Pick A Door, Any Door

Hindsight, Chapter 3, Part 2.

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Hindsight by Neil Shooter (photo by author)

March 2038.

Bill slipped back into the warm covers. It was one of the best feelings after the cool air of the early morning. He’d pondered the colour coming to the sky, while sitting on the toilet to pee quietly, examining the colours out the window.

The warmth was like home. It WAS home, of course. He was home. He shuddered to remember the times he’d had to sleep early and rise early, facing the cold dark. That’s why he cherished being able to climb back into this warm bed so much.

He drifted in and out of sleep, the dreams evaporating as his eyes focused on his clock, and then the painting in the corner. The one Juss hadn’t finished.

The painting tugged at his awareness every morning now. Brought things crashing back. He still ached for her. He hoped that would never change.

The house phone rang a little after 9. The AI let it ring twice before answering, governed by some algorithm that balanced the needs of the morning caller with those of the late sleeper.

He didn’t hear the AI respond, or the caller’s voice. He knew, though, that the AI was handling it.

He rolled over. Who would wait to call until this “decent” hour? He knew exactly who it had to be, and as soon as he realized, he knew he would not be going back to sleep. He huffed, got out of bed, got dressed, and headed to the living room. Brian had slept through it all, of course. Brian had always been able to do that.

Bill grabbed his phone, so that the call wouldn’t echo through the house speakers. He checked the log, and of course he was right. Maxwell.

He listened to the message. Maxwell had arranged Streem meetings with the three candidates. Bill sighed. There was no way out of it. Maxwell wouldn’t back off. He couldn’t. And Bill didn’t really want him to, considering what the consequences could be. But it tore at his sense of justice to simply cooperate.

And yet, there was nothing Bill could do to stop it from happening. Rather than have to speak to Maxwell, Bill texted “OK”.

It was high time for some caffeine. Bill went to the kitchen, and while he waited for water to boil, he looked out at the front garden. The snowpack was barely hanging on, patches of brown, dead grass visible through it here and there. Around each cylindrical turbine was a ring of melt, just like around the base of each tree trunk. He’d been resistant to them at first, but mostly out of inertia. The reliability of home power generation far outweighed the inconvenience of person-sized pillars across the front garden, as obstacles to mowing, and while he’d thought of them as eyesores at first, now he regarded them as works of modern art: smooth, sleek, and functional. He’d seen worse garden sculptures.

The kettle boiled, he made his coffee, and he sat down to browse the three profiles.

*

Later in the morning, Bill sat alone in a corner of his bedroom. He felt more comfortable facing this behind a closed door. It wasn’t that he was excluding Brian, but this was going to be difficult enough without Brian buzzing around, watching over his shoulder, listening in, commenting, distracting. Bill just wanted to focus on each of them, one on one.

The Streem app finished launching on his laptop screen, ready to go.

It was time. He saw the first candidate come online, and after a few moments, the call came through, filling his screen.

Asher Burkholder had firm features and short black hair, with lines shaved into the sides of his head. “Mr. Bardington?”

Bill nodded. “Call me Bill. Asher, right?”

“Yes, sir.” His voice had an edge of uncertainty to it, and his eyes seemed to probe Bill and his surroundings.

There was a long moment of awkward silence. Bill tried to puncture it. “So, uh, tell me about yourself.”

Asher blinked, and didn’t speak for a number of seconds. “Uh, I’m Asher Burkholder, I’m six-three, 200 pounds. I play soccer. I like action movies. I follow Bachi and ToToTo. I like Proxy, and all jack, really.” He subsided.

Bill hardly knew what any of that meant. “Uh, soccer?”

“Yes, sir. I played for the Sub-Dis in the Unit Junior League. I run a lot. Work out every day. Have to keep in shape.”

“What do you think of Tweed?”

“Don’t know anything about it, sir. Not really.”

“You know anything about chickens?”

Asher looked at Bill like he was crazy. “Chickens?”

“Chickens. Birds. They lay eggs.”

“I know that much, for sure.”

“I raise chickens. Part of my quota. I grow veggies. I have fruit trees. Berries. Do you know anything about food production at all?”

“No, sir. But I’m eager to learn.”

Bill didn’t think he looked eager to learn. “Have you never grown anything?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t you have a garden?”

“Yes, sir. Front lawn. Back lawn. I have to mow it.”

“Right. So what makes you interested in moving to Tweed?”

