Storm
By Jim Reid
Corvalis, High Kingdom of Montival
My name is Philip Masters. I was born on Change Day. I don't mean the Change Day, of course, although I often feel that old, but the fortieth anniversary, March 17, 2038 by the Old Calendar. That's the one my family uses because we're God-loving Christians.
It is my birthday, March 17, 2098. It is near midnight and I wanted to set down the events of today while I am still able. The Psalms tell us that man gets "three score and ten" but I fell earlier today and Doctor Witherspoon told me that my back is broken and that some internal organs may be damaged as well. My wife, sons and daughter eased me onto a stretcher and carried up the narrow stairway to the apartment we enjoy on an upper floor of an inn that her family has owned for decades. I do not hurt. I think that tells me something. My breathing is labored and I fear that I will not last the night.
The day started simply enough. Birthday or not, it was still a work day. The surprise was that my three children had come to our apartment to join my wife Amelia in wishing me a happy day. The "children," who are all in their late thirties, said they would bring the grandchildren to see me that evening.
When I was a boy, I knew men who remembered the Change. I was not the only one, of course, but most people were not interested in life before. I found it mesmerizing. Imagine being to travel along roads at seventy miles per hour or, better yet, being able to fly between cities with hundreds of other people. I try to avoid telling my grandchildren about such things. My children tell me the young people, although polite enough, do not appreciate my tales.
I should take the time to point out that people – well, some people – refer to me as "strange." I have also heard "demented," "simple," "obsessive" and "retarded" used to describe me. None of these things bother me. Others have a right to their opinions. I enjoy the rights and privileges afforded to every citizen of Corvallis, which is a signatory to the Great Charter the High Kingdom of Montival. I have never been unemployed. I have borne arms, theoretically, at least, in defense of my city and the Kingdom, even though war has not seriously threatened the city since High King Artos defeated the Prophet. There were tales of conflicts like the Prophet's War elsewhere in the world but that strife did not approach our shores. I was a pikeman in the city militia until my fifty-fifth birthday. Peace is a good thing.
When I arrived at work, Professor Carpenter and all the scientists on the physics faculty congratulated me on having reached sixty years. One's sixtieth birthday means eligibility for retirement but I am not ready. I fear that without me the artifacts room might go unattended and those objects so precious to me might be used as fill in some new wall being built as our city expands. I spent about an hour this morning making sure all the admittedly ancient artifacts were in their proper places then locked the storage room and went about my normal work.
About noon, Professor Carpenter invited me to the faculty dining room for lunch. I was honored. When we all arrived at the luxurious dining room, Professor Carpenter led me to one of the side rooms where I was thrilled to find Amelia, our sons and daughter, their spouses and all their children waiting for me. Professor Carpenter placed Amelia and me at the head table with him. Lunch was extravagant. For a brief moment I feared I was being offered my "last meal," but I set that concern aside when after the meal Professor Carpenter addressed the gathering and included in his remarks the hope that he and I would work together for many more years. Carpenter then told me to take the rest of the day to enjoy the company of my family.
I bid the others of the faculty farewell and said that I would see them in the morning, My family and I returned to the inn and filled up a meeting room on the second floor that had an small outdoor porch attached. My brother-in-law and his wife brought refreshments and we spent the afternoon in pleasant conversation, eventually moving outside to the porch after the youngsters had grown bored with their elders' ramblings. Some neighbors arrived and joined our small group. As the natural light grew dim and the church bells chimed, a gentle rain began to fall. We were moving things back inside when an electrical storm began in the Cascades and swiftly moved west toward Corvallis. A bolt struck the lightning rod of the inn. Lighting is nothing new but, to my amazement, the bolt was accompanied by an overwhelmingly loud crackling sound. Others on the deck blanched in fear. I knew what I had just heard. Amazed, I staggered backward across the porch into the railing, which gave way. I fell nearly ten feet to the graveled ground below. The impact forced the air from my lungs. At first, I was pleased that I had not hurt myself. I then realized that I could not feel anything below the small of my back. My wife dropped to her knees beside me. She took my hand and held it to her cheek and wept silently. I felt very cold.
When I was safely in bed, Amelia brought me paper, ink and my treasured fountain pen. As I lie here, I am trying to commit to paper what happened this evening. I want this to be my crowning contribution to science.
The Change is ov–