On Death and Dying
by Kerrin Watter
They seemed happy, she thought, as they drank their latte`s and nibbled on muffins like the other afternoon café crowd. So happy, so in love, she thinks darkly, watching as they stand to leave and pay the bill.
And I’m here lying sprawled on a rooftop, binoculars fixed to their position, and I’m dying in the midsummer heat. There are many ways of dying, I know. I died last year at a poker game, took a pounding when Bob’s four aces beat my flush. I dyed my hair from blonde to raven black. I died when they took the X files off tv. Felt like I was dying as the last bout of flu ripped through the country, leaving ten percent of the population dead in its wake. All those ways of dying and it’s only five in the afternoon.
The loose stones cut into my stomach as I edge across the roof following the couple’s path. I feel like I know it already. Down the street to the bookshop, then across to the bottle-o then back to the taxi rank.
My inferences are nearly perfect. But - that’s right - he buys her flowers before getting in the cab, heading back to their cosy split-level inner city apartment. I watch the taxi pull out into the street, almost feeling the near collision with a passing cyclist. I picture them that night, her hand grasped loosely around a wine glass, eyes widening as she speaks: ‘I almost died when we hit that cyclist…’
But my time is the now. The present. A time full of scratched stomaches and bruised elbows from the three hour perch on this rooftop. I shimmy backwards, feeling the dirt creep up my socks and into the legs of my pants, seeming to scratch and crawl its way up my body. Two metres from the edge and I roll onto my back, the sudden movement sending lights spinning before my eyes. I flex and groan and think about the takeaway I’ll be eating tonight as I stumble to my feet and head toward the firestairs. Right at this moment I’d kill for a two hour soak in a giant bath.
Halfway across the pacific ocean a woman stretches and groans, wriggling in her plane seat as the hours tick by.
"You okay?" Her companion looks briefly up at her, flashing her a concerned gaze as he sees her body in mid-bend, sinews popping as she stretches herself to the limit.
"My back’s killing me," she replies, curling into a ball, feeling the tendons slip back into place before straightening out. "I think I overdid it this morning."
The comment is surprisingly honest, and the man turns fully away from the controls, hitting the autopilot button as he gazes at her in concern. Dark smudges highlight her eyes, telling him what he already knows. That she’s working too hard, sleeping too little, and has something important on her mind.
Kind of like himself, a small portion of his mind reminds him, before he tells it to shut up."You should get some sleep. We’re still five hours out," he tells her as he heads for the coffee machine.
"I’m fine," she replies automatically, "besides, it’s my turn to fly, remember?"
"You think I’d trust you to fly in this condition? That’s a death wish I don’t want."
Her eyes flare and she whirls, stopping as she sees the crinkle in his eyes that remind her he does know how to joke.
"Not funny. Besides, Nate, you’re just as tired." One final stretch and she reaches for another coffee cup. "Tell me again why we accepted this stupid job?"
"Something about time-space continuum fluctuations, that’s all. I think I’ve had some experience with that in the past…" he replies mildly as she rolls her eyes at him. But it has the desired effect, and he watches as her lips twitch into a half-smile.
"Ha ha. Who made you comedian of the century?"
"Which century?"
Her automatic backhand catches him lightly on the shoulder, and he can see her eyes are shut as she gulps down the scalding coffee.
"Anyway, Dom, you get some sleep, I’ll wake you when we get there. Either that, or you can spend the next five hours in those uncomfortable chairs. Your choice."She watches his large frame as he walks back to the cockpit, watching as he eases himself into the flight chair. Her body sighs and seems to deflate with sudden weariness. She turns and heads to the small bunk at the back, picturing his smug smile as she lies down. Somedays she could kill him when he’s right.
Watching my target it seems that I can see myself. The same ambition and drive, the same lust for life, to do it all and be the best. Today I brush past them in the deli, ordering a flat black coffee and browsing the papers as they stand nearby, waiting for their bill to be settled. They don’t even notice me, the woman in the faded jeans and grey tanktop, dark hair framing a face that’s starting to show wrinkles, and a paleness that speaks of an illness not long ago. I get my coffee and leave just before them, limping slowly as I walk out the door.
I stop at a hardware shop not far from my hotel room, picking up supplies which I slowly carry back to my room. I go over my plans again, changing, modifying. I’ve only got one shot, so I’ve been told. One chance to do it right. To change the world. And the ceiling fan rotates slowly, barely stirring the dust on the floor and I’m dying in the heat again.
