The Universe as it Was

“Left hand.”
Elliot placed his hand on the table to stem its trembling as the guard pressed a cold metal cylinder into the back of his palm. Inmates did not have a right to access their LifeChip for the duration of their sentence, as it could be used by gangs to coordinate dangerous communication to the outside world. LifeChips were inserted at birth, connecting the neural pathways in the body to the greater network of the world. With movements of their hand and coordinated thought patterns, users could perform any simple computer functions from making a holographic phone call to paying for groceries. To complete more complex tasks required a tablet or monitor connection. The cylinder sent an electric pulse to his hand and Elliot winced, flexing it twice.
“Do you understand your instructions?”
“Yes.”
“Repeat them.”
Elliot set his jaw but complied; it was no use arguing with the guard so close to leaving. “I’ll wait in the next room until the bus is called. When I arrive in City Z, I will be given a labor protocol and housing assignment.”
The guard coolly added, “And under no circumstances will you leave the city’s borders. Doing so will ensure your immediate removal.”
Elliot resisted the urge to correct the guard’s wording; he always found official legal terms so peculiar. Why say removal when execution sufficed? Elliot instead nodded once and waited expectantly at the exit for the guard to look up from the holographic comedian joking on the tablet before him. The guard finally pressed the release button, and the harsh buzzing sound of freedom filled the room as the metal door ground opened.
“Happy Universe Day,” the guard said as an afterthought.
Elliot paused in the doorway, startled. The salutation was a slip that was surely only meant for the cashier at the grocery store or accompanied by a polite nod towards a neighbor, not for a supposedly reformed yet still reviled criminal. Universe Day was a forbidden topic in prison. What inmate would want to speak of the most beautiful night of their lives, what inmate would dream of stars when their view upwards had become one of flickering fluorescent lights, mold, and peeling paint?
Elliot exited without a response. “Our justice system is fair,” the judge had told him when he resembled the man on his expired identification image, thirty pounds heavier with thick black hair and bright blue eyes eager to take on the world.
“Our justice system is fair,” the judge had repeated. “Elliot Yates, you have been found guilty of the murder of John Steven Yates. The court recommends a minimum sentence of your age, and therefore I sentence you to thirty years in the state’s rehabilitation center.”
Elliot had been so shellshocked in that moment, so frozen that he could not ask the questions that had haunted him since. If our justice system is so fair, why are you allowing the perpetrator of the crime to put away the innocent one? Why do you believe my brother over me?
His brother was the only one who could provide answers to these questions, though Elliot’s exile would ensure he would never hear them.
Elliot followed the signs to the waiting room and found six other newly released inmates, including the prison’s best cook; dinner tonight would surely be more disappointing. Elliot sat on a stiff grey plastic chair bolted to the floor, skimming the scrolling text of the hologram above the door.
PLEASE REMAIN SEATED UNTIL YOUR IDENTIFICATION NUMBER IS CALLED, the text politely encouraged.
There were no guards present in the room, as each former inmate had served their time and was technically free. LifeChips did most of a guard’s work, as they automatically tracked the movements of inmates and would immediately alert the authorities if a prisoner left the boundaries of City Z. Society did not like the idea of criminals returning to pollute their streets so instead, laws were passed to repurpose the toxic land of former City Z into an exiled city that housed society’s worst. Elliot understood why law-abiding citizens would want to keep people like himself separate; in his youth, he had voted yes on the referendum to implement these laws. But after hearing tales of City Z during his time away, that it was a lawless, barren land where only the strongest and most ruthless survived, Elliot found his past mindset to be cruel. Roving gangs would steal, torture, and murder for the fun of it. Judging by the dejected expressions on his companion’s faces, they had heard the same.
Elliot noticed a stack of tablets in the corner of the room labeled, REINTRODUCTION MATERIALS. He rose and crossed the room, settling back in his seat with a cracked tablet. He powered it on and scrolled past the cheerful guides to his new life to the news headlines. It was strange how quickly the practice felt normal, almost as if he was passing time at a bus stop on his way home from work.
Elliot wondered if City Z citizens had access to these tablets or if they were reduced to the archaic form of printed news. He felt his chest tighten as he thought of his new life; prison was horrendous, but at least there were rules that protected inmates against terrible abuse; what was to protect Elliot, a feeble old man, in a city where the strongest could do as they pleased? As the realization of the next chapter of his life dawned on him, tight anger set in his chest. It was bad enough that he had been put away for a crime he did not commit. But to spend the later years of his life in a lawless wasteland was cruel.
Clutching the tablet hands, Elliot knew that wallowing in self-pity would offer no help. Instead, he squinted down at the tablet, recognizing it as an older model of his youth, one that he frequently used for work projects. While these pieces were surely tossed in the trash to be replaced with nearly identical newer models that consumers would gush over, the prison had collected them for inmate use. Its functions were limited, however, as disgraced felons did not have access to the same sites that normal users did.
