Reloading the Colts

By G. Alvin Coon

They were madly in love for fifty-three years. They were old, and Bill's doctor told him that he was not long for this world. And was he ever right.
A seventy-five-year-old Bill went to bed one night in the 23rd century on Earth, and woke up the next morning to find that he and his wife Cookie were now non-biological, and destined to be marooned on a freshly terraformed planet in another galaxy.
Like Adam and Eve, they were given a paradise, and they had to fight to keep it. Would they move fast enough to defend against an attack from space? Would non-biological reproduction of human children work? Would living forever be a blessing or a curse? They were in a realty that only seemed possible inside a dream, and only they could prevent it from turning into a nightmare. Fate dealt the hand, and it was up to them to play it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Alvin Coon
• Release date: Jun 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370471126

G. Alvin Coon

I was born in Loma Linda, California, but I have visited all 50 of the states in the USA, and spent enough time to receive mail in nine of them, with full residences, driver's license etc, in six, including border states north and south and coastal states both east and west. My oldest son was born in California, and my youngest son was born in Hawaii when my wife and I were living on Midway Island. I also spent a year in the middle of the Indian Ocean on an island, officially named Diego Garcia, but the 1200 of us guys, with no women residents, affectionately called it The Rock. My working expertise has been technical. I have worked as a field service engineer, maintaining CAT scanners, and Ion Implanters. I spent nearly a decade teaching electronics and other technical fields, with four of those years teaching sailors how to maintain HF transmitter systems for the fleet on the east coast. While I spent decades as an electronics technician, my heart was in engineering and science. Writing has been part of my life for decades, and it only has grown more important to me with time. My first short story that I remember was written around 1984. I have written many more short stories over the years, but most of my writing has been non-fiction, until now. From very long emails, to essays for web pages, and maintaining a blog, I have typed out millions of words. I have always loved to document events so I can read about them again later, or share them with others. It is now something I must do everyday. Writing has become that important to me. I can still hit a fastball, but my running days are over pretty much. Age has taken things from me, bit by bit. But it has given me things as well. I have been blessed with the best wife in the world for over forty years, two sons, and three grandkids. I have watched things like handheld calculators come into being replacing the slide rule I had to use in physic class in high school. Personal computers, came into being, and grew more and more powerful with each passing year. From party lines to cell phones, it has been an exciting journey for me.

Book preview

Forward

Myth or Fact?

I am a proud native of Attis. I, like you, grew up surrounded by stories, myths and legends of the human origin of the Colt Galaxy, and how the William Empire, which has held the allegiance of every planet known to man for over ten thousand years, was launched from here.

Our assertion is not unchallenged, and many scholars feel that planets like Pompeii, Liverpool, or Chicago have as good or better claim to being man's beginning, and perhaps Attis was colonized by one of them. I do not now contend that I have absolute proof that Attis is our galaxy's first planet. However, I am happy to be able to present something here for the first time.

In August last, I was given permission to visit the sanctuary of the ancient Colt Valley ruins. I inspected the land where nothing remains, except for what has been exposed by archeological digs: rocks and broken concrete; bits of metal; and residual shapes barely discernable in the ground. I nearly despaired of finding anything new. After all, others have meticulously searched this revered valley for centuries, scholars perhaps whose abilities were superior to my own. Then, as I was inspecting the rocky cave, which legend suggests housed the original settlers, the very ones who gave the Colt Galaxy its name, serendipity gave me a helping hand. Time and weather created a weakness. I heard a crack, and found myself falling through the floor, landing amid a pile of rocks.

I was relatively unhurt, with only a few scrapes and bruises, and my light source was undamaged. I searched through a chamber that had not felt human feet upon its floor for at least centuries, and perhaps millennia. Alas, while humans had not visited, small animals and the elements left their marks; the chamber obviously had not been fully sealed. Nearly everything within this space had decayed severely.

