About The Laws of Space

Post 166

The Laws of Space

Episode Eight

Chapter Four Concludes

            When Webb first stumbled on Alder, the once great man was drunk, supine, face uncovered in the middle of a seldom visited alley near the Doms. Out of sheer curiosity, he revived him, dragging him back to his hovel without anyone noticing. Lerner found out when he woke the next morning and saw the body of the most famous Space Waster in history passed out on the floor. It started as awkwardness and probing, almost infantile interactions. Now it was good nature, ribbing and fellowship. These ways were not part of the common practice, something lost since the time before, but they were in fact friends. They conversed regularly, these disparate men, about all manner of things. It festered in the minds of their fellow Dom residents, especially now that Alder’s identity was out: Why can’t they just shut up? What are they talking about? Aren’t they afraid? Don’t they hate each other? I hate them.

            Tate started to respond to Webb’s previous question, but shut his mouth at the sight of the Administrator. Clement Pope. By Space, it really is him. Seeing the face made it real, though he’d known about Pope’s appointment for weeks.

            “That’s right,” Webb said, rubbing his fledgling chin hairs in recognition. “You haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

            “Not like this.” Alder had seen that face for twenty-five years, many times up close and personal, but nothing could prepare him for 10,000 square feet of the guy. Travers was right; he did look squirrely—like a huge oily squirrel. The face imposed itself over all; every tooth was a monolith, every nose hair a nightmare.

As Administrator Pope officiously droned his administrative points, Tate found himself fixated. It was the Face of Humanity. He scanned around, looking at his fellow Regulars. They too were fixated, but not in the same way. In the desolate dark of night, the light that projected off of the Worldview was the light they bathed themselves in. How could they not despise themselves? They think this squirrel is the zenith, some queer confluence of all that is within them.

            He stopped scanning, turning back to the giant squirrel who now was clearing his sweaty, cadaverous throat.

            “It is a bit irregular, but since the official mandates and news items have been seen to, I’d like to make a personal statement. I’ve asked a woman, uh, and she’s agreed—to let me enter her Space.” The Administrator was growing pink with joy—Alder grew red—the Regulars grew excited. “As is the custom, it is only virtuous for the Administrator to be known and known of, that is, what they called Fame in the time before…” Pope cleared his throat again, reading out some extant rule written long ago. “But if the Administrator is to become Spacemate with another for the purposes of Continuation, or, for other purposes, it is customary that the partner should become known as well.” Even Alder was confused by the syntax, but he got the thrust. “Her name is Susa Burke, L9, an ingenious engineer and important producer in our society who I have been acquainted with for some time.”

            Lerner, sitting cross-legged to the right of Tate, was confused again. “Hey, isn’t that the one…” Before he could properly finish, Alder was falling backward.

            The most famous man in the world had fainted from the news. Travers and Lerner went to grab him out of some long deactivated instinct but couldn’t; if they touched him and he wasn’t conscious to press his palm, they’d be vaporized.

            Alder hit the dirty pavement like a downed landmark.

            A Regular soul overwhelmed by a squirrel.