He paused a moment, considering, then said, "I hope you don't mind if I make a personal observation."

"Not at all," I said. "I'd appreciate it."

"What you're doing is quite brave. Most people wouldn't have the nerve or the courage.
It's incredibly hopeful, but at the same time, it's immensely sad."

---

 
When Your Tabula Is Not Rasa
 
Chapter 21
 

---

"I've been looking for a word.
A big, complicated word, but so sad.
I've found it now: Alive."
— Idris/The Tardis

---

 

The alien attorney didn't look alien at all. He was about six feet tall, medium build. Judging from his hairline and face, he'd just turned fifty, but a good fifty. He was quite fit, had a ready smile, but you could see he was quite serious and professional. It took me a few minutes to figure out exactly who he reminded me of: if you can imagine the actor Ralph Fiennes with light brown hair, all combed straight back, then you have a pretty accurate picture of the man.

He introduced himself as Alan.

The two of us sat in a small meeting room, very much like any meeting room on Earth: There was a whiteboard mounted on the wall. A small, round table and four chairs took up most of the space. The only decoration was a tall bamboo plant in the corner. I had to wondered whether the phone on the table was only a prop, but I didn't care enough to ask.

"You're certainly right about the conflict of interest," Alan said, "and I apologize. We've worked with Dan for many years in different capacities, and until now he's always been professional and respectful. We've never had an incident like this before." His mouth twisted to the side. "I have to confess that it's partially our fault: we've never had liquor aboard before. Clearly that was a mistake. Still: in vino veritas: there's a character issue that needs to be addressed, but frankly there's not much point in pursuing a disciplinary action now. He'd forget everything, just as you will. However, the issue will NOT be forgotten. We'll put together your statement, his garbled transmissions to me, and the statement of the ship's doctor about Dan's current state of inebriation. At this moment, the captain and the ship's counselor are conducting a recorded interview with Dan, and that will become, as they say on Earth, a part of his permanent record. We'll show him all that material and have a serious discussion with him after this mission is over.

"Also, the captain has asked me to tell you that we're going to seriously reconsider our policy on alcohol."

I thanked him and half-joked, "Maybe all you need is a good bartender."

He chuckled politely, then changed the subject. "As far as your idea is concerned... your solution to the current situation... it's highly irregular, but it's also quite clever and creative. I'd even go so far as to say it's ingenious.

"At the same time, however, it's pretty cruel, don't you think?"

I sighed. "Yes, I guess so. But I think it gives everyone what they want."

He looked at my face in silence for a few moments, then asked, "Are you going to tell your family?"

"No," I replied. "It would only make the current situation worse, and in the end none of us would remember. The only thing I'd like to do is say goodbye to my daughter before we disappear."

"I'll have someone bring her to you," he told me, and looked for a moment at his iPad. "Someone's escorting her now," he told me. He paused a moment, considering, then said, "I hope you don't mind if I make a personal observation."

"Not at all," I said. "I'd appreciate it."

"What you're doing is quite brave. Most people wouldn't have the nerve or the courage. It's incredibly hopeful, but at the same time, it's immensely sad."

I choked up a little, and had to dry my eyes.

"I'm going to do some last minute verifications and some, uh, what you'd call paperwork, and then we should be good to go."

"Okay," I said. I sniffed and wiped my nose.

He rose to leave, then said, "One last thing: are you sure you want to get in the same lifeboat as Dan?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, I am. It will make me feel like Mother Teresa." He frowned, not understanding. I waved my hand to say never mind. "It's fine," I told him. "Yes, I'll go with him. Besides, we'll only have a few minutes and then oblivion, right?"

He nodded. "Minutes at most. We'll jettison the lifeboats and immediately start peeling into the past."

"Not to jinx it — but if something goes wrong—"

"I understand," he told me. "You're hedging your bet. If we blow up or miscalculate and the mission can't complete, you'll still be Dexie. You'll end up in Texas. And Dan's not a bad man."

"Except when he drinks?"

"Apparently so." He shrugged and gave a rueful smile.

"Okay," I told him. "Once I say goodbye to Carla, I'm ready."
 

---

 

Carla gave me a suspicious look. "You're not coming in the lifeboat with me and Mom?"