I feel the room layout tended to match the details of what is called Bill's Lab in the story. It had two chambers, connected through what may have been a door. However, there was nothing I could unquestionably recognize. A workbench on the left? Perhaps. A desk at the rear? Maybe. Rust and other tools of corruption had left nothing untouched, with one exception: a metal box. This box had a very high albedo. It seemed to come to life when I aimed my light in that direction, as if an internal light had turned on. It was uniquely untouched, appearing to be new. The box was sealed, and constructed from an unfamiliar alloy, which was impervious to whatever had destroyed everything else in the chamber.

I should point out that a team of experts later gave the chamber a thorough examination, and it revealed no remains of either humans, or androids. As you will see, reading the document created a need to verify that fact.

Our lack of knowledge concerning the Colt Valley has been caused by hundreds of selfish souvenir seekers, who removed countless precious artifacts, now gone forever. Naturally, I reported my find to the authorities, and they rewarded my honesty by granting me one decade of exclusive publishing rights for the documents found inside the container.

I will not go into the methods they used to open the container, for that has been shared with the public in great detail elsewhere. Instead, I will say that after reading the document, which follows below, the Colt Valley sanctuary has taken on a new meaning for me, and every shape and artifact might be connected to something in the story. A lone pine tree stands on the hill to the south—was it once the tree farm? The immense circle, uncovered near the cave, might it have been their greenhouse? The trench on the hill, with its odd bends and twists, might it be what remains of the ice slide? Whatever tennis is, could that uncovered rectangular section of nearly indestructible rock have been where it was played? Is that collapsed structure the old Curtson Mansion? Is the caved in ruin with no safe access, the medical building?

Whatever the Industrial Park might have been, where it is described as residing, has sadly long since been cleared, and the Amber Speedway sits on that ground. Nothing can be known today as to whether that park ever existed. While automation is part of all of our lives, in transportation and household assistance, we have no robots as described in this work. Were they ever on Attis?

I submit to you for your contemplation and study, this first ancient document. It, along with its companions, has been duplicated for safe storage for the future, in case anything should happen to the originals. The metal container and the documents are on display at the Attis Museum of History and Science. Interestingly, all dating methods available indicate that the box and contents are contemporary with each other, and their age appears to be at least fourteen thousand years.

Are they truth or fiction? History or a fantasy created to entertain? There is no way to know. But personally, I think this is what really happened, and Attis is the home of this wonderful Colt Galaxy, and the Empire to which we are all so thankful, and proud, to give our allegiance.

~G. A. C. March 17, Year of the Empire 11,231

Prologue

Arrival

Michelangelo watched space stabilize around the ship, Pilgrim's Path. The transit had been brief, and no aberrations had appeared on his console. Even so, ever the perfectionist, he verified ship's position, swept space for possible approaching objects, natural or artificial, and most importantly, confirmed the exact location of the target planet.

Michelangelo adjusted the range on his forward scanner to enlarge the image of the planet. Another planet. Another project. He sighed. This was not his planet, he would not be sharing in it's future. That was someone else's role. How he envied them.

Pilgrim's Path had nailed the target coordinates perfectly. Directly aft of the ship's current position lay ten galaxies before reaching the Milky Way and Earth. Nine of them would qualify as being as large, or larger than the Milky Way, but one of them was slightly smaller. For his mission that was unimportant.

The target planet orbited a star, a twin of old Sol. The orbit was virtually identical with Earth's. That was no accident of course. This system was selected from millions of possible systems. Innumerable probes had been sent throughout this galaxy, very special probes that could detect just these conditions.

This planet was quite similar to Earth. The length of its year was exactly the same. Its gravitation, at the surface, was within one percent of earth. Its diameter was larger, but so was its mass, balancing the gravitational pull at the surface almost exactly. The mass of the single planet was the same as the mass of the moon and Earth at their orbital barycenter, allowing the same orbital time about this star. Its rotational speed created a twelve-hour day. He would slow that down to something that they could deal with. The tilt of its rotational axis was 23.9 degrees, a bit more than Earth's 23.5, still the seasonal changes would not be too harsh.

Michelangelo had a lot of work to do, before dropping his passengers off. The atmosphere had to be adjusted, oceans had to be created, life had to get started. It would be paradise when he finished, because he was good at his job. He only suffered a bit with envy as he began.