“Uh, I want to help, uh, contribute to the smooth functioning of society, and do my part for the community, so that the Unit can thrive in these uncertain times.”

Bill recognized the words. They were from Asher’s profile, and Bill had read it so many times already this morning. “Why Tweed?”

“Uh, why not Tweed, sir?”

“What do you really want to do with your life? And don’t talk to me like I’m some guidance counsellor. Just, honestly, what do you want to do? What do you want to be?”

Asher visibly blushed. “I don’t know, sir.”

“Hmmm,” Bill said. “Let me tell you about me. I live here with my nephew. We have an acre of land, about half of which is productive, whether vegetables, berries, herbs, or fruit trees. We have a hundred chickens at most, overwintering about thirty. My neighbour to the north is very private, and surrounded by trees. To the east, a herd of cows graze all summer, and in the winter, wild turkeys roam. To the south is a hay field, and the owner’s house is 300 feet away. To the west, the neighbour lives about a kilometre back from the road, surrounded by hayfields, and in the twenty years I have lived here, he’s never spoken to me. How does that life sound to you?”

Asher gulped. “I, uh, I’m not afraid of work, sir. I’m not afraid of isolation either.”

“You think I’m isolated?”

Asher stammered. “Uh, your situation seems pretty isolated, sir.”

“How far away are your neighbours there in the city?”

“A metre or two either side. A few metres over the back fence.”

“How do you find that?”

“Pardon me?”

“Do you like having people nearby? Or do you like having some space?”

“Uh, I dunno. I never thought of it before.”

“When someone plays loud music while you’re outside, how do you feel?”

“Uh, I don’t know, sir. If I’m mowing, I don’t hear any music.”

“Right.”

“I guess I wouldn’t mind?”

“Okay.”

Bill was at a loss.

“So, you get stars out there?”

Bill was taken aback. “Of course.”

“A lot?”

Bill remembered how awed he’d been when he saw the night sky out here, after living in Toronto all his life. He smiled. “Yes, a lot. You like astronomy?”

“Uh, I like looking at stars. Don’t get to see many in Belleville. There’s this thing called light pollution—”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. There’s not much of it here. You can see lots of stars. And the house is on a bit of a hill, so there is a good view of the horizon, to the south is best, east is pretty good, west there are more trees in the way but you get a good view from the road, and not much to the north because of the trees. You know your stars?”

“Uh, no, but I’d like to.”

Bill smiled. “It’s one of the things I’ve always loved about living here.”

A toothy grin spread across Asher’s face. “You’ve seen the Milky Way?”

Bill nodded. “Oh yeah. And comets, and planetary conjunctions, and lunar eclipses. The thing you notice the most, though, is the moon, and how it moves around the sky, as it changes phase. There’s so much beauty here, if you look for it.”

The grin faded a little from Asher’s face. “The moon is pretty.” He blushed again.

Bill wondered if it was hard for the kid to talk about things like that. “There are other things too. The swallows flying around. The circling hawks in the summer. The monarch butterfly migration. Watching the storms pass. It’s not all mowing and digging and cleaning out chickens.”

Asher nodded soberly.

“Well, thank you for your time, Asher. I enjoyed talking to you.”

“Did I get the position, sir?” Asher’s wide forehead wrinkled.

“You’re my first conversation. I will definitely let you know, okay?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Thank you.” Bill ended the connection.

Would Asher be so bad? “He’s my favourite so far…” Bill laughed at his own little joke.

*

An hour or so later, another young man stared out of Bill’s screen. Hudson Motley had a narrow nose, a point to his chin, and unremarkable brown hair.

The kid introduced himself with a wavering voice.

“I’m Bill.”

Hudson looked at Bill with searching eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the lingering silence.

Bill took charge. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Um, what do you want to know, sir?”

“I don’t know. What do you want to tell me?”

“I don’t know. Did you like my statement?”

Bill frowned. “Sure.” It had much the same flowery language as the others’.

“I always have trouble with things like that. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I know I’m supposed to be selling myself, but…”

“But what?”

“Um, I’ve never really achieved anything. I’m not in any clubs. I’m not on any teams.”

“You’re not really selling yourself at all, kid.”

Hudson laughed at himself. “Exactly. I don’t know how. Do you want to know about what classes I liked in high school? French, History, English.”

“That doesn’t really help me,” Bill acknowledged. “Do you have a garden?”