"No," I told her. "I don't want to spoil her last moments here."

"It won't matter," Carla countered. "None of us will remember."

"Still, I never fought with your mother, and I don't want to fight with her now."

"What do you mean, you never fought? You guys did fight," Carla told me. "You fought a lot. I remember it, all my life."

"No." I told her. She rolled her eyes. "Well, okay, sure. I admit, we did fight — or argue, but we always made up after."

"Does that make it okay?" she asked. "You still fought with each other."

"Yes, I think it does make it okay. People can't live so close together and never disagree. And sometimes the other person doesn't understand when something really matters to you. So it can get emotional."

Carla sighed.

"Look," I said. "I didn't really want to talk about this. Your mother and I had a good life together. I just wanted to say goodbye to you before we all go."

She gave me another look, all at once suspicious, doubtful, and puzzled. "What's going on?" she asked. "You know it won't make any difference. After they let us go, we'll all disappear and none of us will remember anything. You'll won't know that you were Dexie, and neither will we."

"Right," I said. "Unless something goes wrong. You know, if something happens to this ship, we'll float down to Earth and everything will stay the way it is now."

"Why would something go wrong with the ship?" she asked.

"You never know," I told her, in a frustrated tone. We lapsed into silence for a few moments. I struggled with myself for a moment, then said, "Carla, can I ask you something? When I left, after I drove to Seattle, did you and your mother miss me? Did you mind not having your father around?"

She looked down at the table and rubbed the surface with her right hand. She watched her hand moving back and forth for a moment, then said, "We missed you from the moment you turned into Dexie. And I missed Dexie, too. I told you this. It was like you were both gone. I told you that already.

"But you know something? Mom was mad at you for being happy... that you were happy to be Dexie... but SHE was happy, too. She was younger and healthier and her eyes were healed, and when she wasn't angry, she was on a cloud.

"For me, it wasn't so different. When they fixed my epilepsy, I didn't feel any different. It was you two who changed. You both got new lives, but I still felt the same. I STILL feel the same. So, it's weird. That's the word. It was weird that you were dead. ‘Cause that's what it was like: it was like you were dead, but you were still talking to us. I didn't like it."

"Okay," I said. I searched for something wise, or at least sentimental, to say, but I came up empty. The awkward moment was broken by a knock on the door. Alan (the alien attorney) knocked again and said, "It's time to get in the lifeboats."

A female crewmember led Carla down the hall to the left. Alan walked me to an elevator. Once the doors closed us inside, he asked, "Any second thoughts?"

"No," I said. "I thought that talking to Carla might make me..." I couldn't finish the sentence. After opening and closing my mouth a few times, I heaved a deep, heavy sigh and told him, "I'm glad I won't remember any of this. You're right, Alan: it's sad. It's immensely sad."

"At least nobody dies this time around," he offered.

"Don't they?" I asked.
 

---

 

The lifeboat was a long, rectangular box — at least that's what it looked like on the inside. There were six rows of six seats, with an aisle up the middle. There were windows all around, and the general effect was that of a tour boat or shuttle bus.

"It must be expensive, dumping two of these things," I observed.

"It is," Alan said, "but it's nothing compared to the cost of generating the energy we need to travel in time. This is one reason we don't do this sort of thing very often."

I shook his hand. He wished me luck. After I climbed inside the lifeboat, he closed the door behind me. Dan was sitting in the third row from the front, in the middle on the left.

"I saved you a window seat," he joked, "before they were all taken." I climbed over him and sat down. His face had a chastened look. "I'm sorry," he began. "I've behaved very badly—"

I interrupted him by squeezing his hand and saying, "Don't waste your last moments in regret."

"Thanks," he replied, and he sounded quite sincere. "So... what did you decide to do? Are you going back to being Fred? Obviously — unless something goes badly wrong up there — you're not coming to Texas with me."

"No," I acknowledged. "I had a funny, scary idea..."

"... and you don't want to tell me." He finished my sentence.

"Do you mind?" I asked him.

He shrugged. "If this boat lands in Texas, will you tell me then?" I smiled and nodded. "Fair enough," he said, and settled back into his seat. "In a couple of moments I never would have heard you anyway."