There would be weather, rain and storms. Snow and blizzards, but tropical wonders as well. He was going to create a very nice home for his passengers. It would take centuries to get it done; he had lots of time.

Michelangelo hit the release button on the atmosphere package, and watched it launch to the planet. He monitored its flight, and the deployment of the nanodevices he knew would work technological miracles, terraforming this hot dead planet into paradise. When every device transmitted back that all was in the green, he turned the ship to the outer ranges of this solar system, in search of ice formed moons. He had some oceans to deliver.

It was not a short trip, and even though he knew it would be painful, he decided to take a walk. Pilgrim's Path was huge, miles long, but that only made it feel lonelier. He checked on his cargo, made sure all was secure. He paused a long time with his hand resting on her container, wracked with agony from the loss of the only thing in the universe he loved.

His passengers would never see him, or get to really know him. It was better this way. They would never know his story, or the pain he carried with him. In the end, they might even despise him, though he only had the best wishes for them, and their success.

He rested with his hand on the door to his quarters, the place the passengers would never suspect existed. If she were still here, she would be proud of him; he knew she would. She had such a good heart. She would pity him, even though it was his fault entirely. She loved him as he had loved her. Oh, how he missed her.

Chapter One

The Awakening

William Darrel Colt, Wild Bill to his friends, awoke on his back. He had slept that way for years, ever since he got old. But the room was dark. Pitch black. He couldn't see his clock, or the lights on his oxygen machine, and there were no alarms from the house computer. We must have lost power.

But there was a rumble. Is the air conditioner still working?

Cookie. His voice sounded muffled. No reply. He had been repeating himself for years; their hearing had departed, along with so many other things: things they used to take for granted. They had celebrated their fiftieth wedding anniversary three years ago, so it wasn't surprising. And Cookie was a very sound sleeper.

He reached over to shake his wife, but his hand only moved a few inches before hitting a solid wall. It was too close to be the bedroom wall, and it was on the wrong side. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. He suddenly realized that his covers were missing; he must have kicked them off in his sleep. Their bedroom was always cool, but he wasn't cold, and even the wall felt warm. Why? It smelled odd, sterile.

He reached up to rub his eyes, but his hand bumped into a lid above him.

What the… Suddenly, Bill was afraid, really afraid. It was growing, gnawing at his insides like a rat trying to eat its way out. The air wasn't moving at all, trapped. Reaching to his right, he found what he feared most: another wall. His mind was reeling, trying to avoid facing what it knew to be true. Just to do something, no matter how futile, he reached up to find another wall at the top of his head. He knew it would be there. He was in a box. Damn! I've been buried alive. NO!

Terror took over completely, and he slammed his forearms against the lid in desperation. Like that is going to help with six feet of dirt over you—idiot!

At age seventy-seven, Bill had foolishly thought he had run out of things to fear. His health was bad, and he didn't expect to reach eighty; he was going to die soon, but not now, not this way. He couldn't face dying in a coffin, buried alive; it was too horrible. His mind turned quickly to Cookie. He would never see her again. Cookie!

There was a click above him. The lid popped up; a crack of light appeared, running down the side of his prison, and near his feet it formed a wedge. Bill's eyes were locked onto the area of light. It grew wider and brighter, as the lid began to open. The cover moved upward through an arc, then reached the top, and continued on until it fell out of sight, over the side. Air, fresh and cool, hit Bill in the face, and there was light, lots of light. As his fear ebbed away, what was left behind was disgust. Shame swept over him as he realized how terrified he had been.

But fear was an endless ocean, and a new wave rushed in over the top of the receding one. Nothing looked familiar. It smelled more like a warehouse or a cellar than their bedroom. This is wrong, all wrong. Then he thought of his wife.

Cookie! he shouted this time. Where was she? Where was he for that matter?

The echo bounced off metal walls, down the length of the immense room, and seemingly returned from every direction at once. The deep rumble was louder; it was no air conditioner.

Then he heard Cookie's voice. I'm here. She sounded frightened, and Bill's worry increased, as its object changed from himself to Cookie.