"So what do we look for?"
"Any readings in the 10000 to 40000 range – here." Fingers tap the small electronic screen. "They show up the abnormalities that a time-displaced person shows. I’ve filtered it out so it doesn’t read me anymore."
"So why does this concern us?" Domino was feeling petulant, and she enjoyed provoking him, especially when she woke up feeling like she had a massive hangover, and he looked like he’d slept for weeks. "Worried that someone might have muscled in on your act, Nate?"
His answering glare made her feel better."So, I’ll take the northside. You take the west, and we’ll meet back here at six. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can get some more sleep. Okay?"
"Remember we’re just looking, Dom. Don’t engage, don’t let him know you’re onto him."
"Or her."
"Yes, or her. See you later."The readings are faint, with traces centred around certain rooftops and cafes, restaurants and newsagents. But nothing firm. Nothing certain today. Except for the sweat and the smell of a city simmering in the heat, like the decay is bubbling to the surface, ready to spew onto the streets, a city that is melting, dying in the heat.
Day two comes and brings more success. The readings are stronger as they search different parts of the city, always on foot, circling and coming back to certain landmarks until:
*Found her.*
The voice is in his head and he turns, heading instinctively for Domino.
*Tell me about it.*
*A woman - pale, unhealthy looking, dark hair. That’s the _subject_ Nate, not me,* she replies as she feels the beginnings of mirth in his mind.
*Where is she?*
*On a rooftop. She’s watching some people in a café. Nothing thrilling.*
*Give me five minutes.*So that’s the wrap-up. Why all of a sudden I’m pleading for my life as my target escapes unknowing into the inner city, killing time with a brief shopping spree. Why I’m explaining myself to two total strangers who show up, shove guns in my face and then act like I have the problem. Wondering why it all came down to me, in the end. Wondering why I’m bothering at all, when, really, there’s still a living thriving city at my feet, waiting to be lived in, before I have to go.
So I pace, and sit and explain and argue, all the while feeling the time drift away, watching the clock move through the dying hour. And they watch me like this is my last performance and I’m already killing it.
"It’s a funny thing, the past. I guess you’ve been travelling for years, haven’t you. And, from what I’ve heard, you’ve got this world shattering quest that you’re on. Saving the world, the greater good. And that’s fine. I don’t really understand it, but I can deal with it." Hands run through the dirty hair, plucking at the rough strands. "But the little waves that you make, the little repercussions that you have, that we all have - that’s my gig."
He is silent, watching me as I pace and whirl, his eyes dark and brooding. I wonder briefly if he has a sense of humour, a sense of anything, buried under that time lined face
"I’m not here to disrupt your plans, Askani’son. That’s not my intention. But you’ve disrupted my timeline, and I’ve got to get it back on track."
"So, what is it this time? A killer virus? Robots taking over the world? An assassination that you have to prevent?" His partner curls her lip as she talks, one hand on her hip, the other loosely holding a plasma rifle. She’s trying very hard to look nonchalant, and succeeding brilliantly. These two have it all over me in the espionage game."Look, I’m not here to stop your plans. I’m just here to carry out my own. Quick, simple clean. Then I’ll be gone, and you can both go home. Deal?"
"It’s the mutant robots, isn’t it," Domino says quietly to herself. Her partner flicks her a look, his eyes narrowing dangerously as they scan back to me.
"I don’t particularly want to scan your mind, but I’ll do it if I have to. Your choice."And my house of cards has fallen down and blown away, just like that. My gut twists and my head pounds, as a brief temporal wave disturbance rocks the rooftop. I hiss my breath through my teeth, trying to release the pain that’s fighting its way up my body, and I cling to my belief that the sooner my job is done, the sooner these will go away.
"I think we need to talk." He makes the decision for me, and I follow meekly behind.
"What are you going to do? Stop an event? Prevent a war?"
"Stop something from happening, well, stop it from getting worse."
"Stop what?"
"The changing of a virus."
"I’ve heard this line before. We’ve already destroyed the altered viruses, Apocalypse’s plan failed."
"I have no idea what you just said, but this is no ‘manufactured’ virus. It’s a bad strain of the flu. Naturally occurring." I can see his mouth open again to ask another pointless question, and I stop him with an upraised hand.
"Four months ago, you were involved in an attack on a medical facility with your team X-Force. In the course of this, a certain doctor was killed. We’ve tried going back to get the doctor out before you attack, but that hasn’t worked. So this time, I’m going for the carrier."
