Return: A Short Story

RETURN

David Peretz lay on his bed in his uniform and looked at the ceiling fan and watched it spinning, slowly, tracing circles on the ceiling. The lights were on—he hadn’t bothered to turn them off—and out in the living room he could see the Christmas tree where he’d set it up this morning, still waiting to be decorated.

He didn’t try to move or sleep or even think. He just lay, there, mindless, frozen, letting the memories eat him. Reliving this morning, again and again, his heart sinking further every time.

Thirty years, and now she didn’t come back!

He stared out the window at the ships in the dock, glowing like Christmas lights, winking off and on as the cranes unloaded them.

It was a calm night but of course he couldn’t sleep.

His stomach hurt and his throat felt sore and after a while he got up and went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water.

The water tasted bad and when he came back into the bedroom his phone was ringing on his bedside table where he’d left it.

He picked it up and looked at it and when he saw the name there he almost dropped the phone with the shock of it.

“Eleanor,” it said, in neat letters. “Now Calling.”

He hit the button and put the phone to his ear, telling himself not to hope, that this was some kind of accident or malfunction, ordering his heart to stop beating so fast.

He said: “Hello?”

There was a rustling sound, like blankets, on the other end. Then a faint, faint voice: “David?”

It was Eleanor. She sounded terrible. His hand was shaking so hard he almost dropped the phone.

“Eleanor,” he said.

“David,” she said again “David, I’m—“

The call ended.

He punched the redial button, again and again, waited, and waited—but no one picked up the phone.

He clutched it in his hands, held it tightly, like a thing of pure magic—like a medicine that could save his life.

So she was here.?

Now. On the spaceship. She had to be there.

But if she was, why hadn’t she disembarked with the other passengers? There was no way he could have missed her—he’d waited, that morning, until they’d closed the ramp. He’d waited longer than that.

But she’d never come.

He stared out the window at the docks and thought about the Christmas tree. He’d put it up for them to decorate together.

Maybe they still would.

“Eleanor,” he whispered to the darkness, “where are you?”

He stood there a moment longer, paralyzed with hope. A moment ago she’d been taken from him, gone forever, and now there was a chance, however small, a bit of hope.

The spaceship would leave soon—in a few days perhaps.

His watch read seven o’clock AM.?

He still had his boots and his coat on—he’d never taken them off. He put the phone in his pocket and opened the door and went out into the cold fog of the night.

David didn’t live far from the Compound—it was only three or four blocks down the road. He walked briskly in the dark, along the sidewalk, patched here and there with little piles of old snow.

He liked walking. He walked everywhere now, even in the night, with nothing to fear. He remembered the time when the two thugs in black masks had attacked him—and the way he’d left them facedown on the ground.

He didn’t think they’d ever forget that fight.

He smiled in the dark and wondered why and let the foreboding fill him and wipe the smile off his face.?

The Compound was silent in the dark, its buildings overshadowed by the bulk of the spaceship that loomed up against the foggy sky.

He rattled the chain on the security gate. “Robbie,” he called, “it’s me.”

Robbie shined a flashlight out at him, unlocked the chain. “Hi Dave,” he said, softly.

He’d been there this morning, on duty—no doubt he knew that Eleanor hadn’t come back.

“Look, Dave, you don’t have to come here right now, just let me take over for a couple of days, you know—“

David’s voice was low and sure: “Eleanor’s here, Robbie.”

“But—“

David cut him off: “Busy night tonight?”

“I—no,” said Robbie. “We spread the word that the Spacemen set their own guard—and there hasn’t been a peep.” Robbie looked at the ground and kicked the bottom of the fence.

David clicked the padlock in the chain-link gate behind him. “Have they really set their own guard?”

“Yeah,” said Robbie. “One man. He’s over there, under the ship.”?

They’d come out past the Compound buildings into the open landing field—David had been walking that way without noticing.?

Robbie pointed his flashlight and David could make out a man standing beneath the spaceship, beside one of the spaceship’s massive metal legs.