Suddenly the image of Arrow's car popped into my mind. "Dan!" I exclaimed. "I just remembered: the car I was driving is parked in the ship! What's going to happen to it?"

He chuckled. "Was it a nice car?"

"A Porsche Boxster. And it isn't mine."

"Looks like it's going to stay on the ship. Once they go back in time, it'll be extra, you know what I mean? Because whoever lent you that car will never lend it to you. So, no loss there. It'll end up in a library or the court records or something like that."

When he said records, another picture came to mind: the black-and-white composition book that Lizzie gave me, the one with Dexie's family history. "There's a book in that car."

"A library book?" he grinned.

"No, notes about Dexie's family history. I wanted to give it to her!"

"You can't. You couldn't. They wouldn't have let you. It's strictly illegal. Besides... think about this: How did you get it?"

"Her mother dictated it to me."

"Ahhh," he said. "Then it's a very good thing that you can't give it to her."

"Why?"

"Because if you did, her mother wouldn't need to tell her. You'd be giving her information, but you'd also be robbing her of an experience."

He was right. I pictured that day in the hotel room: Lizzie in her bed, her golden-red curls spilling over her shoulders, her sweet, enchanting voice telling the stories of her ancestors. The experience reconciled me to Lizzie. It made me love her. Remembering that, feeling that, I could see how wrong it would be to rob Dexie of it.

"Oh!" I cried, remembering one more thing: Arrow's engagement ring. That, too, I'd dleft behind on the ship, but I longed to look once more into the tiny perfect world of that diamond.

Just then the airlock opened and the black emptiness of space appeared in front of us. A soft voice warned: Attention: prepare for lifeboat release. Please take your seats and fasten your safety belts. Dan and I pulled the belts across and pressed them into the clips. "Just like an airline on Earth," I remarked.

"Yeah, just like," he agreed. "It's even got tray tables," he observed, tapping the back of the seat in front of him.

The soft voice continued: Lifeboat release. Good luck and godspeed.

"Do aliens say that?" I asked Dan.

He shrugged. "Apparently so."

I found myself gripping his hand as our lifeboat slid away. There was literally nothing underneath us. Nothing to hold us up, I meant. The Earth was down there, big and blue. The feeling I got... it was similar to the moment before a rollercoaster crests the hill. I found I was holding my breath and pushing myself up by my tiptoes.

"It's powerful, isn't it?" Dan said in a quiet voice. I didn't answer. As the lifeboat drifted forward, the sun broke around the side of the ship. Its rays were blinding bright, like a beacon into another world.

They say that just before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Twice I've been at that doorstep, in situations where I thought I was about to die. I didn't see my life. Neither time. Each time, what I saw was my family. My last thought, if it had been my last thought, was to wonder if they would be okay without me. After the past two weeks as Dexie, I had a pretty good idea of the answer. They'd be okay. They would even be good. It would be "weird" (to use Carla's word), but they'd be fine.

It would be sad, of course. They would mourn and hurt. I was sure of that. Death is an inexplicable rupture in the fabric of reality. It's always wrong: the wrong person, the wrong time; your mind can't comprehend it. There's no explanation or justification. Death is the most unreal thing in the universe. When it comes, it knocks you off the rails.

This time, knowing for sure that the end was near, I found that I didn't think about my family. Oddly, I found myself thinking about the Bremerton ferry. Probably I was reminded of it by the big windows, and by the intensely bright sun. I thought about Seattle, and the day I had there... starting with the library and ending with Arrow and his little, girly backpack.

I laughed out loud, which made Dan look at me. His face was shining. Alan was right: Dan wasn't a bad man. I wondered whether the alien doctor had given him something to sober him up. Probably.

Then I remembered the middle part of that day in Seattle: meeting Diane at the Crumpet Shop. How we talked about being adopted... how the woman behind the counter thought we were sisters...

That's when it hit me. How stupid could I be? Why didn't I see it sooner? Could Diane be my half-sister? Desiree had given up a daughter my age. If Sam McCloud was her father, we'd be half-sisters. That would explain the "family resemblance."

