments of lucidity now and then, but they were increasingly few and far between. To expect such a moment, or even hope for it, was to set yourself up for disappointment. While Cade liked to think he'd learned that lesson, he still found himself breaking that personal rule now.
Please. Of all times, please let it be now, in this moment.
Please...
Cade wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight. He could still feel her arms moving as she continued to work.
"I have to go, Mom. But I'll be back soon. I promise."
The seconds passed. No answer.
Slowly, Cade unwound his arms from around her, a bitter tang rising in his mouth.
No. Not like this. Don't walk away feeling like this.
He gripped her shoulder. Kissed the side of her head. "Love you, Mom."
He turned to go.
"Wait."
Cade froze, with shock and a little wonder. A lump formed and caught in his throat.
Her voice. So wonderful to hear. Dry and scratchy-sounding as it was, from lack of use.
And she didn't seem to notice or care. She was smiling at Cade. That full, incredible smile, with it's dimples and smile lines. That gleam in her eyes.
She turned away, long enough to snap one a lid onto one of the tupperware containers.
She held it out. "Here. You always get hungry when you're out playing with your friends. Be safe--I don't want to hear you fell and hurt yourself again."
Cade kept smiling, covering up his dismay. For her.
It was a bitter irony. She saw him not as he was, but as he'd been, nearly five years ago. A little kid, going off to play with his friends.
Physically, she and Cade stood directly next to each other. But in a far more meaningful way, they were entire worlds apart. And this was the closest she would every come to crossing that gulf. It was the most she could do.
Still, he should be grateful for even that much, shouldn't he?
He hugged her again, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "I love you, Mom."
"And I love you, Cade." She got up on her tippy toes so she could give him a peck on the cheek. "Have fun."
She pulled away, to continue her work. And Cade almost tried to stop her from doing so, desperately wanting to preserve this moment, meager as it was. But it was no use. Already, the gleam of awareness in her eyes was falling away as her consciousness went back to autopilot. No matter what Cade said it or did, he wouldn't be able to summon her again. Not for some time. It was always this way. The barest interactions with some semblance of the old Mariah, ending as soon they began, and so few and far between.
No time to dwell on it now. If he stopped, he might not be able to keep going again.
He shrugged the strap of his pack and headed back toward the door, moving to skirt around Ben.
"You think you're done here!?" Ben said, gesturing toward Mom. "After that? How can you possibly-"
But Cade was already ducking under the doorway, stepping out into the corridor at a fast clip. Not daring to look back.
*****
That was a day and half ago. Now, Cade stands in the middle of an arid plain, his back to a big hunk of rock, watching a distant Silas leap forward into a great cloud of dust, disappearing from sight. For all Cade knows, he'll never see the well-meaning Biodroid again.
Off to the side, a great pillar of black smoke ascends from the crash site of one of the ships. Meanwhile, the other ship circles Cade's position, in a sort of orbit. Slowly inching closer, as if pulled in by his gravity.
Only, it's not just Cade, is it? Both Shiloh and the captured Biodroid are unconscious, sitting with their heads slumped, backs to the rock. Likely, the pilot is coming to get their comrade.
What did Silas tell Cade? To 'move' them? But where? And how? While Cade doesn't have precise estimates on how much Biodroids weigh, it suffices to say they're heavy. Heavy enough that Silas was annoyed at having to transport one, literally minutes ago.
In theory, he could carry Shiloh, but that would involve unplugging her Jacktech cable, and he honestly had no idea what might happen as a result.
Clearly Silas didn't think this through. But then, it's not like he had time to.
If only she would just wake up, already. Then Cade would at least have some semblance of a direction to move in. Something to at least try. At the moment, he feels rooted. Paralyzed. And increasingly certain he isn't going to be able to keep the promise he made when left.
He blinks, squinting under the mid-day sun, wiping his forehead to keep the salty sweat from running into his eyes.
I've made my assessment. I hate the outside. I hate the desert. I hate this fucking place.
The circling ship makes a sudden tight swerve, coming in low. Then it uses forward-facing thrusters to brake to stop, hovering in place.
It's difficult to quantify the size of the thing, with the angle and distance of it. It's bigger than a Harrier Jet in the old pictures--Cade knows that. Big enough and bulky enough that Cade suspects it houses some big equipment on-board--droids, maybe--while still being small than what he imagines normal shipping or commercial transport planes to be. Not that it looks anything like either of those two things. When commercial planes were used, humanity was making science fiction stories about vehicles that looked and operated like this.
As Cade watches it, a hatches opens on the side, like a vertical sliding door. Someone leans fully out of the opening, holding onto the side of the doorway to keep themselves upright. Someone with a slim build, and dark, jaw-length hair, wearing a pair of some kind of goggles. One long tail from their jacket slips through the hatch and whips around in the high wind like a flag. They turn to look directly at Cade, the lens of their goggles flashing in the sun.
Cade returns the look, trying to figure this out. It's so strange, this interaction, considering the circumstances. So...casual.
Seconds pass. How many, Cade can't be sure. Then something shifts in the pilot's face. From this distance, it's difficult to be sure. A smile? A frown? A smirk?
Just as suddenly as they emerge, the pilot slips back in through the door, which shuts behind them. Then the ship turns, before thrusters on the back engage, and the ship heads back toward the action. Back toward Silas. The actual threat. They're not worried about Cade, for now. Or at all.
Somehow, it doesn't make me feel any better about all this. Feels kinda worse.
Need to move, though. Try something. Anything. While there's time.
Cade nudges Shiloh onto her side, careful not to jostle the cable. He does the same with the captured Biodroid. Then he grabs his arm, and pulls, straining, giving it everything he's got.
He barely manages to drag him about an inch or two across the sand.
Oof.