Situational

by Luc Reid

“You left your dishes on top of the sonic again, dear heart,” Miranda called from the kitchen. The phrase “dear heart” had started as a little joke between them, but after a few months it had turned into a real expression of love, and now … Buckley wasn’t sure. She always used a little extra emphasis, now. Was that playful? A tiny bit sarcastic?

“Sorry,” he answered, distracted, as she emerged from the kitchen holding the offending plate and cup. His gaze was drawn irresistably back to the message displayed on the entcenter. She read him immediately.
“You got it,” she whispered, gripping the dishes.

He nodded, re-reading the screen. … accepted for the position of Junior Situational Flexcoder on the ninth Alpha Centauri mission. The 9.7-year mission (experiential time) will be paid on the basis of the 31 earth years that pass …
Buckley looked back at Mir, seeing the tension in her, the whiteness of her face, the wideness of her pale blue eyes, the rigidity of her fingers clamped down on the china. She stared at him fixedly, saying nothing. Somewhere in the room, a fly buzzed.

He brushed toast crumbs off the table remote and hesitated for a fraction of a moment while he pushed his dream job out of his mind. Buckley pressed “I decline” with his forefinger, making sure the table had a chance to verify his print. Before he lifted his finger again, he knew, the automated hiring system would have offered the job to someone else. He looked up at Mir with a weak smile.

She stared at him with disbelief and disgust. “You idiot,” she said, and stomped out of the room.

* * *

…

Buckley looked back at Mir, seeing the tension in her, the whiteness of her face, the wideness of her pale blue eyes, the rigidity of her fingers clamped down on the china. She stared at him fixedly, but then a fly buzzed past her face and she brushed it away with the irritated expression he knew intimately well.

He brushed toast crumbs off the table remote and hesitated for a fraction of a moment while he banished a life he would now never have. Buckley pressed “I accept” with his forefinger, making sure the table had a chance to verify his print and legally obligate him. He meant to apologize, but he could only look up at her miserably.

Mir stared at him with disbelief and disgust. “You asshole,” she said, and stomped out of the room.