"Oh, hell," I grumbled. Dan laughed and said, "Too late for regrets: I think they're starting to peel back—"

... and Dan, the lifeboat, the spaceship, the Earth and the Sun... even the eerie black background of space, all faded slowly into white, fuzzy static, like an old TV. Then, like an old TV, it blipped into a tiny black dot.

Then, nothing.

Not even me.
 

---

 

Everything in the car was peaceful and fine and quiet for a spell, and then the lights came back. Dexie freaked out.

"No! No! NO!" she shouted.

"Just stay calm, Dexie," I said, putting my hands on her shoulders.

"I can't stay calm! Those damn lights are BACK!"

"Okay. Okay. Don't worry about being calm, then. Just drive slowly. Drive slowly in a straight line and they'll get bored. Once they get bored, they'll fly away."

I felt her take two deep breaths, and she kept a good constant speed. I was about to suggest that she set the cruise control, when something happened.

"He got closer!" Dexie shouted. "He's right on my tail!"

"Keep driving slowly," I repeated in a low, slow voice. "Just keep it even, keep it steady. We have to bore them, Dexie. We have to be slow and uninteresting."

My hands were still on her shoulders, and I kept them there. She shifted in her seat and glanced into the mirror. Under my left hand, I felt her pulse racing.

"Deep breaths, Dexie, deep breaths."

She tried to follow my suggestion, but broke off suddenly to swear and cry out in a high-pitched whine. "He's even closer, Mr. Holderlin!" she hissed. "He's on the rear wind— windshield!"

A cold chill shot through me and every hair on my body stood erect. I shot a lightning glance behind me — any more would have been blinding. Dexie was right: the lights were practically touching the rear windshield. Just another micron more and they'd be tapping on the glass. A centimeter more, and they'd be breaking through.

My heart was pounding. Kristy Anne squeezed my right upper arm in a viselike grip. It hurt, but I didn't care. At least it was something I knew for sure was real. In the front seat, Carla was praying out loud. I didn't know she prayed.

Dexie said, "I'm losing it, Mr. Holderlin! I'm losing it! I can't do this! I can't! I can't take the pressure!"

Just then, one of those damned black dots appeared. I saw it from the corner of my right eye, superimposed on the red lights behind us.

"No, no, not now!" I growled. It can't happen now! I told myself in desperation. My family needs me. Dexie needs me. I have to hang on!

"I'm sorry," Dexie whimpered, like a struck dog. It suddenly realized: she thought I was growling at her.

"No, Dexie, no," I said, in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. From behind me, up my back and over my shoulders, crept the sensation of the soft black wool enfolding me, wrapping itself around me. "NO!" I shouted. I would NOT give in! I would not go under.

Unfortunately, my last shouted NO! shot through Dexie like a death knell. In a panic of disappointment, fear, and an overwhelming sense of failure, she slammed her foot down hard on the gas, and never let up. The car jumped at the sudden acceleration and flew down the road.

Like a bat out of hell, I thought. For once, the phrase seemed appropriate.

But I couldn't talk. I hadn't lost consciousness yet, but it was a battle. I gripped Dexie's backrest and squeezed with all my might. I held my breath as long as I could. I tightened every muscle in my body and clenched my teeth down hard on my tongue. Anything to stay awake, anything to stay in the moment.

At first, after Dexie's sudden acceleration, the lights stayed far behind. Then they came zooming up that long, flat road, moving at an impossible, silent, effortless speed.

Up ahead, at right angles to the highway, there was a road — it turned out to be an old packed-dirt road that cut through the fields and disappeared into a copse of trees.

"I'm taking that turn!" Dexie cried, and hit the brakes hard.

The car went into a spin, and another, and another. After the third spin, by some crazy instinct Dexie righted the wheel and we found ourselves looking straight down the dirt road.

She hit the gas again, hard.

I was still struggling to keep conscious, but I was sinking. The darkness was slow but inexorable. Tears formed in my eyes but refused to fall. I felt the car fishtailing; the road must be dusty. Dexie, a city girl, would never expect that. She fought with the wheel, thrashing it back and forth, never slowing down.

With my last moments of awareness, I watched a tree appear before us and grow and grow and grow until it was so big that... Oh! Just before the impact I suddenly recalled... I hadn't fastened my safety belt.

© 2014 by Kaleigh Way