Elliot quickly flipped over the tablet to ensure that it was the right model, F-24. Confirmed, Elliot used the thin nail of his pinky finger to loosen the four screws holding the back panel flush with its electronic components. Elliot smiled when the circuit board was revealed but quickly wiped the look from his face, looking around to make sure no one noticed his tinkering. Elliot let out a relieved breath that no one spared a glance in his direction and continued to pull apart the tablet until he found the piece he was looking for.
The small blue button looked unassuming at first glance. With one tap, it performed a simple reboot function to malfunctioning tablets. With three taps, it completely wiped the storage of the tablet, including the pesky filters that kept inmates from accessing prohibited sites. Sites that would allow experienced programmers like Elliot to access and his LifeChip’s predetermined settings and history.
After the tablet was wiped and cleared, the task of reprogramming his LifeChip was simple. Growing up, Elliot and his friends would reprogram the archaic forms of LifeChips they wore as watches around their wrists, changing their age from thirteen to twenty-one to buy beer. With a few lines of code to break past the system’s measly software, Elliot was able to update his status from MURDERER to THEIF. His new bus assignment was City M, his hometown.
Elliot screwed the panel back on and replaced the tablet in its pile, sitting back in his chair to wait. Thirty minutes later Bus 4892 to City M was announced. Elliot’s heart thumped against his ribcage as he crossed the room. Passing under the doorway, the text read, THANK YOU FOR STAYING WITH REYNOLD’S REHABILITATION CENTER.
The winter air burned his cheeks and Elliot pulled his thin release-issued jacket tighter around him. He climbed onto the bus when it stopped outside the prison’s barbed wire fence and with a muscle memory that surprised him, he waved his hand over the collection mechanism. He received a cheerful beep and a green light, signifying that he was assigned to this bus. The driver mechanically thanked him in return. The figure flickered for a moment and Elliot abruptly realized that the bus was automated, the driver a holograph designed to make passengers feel more comfortable. Elliot let out a breath he did not know that he was holding and moved along so another thief could board. He slid into the second to last row, shoulders hunched.
Though his LifeChip reassignment saved him, it would only be momentary. Eventually, labor leaders in City Z would figure out that he was missing. He bought himself a few days, hopefully, to find a solution to his LifeChip and to find his brother. Thomas was never sentimental, but ET Innovation’s headquarters were located in City M, so Elliot hoped his brother remained in the city.
Elliot would need help getting started, and he knew exactly which person to seek out. The driver announced the familiar stop of City M, Zone 27, Reyne Square in its tinny voice and Elliot stepped off. His cheeks reddened as he thanked the holographic bus driver by habit, but at least the holograph was programmed to tip its hat back. He wondered about the particulars of the bus holograph. Did every bus in the city feature the same cheerful driver with his bushy mustache and twinkling eyes or was there a roster of virtual drivers waiting for their turn to greet passengers? Did the drivers enter some cloud home at night? Perhaps one where they met their virtual wife and children after a long day, breaking pixilated bread together. Or since there were no drivers to pay and the electric buses charged continuously on the streets as they drove, did the buses simply keep driving all night?
Elliot looked around Reyne Square, overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of the city. Delivery drones whizzed overhead, seemingly programmed to avoid one another. Beneath thousands of floating billboards that illuminated the square in neon pinks, greens, and blues, shoppers hustled to and from stores, carrying the signature midnight blue bags of the holiday filled with star cakes and blue champagne. Elliot curled his lip at the sight of people preparing for their Universe Day celebrations. Didn’t they know how easily good fortunes could change to bad?
Perhaps for a holiday only experienced every thirty years—twice in a lifetime for most—the excitement was justifiable. For such a revered event, Universe Day was simply an oversight, a side effect from the resetting of the great solar plains out west that provided energy for the United Nations of the West. Energy the country stored and sold to the rest of the world. Every thirty years, the panels required a ten-minute reset to operate properly. The solar panels provided energy for every aspect of society, from the air conditioning system in Elliot’s prison cell to the bus he rode to the city square to the billboards that floated overhead, advertising hair growth serums, anxiety pills, and the newest television reboot. Most of all, however, the electricity was cordoned to the lights that lined every city street. These lights ran throughout the night; politicians and businessmen had pushed for their creation as a security measure, as citizens felt safer when there were no shadows for monsters to lurk in. By effect, the light pollution blocked out all light from the universe. It was a difficult price to pay, though the majority would agree that security was paramount over beauty. Elliot wondered how they could be so blind to the monsters that walked among them in the light.