“No, sir. I live on the tenth floor. My bedroom window looks west, so I get to see the sunset every day. The light shining on my screen used to annoy me, but then I realized just how beautiful it was—the sunset—different every day, the clouds, the sky, rain sometimes, the colours fading, the evening star sometimes, sparkling like a diamond in a shining blue sea, a beacon—” Hudson stopped, suddenly very self-conscious.

Bill smiled. “Yes, we love our sunsets here too. And sunrises. Actually we have a better view to the east. And moonrise—you might enjoy that. It’s too bad, you can’t grow anything.”

“Oh, we do grow things. We have tomatoes and cucumbers in pots. And when I was little I germinated some orange seeds. Only one of them was really successful at all, but after about five years, I ended up killing it.”

“Did it bear fruit?”

“No, sir. Never.”

“How’d you kill it?”

“I think I should have re-potted it. Or given it more compost.”

“You make compost?”

“Only a little. In a tub on the balcony. Mainly little things that break down easily. Tea bags and coffee grounds mix into the soil quite well.”

“Huh. Where’d you learn that trick?”

“My parents. They always say they got through the first pandemic by growing things in pots at the window.”

Bill nodded. He remembered how he and Juss had muddled through those early years, trying things, innovating, attempting to think outside the box as things fell apart around them.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Bill looked up, startled.

“I said something wrong.”

“No, I’m just remembering the old days.”

Hudson looked down, and Bill watched.

There was a lot going on inside, Bill was certain.”What do you do for fun?” Bill wanted to move things along.

“Hang out with my friends. Listen to music. I, uh, write sometimes.”

“Oh yeah, like stories? Poems?”

“Yes, sir. From time to time. I’m not very good though. It’s just for me, for myself.”

“Don’t all writers suffer from self-doubt?”

Hudson shrugged. “I don’t know, sir.”

“If you ever feel like getting some impartial feedback, let me know.”

Hudson looked up, but didn’t seem very enthusiastic about the idea. “Maybe. Thank you, sir.”

“I’m not an asshole. I can be constructive.”

“Do you read science-fiction?”

“Sure. I’ve read a lot, over the years. More time for it in the winter, though. Is that what you write?”

Hudson nodded. “Sometimes, sir.”

“Do you like chickens?”

“Not really, sir. Why do you ask?”

“Because I have chickens. I raise them. Are you afraid of them?”

“Um, I don’t think so?” He didn’t sound at all certain about it.

“Do you really want to move to Tweed?”

“I really don’t know, sir.”

“Will you miss the city?”

“I don’t think so. But I don’t know.”

“Is there anything you are certain about?” Bill was making a joke, but he could tell it had come out a bit harsher than he’d expected.

“No, sir.”

“I was kidding.”

“Okay, sir.”

“Are you active? Physically fit?”

“Not really, sir. But I wouldn’t shirk my duties, if that’s what you mean.”

“I guess that is what I mean.”

“I don’t have much experience with anything, sir, to be honest. But I would try to learn.”

“All right. Well, I guess that is enough for right now. Thanks for the chat.”

Hudson nodded, but he looked defeated, like the last-place finisher in a race. “Thank you, sir.”

Bill closed the connection. He stared at the screen for some time, before getting up to stretch his legs.

*

Bill stared at the screen. He was ready. He was more than ready. And he was waiting.

More to the point, Lincoln Shannik was late. He wasn’t online. Five minutes after the scheduled time. It wasn’t a good sign.

Bill decided to send a written message. “Hi Lincoln, I am ready for our meeting. Bill Bardington.” After he sent it, he worried if he sounded too annoyed. Or not annoyed enough. After another long wait, Bill wrote another brief message, and sent it. “Perhaps we should reschedule. Let me know what is a good time. Bill.”

He put the laptop to one side, and thought it might be a good time for a cup of tea. He’d just gotten to his feet when a chime from the computer signalled that Lincoln Shannik was in fact, finally, ready to talk. Bill sighed, sat down again, and accepted the call.

Lincoln was clearly on a hand-held device. His face stayed more or less in the centre of the screen, but his eyes kept moving around, and the background swung about jarringly. “Apologies, Mr. Bardington. I’m here, I’m here. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“That’s okay. Nice to meet you.” Bill knew he didn’t sound extremely sincere, but he was annoyed, and he always found it impossible to keep his annoyance to himself. The young man had short blond hair arranged in three lines of spiked punk. He looked all the world like he’d just stepped out of the early 1980s.