“I’m going to talk to him,” said David. “I might know him.”

“It’s been thirty years, Dave!”

“Not for them it hasn’t.”

David walked forward in the dark, toward the vague dark silhouette of the Spaceman. He knew the man was watching him, might’ve even heard their entire conversation.

When he was closer to the man he called out: “Hello!”

“Greetings,” responded the guard, in a low voice. He had the strange Spaceman accent—an accent from a trillion miles away. “Who are you?”

David kept walking closer—it was a risk, he knew, but there it was. He wasn’t going to turn and leave.

“My name is David Peretz,” said David, a little out of breath, as he came up to the guard. “I’m security here.”

The guard surveyed him. His face looked cold and hard in the blue glint of the ship’s belly lights. He had bold green eyes, a heavy brow—David recognized him.

“Bart?” He didn’t look much older than when David had last seen him—but it’d been thirty years!

“Yes,” said the man, “that is my name. I think I remember you, David.” His face took on a faraway, distant, lost look. “Who knows, though…we see so many people.”

The man could be reasoned with, thought David. He needed to get him talking more.

“Is it hard for you,” David asked suddenly, keeping his voice low and soft. “Coming back, seeing people?”

“We don’t often leave the ship,” said Bart. “We’re not allowed to speak with the people more than we have to.” His voice caught and he stopped talking. He swallowed and looked down at the ground, avoiding David’s face.

“It’s hard,” said David, “isn’t it. Seeing me again.”

“You’re old,” said the guard, quickly. “You don’t know how much you’ve changed. How different you look. I was here only a few years ago. Everything here is so different, so old…it’s the same on Altair…”

Bart stopped talking and put a hand to his eyes.

“I know why you’re here,” he said. “Peretz. Your name is Peretz, right?”

David nodded.

“Eleanor Peretz,” he said. “Is she your wife?”

“Yes,” said David, “Yes! I know she’s here—she called me, told me over the phone!”

Bart frowned and then smiled slightly. “No she didn’t. She didn’t tell you anything, did she?”

David looked down at the gravel and back up at Bart’s hard face. He sighed. “No. But she did call me.”

Bart said nothing, only stood there, looking at him.

“You know where she is!” cried David. “Tell me!”

“I can’t help you,” said Bart. “I cannot. You don’t understand—she’s sick—“

David froze. “Sick? How do you know? What do you mean?”

Bart looked regretful. His eyes flicked around, guiltily, as if he knew he shouldn’t have said any of that.

“I don’t know—“

In a flash David smashed his fist into the Bart’s gut. Bart doubled over with pain. David wrestled the weapon out of his grasp and leveled it at him—he didn’t know exactly what it was but he was pretty sure he could manage it.

“No,” coughed Bart, from the ground, “no need for…for violence. I remember you,” he continued, “remember seeing you on the day we left, all those years ago…”

“Tell me where my wife is,” said David. “Where Eleanor is.”

“I can’t—look, she’s on the ship, she’s fine. We can’t let her off, sick like that, it’s the rules—“

David’s face felt tight and hot with rage. “Don’t tell me about your rules! Your rules took her from me last time. I’m not letting it happen again.”

“I’ll have you know,” said Bart, getting slowly to his feet, his face expressionless, “I was on your side in that argument.”

“Then why,” shouted David, “didn’t you do something!” The weapon was heavy in his hands and he remembered it and raised it up, leveling it at Bart.

“Get out of my way,” he said, his voice threatening. “Get out of my way!”

Slowly the Spaceman raised his hands, both of them, in surrender. He stepped slowly backward on the gravel, moving away from David.

But his eyes darted—for a second—to something behind David.

David whirled, weapon ready, and a second Spaceman sprung at him in the same moment. He moved to fire the weapon but it was knocked from his hands, he was falling, hitting the ground, pinned there by two Spacemen.

