Autumn 2020
Epilogue part 1: The Card
Kevin Doole, staff
“It came today!” he said towards the videophone, eyes bulging. He spoke to his best friend in the world — Steve — but looked only at the card, glossy white with yellow curves.
“It did?” asked Steve. He too was staring at the card in Beutra’s hand.
“I don’t even know what to do with it. I’ve waited so long.”
“Well gee whiz, Beutra, I bet they’re expecting you to open it.”
Beutra’s eyes, still bulging, remained fixed on the card. “I know,” he said. “It’s just that it’s the end of this real stable goal I’ve had for six years now. Every bit of work I’ve done has led to this moment.” He placed the card carefully on the edge of his desk and looked up at the screen. “Either way, I mean, whether I get accepted or not, it still means I’ve suddenly gotta find some new thing.” He went back to staring at the card.
“Yeah,” said Steve, “That’s how these things usually work. Besides, you should be glad to get out of that crazy program and into the real world.” He lifted a coffee mug to his mouth and paused. “After everything you said about hating the program.” He took a sip now, hoping it would cast a casual tone, fit for sipping. Beutra’s eyes remained wide and fixed on the card.
“Since I was young I’ve thought of this moment,” he said and then paused, thinking of his younger years. “I always sort of assumed it would bring this wonderful flood of, you know, emotional childhood memories and the like,” said Beutra. “But it’s all different now. I know how the program works and I know what happens if you get an assignment and it just seems so stressful. There isn’t even the slightest lousy trace of wonder. No magic.” He tilted back his head and placed his palms over his bulging eyes. “Erraaaarrgg,” he groaned.
“Now look,” started Steve, “I know how you feel. When I applied for my research grant I thought it would be exciting. I thought it would be this money that would let me relax and focus, but then I got it and it was like I had signed my life away to some crummy research that seemed like a good idea one day, but got ever the more diluted and useless the more I worked.” Steve took another noticeably casual sip. He watched Beutra catch the gesture and glance up slightly. “It all turned out okay though.” That wasn’t entirely true. Steve had been ecstatic to start working on his research.
“Yeah?” said Beutra.
“Sure. I thought I’d never see the light of day again. Felt like some kinda prisoner of my own books. But it was OK. I moved on. It was a good time.”
“It wasn’t just another . . . thing? I mean . . . Didn’t it make life seem like a . . . like a waste of effort?”
“Uh, no. Not especially. It was nice. It was real nice.”
Beutra sat up straight. He realized he could sit here for long hours pondering the nature of life and achievement and never get any closer to opening the card, which was inevitable. “OK, I’ll open it. Lemme call ya back in a few minutes.”
“Sure. Good luck.”
Beutra disconnected the phone. He leaned forward and grabbed the card. Planting his elbows on his knees, he turned the card over, examining it carefully. “From the office of The Intergalactic Liaison Ambassador” he read aloud. “Hmmph.” He found the corner that read “tear here” and fumbled at it with an several fingers trying to get a thumbnail under the seam. Several moments worth of anticipation spent themselves while he mishandled the card. “Scissors!” he said, using his free hand to open a desk drawer. He rummaged and eventually tossed the card onto the desk freeing up another hand with which to dig. Pulling mounds of paper and other mail out of the drawer frantically, he soon found the scissors and turned back to the card, now buried beneath mounds of paper and other mail. He began searching through the pile.
Meanwhile, Keith Eggles was tuned in to NBC. There was a press conference in progress that was of great interest to him.
“The art world is very disappointed in the planet’s moon management policies. The art world had assumed that more effort would go into the development of an attractive and conceptual representation of humanity in the construction of the Moonbase 6 habitation variable. The art world feels that more use of see-through domes should have been used to represent humanity’s oneness on the surface of the earth’s singular satellite, or ‘the other.’”
Keith was himself an artist. As such he had a vested interest in what the art world had to say about matters of personal opinion. He felt that the current spokesperson, Sven Vladson, was doing a relatively good job at addressing issues of consequence. There was a slew of topics that Keith wished he was more knowledgeable about and they were seldom not addressed by Mr. Vladson.
Beutra found the card and sliced it open.
It read: “The Liaison Office of ShmieeSchmo would like to thank you for your application. We really enjoyed your second long-answer question, especially the part where you talked of President Boobytits and his extreme policies on cattle ranching. We liked how well-rounded and ‘udderly’ fair your ideas were. Congratulations! You are accepted!” (The italics are Beutra’s). He scanned down the page. Below the various congratulatory clipart there was a more formal string of text. “Assignment: Earth” it read. Earth was a planet of which he had never known much. He called Steve back.
“I’m assigned to Earth!” he said!
Steve froze, mid-sip. “Don’t go to Earth,” he coughed, “DO NOT go to Earth!”
To be continued. . . Next week!
