P.O. Box 24323
Lexington, KY 40524
Thanks for your support!
int Iteration(i)
{
if (i=1)
break;
else
return Iteration(i-1);
}
i=9
A uniformed ship’s steward comes to your women’s resistance training class to tell you that your nine-year-old son, Charley, is not registered with Child Services today. You give him a smile and thank him, then unstrap yourself from the double-grav bike and wipe it down carefully with a towel. You leave the Fitness Center and take the lift to the port gangway on deck sixteen.
You think Charley is probably in the aft airlock, looking out the eyeport again. You got the airlock’s access code from a cargo handler you slept with your first week out. He told you it was the only porthole with real glass in the public section of the ship, and you sometimes take Charley there to look at the stars. While the electronic flat-panel in your stateroom has zoom features and ultra-high definition resolutions, Charley says he’d rather look with his own eyes. He isn’t interested in how the constellations are changing the farther you get–he just wants to know where Earth is.
As you get closer to the airlock, you see Charley inside, his hand hovering over the control console.
He sees you and pauses, “This is all your fault, Mom.” He touches a red button and the outer hatch opens.
You collapse on the deck as your son is sucked out into space.
i=8
A uniformed ship’s steward comes to your resistance training class to tell you that your nine-year-old son, Charley, is not with Child Services today. You leave the Fitness Center without bothering to wipe down the double-grav bike and hurry to the aft airlock.
This stupid move was all your husband’s idea: Thomas was the one who came home with the glossy brochures for the newly terraformed Antares III; Thomas was the one who submitted your names to the Colonist Application Committee; Thomas was the one who failed the physical exam and had to stay behind. And now all Charley wants to do is look back at Earth through the eyeport.
Sure enough, you find Charley in the airlock, he’s pacing back and forth like he’s been waiting for you.
“Charley, how many times have I told you–don’t go in the airlock alone?” You open the inner hatch and reach for your son.
He moves out of your reach and touches a red button on the control console.
The inner hatch closes and you manage to grab the sleeve of his jumpsuit before the outer hatch opens. As you’re propelled into space with him, you wonder why you don’t feel cold.
i=7
A uniformed ship’s steward comes to tell you that your nine-year-old son, Charley, is not with Child Services today.
You leave the Fitness Center and run down the port gangway as fast as you can.
You realize now that you should have withdrawn your application and stayed with your husband, but you couldn’t; not after Thomas found out about your affair too. You slap the wall switch and the airlock’s inner hatch flies open.
“Charley!” You rush into the airlock and the inner hatch closes behind you.
Charley turns and hits you. “That’s for leaving Dad.” He wipes back a tear and pushes the red button on the control console.
You hear the whoosh of escaping air as the outer hatch opens and you fly out into space. For the first time since you left Earth, you see the ship’s outer hull; her name, the S/V Roanoke, is painted boldly in black.
i=6
A uniformed steward comes to tell you that your nine-year-old son, Charley, is not with Child Services. You leave the Fitness Center and run down the gangway to the airlock.
A boy, older than Charley, but not quite a teenager, is blocking your access to the inner hatch. You duck around him and slap the wall switch.
Charley is looking out the eyeport.
“Get out of the airlock!” you scream. You grab Charley’s jumpsuit.
He starts to cry.
You push him to the safety of the gangway just before the inner hatch closes, sealing you inside. A yellow light turns red and you hear the whoosh of air as the outer hatch opens. You’re sucked off the ship like blue waste down a vacuum toilet.
i=5
A uniformed steward comes to tell you that your son, Charley, is not with Child Services. You run toward the aft airlock.
A young teenager is standing in front of the inner hatch. You move to the left to go around him, but he moves to block you. You dodge to the right.
He does too.
You reach through the teenager and slap the wall switch. The inner hatch flies open and you duck inside.
You run your fingers through Charley’s hair.
He laughs and walks out of the airlock.
You turn to follow but the inner hatch closes between you. The yellow light turns red and the outer hatch opens.
i=4
A uniformed steward comes to tell you that Charley is not with Child Services. You leave your class, the same as you did last time.