Where is she? He sat up quickly, far faster than he had moved in years. My adrenalin must be running wild.

He was confused by the absence of any pain; moving like that always hurt. However, he wasted no time on that mystery, and set himself for the climb out of this box. He looked over the edge. It's a long way down; this is going to hurt a lot.

He felt a tug at his waist, and pulled back from the edge of the box. Bill looked for the source of the tug, and saw that there was a wide strap across his waist, secured at both sides of the box.

Just a minute, Babe, he called as he hunted for the release button. He couldn’t find it.

Frustrated, he looked up. He could see clearly. Had he fallen asleep with his glasses on? He felt for them, but his glasses were not there. How can I see so well without my glasses? Every detail was sharp and clear. The walls and ceiling were brightly white, not even a smudge marred their surface. This was not a bedroom, and no hospital ever looked like this.

They had obviously been moved in their sleep, but were they kidnapped? Was Cookie safe? His mind was racing, but it could only slam into walls of ignorance. This makes no sense. He saw an immense room with no windows, much longer than it was wide. Bright lights threw dark shadows upon the ceiling beyond painted white girders. Where can we be?

His hands searched the strap again, hunting for the release. There has to be one. Then he saw his legs.

Where are my pajamas? His legs were naked. But no, these were not his legs; they couldn't be. What is going on? His legs hadn't looked like that since he was twenty. Where are my legs? Where the hell am I?

Bill knew he was on the point of hysterical breakdown. Maybe he was already over the edge, and he was hallucinating. This must be a dream.

Slap! Bill hit his own face, hard. The sound echoed up and down the room, but it didn't wake him up. He wasn't sleeping. What was going on?

Bill, cried Cookie. Are you okay? Amber Judith Colt sat up. Is it your heart again?

Bill had once gone into the Quick Care department at the hospital with a gall bladder attack. He was in agony. In the end the doctor gave him a shot of a powerful pain medication, and Bill had almost instantly gone from agony to ecstasy. The pain was completely gone, and he felt wonderful. It was as if someone had thrown a switch, it happened so fast.

He realized that another switch had just been thrown, because he instantly forgot all about his young legs, the long room, and even the box. A vision had taken over his entire being: Beauty incarnate, rising from another box, only ten feet away. She was a goddess, exquisite beyond the lovely Aphrodite. But as surprising as this was, the goddess was not new to him, for he had married her fifty-three years ago.

Cookie's face at once went from terror to pure astonishment. She was looking directly at him, not their surroundings. Something about him had shocked her.

But Bill was living through his own shock, because suddenly he found there was nothing else in the universe; what he saw—all he saw—was his naked wife, so tantalizing, so gorgeous, that it tortured him to have even ten feet separating them, while he gazed upon her beauty. It was impossible, but here was his bride on their wedding night. She couldn't have been one day over nineteen years old. Hair, her hair, honey blonde, not a single gray strand anywhere, surrounding the face he always thought of as perfect, running over those smooth creamy shoulders, and down a flawless back. Her face, her breasts; everything he could see was the ideal, perfect. Bill slapped himself again, even harder. This was not possible.

Stop that! Cookie shouted. This isn't a dream. I don't know what it is, but I'm here, and you're here, and slapping yourself silly won't change it.

Bill thought about what he had seen on his own body: smooth skin, no age spots, and no varicose veins. He even felt young. Mentally scanning, he didn't feel a single ache anywhere. Then he looked at Cookie again, and he knew he had to get to her. Whether it was love, protectiveness, or just plain lust, he didn't care.

Bill, Cookie said, I'm frightened. Where are we? And why are you so young?

"I'm young Cookie? he stammered. Look at you. You're gorgeous. What has happened? I'm not complaining; I just love the way you look." He chuckled lubriciously.

Cookie looked down for the first time, and her beautiful green eyes grew round in wonder. Wow! And it doesn’t hurt to move. Look at you Bill; if you weren't so far away, it could be us, waking up on our honeymoon.

You read my mind, Bill said.

Seeing Cookie had put Bill into a fog. He forgot about the restraint, and tried to leap out of the box, without success. Where's the release for this damn strap? he demanded.