“Sorry, Peretz,” said Bart. “We won’t hurt you though.”

David said nothing, let himself flop limply, his body sagging. It would do no good to fight now—he’d better save his strength.

He was lifted bodily from the ground by four gloved Spaceman hands. Boot crunched on the gravel landing field, then clomped softly on the concrete. David let his eyes slip shut, let the world go to black around him, listening to the footsteps.

They’d be near the gate now. They were slowing—Spacemen didn’t like to go far from their ship.

He heard new footsteps on the concrete, approaching rapidly. It’d be Robbie, most likely.

The Spacemen dropped him unceremoniously, turned, and jogged back toward the ship.

“What’d they do?”

Robbie knelt beside David, helped him sit up.

“I told you not to go over there, old man,” said Robbie. “You know the stories—“

“They have her,” said David bitterly. “They have her on the ship. Eleanor. The man told me. Said he can’t let her leave.”

His voice was disgust and hatred.

“Not a lot you can do,” said Robbie. “I mean, they’re pulling out in a couple of hours, and all—“

“Leaving? When? What time?” David shook Robbie’s arm.

“I-I’m not sure—ten o’clock, I think, that was it, they said—boarding at ten o’clock.”

David got shakily to his feet, leaned on the fence a moment. He was still out of breath from his struggle.

He had one last chance to find his wife. One chance. If he was careful, extremely careful, he could slip in among the other passengers. He’d have to change his appearance, disguise himself, but he could do that.

There was usually around a hundred people boarding—a crowd substantial enough to hide in.

He would need a ticket. You couldn’t even get through the Compound Security without a ticket. The tickets were delicate and blue, made of a strange shimmering paper. They had your name on them, and your destination. To get on board you gave your ticket to the Spacemen and that was that.

Ten o’clock. It was around eight o’clock right now—he didn’t have much time at all. The only way to get on board was with a ticket.

David ran home without stopping.?

He hadn’t run that far in a long time, and it winded him. He stood panting at the door, trying to get it unlocked, feeling the pressure of time.

He changed his clothes fast, putting on a pair of ordinary pants and a gray jacket. He hoped he wouldn’t stand out too badly in the crowd.

He got rid of his beard next. His face felt odd without it, strangely light—and cold. It brought back the memories of the last time, thirty years back…

He caught the clock in the corner of his eye. Nine o’clock.

Only an hour!

He took the picture frame down from the wall beside the bed. He turned the little toggles that held the back on and lifted it out gently.?

His ticket was inside.?

Crisp, bluish-silver paper, about the size of his hand.

The bold black letters said: Earth to Altair 1.

And under that his name: David Peretz. Traveling with Eleanor Peretz.

It was still brand new, shimmering exactly as it had on the day it spit slowly out of the slot on the ticket machine at the Compound. He looked it over carefully, but there was no date on it. No way to tell that it was thirty years old.

The Spacemen prided themselves on this. They’d never printed a ticket that went unused. No one risked missing a trip you couldn’t take for another thirty years!

Except for David. No one would miss their trip—unless you were a Compound security guard. Then, apparently, the Spacemen rules forbade you from traveling, made sure you couldn’t leave the planet.

He pulled on his coat and fitted the ticket carefully into the pocket and turned to look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the man he saw—he looked strange out of his security uniform, and he hadn’t remembered what he looked like without a beard.

But Eleanor would.

He tugged his security guard jacket over his coat and fitted the cap on his head. The ticket might work with the Spacemen—but he needed to get inside the Compound first, and he didn’t want any trouble. He’d go in by the security entrance.

It was nine-ten when he left the house—only fifty minutes to go!

He jogged again, down the street, across the road at the corner, along the long sidewalk—

He’d never been so glad to live this close to the Compound.

?The time, pressing down, was a weight. A weight that grew heavier with each passing moment.

His watch read half past ten when he got to the Compound. He hurried to the security entrance, undid the lock—

“Get out!” A sharp voice commanded him. “You don’t want any trouble now—beat it!”