A pimple-scarred teenager blocks the airlock. He looks familiar, but you don’t know his name. He looks older than the boy who was here before.
“Stop doing this,” says the teenager.
“Where’s Charley?” you ask.
“I’m right here,” says the teen.
You look over his shoulder and see nine-year-old Charley peeking out the eyeport. You rush through the teen and gather him in a hug.
“What do you think Dad’s doing right now?” asks Charley, pointing through the eyeport.
“How am I supposed to know?” You pull him close and smell his hair. It has no odor, which is odd, because you make him wash his hair almost every night with eucalyptus-scented shampoo.
“You’ve got to stop,” says the teen, turning toward you from the gangway.
You look to the teen and young Charley disappears from your arms, fading into the air. “Charley!” you scream.
The inner hatch crashes down. You look at the control console and see a blinking yellow light. It turns red. The outer hatch opens.
i=3
A steward comes to tell you that Charley is not with Child Services. You rush through him and run down the gangway.
The teenager is waiting at the aft airlock. He has the same blond hair that Charley does, and the same green eyes. His pimples have gotten worse since last time.
“Please, stop,” he says to you.
“I can’t,” you say. “I’ve got to save Charley. He’s in the airlock.” You see Charley looking through the eyeport.
The teen steps in front of you. “There’s no one in there.”
“There is too, you idiot!” you scream. “Charley, get out of there!”
“Mom, I’m not in there,” says the teen.
Nine-year-old Charley starts to fade.
You push through the teen. You slap the wall switch and manage to catch your son’s arm before he fades completely.
“No!” you scream. You turn and your hand brushes a red button on the control console. The yellow light turns red. The outer hatch opens.
i=2
Charley is not with Child Services. You leave your fitness class and run to the aft airlock.
The teen is waiting for you. Now, he looks a bit like Thomas, except he’s taller and his stomach doesn’t bulge over his belt.
“Stop,” he says.
You shake you head and rush through him, slapping the wall switch.
“Listen to me,” says the teen.
The airlock is empty.
You shake your head again. “Where’s Charley? What have you done with him?”
“I’m right here,” says the teen.
You hold your hand over the control console. “Tell me what you’ve done with my little boy or I’ll call Security,” you say.
The inner hatch crashes down.
The teen looks at you though the transparent wall of the inner hatch. He wipes back a tear.
“Mom, you’ve been dead for eight years. I’ve grown up.”
“What?”
“This isn’t what happened.” The teen presses his palm to the transparent wall.
You look away from him and press a red button on the control console.
The yellow blinking light turns red. The outer hatch whooshes open.
i=1
Charley is with Child Services. You know that he’ll be there until seventeen hundred. You also know that the stewards will take good care of him. You beg off your resistance training class with a feigned injury to be alone.
You walk down the port gangway on deck sixteen to the aft airlock. You’re crying. All Charley does is ask questions about Thomas: does Dad still love me?; will he forget about me?; will I ever see him again? You can’t take it anymore.
The older Charley is waiting for you at the airlock.
You reach out to touch his cheek, but your hand slides through his skin. You notice that his acne has cleared up.
He leans close to you and you can smell the eucalyptus in his hair.
You step back and slap the wall switch. The inner hatch opens.
“I don’t want to do this again,” says Charley.
“I don’t either,” you say as the inner hatch slams shut.
“I’m not sure I can ever forgive you,” says Charley.
“I understand,” you say.
You watch your grown son through the transparent wall. He holds his palm up.
You do the same, matching your fingers to his. “I’m sorry,” you say. A tear slides down your cheek. You watch as your hand presses a red button and the yellow light begins to flash.
“Me too,” says Charley. “I needed you.”
The yellow light turns red and the outer hatch whooshes open.
END
John Mavin is a new writer out of Canada who placed fourth in the highly competitive Apex Halloween fiction contest. He attends the Writer’s Studio at Simon Frasier University. You can find more about John at his website: http://www.geocities.com/jmavin/.
“Recursion” is his first publishing credit.