Bill jumped, and Cookie gave a little scream, when the overhead speakers came to life.

Mr. and Mrs. Colt. A disembodied voice filled the long room. I sincerely apologize for waking you this way.

Who are you? Bill asked.

My name is Michelangelo, but you may call me Mike, if you prefer.

I'll call you a lot more than that if you don’t answer straight, Bill said. Who are you? Why are you holding us in these boxes? Why are we here? What in the world is going on?

Let me start by saying there is nothing wrong.

"What? What do you mean there is nothing wrong? We are not in our bedroom, let alone our bed. Who kidnapped us, and where have we been taken?"

Please note what I said. I said there is nothing wrong, I did not say that nothing had changed. May I explain?

I bloody well insist, Bill said.

This is going to take some time. Would you be willing to allow me to explain in more comfortable surroundings, outside of this cargo bay? Perhaps in your living quarters? You will be comfortable, and have a chance to get dressed. What do you think?

Fine, Bill said. Where are our quarters, and how in the hell do I get out of this belt? He might look twenty, but he hadn't lost his senior citizen edge.

Allow me to release the catches on both of your restraints, the voice said. They each heard a click as the voice continued, You have been in transport, and the belts were for your safety.

Hardly two seconds had passed, after the release, before 'Wild Bill' was holding 'Cookie' in his arms. She was soft and warm, smooth in a way only a woman can be. It was wonderful. Her lips were hungrily searching for his. How long had it been? I never thought I would feel like this again.

The two of them, with lips and arms locked in a lover's embrace, backed by fifty years of love, but fueled by the vigor of youth, were reliving their honeymoon at Niagara Falls, the virtual trip they had taken over the drop, the real boat trip where they got soaking wet, and the incredible nights in the luxury hotel, overlooking the falls. Memories came flooding back, and both of them were crying with joy, and smothering each other with kisses. Bill wanted to squeeze Cookie so hard they would simply meld into one body.

Okay, the voice said, A little privacy appears to be in order. I will leave you two alone for a bit, while you get, shall we say, reacquainted. When you are finished, you will find the way to your quarters indicated by the sign on the foreword bulkhead, marked 'Cabin.'

Yeah, mumbled Bill, forward cabin, on the bulkhead.

They heard a chuckle echoing about them, before the speaker clicked off.

They didn't think it odd that next to them was a long storage container, covered with soft foam, and there was a shipping blanket over the top that looked amazingly clean. Instead they just fell onto it in delight. In the heat of their desire, no luxury hotel could have supplied any thing better. It was perfect.

Their passion ignited spontaneously, like a pile of combustibles bursting into flame, quickly growing into a wildfire, consuming their every other thought, and exploding into a forest ablaze, unquenchable; it had to run its course. It went on for an eternity; it was over in a moment. Time had no meaning inside the frenzy, only love had meaning, and it was all there was, grown into a blinding brilliance, hotly burning without consuming. Had it ever been so wonderful before?

Cookie, Bill said, I thought I was going to die, but I didn't even care. It was the inverse of hell, where bliss was all there was.

Oh, me too, she said. She sighed in utter delight. I didn't realize how much I missed that.

And my heart was okay, Bill said. It didn't hurt at all. I wasn't out of breath, and I didn't even get tired. It was amazing. I feel ready to do it all over again. In fact… Bill looked at her, and his eyes flashed with fire.

You animal! She laughed mischievously.

Some time later, their hunger satiated, they moved towards the Cabin sign. Bill's lust befuddled brain had gathered in that much anyway, before being lost to passion.

Hey, Bill said. I think I figured this out; we both died, and this is Heaven.

I don't know, Cookie said. We may be dressed like Adam and Eve, but I don't think Heaven is built with support beams, and coffin boxes to store the new arrivals.

Good point, Bill said. Can you imagine this strange room in the dark? He glanced around the space, but it was a jumble to him. If he had looked closely, he would have seen that, neatly in two long lines, nestled between countless large storage containers, sat dozens of boxes, just like the ones that he and Cookie had been in. The guy called it a cargo bay, so maybe it is inside a ship of some sort. There is a rumble, like maybe a motor is moving us, but I don't feel an ocean roll. We may be in space, perhaps orbiting earth.