His great grandfather gathered he and Thomas close one night, pointing to the vast grayness of the sky overhead. Only the dim moon remained visible. In his soft voice, he told them stories about the way the sky looked when he was a child. Though there was much light pollution in all populated areas at that point, on the driest winter nights he would sometimes catch glimpses of bright stars and planets. He recalled how his grandmother would tell stories of seeing the Milky Way, the vast canyon of speckled light that ran through the center of the sky. Both he and Thomas quieted momentarily as their great grandfather told his stories, resting on their knees as they gazed up in the sky with imaginative wonder. “We should ask ourselves if our safety is worth losing the true beauty of the universe,” their great grandfather said.
Thomas, always the quicker of the two, answered first. “Of course! Security is necessary for society to function at its best, no matter what we lose in exchange.”
Elliot closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the constellations pictured in his textbooks. Cassiopeia, Orion, Andromeda, Vulpecula, Gemini… these constellations were created so long ago that the names were the only details left of the forgotten cultures.
“Elliot?”
Elliot chose his words carefully. “There’s something about beauty that can inspire the best in us. If we still had the stars, who knows what answers we would find in them.”
His great grandfather smiled then, a rarity for their family. “Very good, Elliot.” Jealous, Thomas harshly smacked Elliot on the head and ran off before he could land a punch.
Elliot had been arrested the last Universe Day, locked deep within the prison. When the lights went out and he was plunged into pitch darkness, he wept into his hands, realizing that his cell did not have a window. That was the last time he had cried.
A mother pushing a baby on a hovering stroller glared at Elliot, crossing to the other side of the square. The crowd around him began to whisper and point, their LifeChips warning them that a thief was present. Elliot’s release patrolman had cautioned him that as a felon, his LifeChip would send a signal when he was within fifty feet of another person. As such, he should expect to receive dirty looks or even threats of violence, but under no circumstances should he engage. Elliot decided it was better to move on from the hostile bustle of the crowd.
Hammerhead, his former cellmate, would have no choice but to help him, as he was long overdue for many debts. Late at night, Hammerhead would speak to Elliot through the vents, voice distorted as he frequently and annoyingly reminisced about his girlfriend Maria. He mentioned every hideous, loving detail about their relationship, excessively focusing on her beautiful 15th Street apartment above a row of high-end boutiques that overlooked Zora park. That was seven years ago, however, and Elliot was not sure that Hammerhead still lived there.
Though the contents of the city had changed since his youth, the skeleton streets of City M had remained the same and Elliot seamlessly navigated. As he walked further downtown, the area became less welcoming, with graffiti-covered walls, abandoned stores, and burned-out buildings. A homeless man wrapped in a ratty sleeping bag attempted to rest in the shell of a bus stop. Elliot was sure that the patrolmen would be by soon to chase the man off. Broken glass crunched under his feet as a group of harsh looking teens with neon dyed hair and spiked clothing observed him for a long moment. Elliot did not falter. There was nothing they could rob him of that he had not already lost.
A particularly strong gust of freezing wind sent a plastic bag soaring into the air, lazily looping past a floating billboard. Elliot’s gaze hardened on the slick businessman smiling on the screen, the image distorted by a crack centered in one eye. Elliot owed the vandal a thank you. The man wore a handsomely tailored suit and stood with crossed arms that could only denote wealth and power. Lighting Your Future, read the slogan behind him. Stamped in the bottom right corner was the ET Innovations logo.
The homeless man lifted his head off the bench, glassy eyes focusing on Elliot and then the billboard behind him. “Wild, man, that’s you.” His face split into a cracked grin and the man coughed out a hard laugh. “You gonna light my future?”
Elliot set his jaw. Though he and Thomas were identical, Thomas had the obvious signs of wealth; hair treatments to keep their genetics at bay, tanned skin from his time managing the solar plains out West, and a well-fed figure. Elliot was balding, pale, and thin from his time in prison, though now both he and Thomas had the same empty eyes. He supposed that with a glance or poor eyesight, he and Thomas could be mistaken for one another. Elliot could just as easily imagine himself on that billboard as the head of ET Innovations, as their grandfather had imagined until his brother locked him away in prison and stole the position for himself.
Elliot walked on from the homeless man, recognizing that his family’s vision to improve the world around them had surely not been realized. The area around Zora Park was next on his grandfather’s list for charitable improvements, which would include a new school, renovations to reduced-cost housing, and free grocery stores. It seemed that this mission had died with their grandfather as Thomas focused his resources on plastic surgery.
The park itself, however, was adequate, and Elliot watched as couples spread picnic blankets while their children dove into coolers packed with star cakes, hands and face sticky with blue crumbs as they prepared themselves for an unforgettable evening. Though it would be a few hours before the solar plains reset, only those who reserved their spots early would have a good view. Others would squeeze onto balconies and rooftops while the worst procrastinators would step out of their momentarily stopped cars and simply view the stars from the streets. Elliot remembered how his youth schoolteacher assured he and his fellow classmates that even if it were to be cloudy, military pilots would spray chemicals in the atmosphere to stop the formation of moisture.
