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and vibration started up
again in the room on the other side.
    It didn’t take more than a nudge to get him
to go and complain formally. But no, there was no other room available on the
ground level. And there was no way he wanted to carry his cases upstairs for
just a few hours. I whispered to him again, and he played the 'I can't cope'
card. It didn’t seem to work.
    He went back to his room and continued trying
to read, while cringing. I went back, and whispered into the receptionist's
ear.
    A short time later, she showed up at his
room, and he was moved. The room was larger, and the bathroom was huge. But
like he'd seen in India a few years earlier, there was no shower surround at
all. A much nicer room than he had been in, but the beds were both rock hard,
and it obviously wasn’t ready for an occupant. He expressed his thanks.
    The day passed. When he idly wondered what
all the destruction had been about and why they hadn't waited for him to be
gone before beginning, I whispered the answer to him.
    "It represents your past life being
torn away, to make room for the new life to begin."
     

2040
One
     
    The old man shuffled along. The corridor
was long, and seemingly endless. He wheezed and puffed, but he continued on.
No-one actually knew where he was. He'd made sure of that. He was so sick of
being told what he could, and could not do.
    I followed after him. He'd refused to take
a wheeled method of transport. Not that he knew I'd asked him to. The trouble
was, he wasn’t as well as he thought he was.
    For eighty years old, he certainly was in
good condition. His mind was still sharp, and his body, while deteriorating
once again, still managed to get him about. His trip to the Casa, all those
years ago, had done the trick. While not completely curing his medical issues,
they had been much reduced in nature, so that instead of an early medical
discharge, he'd retired on schedule.
    He still had a few years left in him, and
Twelve had been congratulating me on getting him where he wanted, and needed,
to be.
    All the same, long treks down endless
passageways at his age, showed more stubbornness than sense.
    At last, he came to a window. The view
outside was breathtaking. He had paused at every window he had come across
since arriving, and each view was still breathtaking for him.
    He'd never made it into the Space Shuttle
program. Never joined the crews of the International Space Stations. Never even
been able to pilot one of the civilian space orbiters. It had been a never
ending disappointment for him. He'd been born too early, and been too old by
the time space really became available, and simply not been the best of the
best, no matter how hard he'd strived all his life.
    But now he was here, looking down on the
planet Earth from orbit. He'd made it anyway. At least he was in space at last.
And he'd damned well be sticking it out until they made it to the nearest
stars, as he'd known he would as a kid.
    He gathered up his strength and continued
shuffling forward.
    "Captain to Jon Hunter, respond
please."
    The voice came through a speaker some way
ahead of him. He smiled as he realized the whole ship must have heard it. He
shuffled forward until he reached the speaker, and touched a button on the
wall. In all likelihood, his hand was the first to press it for real use. The
ship was so new, it still had a paint smell to it. The button isolated the
conversation.
    "What is it Richard?"
    "Where are you?"
    "I don’t know. Somewhere on the left
flight pod, I think. It's got windows, if that helps you."
    "Not really. Stay where you are, I'm
sending someone with a trolley to get you."
    "Why?"
    "It's almost time. Had you
forgotten?"
    "Time for what?"
    "To launch, Dad."
    The exasperation in his voice made me smile
to myself. Jon might still have a sharp mind, but his short term memory had
been slipping lately.
    "It's that time already?"
    The sigh at the other end was almost
inaudible, but then, my hearing is better than