David recognized the voice.

He said: “It’s me, Robbie!”

Robbie came closer, into the light of the streetlamp.

“You—shaved your beard—“ he said, realizing. “Didn’t recognize you! What’s up? Why you here anyway? I can handle this shift just fine, nobody’s out tonight—”

David cut him off. “I’m going to get my wife. I’m boarding the ship with the passengers, I have to…“

He’d started toward the landing pad but Robbie stepped in front of him, blocking him. “How do you know your wife’s on there?” His tone was suspicious.

“I told your just an hour ago, Robbie, the guard said it—“

“But why’s she still on board then? Wouldn’t they let her off?”

David knew how suspicious Robbie could get—and how fast. But what else could he say??

He felt a sudden tiredness, a fatigue, in his legs—realized he hadn’t slept for almost two days.

“They say she’s sick. That’s all.”

Robbie nodded, looked back up at him. His eyes sparkled in the streetlamps. “So you’re leaving with them.”

“No! I’m going in there to find Eleanor. I’m going to get her out of there.”

He hadn’t thought any further than that and he hoped Robbie wouldn’t either.

“No,” said Robbie. “You can’t just board the ship like that.”

“I—I’ve got a way, Robbie, can’t you help me? This is my wife here! She’s been gone for thirty years!“

Robbie swallowed, flicked his eyes to the ground for a second. “We’re the good guys, Dave,” he said. “We don’t go breaking into spaceships.” He shifted slightly, blocking the way.

“I—I’m not…“ David fell silent, thinking.

Morning birds chirped on the tops of the buildings, soft sounds that died away in the fog. There was a sound of engines and brakes as the first passenger bus squealed to a stop at the main entrance.

“Yeah,” said David. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He took a step backward, allowed tears to fill his eyes.

Robbie glanced down at the ground.

It was just the opportunity that David needed. In a split second he had swung his arm back and then forward again into Robbie’s jaw. Robbie crumpled with a low moan.

David’s hand stung with the pain of it but he worked quickly, removing the handcuffs from Robbie’s belt, using them to fasten him securely to the fence.

Robbie was coming to again by the time he had him gagged. He unclipped the radio from Robbie’s belt, placed it calmly into a nearby bush.

“Sorry,” whispered Dave, “but I hope you’ll understand.”

Robbie groaned and struggled slightly, then relaxed again. David pulled off his own security coat and cap and stuffed them behind the same bush.?

He jogged toward the landing field, his shoes thumping on the smooth concrete. He slowed as he approached it: there was the hulk of the ship, looming above the low buildings around it. Packed behind a gate was the tight knot of passengers, an insignificant blur beside the ship.

A buzzer rang, and the gate opened. The passengers trickled forward in a confused group, then slowly worked out into a single file, guided by the metal railings. He edged along the fence, around the other side of the spaceship, and reached the passengers just in time to fall in behind the last one.

It was a long wait. By his watch it was only five minutes to ten but he kept looking at the time, again and again, and each minute seemed to last five.

David was looking down at the ground and at first he didn’t notice the great ramp opening, slowly, to touch the ground, like a great sharklike mouth in the dark hulk of the ship.

The morning chill was starting to get to him, and he felt his age. He shouldn’t be standing in queues in early morning—in fact he probably shouldn’t even be working as a security guard. He tugged the hood of his jacket up over his head.

At long last, the figure of a Spaceman appeared at the top of the ramp.

“The boarding will now begin,” said the Spaceman, in a calm, flat voice. “Please enter the spacecraft.”

They shuffled forward in a slow, despondent-looking line, some hundred or so people, moving in the cold of the fog, leaving their world behind. They reached the ramp and it clinked metallically under their feet.

At the top of the ramp, the Spaceman took each person’s ticket from them, looked it over, and fed it into a slot in a small gray machine.

David stepped onto the ramp.

