#1 – Coldsnap

Warm ocean water crept up the gold-glitter shores of Sedecim, sending brief flurries of sand between Sender’s toes. She shivered in the evening breeze and held her jacket closer to her, squinting into the endless, blaze-red horizon. Absently, she spun a makeshift ring around her finger; an old, worn piece of wrap-wire fencing.

When would it be her turn? It was nearing, she knew; Speaker was getting older, his memory fading… But he had, perhaps, one more in him. Perhaps one more.

Sender picked up her sandals and padded her way slowly back towards the outskirts of town. The shoreline was surrounded by a black lava cliff, on which brilliantly colored flowers grew wild. A small path, carved into stone, led her up through the berry patches and into the township.

It was beginning to get dark, but familiar faces still milled about in the old market. Sender cast an eye at the empty space which once held her mother and father’s stall; no one had been able to bring themselves to occupy it, not yet.

“Dinner yet, Sender?” asked a voice; Sender turned to see Calmer, tapping his fingers across the top of his stall, invitingly. She walked over, shaking her head.

“Not yet. Indian?” she asked. He reached up and spun his sign, which quickly rotated; flashes of cuisine, too fast to pick out. He reached up and stopped it, with a little more flair than was strictly necessary.

“Anything for you,” he said as flickering, two-dimensional images of curries, naan and samosas appeared on the table in front of them. In a few seconds, they resolved fully into three-dimensional space. As she picked up one of the samosas and raised it to her mouth,  he raised a hand to stop her, reaching below the counter and pulling out a small tray of sauces.

“That’s new,” said Sender, delighted; she tried it, and then gave a hurried nod of approval with her mouth still full. Swallowing, she said, “Did Walker bring that in?”

Calmer shook his head as the discarded food flickered away.

“We got it as a net update from Quinque, believe it or not,” he said. “Turns out they’re all still alive over there.”

“Are you kidding? Hadn’t it been months?” asked Sender, momentarily choking on her food. “I thought they were down to like, twenty people.”

“Fourteen now,” said Calmer, softly. He tapped at his table again; a few quick beats.

“Fourteen?” Sender’s eyes widened. “That means that–”

“Yes,” said Calmer; he shrugged.

Sender pushed her plate away, appetite lost. It promptly faded. The market space was empty and unmarked now; just a plain, wooden booth, with no adornment.

“Hey, don’t worry,” said Calmer, reaching out to touch her hand. She smiled at him, weakly, and then shrugged.

“I have to go see to my father,” said Sender, nodding in the general direction. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bring him these,” said Calmer, reaching below the desk and pulling up a small basket of cookies. “He asked me for some attribute changes. Ask him if I got close enough.”

“Thanks,” said Sender, smiling and taking the basket, which felt weightless and insubstantial in her hands. She nodded to Calmer as she walked away, weaving through the few townspeople who were still about. Each of them nodded to her in turn.

How many days had it been? In fact, what day was it? Sender looked down at her wrist and expanded the screen; a glowing, flat surface extended from the small, black disc.

YOU ARE IN SEDECIM
IT IS THE 22ND OF SEPTEMBER
IT IS THE YEAR 153
IT IS 6:00 AT NIGHT
THERE ARE NO ALERTS
THERE ARE NO WARNINGS
YOU ARE CURRENTLY 20 YEARS OF AGE
YOU ARE CURRENTLY HEALTHY
YOU ARE SAFE

“That seems subjective,” muttered Sender. She stopped suddenly, nearly walking into a figure in front of her. She gave a quick apology as her screen disappeared. September 22nd. It had been almost one year. How could it have possibly been almost one year?

They had never figured out whose fault it was, and Sender was secretly relieved. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to have to blame someone.

She reached the black-slate door of her father’s home. Glowing numerals inscribed across the door read “132 READER.” She cautiously pushed the door inwards; it swung open easily, revealing a white, plain and barely furnished room. Her father sat in a saggy, black leather chair, in front of a video projection.

“Well, this is different,” said Sender, staring at the far wall. She didn’t recognize the video, but it was clearly old; it was two-dimensional, with distorted colors. Of course, it wasn’t as though they were making new productions, anymore. “I know you hated the old cabin, but this seems extreme.”

“I’m getting comfortable,” said Reader, not turning around. His salt-and-pepper hair barely moved from his chair.

“Calmer sent these over,” said Sender, holding up the basket to show him. His head didn’t turn. She sighed, and looked around for a table before finally placing the basket on the floor. “How long are you going to do this?”

“Let an old man sulk in peace,” said Reader. His hair shook.

“You’re 43,” said Reader, walking around and facing him in the chair, blocking off his video. He strained to look around her, and she moved to obstruct his view again. “I heard from Speaker that you don’t even have a single gray hair uptop.”

“What would he know? That was three years ago. A lot has happened, since then,” said her father. He started looking past her. She looked to see that he had moved the projection to the left. She sighed.

“You can’t do this anymore,” she said, getting directly in front of him and grabbing his hand. She forced a lighthearted tone. “For one, the villagers haven’t had pork in a year. How long do you really think people can last without bacon?”

“Have someone else handle it. You can handle it,” he said, with a shrug.

“You know I can’t,” said Sender. “It’s assigned to you and you need to do it. And no, I’m not having Calmer unlock it. He’ll get detected and put in timeout like Watcher–are you even listening to me?”

“I don’t know how to do it,” he said, pulling his hand back.

“You’ve been doing it for twenty years,” said Sender, exasperated.

“I don’t know how to do it without your mother,” he snapped. “I left it too long and now I can’t. I’ll go there and they’ll all say, oh, how good that you’re finally out here again. And they’ll think I’m over it. And… and that’s when she’ll be gone.”

“Dad… you can’t do this forever,” said Sender, kneeling in front of him. “You can’t just sit here like this. It’s no life–”

“What is?” he asked.

Sender opened her mouth to answer, but realized that she hadn’t any answers to give. She sighed, and stood, making a weak gesture towards the floor.

“There are cookies, if you want them,” she said, softly, as she left.