Universe Day provided a unique opportunity where his brother would be outside with the rest of City M. Thomas surely was well aware that today was his prison release date, though knowing his brother, he assumed Elliot would disappear into the shadows with his tail tucked between his legs. Perhaps thirty years ago he would have, but his prison sentence had hardened him; Elliot deserved answers.
Three blocks later, Elliot found the row of boutiques, though their windows were now boarded up and only the faded impressions of where their signs used to hang remained. Many of the buzzers to the apartment were broken, though Elliot found the button for Maria under apartment 508 and impatiently pressed it four times.
“We’re not buying!” The voice came from the speaker above, and Elliot squinted at the camera with the red blinking light.
He waved once and cleared his voice. “My name is Elliot Yates. I’m looking for Hammerhead.”
There was a moment of silence. “RAYMOND!” Maria bellowed so loudly that Elliot was sure that she blew out the speaker.
Elliot assumed the two were arguing as he shifted nervously from foot to foot, noting that the sky grew dimmer as his timeline shrank. After a few moments, Hammerhead breathed heavily into the microphone.
“Yates? Now isn’t a great time.”
“I don’t have any other time. I just got out.”
“Congrats, man, but the old lady isn’t—”
“You owe me, Hammerhead.”
There was a long moment of silence before Hammerhead let out a shaky breath into the blown-out microphone. The door buzzed to signal entry, and Elliot slid inside, noticing that the heat in the building barely worked. Elliot observed the steep staircase he had to climb. Even with such great advancements in technology, any building below 35th Street remained stuck in the past. He was thankful for this as he reached the fifth floor, out of breath with sweat beading beneath his jacket.
He raised a shaky hand to knock, though the door swung open. Hammerhead looked up at him with a strained smile. In prison, Hammerhead had been the go-to contraband man, able to smuggle anything from porn to Life Watches to drugs into the joint. His smuggling tendencies had been what landed him in prison for a five-year sentence in the first place. It was useful to live next door to him, as Hammerhead used Elliot to repair any electronics that an inmate had. Elliot was good with machines, having designed many in his life before prison. Though Hammerhead received a portion of the cut for procuring clients, Elliot used his extra credits to buy his favorite candies and new books that had either been destroyed or stolen in the prison library.
Hammerhead received his nickname in the third year of his sentence when he disrespected another inmate by selling porn that had featured the inmate’s wife. Though Hammerhead claimed he was unaware (Elliot was unsure; the man did have a strange sense of humor) the inmate held him responsible. He followed Hammerhead into the laundry room where he repeatedly bashed his head on the cinder block walls, flattening his skull. Elliot walked in on the fight as Hammerhead’s blood and brain pulp decorated the walls and floors of the room, soaking into the neatly folded stained white linens and orange jumpsuits. Though Elliot did not particularly like Hammerhead, he found their business useful. In return for stopping his assault on Hammerhead, Elliot offered the inmate free upgrades to his devices to play prohibited music or watch films.
Hammerhead spent six months in the hospital and when he returned with remarkably little brain damage (perhaps because there was already such little brain to damage), he was christened with his nickname due to his now rectangular shaped head and beady eyes that were repositioned at the sides of his skull.
Elliot found it hard to concentrate on either eye, so he simply chose to focus on the left for the duration of the conversation. A woman stepped out from behind a blaring Life Television, placing her hand on her wide hips. For a man as hideous as Hammerhead, there must have been some redeeming quality to his personality that Elliot had not yet figured out, because the woman could model on those floating billboards in Reyne Square.
She shot Elliot a scowl normally reserved for dog crap on a sidewalk. Elliot attempted to give her placating smile in return, though it did not seem to help. “You told me you were done with this life, Raymond.”
“I am!” Hammerhead answered too quickly to be believed. “This is Elliot, an old friend from school.” He reached his hand up and tugged at Elliot’s elbow, dragging him through the apartment. “We’ll catch up in my study!”
“Study” was a generous use of the term Elliot observed as he looked around, as he would describe it as a crap room, filled with any miscellaneous item from an old exercise bike to stacks of documents. Hammerhead slammed the door behind him as Elliot suddenly remembered the peculiar way sweat pooled on the top of Hammerhead’s head, though did not fall until he swiped at it.
“I didn’t realize you were out, Yates.” Hammerhead attempted to fix Elliot with his best prison stare, but Elliot could only watch as a stray drop of sweat slid back and forth like a blob of melting butter in a hot pan, unable to make its escape off the edge.
“Just got out this morning.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You owe me, remember?” Elliot stepped to a cracked window, catching only a thin sliver of Zora Park. “Nice view, by the way.”
Hammerhead’s face flushed red. “Just tell me what you want so you can leave.”
Elliot relished in imposing on Hammerhead’s life, as Hammerhead spent most of his six-year sentence babbling nonstop into the vent beside him, his tone of voice so perfectly grating that Elliot could still hear it even when he mashed his pillow against his ears. Elliot noticed the sun dipping near the horizon and cleared his throat.
