Shuttered Sky

“They met shortly after they arrived here. A whirlwind romance,” Tessic explained. “She is yet to show, but she expects a child. She is three months along now.”

“Three months,” Dillon said. “Lucky her.”

“What caught my attention were the rumors. You see, there is an old custom; you hold your wedding ring on a string before your un­born child. If it swings side to side, it will be a girl. If it spins, it will be a boy. Do you want to know what the ring told her?”

“What did it tell her.”

“Absolutely nothing,” Tessic said. “But it turned from brass to silver before her eyes.”

“Silver, huh,” said Dillon. “Not exactly the golden touch, is it?”

“The child is yet unborn—give it time.”

“It won’t be the same as it was with us,” Dillon told him. “There were only a handful of us. But in a few years’ time—'

“—in a few years’ time,” Tessic said, “we will all be obsolete. Cro Magnon men in a world of Star Shards.” And yet he didn’t say it with downtrodden finality, but with a strange effervescence.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Dillon asked.

“Why should it? Ascension is not extinction, my friend. I’m sure our knuckle-dragging ancestors would be thrilled to know what they have become, through us.”

Dillon tried to imagine what the world would be like a hundred years—even ten years from now, with every child born a Star Shard, but with his own powers of insight gone, he had a hard time envi­sioning it. Hundreds of thousands who could control weather and moods—just as many who could regenerate flesh, or bring life from death. And other powers as well—powers he had not even imagined.

“It’s going to be a wild world,” Dillon said. “At least until that first generation gets a handle on how to make it all work.”

Tessic shrugged. “Every great change has its growing pains. I can’t help but think that the ones gifted with wisdom will be able to see us through the change.”

The pregnant woman stood and left, arm-in-arm with her husband. Others glanced at them and whispered. They didn’t seem to mind.

“I have something for you,” Tessic said. “You only turn eighteen once. For you, I did not want to miss it.” Tessic reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small gift-wrapped package, handing it to Dillon. “Forgive me for not getting a card to go with it,” he said. “But all the cards around here are in Polish.”

Dillon removed the bow, and peeled back the shiny paper to reveal a box of blue Bicycle playing cards. An odd gift to anyone else, but not to him. Tears began to fill Dillon’s eyes in spite of himself. In his life there had been so many simple joys that were denied him. Tessic understood. Perhaps better than anyone.

“Thank you, Elon.”

Tessic glanced at the sky, then at an unoccupied table. “It’s a fine day for a game. Shall we?”

They sat across from each other, and Dillon pulled the cards from the deck, removing the jokers.

“Your shuffle,” Tessic said.

Dillon’s hands were shaking, but he forced them still enough to separate the deck in half, then glanced up at Tessic.

“Go on,” he said.

Dillon flicked the left hand cards into the right hand cards, and wove them together again, and again and again, until the motion felt natural.

“What’s the game?” Tessic asked.

“Five card draw,” Dillon decided.

“And the stakes?”

Dillon shrugged. “If I win, I get to keep that jet of yours that brought me here—how’s that?”

“Agreed. And what if I win?”

“If you win, I’ll name my first kid after you.”

Dillon dealt the cards face down. Tessic picked his up first, glanced at Dillon, but kept a fine poker face. Dillon could not read him at all.

Then Dillon reached for his own cards, hesitating. He had done this many times before, back when he still had his powers, and the burden of responsibility that came with them. He never needed to look at his hand then. A two-handed deal from a well-shuffled deck would always reveal for him the same cards: the deuce, four, six, eight, and ten of spades; the direct consequence of dealing alternating cards from a deck in perfect order.

Now Dillon fanned out his cards to reveal: an ace, a five, a king, a nine and a jack; two of them diamonds, two clubs and a heart. Although all his powers had been gone and he had been a “normal” human being for four months, this was the first time he truly felt it. His spirit was not only contained, but comfortable within his flesh. His sphere of influence was no longer defined by the gravity of his pres­ence, but a function of his words and deeds.

“I’ll take two cards,” Tessic said.

Dillon dealt Tessic his cards, then looked to the randomness of his own hand once more. He had always been order in the face of chaos—but here chaos was looking him in the eye, and he had no weapon against it beyond the luck of the draw. Until this moment he never knew how beautiful not knowing could be. In his cards—in the world, there was an unmarked future out there. He would be a participant, but only a participant, like everyone else in the world. He would play, but would no longer bear the burden of redesigning the rules. Which meant that no matter what cards were dealt him, he had already won.

“What do the cards tell you?” Tessic asked.

“Everything I want to know.”

Dillon kept only the ace of diamonds, and with all his soul threw caution to the wind.