The Wayfarer

In the brief, open-mouthed silence that followed I felt all the chasing years whistle past me like air hissing out of a withering balloon. She didn't know I was coming, she could be dead, or worse; she could have given up on me.

Moved on.

The Russian knew what he was telling us, it probably hit him just as hard. We weren't late, we were dead. Everything changes in fifty years. Maybe some girl in the in the Romanov Colonies had given up on him.

But she wouldn't give up on me.

She would have held on, even when they told her I was dead. She would know. She would just wait until night fell and leave the glare of the city lights to find a place where she could look up at the stars. She would find our star up there and then she would know; I was still somewhere, thinking of her.

The other loaders were shouting now, some were crying, it hit us like a wave, loved ones turning gray, then senile, then dead. All those doors closed at once. A lifetime in a blink.

Maybe she was down there though, oblivious to the whole thing. She only got there three months before I should have, but the wait would have been unbearable. If it had been me, I think I would have just walked into a cryo-spa and slept it off.

She's waiting for me.

The Russian reemerged from his office and announced that we were clear to unload. The klaxon flashed and the bay doors slid open. We unloaded numbly, not sure if there was anything left to hurry toward.

When the bay was finally clear there was a slow roll-call, followed but the Russian's monotone recitation of colony protocols and the terms of our work visas. One by one we stabbed our credit cards into the payroll console, some realizing for the first time why such easy work paid so well.

The spaceport was like any other; concrete and steel with well planned greenery and bright corporate advertising. We gathered in a mass just past customs, staring at the bright green exit signs and not saying anything to one another. We stood around soberly, until one by one, we broke from the safety of the pack to discover the history of the last fifty years.

I found a coffee shop in the spaceport that had net access. Inside, a waitress named Zee frowned when I told her I only wanted coffee.

"One hour," she said and walked away.

The interface was odd. Presumably, it had been updated a few times since I'd last been portside. In the corner of the screen, a few credits ticked off my account balance. I found a directory and just about turned blue waiting for the search results.

'No match found.'

No.

No.

Calm down, she's probably in cryo. There's no point in being in the directory if you're asleep all the time. I searched for cryo-spas and cajoled Zee into a refill. There were only three spas on the colony. The first was called Winter Home. It was upscale. The net page was elegantly laid out with a snowy landscape in the background. The sort of clientele that patronized this spa didn't want just anyone to know they were here. Eventually I contacted a sales rep from Winter Home, his unnaturally straight smile appeared on the console before me. He kept trying to steer the conversation toward another sale, but eventually I persuaded him that I was not interested in being frozen myself. I told him I was the one settling a bill and finally he came around. But she was not there. The next spa was Holmgren Cryogenics. Their net was simple and factual and she was not there either.