To the Moon and Back Again

An uncertain future prompts a final farewell.

Jordan stared up at a trail of white smoke left behind by the Aries 3 rocket and imagined a barnyard of animals taking shape in the thick puffy plumes. A rubber ducky escaped from a giant fireball near the engine and lazily floated out into a clear blue sea, safe from the recently ignited ammonium perchlorate, aluminum and a binding agent Jordan had invented. A few of the other chemical engineers called this the dragon’s breath, a flaming glow of orange and red directed at earth, threatening her existence with incineration.

“Do your best, dragon. We’re prepared for the worst,” he said from the safety of a lawn chair on the back deck.

A tickle at the back of Jordan’s throat turned into a slow burn within his lungs, resulting in the onset of a coughing fit. He pulled out a folded handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his mouth, trying to stifle convulsions while bent over at the knees. Burgundy splotches already stained the once pure fabric. When he pulled it away, a fresh batch of bright red spots spread out on the cotton canvas, illustrating the final act of a story nobody would remember except his wife Rachel and daughter Kayla.

“Are you okay?” Kayla shouted from the rear of the lawn.

Jordan gave a thumbs up as he leaned back, attempting to suppress another coughing fit, so as not to worry her. She held a tablet standing over the lawnmower, a mashup of her own invention, solar powered, retrofitted with proximity sensors, remote control and AI infused nanites she spent all summer programming. The mower would not cut the grass in straight lines, a feature she said optimized for sun exposure and minimal turns. At fourteen her intelligence surpassed Jordan’s, a lack of life experience her only barrier to greatness.

Kayla had spent hours within the confines of her bedroom, skipping meals and prompting Rachel’s indignation. Jordan wondered if the hobby helped dull the slow, painful realization their time together as a family was short. Only once did he press for details on her experiments, hoping to connect on a level beyond daily formalities over lunch. Kayla could barely contain her annoyance, asking him politely not to disturb her during “working hours”.

The family’s P-Bot, Clement, walked around the side of the house and stepped onto the deck, the soft whir of gyros and click of switches upsetting a nearby flock of blue jays.

“Sir, I’ve detected abnormal levels in your CBC. Dr. Bryce has recently recommended a lab test of your hormone receptors. Would you like me to schedule an appointment?” Clement asked.

“You’re worse than Rachel. I regret allowing Kayla to connect your learning model with my bio transducer. No appointment will be necessary,” Jordan said.

“Yes, sir. Several of your former colleagues have emailed to inquire about your health status since your departure from Aerodine. Would you like me to respond with salutations and the good news regarding your increased white blood cell count?” Clement asked.

“Goodness, no. You need to learn about personal boundaries. Go ask Rachel if she needs help pruning the lilacs in the front yard.”

“Rachel has informed me that your constant rejection is due to a lack of emotional availability. Is this such a case, sir?”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side, sir, standing right next to you.”

The sliding glass door to the deck opened and Rachel stepped out, her hair displaced from the morning’s gardening and with dirt smudged across her face and clothes. She wore a flowered head scarf, now tattered and worn, a gift from Jordan she refused to discard. She walked over to her husband, kissed him on the cheek and waved to Kayla. A second rocket breached the top of the tree line, spewing trails of smoke and vapor, sending more rubber duckies into orbit.

“Am I going to have to reprogram this mechanical nuisance? You and Kayla have sure done a number on him,” Jordan said.

“We’re all looking out for your best interest,” Rachel said.

“You won’t have to do that much longer. The least you can do is leave me behind a personal bot with all its faculties.”

Rachel pulled up another lawn chair and sat next to Jordan, rubbing his arm and folding her fingers into his. She was no longer content to merely exist in his presence, but tried to ingest memories of him, savory meals consisting of long drawn out conversations and gentle caresses. She wanted to stay. He wanted her to stay. But he could never forgive himself for asking such a thing.

“It won’t be so bad down here. Even if the calculations are correct, we couldn’t have picked a better spot. Most of the damage will occur in Asia and Russia. George says his compound will support all of us for three or four years at least,” Rachel said.

“Your brother, George, who constantly forgets to charge his car and wears two different colored socks. Even so, after it’s over you’ll think differently, when you witness the aftermath,” Jordan said.

“Dr. Bryce said they’re considering a research center in the terraformed colonies where they’ll study people with your condition in simulated gravity, or something along those lines.”

“You know the rules, Rachel. They won’t allow it. Nobody with a terminal illness can go. Besides, you don’t really want to spend your last days watching me wither away and die, only to experience much worse for you and Kayla. Stop fighting it. Stop fighting me on this.”

Kayla pressed a few buttons on her tablet and the mower zipped off to park itself in the garage around the front of the house. She skipped back to her parents and Jordan admired how easily she glided through their recent tribulations, even knowing the uncertain future ahead, a topic he was sure her friends and classmates anxiously discussed over social chats. She appeared calm, unaffected, assured of a more positive outcome he knew wasn’t possible.

On the deck, Kayla peered up at the sky, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand, while she watched the latest Aries 3 disappear into the welcome arms of the stratosphere. For the first time, Jordan recognized a tinge of worry settling at the edges of her eyes and lips, the same as Rachel’s expression.