“I’ll be on my way in a moment. I need to borrow a tablet.”
Hammerhead narrowed his eyes. “What for?”
Elliot patiently smiled. “Just research, I assure you.”
Hammerhead grumbled to himself and left the room, returning a moment later with paper-thin tablet. Elliot laid it flat on his palm and pumped it up and down, impressed by the weight. He then typed his brother’s name into the search bar and immediately got thousands of hits. Thomas had gained a public following since usurping ET Innovations and Elliot had to resist the urge to take a deep dive into the company’s decades long history. Instead, he focused on the news sector, examining articles about his brother’s Universe Day preparations. Hammerhead began to grow restless beside him when he found a short piece that mentioned Thomas would be throwing a party at his ranch just outside of City M’s boundaries. Elliot knew exactly where the ranch was, as he was supposed to inherit it from their grandfather.
Elliot stood, satisfied, and Hammerhead looked relieved.
“One more thing. I need a gun.”
For such a simple request, Hammerhead’s eyes bulged off the sides of his head. “What?”
“I need a gun,” Elliot repeated, this time slower. Elliot knew that security at his brother’s party would be tight, and Thomas himself would not be happy to see him. A gun would provide persuasion that Elliot himself was incapable of.
Hammerhead ground his teeth. “Are you high?”
“You spent years bragging about the high quality weapons you used to smuggle to Maverick leaders.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked towards Hammerhead, leaning down so they were eye level. “You’re a creature of habit, Hammerhead. I know you’ll have one around here somewhere. I can call the patrolmen, or I can take it off your hands.
His bluff seemed to rattle Hammerhead, as a rogue drop of sweat made its escape over the flat ridge of Hammerhead’s skull, falling past his nose. He glanced towards the door, where Elliot was sure his girlfriend was listening. Hammerhead lowered his voice. “You’ll leave if I give it to you?”
Elliot nodded.
“And you won’t tell anyone it was me when you get caught with it?”
“I don’t intend on allowing myself to get caught, but if I do, my lips are sealed. I’m a man of my word, Hammerhead. You of all people should know that.”
Hammerhead’s eyes darted around the room like a lizard, the two pointing in opposite directions. Elliot found himself grow dizzy as he looked between the two eyes, finally choosing to focus on the right. Hammerhead suddenly tore into a cardboard box labeled FAMILY PICTURES, handing Elliot the sack inside. Elliot peeked through the black fabric to see a small handgun and opened his mouth to express his thanks.
Hammerhead herded Elliot from the room, stalking past his girlfriend who held a cup directly next to the door, though her face showed no admission of guilt. “There’s only one bullet,” Hammerhead explained. “Since the 59th Amendment, it’s been impossible to find anymore. So, shoot straight.”
“Thank you,” said Elliot, and he actually found that he meant it.
As Hammerhead walked him to the door, he asked, “I thought you would be on your way to City Z. Lucky man, to be transferred.”
“I wasn’t transferred. I changed my criminal designation to theft.”
Hammerhead stopped before the door, his face paling to a grayish hue. “Yates, you stupid m—"
Hammerhead’s assuredly rude sentence remained unfished as the door exploded open, sending him flying across the room. His head cracked on the opposite wall and he slid down in a trail of blood. Maria screamed from her spot on the couch and rushed to Hammerhead’s side.
A man the size of a refrigerator stepped through the doorway and with him, Elliot took a step back. As the smoke settled, a pair of glowing cyan glasses came into view. The man wore a starred badge on his chest labeled RR for Reynolds Rehabilitation and pointed his stun stick at Elliot. He was a bounty hunter, paid a handsome sum by corporations to catch escaped criminals.
“Elliot Yates, you have violated the terms of your release. Surrender now and you will be escorted to City Z. Resist, and you will be eliminated.” The bounty hunter pulled the trigger of his stick for effect, lighting the room in a harsh flash of cyan blue.
“Stay away from my baby!” screamed Maria as she launched herself across the room and onto the bounty hunter’s back, scratching her long fingernails down his face; if Elliot did not have bigger problems to worry about, he would have again questioned her and Hammerhead’s relationship.
Instead, he fled back to the clutter room, pushing a heavy dresser in front of the door with straining effort. He squeezed out the window and shimmied onto the fire escape. His knees ached as he moved down the stairs as quickly as he could. He slipped once, landing hard on his tailbone and sliding down four steps. He winced and he pulled himself to his feet as the bounty hunter pounded his against the door.
The ladder at the bottom of the escape was rusted and Elliot hung from his hands, letting himself fall the last six feet. Ignoring the twinge of pain in his ankle, Elliot ran. There would be no second chances to confront his brother if he was caught again. Elliot had a decent head start but three blocks later, he realized running would be futile with his LifeChip. He leaned against a dumpster and looked down at his left palm, huffing. A mangy one-eyed tomcat perched on top of the dumpster hissed, but Elliot paid him no mind. He then saw the rusted nail sitting in a puddle at his feet. He dreaded what had to occur next, but surrender was not an option.