"Carrier? What is this doctor meant to have done?"
"It’s what he can’t do now. This flu - when it hits this woman, it mutates, changes, into a more virulent strain. It reacts with her specific DNA, which results in a strain that’s responsible for wiping out ten percent of the world’s population. She starts the plague."
"She’s a mutant?"
"No. Just an everyday person. Now, we’ve traced it back, and ran the simulations, but it all points to two facts. If he had lived, this doctor would have created an effective antibody treatment, and stopped the spread of the plague. But if it’s impossible to save the doctor, by eliminating the target we also get the desired effect." A pause, the gaunt grey face blinks then continues. "No plague."The sun begins to set as they digest my news and I watch the city become covered in shadows and rays, fighting a battle which the night will win. I predict their arguments, and I’m right. They just don’t get it, the simple idea of cause and effect, however minor it may be. And it kills me how hypocritical two people can become, as we discuss the greater good and the murder of innocents, and it’s only ‘cause I know their track record that I can keep going, and not lie down and die like I’m wanting to.
"No, you need to listen. Because of your actions in these times, you are changing the future. Not the absolute future, but the everyday future that effects most people. The forest is still there, but the trees are different. That’s my reality. So, do you let me do my job?"
"And what about her? This poor woman you’re going to murder. ‘cause that’s what it is, sweetheart. Murder."
"I know what I have to do. And I know that if she doesn’t die within the next forty-eight hours, then I’ve wasted my trip. What she wants is immaterial. She probably *wouldn’t* want to know that she’s responsible for a worldwide plague."And soon I win. I hobble down the fire escape, my chest heaving from the exertion, as my lungs struggle to cope with the increased need for oxygen. It takes my mind off the hollowness of the victory, and I can fool myself with the greater good. Because for her, and for me, it means the end. And all of a sudden my knee is killing me, and I’m dying for a coffee and eight hours sleep.
As expected, the plan goes smoothly. The keys I stole from the janitor allow me easy access to her hotel room. I’m waiting for her when she arrives. Fortunately, it’s quick. She doesn’t suffer much, I’d like to think, as her knees collapse slowly to the floor. I can see in her eyes, she’s dying for some air, dying to know why - why death, why now, why me? So many questions.
"For the future," I whisper. "You would have done the same." Yet the questioning look that follows me to her death takes me with her, and some part of me died that day.
Death is never pain free, but today it was quick and merciful.
There are so many ways of dying, and today I’ve already experienced two.The furnace incinerates the body, destroying all last traces of the target, any material that could have bred the virus. And then she’s gone.
"I understand why she did it, but why does it feel so wrong?" Domino’s voice is soft as her binoculars follow the gaunt figure through the room, the question posed more to herself that to her partner.
Her answer is in his touch, in the hand that brushes her shoulders, resting comfortingly as she shakes her head.The grey woman leaves the hotel, a small duffel bag in one hand, her quick steps taking her to the subway. Then she’s gone, leaving death in her wake, but taking the greater knowledge with her.
"So, Nate, does she go back? Or fade away?"
He shakes his head as he ponders the answer.
"I don’t know, Dom. But the temporal waves are getting weaker - either she’s disappearing, or the time line is being smoothed. I don’t know."
"It just doesn’t seem fair."The woman watches the sun rise over the ocean, the smallest hint of colour returning to her skin. She doesn’t smile, but she is content. She has a small time to have her life, to justify the life that she just cut short, to somehow make it even out. She takes another breath, and this time, the breathing is easier. She’s been cured, but the ravages from the virus on her body take their toll. But as she watches the sun rise, she could die from happiness.
And she knows the truth. That sometimes the greatest sacrifice that someone can give is themself. And that living with the knowledge that you had caused the deaths of all those people, and that maybe you had a chance to prevent it all from happening, then maybe you’d take that risk. To stop your life before it took flight. Another temporal wave crashes over her, and for a blink she has gone. Then the body is back, seemingly greyer than before, slowly fading away from time. And then she smiles because she at least had today.
Many thanks to Nick Earls whose ‘many ways of leaving’ made such an impression. It’s a great story. Go read it. :)
(c) kwatter, 1999
Not for distribution or reproduction without the permisison of the author.Cable and Domino used without permission from Marvel Comics, for entertainment purposes. No infringement intended. Yaddayaddayadda. Like you didn't know that already.