Oh no, Cookie said. Bill, I'm frightened. Bill didn't want to admit it, but so was he.

The floor appeared to be covered with hard rubber matting, but to their bare feet it felt soft. Bill wasn't thinking about the floor though, because his emotions were bouncing around like a ball in one of those antique pinball machines. One moment he was floating on air, deliriously happy, with his arm around Cookie. The next he was filled with dread, because he knew there were people on Earth who were capable of any atrocity. This could be really bad, but it could be really good. He had no way to know which possibility was more likely. In fact, deep down, he simply couldn't believe any of this was actually happening. He expected to wake up from this crazy dream sooner or later.

When they reached the exit, it was an airtight hatch. Cookie's eyes grew round, and she took in a deep breath.

We must be on a spaceship, he said.

Chapter Two

The red dress

How can we be on a spaceship? Cookie asked in disbelief. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she were suddenly cold.

I don't know, Bill said. This is as crazy as a dream, but we aren't sleeping.

He inspected the hatch. It was just like hatches were in TV shows, with rounded corners, and a label, stenciled in large red letters: Keep Sealed: Maintain Air Tight Integrity. The bulkhead surrounding the hatch, and the hatch itself, were bright white in color.

There are buttons beside the door, Cookie said.

"If you call that a door in the space service, they'll laugh at you, Bill said. But I won't; laughing is the last thing on my mind."

The buttons were round and large, probably designed to be easy to push through a spacesuit glove. Bill shook his head. We are sort of in the opposite of a spacesuit. The top button was green, and illuminated from behind, making it easy to read the imbedded white letters of the label: Open. Below it, an unlit red button was labeled: Close.

I guess, Bill said. The green button is lit, and the red is dark, because the hatch is already closed.

Bill, hurry up and push the button please. I'm freezing. We need to get on the other side of this thing, whatever it's called. Cookie was shivering now, and Bill was beginning to get a chill as well.

It was warm in this room at first. Are they rushing us by altering the temperature?

I don’t know about you, Cookie said. But I did a lot of sweating. Maybe it evaporated and cooled us off?

Good point. You weren't the only one sweating. In any case, we have to warm up, and we won't do that here.

At six feet two inches, Bill was more than a foot taller than Cookie, but his thumb looked small, as he pushed the oversized green button. The green button went dark, and the red button was now lit. They heard the slight hiss of a pressure adjustment, as the hatch lost its seal, and slowly swung away from them, exposing a brightly lit passageway. The air coming through the hatch felt warm.

Well, here goes nothing, Bill said. Normally, it is ladies first, but I think I'd better lead the way, in case there is something dangerous on the other side.

Bill stepped through, found the passageway empty, and reached back to give Cookie a hand. Cookie looked down the hall, and didn't notice the raised lip of the hatch, and her toes slammed into the thin flat metal seal.

Ouch, she said automatically.

Are you okay? Bill was on his knee quickly. The later years had taken a toll on Cookie. Injuries, hospitals, and surgeries plagued her. Bill had been there every possible moment, nursing his precious lady. Everything else in Bill's life took a backseat to Cookie, and her welfare. He lifted her bare foot, checking for damage, but found none.

You know, it really didn't hurt all that much, Cookie said. It was as if I had a shoe on. Maybe the metal is covered with something soft.

Bill rubbed the seal edge, and in confusion he said, No, it isn't. It's bare stainless steel. Now, I remember things being a lot better when we were younger, a lot better. But there is no way we could go around kicking bare metal, without a lot of pain, and usually some blood.

Maybe this is Heaven after all. I have to admit, it has been heavenly so far. She flashed him a smile.

This eased the fear in the pit of his stomach slightly, and he gave the apparently uninjured foot a little kiss, before standing up.

It's been wonderful, he said. Look at her Bill; she is ravishing!

Down boy. Cookie laughed. We really need to focus on finding out what's going on.

