Dave Smeds - A Marathon Runner in the Human Race

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2024-11-24 0 0 32.4KB 16 页 5.9玖币
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A MARATHON RUNNER IN THE HUMAN RACE
By Dave Smeds
* * * *
“A Marathon Runner in the Human Race” is a science fiction story set in the milieu
of Dave’s new novel, Ambassadors. Two other stories set in that world have already
been published: “Reef Apes” in Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, and “Suicidal
Tendencies” in Full Spectrum 4.
AUTUMN LEAVES FLOATED onto the patio. Neil Corbin counted them:
three from the maple, six from the ornamental plum. Another shifting of the seasons
— what did he care?
He keened his ears for the familiar chorus of shuffling shoes or the clicking of
Joe and Al’s daily game of dominoes. But not a person stirred, and none were
visible save crazy Anne over in the shade of the umbrella table. Were it not for the
birdsong in the trees, Neil would have sworn his deafness had never been cured.
A car turned into the driveway — another source of silence but for the low
moan of tires on concrete. The vehicle stopped mere yards from Neil’s chair. A
muscular, casually dressed young man emerged.
“Sorry I’m late, Gramps. Are you ready?”
Nell accepted his grandson’s help in rising. “You’re looking good,” the old
man said.
“You will, too, Gramps. Come on. The clinic’s expecting you.”
Nell removed his elbow from the young man’s grip. “I only move at one
speed, Matthew. You know that.” He padded toward the car, wobbling but making
steady progress.
Matthew rolled his eyes, piled the luggage in the trunk, and went to the
driver’s side.
“You forgot the trophy,” Neil said.
The item lay beside the chair where Neil had been sitting. Grumbling, Matthew
retrieved it, placing it in his grandfather’s lap rather than waste time reopening the
trunk.
Neil’s hands closed over the statuette above the bronze plate that bore his
name. His hands automatically stroked the contours of the running figure, but his
attention wandered elsewhere, soaking in one last view of the place that had been his
home for so long. His glance tracked to the empty, dusty windows of the far wing.
His room had been the third from the end, just over the sign reading “Shadyhome
Retirement Community.”
The once-immaculate grounds bore the first small signs of neglect. The grape
vine he had planted when he came to live there hung lush with fruit in the arbor by
the fish pond, its trunk almost as fat as a tree. He’d never seen so many grapes on it,
ripe and ready. His fellow residents always ate them too quickly.
“You must be almost the last guy to move out,” Matthew commented. “I think
you’d have stayed there if the place weren’t shutting down.”
“Could be,” Neil said. He sighed. “Let’s go.”
Traffic seemed to part magically in front of them, quiet except for the wind of
passage and an occasional cranked up music system. Matthew, as if sensing NeWs
lack of interest in conversation, kept himself busy manually guiding the car, though
the navigation menu prompted him as to what speed to travel, and when to change
lanes, in order to maintain the symphony of cross-town transit.
Matthew really was looking good. He held the steering wheel with a teenage
grace and ease. Neil lifted his own palm, stared at the creases, and after a slight
pause, pulled down the visor to look in its tiny mirror.
Moles and liver spots disfigured his bald head. The translucent pallor of his
complexion was relieved only by the rosette stain of burst capillaries. Wrinkles —
no, crevasses — lined a face rendered gnomelike by passing decades.
He lifted up the visor, and turned back to the scenery. He blinked in surprise.
They were arriving at their destination. Miles had vanished, lost to the mirror.
“Dr. Rosen said to have him paged from the lobby,” Matthew reminded him
— Neil Hated it when young folks imagined he had no memory capacity.
“Do you want me to go in with you?”
“No. I can manage on my own.”
Matthew chuckled. “I’ll pick you up here tomorrow at 10:00 sharp.”
“You’ll be late,” Neil said. He hobbled into the clinic as resolutely as his
one-hundred-twenty-year-old legs could carry him.
In the morning Matthew was on time, of course, tardiness cured by the
deliberate skepticism. The young man was leaning against the car as Neil stepped out
the door ahead of Dr. Rosen and strode briskly down the walkway.
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