“I hear the O’Donnells have left already. Mr. O’Donnell said Suzanne is excited you’re going soon. You’re still friends, aren’t you?” Jordan asked.

“Dad, come on, we haven’t talked since third grade. Besides, she only wants me there because her boyfriend has to stay behind,” Kayla said.

“Well, there are nearly two-hundred million people looking down on us already, so I’m sure she’ll find a new boy toy,” Jordan said.

“I’m thirsty, did you want something to drink, maybe a lemonade?” Kayla asked her dad.

“That sounds great,” Jordan said.

“Would you like me to retrieve the drinks?” Clement asked.

“No! Um, no, that’s okay, Clement, I’ll get it. You keep an eye on Dad, and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere,” Kayla said.

“I detect an increased heart rate, perspiration and pupil dilation. Your body appears to be initiating a flight response,” Clement said.

“Ugh, you’re so annoying sometimes,” Kayla said, entering the house before their P-Bot highlighted any further discomforting truths.

“Now she knows how I feel,” Jordan said.

Rachel leaned her head on Jordan’s shoulder and started to cry. He held still, incapable of disarming her vulnerability, perfectly aware that nothing he could say would make their departure any easier. Clement turned toward the couple and the P-Bot’s processors observed the orchestration of emotions, knowing only that the silence was necessary, but not understanding the complexity of human entanglement.

In a few moments, Kayla appeared with a drink for Jordan. Rachel wiped her face clean, and a smile wavered across her lips, the false mask necessary so that her misery would not compound her daughter’s brewing sadness.

“I made it the way you like it, you know, half lemonade and half iced tea,” Kayla said.

“The Arnold Palmer. A classic,” Jordan said, taking several gulps of the liquid. He put the glass down on the deck as Kayla backed away and fiddled with her tablet, tapping and swiping, then looking up at Jordan and over at Clement. Jordan picked up the glass again, took a few more sips, then downed the remainder of the drink, slipping comfortably lower into the chair, breathing in the pleasant summer air. Another tickle formed in the back of his throat, different than before, resulting in a warmth spreading throughout his entire body. Kayla tapped furiously on her tablet.

“No, no, it’s not working! Why isn’t it working? Please, it has to work,” Kayla said.

“Kayla, what’s the matter?” Rachel asked, rising up to greet her daughter. That’s when Rachel noticed software running on Kayla’s tablet, a mix of bio signature graphs for Jordan, attached to the transducer implants in his body, measurements quickly scrolling past in a slew of data logs.

“Sir, I’m detecting anomalies in your biorhythm,” Clement said.

“Oh no, Kayla, what did you do?” Rachel asked.

Jordan started to cough, slow at first then furiously, doubled over, falling off the chair as his body temperature rose. He tried to breathe, but it came in shallow wheezes and gagging, like he was choking on food. A fire rose up from his stomach and settled into his chest; the dragon’s breath within would be his undoing. Rachel knelt down by his side, helpless to do anything but ask Clement for assistance. The P-Bot’s facial interface went black when it dialed another receiver over satellite, indicating an attempt to reach Dr. Bryce.

“Daddy? I’m so sorry, but I thought it would work. I tested it, all summer I tested — but I’m a failure — a total failure,” Kayla cried.

Jordan continued to cough, each time more severe than the last, and then spat up blood and small, abnormally shaped chunks of red and yellow-spotted tissue. He breathed in deep, what might be his last gasps for air before dying, except the air continued to flow, his lungs flexing and filling up with oxygen. P-Bot’s interface flicked back on, and Dr. Bryce came into view, a frazzled elderly gentleman with a thick salt and pepper beard.

“Jordan! Jordan, can you hear me?” Dr. Bryce asked.

“I’m... here... what’s happening to me?” Jordan asked.

“Your vitals look normal,” Dr. Bryce said inspecting data flowing across a secondary monitor. “I mean, not normal for a patient in your condition — normal, as in normal for a healthy man of your age. If the transducers are operational, then this is incredible. I want you in my office on Monday morning. We need to be sure, but your tumors seem to be gone.”

“It’s a miracle,” Rachel said.

“She’s a miracle all right,” Jordan said looking over at Kayla.

Clement bid the doctor goodbye and scheduled Monday’s appointment as Jordan stood to his feet, stronger and more capable than he had been in months.

“I suspect your summer project involved more than the mower,” Jordan said.

“The AI has been studying inputs for months now, determining how to extract the malignant tumors and cells using the nanites, a program I created specifically for you — only for you. Daddy, I could never leave without you,” Kayla said.

Jordan held his daughter close as she wept uncontrollable sobs of relief. Rachel wrapped her arms around them both and Clement watched from a distance, allowing the three of them a moment to enjoy their triune solitude. The P-Bot walked over to Jordan and put a hand on his master’s shoulder.

“You will be missed, sir,” Clement said.

The crackle of rocket blasters could be heard as another Aries 3 announced with tidings of joy that salvation would be available to them all. Instead of counting floating sheep constructed of exhaust fumes, Jordan would soon stare out into the far reaches of space, the twinkle of stars reflecting off the eyes of the wife and daughter he loved.