Dev

Despite what you might think, it doesn’t hurt to be electrocuted, no, more like you’re going through a whole-body seizure, perhaps, else a tensing of muscles you can’t get to release, like a massive cramp, maybe.

Let me be the first to tell you I never expected to wake up. Not after having the noggin shaved, being strapped into that chair. Watching those anxious stares through the viewing window. Ghouls is what comes to mind.

Now, as it happens, there are only six states in the good old US of A that still serve up sacrifices on the altar of the electric chair: Alabama, Florida, South Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Virginia. And as luck would coin things, I was arrested, charged, and convicted of various and sundry capital crimes right smack dab in the middle of Deep Dixie.

I’m not here to tell you I’m innocent. If ever a man deserved dying, I figure I’m your guy. Oh, I could spin you a yarn about how tough life is when yours starts out inside a Dumpster back of Clyde’s Dive but boohoo. Call the wambulance, right? We all got our sobs.

‘Most prisoners choose lethal injection, Dev. You just lay down on the gurney and fall asleep. No fuss. No muss.’

‘Let me tell you something, Nuck.’ My attorney is a Canadian. Don’t even ask what the man is doing in Jackson, Tennessee, because I have no. His real name is David Gately. I call him Nuck. I’m guessing he believes the nickname refers to his Quenuck heritage. It doesn’t. ‘Nobody’s going to be stretching me out on a gurney with a plug up my ass. Not on the day I die.’

‘So you want to fry?’

‘No, I don’t want to fry, Nuck. But I’m not dying with those nunchakus shoved into my arm neither. This boy’s old school. Maybe they’ll serve up soup and finger sandwiches to the audience. Reckon?’

They thought I was developmentally disabled for the first two years of my life. That’s what was written on my birth certificate. I go by Dev these days.

‘Maybe. Listen, Dev. We haven’t run the gamut yet. Of the appeals process.’

‘You ever been inside, Nuck?’

‘Inside? Oh, you mean prison. No. Can’t say I have.’

‘Oh, prison isn’t so bad. But the row, well. I hear them mostly at night. Sobbing. Even grown-ass men. I mean, I could cut the kids some slack but. Well. I’ve been here four years now, Nuck. I’m tired. Let me go?’

‘It’s always been you, Dev. At least I hope I never pushed you.’

‘No, no. You’ve been nothing but good to me, Nuck. Played me straight. I appreciate that too. Whenever I get to wherever, I’ll put in a word for you.’

‘That preacher who tried talking to you last week, remember? He’d like another go.’

‘Do I have to?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Thought for a moment they’d go and get themselves in a state over my refusal. Might go and do something serious to me. Send the dude in, though, Nuck. I’ll talk to him. Civil, this time. Promise.’

Maybe if I’d been more Godly I wouldn’t be here now. Who can say? But then you got yourself plenty of thumpers here on the row. All the time braying how they’re going to a better place. I’m not one to argue. But I hate them anyhow. I figure the only place they’re going is the boneyard. Of course, a man might say the same about us all.

Now, I have to be honest with you. I’ve never been one to wake right up. Used to be my last foster mam would throw water in my face to get me out of bed in the morning. Icey cold. Could be that was one reason why I strangled her. One.

Here I was thinking I’d laid myself down for a short nap before that old preacher came in spewing his words only whenever I did manage to pry open the lids, I’m somewhere else. Somewhere bright. The light so intense I could see nary a thing. Like someone’s shining one of those strobe lights they dance to in those disco bars right into my eyeballs.

Directly, I detect movement. Like trees swaying on a windy day. And then someone puts my earbuds in and I can hear. Yeah. Old Developmentally Disabled was deaf for his first two years of life. Took a kindly nurse to realize it whenever she dropped a tray and I never responded. Least that’s the story.

‘Dev. Can you hear me?’

My wrists and ankles are strapped down. So they’re going to spike my veins after all. Well, I guess there’s not a lot I can do about it now. Kind of like that first acid trip. Just go with it.

‘Yes,’ I say, but Lord is my throat sore. And what is that smell? Is someone having a barbeque and didn’t invite me? It’s enough to make a man’s mouth start watering.

‘Dev, I’m Dr. Ross. Can I ask you a few questions?’

‘May I.’

‘May I ask you a few questions?’

At least the good doctor has a sense of humor. Most highly educated folk tend to lose it somewhere along the way. That and the man is fairly quick on the uptake. Whether that’s a plus or not remains.

‘Ask.’

‘What do you remember?’

‘About?’

‘Dev, roughly six hours ago you were executed by the State of Tennessee. You were strapped into the electric chair, electrocuted, and pronounced dead after thirteen minutes. Do you remember any of that?’

Oh. I get it. The doctor’s having me on. It must be one of those psychology tests they give to incorrigibles like me. Slip the sucker a mickey and then tell him he died. Well, son. Go with it.

‘I was in my cell, doc, waiting for the preacher to show. Oh. Wait. I do recall I laid down for a nap. Then I woke up here. I don’t recall any execution, though.’

‘Dev, you were pronounced at 12:13AM. I have the death certificate right here.’

He holds a paper in front of my face. Huh. They even spelled my name right. That’s gotta be a first. Now, memories are beginning to trickle back. They did come for me. Eight hurly burlies, each and every one uglier than the last. I told them I’d walk and I did. I guess they were expecting to have to carry me. Most times they do.

The metal was cold on the top of my head. Seems like they could’ve used warm water with that sponge, too. If a man’s going out, he’s gonna be cold long enough. Wouldn’t hurt none to afford him a bit of comfort. But what do I know.

That warden missed his calling is what I reckon. Man ought to have been up there on a pulpit preaching, what with the way he held forth.