“I appreciate this is a bad way to begin, Mr. Bardington. My, uh, class ran late.”

“Okay. And you can call me Bill.”

“Thank you. You can call me Link.”

“All right. Thanks. Link.”

Link smiled, obviously happy to have been able to smooth everything over so easily.

“What class was it?”

“I, uh, math. Always math. Math is my primary focus. I’m taking an extra-credit calculus.”

“You REALLY love math.”

“I do, I do.”

“Why?”

“Why do I love math?”

“Yes. Exactly my question.”

“It’s the universal language. It’s the distilled beauty of nature. And because I hope to make it to university next year.”

“I take it you don’t mean Loyalist College?”

“Oh no. I mean a real university. Toronto, I think, would suit me best. It’s just hard to make the cut.”

“So why are you looking to move to Tweed Sub-Dis?”

“I’m not particularly. I didn’t make the cut this year. I need to find something to occupy myself for a year while I take a couple of long-distance courses to improve my chances for next year, and figured I could try something different. Maybe something more peaceful. More laid back.”

“I guess you haven’t been told, then. I have an agricultural quota to meet. If you came to live with me, there would be a lot of physical labour all the way from March to November, and even in the other months there are things needing to be done, including snow removal.”

“I’m eager to get my hands dirty, Bill. Exercise is medicine for the mind. A good workout will keep my brain pumped. My classes are only part time.”

“That’s—good. Do you know anything about chickens?”

“Very little. Hens lay eggs, and roosters crow. I guess there’s more to it than that?”

Bill laughed. “Yes, there is. A BIT more. You’re not afraid of animals or anything like that?”

Link smiled. “Oh no. Love animals. We had a cat when I was little.”

“Good. Do you have any gardening experience?”

“Zero. Not quite absolute zero, but close to it. Cosmic background radiation.”

“Huh?”

“Physics joke. Unfunny. No gardening experience. But isn’t it all about spacing, weeding, watering, feeding—that kind of thing?”

“Yes, and pests, and specific knacks for particular plants.”

“Then I have the basic concept—I will just need the specifics. I’m a quick study. Won’t be a problem.”

“Good.”

“Do you play music, Bill?”

He was taken aback to be asked anything. This kid was confident. “No. I never learned an instrument. You?”

“Guitar. My secondary passion. Self taught. Music is like another dimension of math, like a geometry of nature.”

“Right. I don’t have any problem with music, but the house doesn’t have any soundproofing, so you would need to be okay with being quiet after a certain time of night. And in the summer, we’re up early to make the most of the cooler hours, so we don’t have late nights. How does that sound?”

“Like evolution. Having to adapt to different conditions for survival. I can adapt. Won’t be a problem. Will it just be the two of us?”

“No—my nephew lives with me. He’s easy going. Don’t worry about him.”

“Oh no, I’m not worried. I’m excited. It would be a learning experience. A year in the country will be a great foundation for my career. You don’t mind taking on someone for the short term, do you Bill?”

“No, not at all. In some ways there is less pressure. You know what I mean?”

“I do. If we can’t stand each other, then it’s easier to live with knowing the end is in sight. Am I right?”

Bill laughed. “I guess so.”

“So when do I move in?” Link smiled confidently.

Bill blinked in surprise. “I haven’t made a decision yet, Link. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

“That’s fair. I respect you for that. Appreciate the honesty. Do you have any other questions for me?”

“No—I guess I’m good. You have an appointment?”

“Kind of. Thanks for understanding. I’m looking forward to talking with you some more. Ciao for now.”

“Bye.” And then Bill was looking at a closed connection.

He really was ready for that cup of tea now.

*

Brian came up to him in the kitchen.

Bill asked him if he wanted a cup of tea.

“Do yours. I’ll put it back on when you’re done. So?”

“So?”

“You seem a bit dazed and confused. The interviews. The Streems. How was it?”

“Exhausting.”

“Made a decision?”

Bill shook his head, and laughed. “It’s not as easy as that.” Bill poured his hot water, added cold for Brian, and put the kettle back on.

“Thanks. So, pros and cons?”

“I don’t even know where to begin. I’ll send you the recordings if you like? And the profile info. Let me know what you think? After all, you have to live with whoever as well. It should be your decision as much as mine, right?”

Brian smiled. “Thanks, Uncle Bill.”

Thanks for reading!

Continue reading with the next part on Sunday!

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