Novella and image by Isabel del Rio
SYNOPSIS
Isabel del Rio’s novella Paradise follows the perils of travelling to the edge of the known universe aboard a spacecraft called ‘Paradise’ in a voyage that has lasted for centuries. Only two characters appear: a female captain, the last human on board, and an android machinist who struggles to speak but is capable of falling in love. It was published in 2020, as part of the collection ‘Paradise & Hell’. This is how the story begins…
WE ARE ALONE, I SAY. Never, ever, he replies. His is wishful thinking, and I am right as always.
“This is Paradise 2398, on its last mission,” I speak into the mike.
“But not on its last legs!” he cries out, very much his particular idea of a joke.
Yes, this is the very last Paradise there will ever be. Me, the captain; he, the machinist. Yes, he is in charge of machines, a job title I would not have given him except that he is dressed like one, with an oily cap and a screwdriver hanging from his belt. Timeless you could say. He saw the picture once in our repository and he copied the look. He seems to thrive on obsolescence.
“Paradise!”
I know he hates the name because it does not reflect the fact that at most times it was positively dire on board.
“We had some excellent times,” I reply to dispel any doubts.
“Really?”
“I heard that Paradise 1789 was real bliss.”
“That’s a legend.”
“No, seriously. It was something quite perfect.”
“No wit-wit-wit-wit-witnesses to confirm such a statement.”
“No, but it’s all in the archives and…” I begin to say, and then keep quiet.
I can tell that there is no convincing him, appearing as he does to know more than he should. He has this air about him, as if he did not belong anywhere at all.
“It has been years since it all started,” I say to break the silence.
“More like mi-mi-mi-mi-llennia.”
“Soon to end.”
“Without success, most probably.”
He gets up and removes his cap. I have not once seen him without it. Underneath he has a full head of curly golden hair. Perhaps I want to run my fingers through it.
“Why all this effort? I mean, it has been the only project we’ve been involved in throughout our lives.”
“And our parents’ lives, and our grandparents’ lives, and…”
He mentions interminable generations of humans and their quest as if he had been part of it. I want to laugh, but I cannot really show him what I feel that clearly. So, I cut him short.
“No need to continue!”
We have known each other since inception, although that is a term more applicable to him than to me. But we lived miles away in Paradise. I mean, Paradise is big, like one huge city or even one of those small nations as there used to be a long time ago, so we have been told. Seldom did I meet anyone I knew, all far too busy on board this magnificent enterprise. In fact, the machinist and I met properly for the first time only a few weeks ago. Although we knew each other, or more accurately of each other, as I said, a meeting was organised for us. It was one of those conventional meetings, with an introduction and a follow-up conversation. Little did we know at the time why we were being introduced.
“… and so on,” he says, finishing his sentence.
I nod.
“It appears that for some unexpected reason, we’re the last ones here.”
I look around and see no one. I suppose this is how it all ends up in this part of the universe.
“What do you mean?”
“The programme foresaw only two creatures sur-sur-sur-sur-surviving in the end.”
I am shocked at his sincerity.
“How would you know that?”
“Well, now that it’s all almost over, I can speak up.”
He puts his cap back on and presses a lever, one of many, but he knows which one without looking. He is after all a machinist, and levers are his line of business. He is very gentle in his touch, doing everything as if afraid to break things. A message lights up on the console and confirms what he has just said.
“Ah!” is the only thing I can utter as a non-specialist.
The machinist has spoken the truth.
“Ah!” I repeat.
I remember the sudden disappearance of sections of Paradise, just like that. They were there one day –the parking lots, the landing areas, the malls and the entertainment halls– and gone the next day. It was in the news, but only briefly so as not to make a big deal of it. They also said that there had been no attacks, no sudden malfunctions, no accidents or incidents. Just a kind of general and gradual vaporization. There were no complaints, formal or otherwise, no shows of general disagreement. Only once were there riots on board Paradise. It was when they wanted us to give up and return. That was Paradise 2020, it is all in the files.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *Material should not be published in another periodical before at least one year has elapsed since publication in Whispering Dialogue. *أن لا يكون النص قد تم نشره في أي صحيفة أو موقع أليكتروني على الأقل (لمدة سنة) من تاريخ النشر. *All content © 2021 Whispering Dialogue or respective authors and publishers, and may not be used elsewhere without written permission. جميع الحقوق محفوظة للناشر الرسمي لدورية (هَمْس الحِوار) Whispering Dialogue ولا يجوز إعادة النشر في أيّة دورية أخرى دون أخذ الإذن من الناشر مع الشكر الجزيل