His growl rose into a scream as the nail dug into the flesh of his palm, jimmying the nail until he lifted the LifeChip from his hand. Elliot grabbed the chip, blood dripping down his hand. He hoped his prison checkups kept him up to date on his injections.
Ten minutes later, Elliot had rinsed his hand in a public rehydration fountain and wrapped his hand in a handkerchief. He hailed a taxi as the sky turned shades of cotton candy pastel. His already less-than suitable clothes for a Universe Day bash had become completely ruined, so Elliot stopped at a convince store where he could buy a Suit-In-A-Can; originally designed for down on their luck citizens who needed a fresh suit for a job interview, the fabric in the clothes would almost totally disintegrate within three hours. The recipe had been vastly improved since his youth, as the original suit had only lasted thirty minutes. Thinning hair smoothed back as best he could and his hand totally rebandaged, Elliot hailed another taxi to take him to their grandfather’s ranch.
On the last Universe Day, their grandfather lay dying in the makeshift hospital at his ranch. His illness progressed faster than expected and he called Elliot and Thomas to his deathbed to discuss ET Innovations’ future. For a man that had held such a large position in Elliot’s life, his grandfather looked dwarfed floating on a sea of white pillows. He sat propped up in his mahogany hospital bed, tubes and wires trailing from his pale body to the beeping machines along the wall.
Elliot arrived first and sat at the foot of his grandfather’s bed, making the only polite, distracting conversation that one could when a loved one lay dying. He asked his grandfather if he was looking forward to Universe Day. For a moment, his grandfather’s face of pain shifted into one of joy as he recalled the feeling the stars brought forth, one of tranquility and wonder. His grandfather claimed that he would feel free to pass as long as he saw the stars for one final time. When the moment arrived, Elliot promised to help his grandfather to the balcony where they could look at the stars together.
Thomas had arrived shortly after, grumbling after being called away from a date. Hair slicked back and dressed in a suit that cost as much as most people’s apartments, he barely looked up from his LifeChip as he responded to messages. He then snapped, commanding their grandfather to keep it quick like they were out to a business luncheon instead of at his deathbed. To his grandfather’s credit, he calmly beckoned them forward and explained his visions for ET Innovations’ future after he was gone. He imagined a company that prioritized societal change instead of profit. He spoke of inventions that would help regular people, of a company that focused on cooperation instead of monopoly. All of his accomplishments as chairman felt like a failure when stacked against the horrors of the world.
Then, he named his successor.
Elliot had assumed it would be Thomas. Thomas was proud, charismatic, and bullheaded, the perfect face of the company. He already excelled as the head of sales, grinding down any competition that dared to stand in their way. Elliot was better suited tucked away in the basement’s research and development department where he could tinker at his new inventions. But his grandfather surprised them both, calmly explaining that Elliot would be the next head of the company and could place Thomas where he saw fit. “Innovation over inertia,” their grandfather said. “Brilliance over bullshit.” All that was left to do was to complete the paperwork for the transition.
Only the sound of whirring machines filled the room as both Elliot and Thomas processed this information. Their grandfather sat still, calmer than Elliot had ever seen him. Then Thomas exploded. He questioned their grandfather’s sanity, citing statistics that showed the extreme amount of growth the company experienced with his leadership. He quoted articles and interviews on celebrity television shows that celebrated his power and genius. He reminded them that Elliot cracked under any sort of heavy pressure, that he was more useful without any connection to the business itself. When their grandfather held up a hand for Thomas to stop, Thomas raged at the two of them until his face flushed red and a vein popped out of his temple. He screamed that their grandfather had always liked Elliot better, that he had decided their roles when they were only children. But their grandfather’s mind was made up, and the most earthshattering tantrum would do nothing to change that. Their grandfather asked to speak to Thomas privately for a moment and Elliot acquiesced, taking a long walk through the ranch’s forested grounds.
When he entered the room again, Elliot first noticed the sweet rotting scent in the air, like flowers that had been left out to wilt too long. This scent was pervasive only in hospitals and funeral homes. Places that housed death.
His grandfather would never get to see the stars again as he lay far too still in the bed, his eyes half-open. Thomas stood over him, holding one of the many tubes that kept him alive. Elliot stopped in his tracks as Thomas’s blank eyes held his own.
That moment of hesitation was enough for Thomas. His brother shouted for help, screaming that Elliot killed their grandfather. Nurses arrived moments later and as they attempted to resuscitate their grandfather, security dragged both Elliot and Thomas away.
