The Archivist Read Free Page B

he sets it up in a side room that appears to be used for storage, he tells me that he sometimes uses it for patients who need close supervision.
    The space is cramped, but next to the chimney, and a cast iron fireback provides some radiant heat, so the small room is warm and more comfortable than the wooden floor. Doc and Danae bid me a good night’s sleep and retire to their rooms, leaving me alone in the main room, with the single candle lamp silently flickering.
    * * *
    I am exhausted from the long journey, but Wally’s death weighs on my mind and I feel the need to unwind. Stepping into my quarters, I dig into my pack to find a compact pipe and some tobacco that I picked up a couple of retrievals ago. I am not sure when I will find more, but it will be before I find another partner like Wally.
    Stepping outside into the crisp night air I light the pipe with a match—a brief spark in the darkness. I remember when the visible stars were so few that you could actually count them in the night sky, but the skies everywhere are dark these days, and myriad brilliant stars twinkle in the clear sky above.
    I look for the constellation of Aquarius and there, close to setting in the West is the brilliant glowing red dot that is Mars. It is nearing opposition; according to the Archives, in just a week—on September 1st—it will be less than thirty-four million miles away. The bright disk calls me home, but this is as close as I have been in the past thirty-two years, and I do not expect to ever get any closer than this.
    Next to Mars, Saturn is almost as dazzling. Higher up in the sky is Jupiter. Together they cast almost enough light to create shadows; I long for the nice twenty-four-inch telescope I built at the Archives, with an equatorial mount using parts I had retrieved.
    I never tire of observing these three planets, and my colleagues no doubt used my telescope to observe the corona of the total solar eclipse that swept over the Archives this morning. If I were a superstitious man, I would think the heavens were portending something, though I cannot imagine what that would be.
    My eyes track a satellite moving across the sky, like a faint star racing toward the north. There are not many left. Some just stopped working, but most burned up as their orbits decayed. It is just luck that the Archives still has three we can use for communications, but those will not last much longer without an orbital boost.
    We never figured out why Intellinet wiped out virtually all the rest of humanity’s tech but left the communication satellites alone. My personal theory is that just like on the nuclear subs out at sea, the tech on the satellites was so antiquated that the machines could not flash them remotely.
    The faint dot of light glides out of view. As far as I know, there is nothing else up there.
    Slowly, I take a draw on the pipe as my thoughts turn to someone I have not seen in a very long time. Did Sarah ever finish composing that symphony? It has been three decades since I last heard them, but I can still replay the notes of her first movement in my mind. My eyes are closed and I am in the opening chords when I hear a soft rustle from behind me.
    Danae glides up next to me. “Do you mind some company for a few minutes?” she murmurs as she reaches from under the light blanket draped over her shoulders. Her warm arm twines around my forearm while she joins me in looking up at the stars.
    I feel a flash of annoyance as Danae’s presence intrudes on my memories, but it quickly fades into an emptiness that I normally avoid facing. My answer is to cover her hand with mine and gently tug her to lean in, so that she settles against me and lets out a soft sigh—the kind that only the truly lonely can make. I should know.
    As Danae leans her head against my shoulder, I smell a hint of rosemary in her hair, and the warmth of her body reminds me how long it has been since I held someone close.
    I wonder if she has fallen asleep