With you dressed like that, it's tough for me to think of anything but you. However, you're right; we shouldn't be here, and we have no idea how safe it is. We have no business being young either. Whether things turn out to be wonderful or horrible, they certainly won't be the same.

I don't know whether to be excited or terrified, Cookie said.

That makes two of us.

Why is the area we are standing on black, when the rest of the hall is red carpet? asked Cookie.

Bill looked at the deck and saw the black patch was in the shape of an arc, and the open hatch just reached to the edge of the black arc.

It is marking the area where the hatch door will swing. Crewmen will know to stand clear of this area if a warning alarm tells them the hatch is opening. Also, they will know to never stack anything in this area, because it would block the hatch.

You mean like we are doing now?

That started them moving, and once they both were completely onto the red carpet, the hatch automatically closed. They heard nothing as it was moving, but when it slammed fully closed the sound was loud, and final: a prison cell door slamming shut. They spun around in surprise, but it was over.

There are no hatch controls on this side, Bill said. I don't think we're supposed to go back in there.

Cookie looked at the sealed hatch and shivered. Who would want to? It was cold and creepy.

Well, you have to admit, it did have an upside. Bill winked at Cookie.

Maybe so, Cookie said. She smiled. I think we can do better.

Honey, whenever you're ready, you just let me know.

Cookie laughed. I know this seems like Heaven, but there are too many things that are unbelievable. Where are we? Why do we look like this, and feel so young? I don't blame you for slapping your face before; this whole thing is crazy enough to be a dream.

Bill suddenly stopped, and he grabbed Cookie's arm. Wait a minute. What if it isn't a dream? Maybe they have us on hallucinogenic drugs, or they found a way to insert us into a virtual reality.

They looked around, and listened. The closed hatch had left them in silence—even the low rumble was gone—and the aroma had shifted to the more agreeable smell of an office. The plush carpet was soft under their bare feet. They each ran a hand along a wall.

If this is a virtual reality, Cookie said. It is the best I've ever seen. It's perfect, just like real life. Nothing feels wrong.

I agree. Nothing feels artificial or out of place to my senses. Your skin is soft and smooth, and the carpet feels real. In fact, the only thing that is truly wrong is that this is all impossible.

Cookie laughed. I think that might qualify as being 'wrong.'

Wrong, yes, but is it real? Bill protectively slipped his arm around Cookie's shoulder, and Cookie put her arm around his waist. They slowly moved forward again, while fear bubbled under the surface.

The passageway was warmer than the cargo bay, both in temperature and ambiance. With the rich carpet, it felt like they were being welcomed. The bulkheads were paneled in walnut, and if they hadn't just come from a cargo bay, they could have easily believed that they were in an office or apartment building. Nothing was visibly sinister, but a threat was hanging over their heads, made only worse by not knowing what it was.

The corridor was wide for a ship; they had several feet on either side of them. The entire ceiling glowed brightly with what appeared to be sunlight. The cargo bay had bright lights, but they seemed harsh. Now they felt like teenagers walking naked along a beach, arms around each other, snuggling together.

Their fear began to ease slightly, as memories flooded over them—good memories—a time so long ago when they had freely walked along sunny beaches. They had lived a wonderful full life. They couldn't have asked for better, or happier.

Did getting old really take so much from us? He turned to look at Cookie's face.

It was pretty grim; I hurt all the time. She frowned, and shook her head.

Bill suddenly cheered as a thought hit him. Someone found a cure for old age, and you know what? I really, really like it. He laughed.

Me too. Cookie squealed. Bill felt a thrill. How long had it been since I last heard that sound? He thought of her squealing on the roller coaster—she loved all the carnival rides—and she had her arms around his neck as they went through the huge drop. And there was the time…

Hey, Cookie, Bill said. Do you remember when we got back from Niagara Falls, and we rented that wonderful cabin at the base of Mt. Hood? I saved you from falling into the Sandy River, near the cabin we rented.

Cookie laughed loudly. Saved me? Yeah, I remember, and you pushed me! She gave him a little shove to demonstrate.