In the subsequent questioning by patrolmen, Elliot learned that there was no physical evidence to tie either Elliot or Thomas to the murder, as Thomas had wiped away his fingerprints. They instead relied on their interviews, where Thomas’s charisma served him well. He painted Elliot as a jealous, vindictive person who tried to drive a wedge between him and their grandfather, ultimately snapping when Thomas was named as his successor. Elliot told his truth, but it did not matter. The authorities already believed Thomas and with no sign of the paperwork stating that Elliot should be head of the company, he was tried and found guilty of murder.
As the taxi pulled up the long drive, he thought he should at least try and be grateful that Thomas did not tear out the hundred-year-old willow trees lining the path. Tiny, coordinated drones gave the appearance of lightning bugs darting through their branches. Elliot was not easily fooled; he knew the life that had once inhabited this place was long gone.
He instructed the digital driver to pass the self-valeting kiosk and pulled to the back loading bay entrance, using the last of his credits to pay the fee. Elliot entered the ranch and was relieved that the décor inside had not changed much either. The ranch was handsomely decorated with relics of the past, with antelope heads mounted on the walls and bear skins adorning the floors. Killing and stuffing these creatures now was considered barbaric, but his family’s trophies were killed long before laws were put into place. He ran his hand along the intricate wooden paneling of the walls, relishing in the feeling. Wood was reserved only for antique buildings like the ranch since the destruction of trees had become illegal. It was instead substituted with plastics and lightweight metals, materials that could be easily recycled.
Elliot slipped past caterers toiling away in the hidden worker’s kitchen, the layout of the property burned into his mind. He crossed into the ballroom and froze when he discovered it was full of guests. Nearly two hundred people had come to join Thomas for his Universe Day celebration, dressed in their best black-tie attire. Waiters whizzed through the crowd carrying genetically grown appetizers and a robotic orchestra played symphonic notes in the corner. Elliot took a deep breath, adjusted his tie, and stepped into the flush. Thomas had to be around here somewhere.
Elliot crossed through waltzing couples to the floating bar, hoping to get a better vantage point of the party. A woman let out a shrill donkey laugh beside him and Elliot flinched.
She turned and beamed, her teeth fitting the sound of her laugh. “Oh Thomas, so glad you could finally join us,” she drawled, squeezing his arm with a grip that could only denote desperation. “You do work far too hard.”
“Uh…”
Her companion, a white-haired gentleman so short that he could barely look over the bar, looked at him expectantly.
Elliot straightened his shoulders and pasted Thomas’s conman’s smile onto his face. “You know me, all work and no play makes Tommy a sad boy.”
The woman laughed again and Elliot swallowed down his grimace. “What are you drinking?”
“Scotch, neat.”
Elliot strolled around the party, greeting guests with an easy smile. It did not matter that he did not know any details of their lives; these people were so excited to be in his company, they did not ask questions about his strange attire, slightly different features, or injured hand. In his third conversations, Elliot realized that Thomas had no real friends.
It was terrifying how easily Elliot had slipped into Thomas’s role and how thoroughly he enjoyed it. But after being locked up for half his life, Elliot relished in the opportunity to imagine what his life was supposed to be like. It was supposed to be him in charge of ET Innovations, throwing lavish fundraisers, meeting incredible people. Thomas had stolen this life from him. Elliot felt the weight of the gun in his pocket.
After circling the ballroom for the second time, Elliot reminded himself that he was here for a purpose. He climbed the stairs leading to the second floor, where a squared balcony was raised above all four sides of the ballroom, intent on finding his brother and getting the answers he deserved.
Three quarters of the way up the stairs, the music suddenly stopped, and a spotlight shined on the opposite side of the balcony. Elliot hustled up the last few stairs to get a straight view. Thomas stood in the spotlight, relishing the attention.
Elliot was sure he left quite a few patrons confused as Thomas was dressed in a tailored black tuxedo, with thick hair and tanned skin that Elliot obviously lacked. Thomas clapped his hands together and smiled that same conman’s smile.
“Friends, I want to welcome you to Camp Yates! I’m so glad I could be joined here by the people I admire most in the world, for an incredible night. As I am sure you are all aware, this will be my first Universe Day.” Thomas had the audacity to look solemn. “This day is difficult for me. On the last Universe Day, my brother murdered my beloved grandfather in a jealous rage.”
The crowd murmured with sympathy and Elliot resisted the urge to shoot his brother then.
Thomas continued. “I could not bring myself to look at the stars when I had been so blind my own family’s misdeeds. But for as sad of a day this is, we must move on. Please, take your positions outside as the night of the past will begin shortly. I will join you all momentarily.”
Thomas disappeared with the spotlight and the crowd clapped and filtered to the grounds outside. Elliot dashed after his brother, crossing through the living quarters of the property. He threw open doors, anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. Finally, he found himself standing before the closed door of their grandfather’s study, staring down at a keypad lock.
0-9-6-5, he methodically typed in, their mother’s birthday. It was the combination the twins had used for their entire childhood. Elliot had even continued to use it for his prison combination locks. Sure enough, the keypad flashed green and Elliot slowly pushed it open and entered.
