Gwendy’s Final Task

“Here, in your world, you’ll look this way forever. And as for being handsome, although you never truly believed it thanks to your father’s constant disparagements, you were at one time—and remain so here, as you can see for yourself—a young man of considerable physical appeal. Your father stole from you the most important gift a young man can possess: self-confidence.” The blond man grins. This time his teeth are very straight and white. “But your father is no longer with us, now, is he?”

“No, he is not.” Winston looks around. “This is real?”

“Yes.”

“Could I come here again?”

“To visit, yes. To live and rule … not until you bring us what we want. The button box.”

Winston finds himself remembering a class he had in college, and a particular line from that class. He didn’t understand it then, but now he does. “If it’s real, and if I can, I will. I promise.”

The man—Bobby—turns Gareth away from the mirror. Bobby wants his undivided attention. “Gwendoyn Peterson has been tasked with getting rid of this rather special box once and for all, and there is only one place in her world—or any of the others—where this can happen.”

“Where?” Winston asks.

The blond man stops walking. “How would you feel about taking a trip to outer space, Mr. Winston?”

41

“DON’T TELL ME YOU actually believed that cock-and-bull story about ruling your own private world,” Gwendy says. “You’re one of the most successful businessmen in history. I can’t believe you’d take a few moments of … I don’t know … hypnosis, as reality.”

Winston gives her an odd, knowing smile. “Do you believe it?”

Gwendy actually does. She can believe in other worlds because she cannot believe the button box came from hers. Before she can open her mouth to tell a lie that might not sound very convincing, there’s a beeeep sound.

“Ah!” Gareth says. “I believe the safe has a new code and can now be opened. So why don’t we—”

Before he can finish, both of their phones give off the distinctive double-tone that means an incoming text from the station rather than a message from the down-below. They both take out their phones, Gwendy from the center pocket of her coveralls, Winston from the back pocket of his chinos. Gwendy thinks, and not without sour amusement, We’re like Pavlov’s dogs when it comes to these things. The fate of the earth may be at stake, but when the bell rings we salivate. Or in this case, read the text.

The identical messages are from Sam Drinkwater: Joining us for breakfast?

“Text him back,” Winston says. “Say we’re in a serious conversation … no, negotiation … about the future of the space program, and they should eat without us.”

Gwendy is on the verge of telling Mr. Billionaire Businessman Gareth Winston to stuff it … but doesn’t.

This has to end, here and now.

That thought sounds like Mr. Farris. Whether it is or isn’t doesn’t matter. Either way it’s true.

She moves closer to Winston (ugh) so he can read the text she’s preparing to send. It’s exactly what he told her to say, with one addition: Important we not be disturbed until 1100 hours.

“Excellent. I’m going to open the safe. I can’t wait to see what Bobby was so excited about. You, my dear, should sit right where you are like a good little Gwendy.” He shows her the green lipstick tube. “Unless, that is, you want to find out what it feels like to die with your guts melting inside you.”