As he got closer he noticed two other Spacemen standing off to the side, weapons at the ready. One of them spoke to the other quietly, but he couldn’t catch what they were saying.

Then there was just one the passenger left in front of David, a woman with gray hair and a grayer shawl, stepping forward, handing the man her ticket.

The Spaceman fed it into the machine, spoke inaudibly to the old woman.

The woman nodded, stepped firmly aboard, strode into the interior of the sip—and it was his turn, alone on the ramp.

He took out his ticket, handed it to the Spaceman.

The man took it wordlessly, fed it into the slot, looked at a small screen, and then nodded. He looked back at David with piercing green eyes—eyes that reminded him of Robbie.

The Spaceman said, with a barely noticeable accent: “By stepping onto this ship, you acknowledge that you are leaving the planet of Earth for a very long time, and that we have no obligation to give you return transport.”

David remembered the last time he’d stood here, like this, in this exact spot, with Eleanor by his side. They’d been excited, journeying together to a new world, leaving the old behind. His wife had stepped aboard, handed her ticket over—and a moment later, the man had put a hand on David’s shoulder and called to the guards.

He trembled with the injustice of it and shoved it from his mind. He stepped aboard quickly this time, crossing the painted yellow line. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“Follow the arrows on the floor,” said the Spaceman, “to the passenger compartments.”

The corridor in front of him was only wide enough for one person and he hurried along it, feeling the cold of the spaceship around him, like entering a different world.

He knew he’d been the last passenger in line—they might start closing the ramp soon.

He’d have to hurry.

There were yellow arrows painted on the floor and the walls, guiding him toward the passenger compartments. Would his wife be in a passenger compartment??

He didn’t think so.

If she was sick she’d be somewhere away from the other passengers. There was probably a sick bay somewhere; she’d be in there.

He passed a door in the corridor. A label in yellow letters read CARGO CONTROL: NO PASSENGERS BEYOND THIS POINT. Beneath the yellow writing there were words in a language he didn’t recognize.

She wouldn’t be in there.

The corridor suddenly joined another, and the yellow arrows on the floor continued off to the left. David turned the other direction, jogging now.

Then he saw it, directly ahead of him. A white door at the end of the corridor with a great red cross painted in the middle of it.

David ran.

When he reached the door he realized it didn’t have a handle, or any visible means of opening it. He pushed at it and it didn’t budge. He pushed again, with growing desperation, throwing his weight against the door.

There was a tiny electronic beep from the door. He’d hit a button of some kind. He looked closely—there were two of them, red buttons, in the center of the door.

He pressed one of them.

Another beep.

He pressed the other—and the door slid open into the wall. He stepped through it and it snapped shut behind him.

The ship gave a deep rumble and he fell back against the closed door.

He was in a narrow room, in complete darkness. Was this the sick bay?

He took a step forward and lights snapped on with a click. More lights came on, one after another, humming slightly. It was a long narrow room, with glistening hospital-white walls. Small fans turned slowly on the ceiling.

There were doors along the walls, white doors with buttons set beside them. Round glass windows in each door showed darkness inside.

He put his face up to one of the doors, peering through the window—it was a small room, dark, with an empty bed.

He looked along the hallway, down the long row of round windows. There were at least twenty more of these rooms.

In one of the rooms, at the far end, a light flicked on.

David ran toward it, as fast as he could. He heard thumping footsteps approaching outside…

He got to the window with the light in it and peered inside. It was the same as the rest—a bed, and a small table beside it.

But this bed wasn’t empty. There was someone in it, wrapped in blankets. He pounded on the window, trying to open the door, and he heard himself shouting.

The door to the hall hissed open suddenly and a Spaceman burst in, leading a green-faced passenger.

David hammered the buttons beside the door. It slid softly open and he dashed inside and knelt beside the bed.

“Eleanor?” He whispered.

The figure in the bed turned over to face him. It was Eleanor, exactly as he remembered her.

Her voice was feeble: “David,” she said, “you came.”

> END

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