Thomas stood with his back to Elliot, staring out the balcony towards the gray night sky. “Welcome back, Elliot.” He turned. “I thought I saw mingling with my guests. You always wanted to fill my shoes.”
Elliot stared at his brother’s face, realizing that Thomas’s skin was sprayed darker and his hair was a toupee. Elliot knew then that the billboard was an illusion, edited to make his brother appear more powerful than he really was. No wonder he was reluctant to get within thirty feet of his guests.
“Where’s your security then?”
Thomas chuckled. “You don’t scare me.”
Elliot set his jaw, staring at his brother’s outline. “I should. You sent me away to rot for thirty years.”
“Only after you took what was rightfully mine.”
“Yours?” Elliot let out a bitter laugh. “Grandfather left the company to me,” he spat out the last two words. “I see you’ve done your best to realize his vision.”
Thomas spoke with the tone of an accompanying eye roll. “Come now, Elliot. If the old man really wanted to make the world a better place, he should have done it himself. It was well past time he go.”
“I don’t understand how you could have down this to your own family. To your own brother. I would have given you a position, Thomas. I wouldn’t have left you behind,” softly said Elliot. “I know we were never close—”
“Close? You took every opportunity you ever had to make me feel like nothing. Of course you were smarter than me, Elliot, but you didn’t have to rub it in! Showing me up in school, brilliantly inventing gadgets, kissing up to grandfather…you always wanted to prove that you were better than me.”
Incredulous, Elliot’s face twisted. “You committed a murder and then framed me for it because you felt inadequate?”
“No, I did it because I wanted you to finally feel like I did every day of my life.”
Elliot’s chest tightened as own life for the past thirty years flashed before his eyes. Wake up, shower, eat, work, eat, exercise, read, work, eat, socialize, sleep. Wake up, watch his back during the shower, eat slop, wash soiled laundry, fold clean laundry, eat slop, one hour of outside time, read books with half the pages missing, fix broken electronics for credits, eat slop, listen to Hammerhead’s incessant babbling, stare at his ceiling until he slipped into a dreamless sleep. The same mind-numbing routine only interrupted by horrifying spurts of violence. This routine would take the strongest man and grind him into a shell of his former self, so much so that when he looked in a mirror, he had Thomas’s dead eyes. Empty, dangerous, with nothing to lose.
The lights flashed three times and suddenly all electricity went out, signaling the start of Universe Day. Elliot had only seen this type of darkness once before, though he had been locked in his cell with no window outside to see the stars. However, he had no thoughts of looking towards the sky. That comment finally sent him over the edge.
He pulled out his gun and pointed it in Thomas’s face, though Thomas had already lunged forward, moving too quickly for Elliot to fire off a shot. The two struggled over the gun, Thomas biting at Elliot’s wrist, forcing him to drop it. They brawled with one another, ever unspoken insult and un-thrown punch since their childhood flying free. Their clash was not the epic one of two angry teenagers and instead was one of two old men desperately trying to stay alive. With one hand pinning the neck of his brother to the ground, Elliot reached for the gun, patting at the cool marble floor. His brother smashed an elbow into his mouth, knocking a tooth loose. Elliot spat blood as he felt Thomas’s nose crunch beneath his knuckles.
With sudden desperate strength, Thomas flipped Elliot overhead, sending him shattering through the sliding glass door and onto the balcony. Groaning and bleeding flat on his back, Elliot opened his eyes and gasped, the fight completely forgotten. For a second, he saw the universe as it once was. A curtain of stars hung before him, so many packed so closely together that Elliot felt as if they hovered right above his nose. A chasm of white and purple bisected the sky, the famed Milky Way his great grandfather had told stories about. It was beautiful, Elliot decided. The way things were meant to be.
Elliot felt the sort of peace with his past that his grandfather described at his deathbed; he finally understood Thomas’s pain as his own. How had he been so blind to the way he had treated his brother throughout his youth? Whereas Thomas had excelled at charm, it was never enough for a family that prioritized the intellect that he lacked. When their grandfather took them both to the great solar plains, it was Elliot he would converse with about the inner workings of the company. Even when Thomas attempted to join their conversations, Elliot was sure to correct his mistakes. It was so obvious that Elliot would be the successor of the company that their grandfather never bothered to build a relationship with Thomas. Elliot always assumed he was better than his brother, but perhaps they were more similar than he knew.
But the moment of peace lasted no more than a second as Thomas stumbled onto the balcony and put a bullet through Elliot’s throat. Late apologies remained stuck as Elliot gasped, struggling to keep breathing. The solar plains suddenly finished rebooting as the lights turned back on, wiping the night sky of stars once again. Elliot heard his brother collapse beside him and begin to cry. The two brothers lay on the ground bleeding out together, attempting to picture the beauty of the past one final time.