Sure, Honey. But then I grabbed on, and dragged you back; I saved you from falling in. He pulled her back to him as he spoke.

Cookie was still laughing, the sound echoed down the hall, but was dampened by the carpet.

You know why I wanted to push you in, don't you? Bill grinned at her.

Why? Her face showed a half smile, and a look of complete disbelief.

The water coming down from the glaciers of Mt. Hood was frigid, and if you got soaked, we'd have to hurry into the cabin, to get you out of those cold wet clothes. Then I could warm you up by that nice hot fire.

As I recall, Cookie said in disbelief, you got me out of my clothes anyway.

Warmed you up too, as I recall. Bill laughed and gave her a wink.

Cookie punched him in the side, and then she giggled.

Bill could picture those days, as though they were only yesterday. It was perfect, with the love-filled cabin, and its stairs made of rough cut logs, running up over the fireplace, and into paradise: a warm romantic loft. That was a wonderful weekend!

Bill, Cookie said. She shook her head, but then she chuckled. What am I going to do with you?

Bill smiled brightly, and then gave her a wink. I'll let you know, when the time is right. This time Cookie slapped his bare stomach, and he doubled over in mock pain. Life was always fun with Cookie, and Bill couldn't help but feel optimistic, as long as she was with him.

They approached a right turn in the passageway. In the corner there were two hatches, one to the left and one straight ahead. Both hatches had the same black arcs on the carpet. Neither had any handles or controls, leaving them sealed against entry. Bill and Cookie turned right and continued on.

You know what is missing? Bill asked.

People, Cookie said.

Exactly. If this were a cruise ship, it would be crawling with people, dressed extravagantly, and having a great time. We haven't heard a single voice echoing down the halls, let alone actually having seen anyone.

Maybe it isn't a cruise ship. Cookie looked worried.

Then what? Bill asked. " No one goes into space any other way. The government lets civilians ride on cruise spaceships, but even those ships are state owned. And all other types of ships are for the military only, and classified as Secret. If anyone is caught on those, as a stowaway, he will be tossed naked into space. If they catch him on the ground, they just shoot him: no exceptions."

Now I am really frightened, Bill. Cookie shuddered, and Bill protectively pulled her closer.

They had left the hatches behind them, and this corridor was lined on either side with conventional doors, all closed. A solitary door stood facing them at the end of the long hallway, its polished brass knob reflecting the pseudo sunlight. The couple moved forward, and split up the job of trying the handles, with Bill taking the ones on the right, and Cookie checking the ones on the left. Each one they tried was locked. Growing more impatient with each door, they had worked through nearly half of them, when they heard that voice again.

Welcome, Michelangelo said. The lovebirds were surprised; in their earlier passion, and then exploration, they had forgotten about their host.

Bill and Cookie had spent their entire lives in a world where they could be spoken to without warning. They had shared their life at home with a third member: Bert. Bill suspected that the noun Bert was a corruption of the word butler, because Bert was the universal name for a house computer. Even a computer that spoke with a female voice was called Bert, and the options for the voice were highly varied; hardly any two Bert voices were the same. The residents could adjust voice properties, choosing between male and female, each with a wide range of pitches, accents, and manners or tones, from formal British, to sultry barmaid—it was very popular to make the voice sound like famous actors or actresses—but whatever the voices sounded like, each of them carried the same moniker.

Every home in their society had a computer system running the odds and ends of the residents' lives. Bert saved Bill's life when he had his heart attack, because it was monitoring his vital signs, and immediately called emergency medical when Bill went into cardiac distress.

Every Bert balanced the household financial accounts, kept inventory on the food, and other necessities, and it placed orders automatically for things people needed, and upon request, for things they wanted; it also supplied information beforehand, as to whether or not the cost of the requested items would fit into the budget. People grew to depend so much on their Bert, they had forgotten how to do many things for themselves. When a family had its computer go down, it was a huge crisis. Fortunately, with existing backups and failsafe circuits, such a disaster was rare. However it was universally true that all anyone had to do, in order to be overwhelmed with sympathy from everyone within earshot, was to say, My Bert's down.