anything else?
“H ey, son. Do you hear me?”
Jonathan Yeager heard the words, sure enough, the words and the familiar voice. At first, in the confusion of returning consciousness, the voice mattered for more. A slow smile stretched across his face, though his eyes hadn’t opened yet. “Dad,” he whispered. “Hi, Dad.”
“You made it, Jonathan,” his father said. “
We
made it. We’re in orbit around Home. When you wake up a little more, you can look out and see the Lizards’ planet.”
With an effort, Jonathan opened his eyes. There was his father, floating at an improbable angle. A woman in a white smock floated nearby, at an even more improbable one. “Made it,” Jonathan echoed. Then, as his wits slowly and creakily began to work, he smiled again. “Haven’t seen you in a hell of a long time, Dad.”
“Only seems like a little while to me,” his father answered. “You drove me downtown, and I woke up here.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said, his voice still dreamy. “But I had to drive the goddamn car back, too.” He looked around. His neck worked, anyhow. “Where’s Karen?”
The woman spoke up: “She’s next on the revival schedule, Mr. Yeager. All the signs on the diagnostic monitors look optimal.”
“Good.” Jonathan discovered he could nod as well as crane his neck. “That’s good.” Tears stung his eyes. He nodded again.
“Here, have some of this.” The woman held a drinking bulb to his mouth. He sucked like a baby. It wasn’t milk, though. It was . . . Before he could find what that taste was, she told him: “Chicken broth goes down easy.”
It didn’t go down that easily. Swallowing took effort. Everything took effort. Of course, he’d been on ice for . . . how long? He didn’t need to ask,
Where am I?
—they’d told him that. But, “What year is this?” seemed a perfectly reasonable question, and so he asked it.
“It’s 2031,” his father answered. “If you look at it one way, you’re going to be eighty-eight toward the end of the year. Of course, if you look at it that way, I’m older than the hills, so I’d rather not.”
His father had seemed pretty old to Jonathan when he went into cold sleep. From thirty-three, which Jonathan had been then, seventy would do that. From fifty, where Jonathan was now, seventy still seemed a good age, but it wasn’t as one with the Pyramids of Egypt.
I’ve done a lot of catching up with him,
he realized.
That’s pretty strange.
“Can I get up and have that look around?” he asked.
“If you can, you may,” the woman in the white smock answered, as precise with her grammar as Jonathan’s mother had always been.
“It’s a test,” his father added. “If you’re coordinated enough to get off the table, you’re coordinated enough to move around.”
It proved harder than Jonathan thought it would. What was that line from the Bible?
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning
—that was it. Both his right hand and his left seemed to have forgotten their cunning. Hell, they seemed to have forgotten what they were for.
Finally, he did manage to escape. “Whew!” he said. He hadn’t imagined a few buckles and straps could be so tough. The woman in white gave him shorts and a T-shirt to match what his father had on. He hadn’t noticed he was naked till then.
“Come on,” Sam Yeager said. “Control room is up through that hatchway.” He pushed off toward the hatchway with the accuracy of someone who’d been in space before. Come to that, Jonathan had, too. His own push wasn’t so good, but he could blame that on muscles that still didn’t want to do what they were supposed to. He not only could, he did.
Jonathan pulled himself up the handholds and into the control room. Along with his father, two officers were already in there. The leaner one eyed Jonathan, turned to the rounder one, and said, “Looks like his old man, doesn’t he?”
“Poor devil,” the rounder man . . .
“H ey, son. Do you hear me?”
Jonathan Yeager heard the words, sure enough, the words and the familiar voice. At first, in the confusion of returning consciousness, the voice mattered for more. A slow smile stretched across his face, though his eyes hadn’t opened yet. “Dad,” he whispered. “Hi, Dad.”
“You made it, Jonathan,” his father said. “
We
made it. We’re in orbit around Home. When you wake up a little more, you can look out and see the Lizards’ planet.”
With an effort, Jonathan opened his eyes. There was his father, floating at an improbable angle. A woman in a white smock floated nearby, at an even more improbable one. “Made it,” Jonathan echoed. Then, as his wits slowly and creakily began to work, he smiled again. “Haven’t seen you in a hell of a long time, Dad.”
“Only seems like a little while to me,” his father answered. “You drove me downtown, and I woke up here.”
“Yeah,” Jonathan said, his voice still dreamy. “But I had to drive the goddamn car back, too.” He looked around. His neck worked, anyhow. “Where’s Karen?”
The woman spoke up: “She’s next on the revival schedule, Mr. Yeager. All the signs on the diagnostic monitors look optimal.”
“Good.” Jonathan discovered he could nod as well as crane his neck. “That’s good.” Tears stung his eyes. He nodded again.
“Here, have some of this.” The woman held a drinking bulb to his mouth. He sucked like a baby. It wasn’t milk, though. It was . . . Before he could find what that taste was, she told him: “Chicken broth goes down easy.”
It didn’t go down that easily. Swallowing took effort. Everything took effort. Of course, he’d been on ice for . . . how long? He didn’t need to ask,
Where am I?
—they’d told him that. But, “What year is this?” seemed a perfectly reasonable question, and so he asked it.
“It’s 2031,” his father answered. “If you look at it one way, you’re going to be eighty-eight toward the end of the year. Of course, if you look at it that way, I’m older than the hills, so I’d rather not.”
His father had seemed pretty old to Jonathan when he went into cold sleep. From thirty-three, which Jonathan had been then, seventy would do that. From fifty, where Jonathan was now, seventy still seemed a good age, but it wasn’t as one with the Pyramids of Egypt.
I’ve done a lot of catching up with him,
he realized.
That’s pretty strange.
“Can I get up and have that look around?” he asked.
“If you can, you may,” the woman in the white smock answered, as precise with her grammar as Jonathan’s mother had always been.
“It’s a test,” his father added. “If you’re coordinated enough to get off the table, you’re coordinated enough to move around.”
It proved harder than Jonathan thought it would. What was that line from the Bible?
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning
—that was it. Both his right hand and his left seemed to have forgotten their cunning. Hell, they seemed to have forgotten what they were for.
Finally, he did manage to escape. “Whew!” he said. He hadn’t imagined a few buckles and straps could be so tough. The woman in white gave him shorts and a T-shirt to match what his father had on. He hadn’t noticed he was naked till then.
“Come on,” Sam Yeager said. “Control room is up through that hatchway.” He pushed off toward the hatchway with the accuracy of someone who’d been in space before. Come to that, Jonathan had, too. His own push wasn’t so good, but he could blame that on muscles that still didn’t want to do what they were supposed to. He not only could, he did.
Jonathan pulled himself up the handholds and into the control room. Along with his father, two officers were already in there. The leaner one eyed Jonathan, turned to the rounder one, and said, “Looks like his old man, doesn’t he?”
“Poor devil,” the rounder man . . .
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