‘Who are you again?’ I ask. Not that I particularly care. And yes. I know he introduced himself and I am not that forgetful. But there are times when a man needs a little time to settle his mind and this is probably one of them.

‘Dr. Ross.’

‘Where are we?’

‘We’re in Texas. Boca Chica, to be precise. I’m affiliated with SpaceX, working alongside NASA on a classified mission. I’d like you to consider participating in our experiments, Dev.’

Uh oh. Now don’t that sound just a little more than a tad ominous. Just roll with it, dude. Tell the good doctor what he’s wanting to hear and take things from there.

‘I’m sorry, Dr. Ross, but it appears, at least from first sight, that I’m going to participate in your experiments whether I want to or not. No?’

‘Oh. You mean the straps. Here. Allow me.’

I’m not about to sit here and tell you nobody ever treated me with a modicum of decency, but I will say I can pretty sure count the times on the fingers of one hand. When the good doctor released me from my bindings, I was sorely tempted to make my break. But a man in my position knows with a certainty there are armed guards right outside the door, and besides. Could be Dr. Ross might have something of interest to relate.

‘Thanks, doc,’ I say, rubbing my chaffed wrists. ‘Tell me more.’

‘The planet upon which we live circles a star. We call it the sun. Most everyone thinks of the sun as a constant source of light and heat. However, the sun is by no means constant. Instead, it is what we classify a variable star.’

I shrug. Okay. I admit it. I’m a bit of a geek when it comes to things scientific and the good doctor’s not telling me anything I don’t already know. On the other, he seems to be leading up to a point which perhaps heretofore eluded me and my reading.

‘Our sun has a well-known sunspot cycle of roughly eleven years, though that can fluctuate give or take a year. There are other longer cycles which we are only now beginning to understand. The ice ages, for example, are thought to have been caused by a dimming of the sun, an alteration of our orbit, or volcanic gases being released into the atmosphere blocking out the light.

‘Each theory has its merits. It could well be that all three combine to form conditions necessary for a snowball earth. However, the evidence gathered by the Solar Dynamics Observatory leads us to the conclusion that our sun has a much longer cycle, one we are just now over the past few decades entering.

‘You’ve doubtless heard of global warming. Pretty much any reputable scientist subscribes to the theory that anthropocentric warming is most responsible. However, the data is somehow skewed. The earth is not warming as much or as quickly as forecast, thus feeding the belief that anthropocentric warming is not taking place.

‘I assure you, it is. However, something more dire is occurring. Our sun is dimming. Oh, it isn’t anything that will become noticeable for another hundred years, but that is the primary reason why global warming is not accelerating as quickly as we once thought.

‘According to our calculations, in five hundred to a thousand years, the earth will once more enter the so-called snowball phase. Our oceans will freeze solid, even at the equator. The frost line on the continents will penetrate thousands of feet down.’

‘Wow. That is dire, doc. But I have to ask: what’s it got to do with me? Or you, for that matter. In five hundred years we’ll be long dead.’

‘All life on earth will go extinct, including human beings,’ says the doc, nodding, as if he secretly approves. ‘What we propose is to send a probe to the nearest star system which contains habitable planets. On board will be forty five humans as well as a plethora of frozen embryos. A seedbank. In other words, a sort of Noah’s Ark.’

‘Now, doc. Don’t look at me as a doubting Thomas, but isn’t traveling to the nearest star system beyond our capabilities? Why not send the ship to Mars? Be lots closer.’

‘The Russians and Chinese are going that route. The Americans too. But Mars is uninhabitable. According to our projections, without periodic replenishing missions from earth, a Martian colony would collapse within a hundred years.

‘Contrary to what you say, Dev, we do have the technology to send a probe to the nearest habitable star system. Oh, it’ll take thousands of years to arrive. But given several hundreds of billions of dollars and a decade to build the ship, we can do it.’

‘Why forty five?’

‘Ah. According to the laws of genetics, forty five people are the minimum number required to propagate viable offspring in succeeding generations.’

‘What am I doing here, doc? You know I’m a convicted murderer, right? Did you not feel just the slightest hesitancy in undoing my bonds?’

It was doc’s turn to shrug. And then he sighed. The same way I always imagined my father doing. If I had ever known my father, that is.

‘We’re looking for survivors, Dev. Those who have a proven track record of pushing through every hazard thrown their way and coming out on the other side the better for it. The majority of our passengers have bought their way onto the ship. Don’t look at me like that. We had to do it that way to raise the money.’

‘I don’t know how much a seat costs, and I haven’t checked my finances recently, but I’m fairly sure I can’t afford one, doc.’

‘We want you to lead the colony once it is established.’

‘Did I hear wrong, doc? Didn’t you say it’ll take thousands of years to get to wherever we’re going?’

‘The crew will be in suspended hibernation for the duration of the trip, Dev. Once the destination is reached, you’ll be awakened.’

‘You’re serious.’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you going too?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, I see. So it’s do as I say, not as I do.’

‘Not at all, Dev. I have several genetic markers which preclude me as a viable subject when considering the future of the human race. That and my expertise lies here, not in another star system. Believe me, I’d love the opportunity to go.’

‘What if I say no?’

‘Then you are free to leave. We’ll furnish you with new identification papers, a place to live, a job if you wish. You have a rare opportunity to start over, Dev, either here or out there. Your choice.’

Funny. I almost trust the guy. Here I am, salivating to the barbecue of my own skin and listening to a madman expound upon the unthinkable. I am more than sure if I was to refuse the doc’s offer that I would summarily find myself strapped down again and my veins filled with poison. And if I say yes? What then? Only one way.

‘When do we leave, doc?’