The Loneliest Guy

So he called.

Waited.

Called.

"We don't use cellphones in Jupiter," Isla said, while he waited. "I dunno. Took a bit of getting used to. There's just no point when you can use wristbands, or, uh... I don't know if there's a one-to-one equivalent of this, but it's this thing you hang on your ear and you make calls from there and stuff. It even translates things for you. Thing is, all of its servers are on Jupiter, so mine is basically unusable for me right now. I really don't want to wait an hour and a half per request."

Stella sat next to Isla, legs curled to her chest, tail slamming against the floor as though it were to blame.

"It sucks that Susskind-Maldacena bridges can transport things but not information. Isn't information a thing, though? Things contain information. That's why they're things. I don't know. I'm not a scientist."

"That's—" Never mind. Something told her that correcting him would have cataclysmic consequences. "Do you mean the hole between the moon and Earth?"

"Yeah. There's a lot of those, just not on Earth. It just sucks that they can't find a way to make light travel through those bridges without distorting information or whatever the issue is. Everytime they say 'guys, guess what, communication between planets will be instant now', something always comes up. I've been hearing that for over a century now. By the way, whoever has Shigure's phone just turned it off."

Stella's tail fell, limp. Isla looked like a twenty-something year old at most.

Isla the centenarian who looked a quarter of his age tapped tapped tapped and then called somebody else. Who? Would've been nice of him to tell her, but perhaps he'd grown senile. "Sup," Isla said, "I'm at Stella's place. We're trying to call Shigure because... oh, right, sorry. I forget. We're trying to call Fuyukawa because she, uh... I'll send you the details later. Anyway, could you tell him to answer the phone, please?"

Spy time. "...busy..." Stella's ears twitched; this signal in particular had more security than usual. "...locked... chance..."

"Wait, what? Why'd you do that? Can't you lend him his phone for thirty seconds? Wait, no, five minutes. Come on."

"...volition... anything..."

Isla sat up. "What do you mean you can't do anything about it? Just lend him his phone, man. Stella's crying here. I'm talking bawling. She says she'll turn herself into a toaster if Shi—Fuyukawa doesn't talk."

"...cry...?"

"Metaphorically, I mean." Tap. "Stella, love, are you sad? He can hear you right now. I'm talking to Fukuyawa's social worker. Go on, tell him how sad you are."

She had to cut connections immediately. Shame. "Very sad," Stella said.

"Hear that?" Isla asked the person at the other end of the line.

When he spoke this time, Stella recognized him as the one who'd humored Shigure's frivolous spending earlier. "Good evening, Stella. You don't need to worry about him anymore. He won't harm you."

"Yes. I agree."

"A new agent will be assigned to you within three business days. For now, Isla will be the one to help you."

"Yes."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell him in particular? I'll pass the message to him."

"Why can't I talk to him?" Stella asked.

"Yeah," echoed Isla. "Just let her, man. Five minutes. That's like nothing."

"I'm afraid that's not possible right now, but I can leave a message."

"Why is it not possible?" Slam, slam, went her tail, and the heart she didn't have. "I don't understand."

The following silence felt like a slap. "He's safe," said Shigure's jailer."Mr. Gray, your shift ended hours ago. Why are you with her?"

"Cuz she's sad!"

"I won't make a report, but it's not professional. If they find out you're with a client again..."

"Bah, professional my ass. You guys keep saying you're here to help, but you can't even let two people have a five-minute conversation. If YOU don't help, then who will? God?"

Shigure's jailer sighed. Come to think of it, in Japan, it must've been the middle of the night. It was hard to tell whether Isla didn't know or just didn't care, but now that Stella remembered timezones existed—regardless of one's place in the universe—she couldn't be that mad anymore. Of course Shigure wouldn't answer if he was asleep. "Fine. I'll pass him the phone." Never mind. "One moment."

Isla raised his hand, grinning. Stella didn't know what it meant, so he took her hand, clapped it against his, and explained, "High-five. It means 'we did it'!"

Stella grinned, too.

"Well." He rolled up, stood up, adjusted his glasses. "I'll give you two privacy. Call me once you're done. Press the speaker button on the screen so only you can hear him."

She would've expected him to 'give them privacy' by leaving the house, but instead, he headed to her room. Stella heard him jump on her bed. Just once, though. At least someone used it.

So she waited.

Waited.

Waited.

"Stella." It was the social worker again. "I'm sorry. He's not available at the moment."

"...lies."

"I can give him a message."

"He's right there. I know."

"What is it you want to tell him?"

'Liar.'

'Goodbye.'

'Will we ever talk again?'

She'd acted silly, he'd refused to humor her, she'd gotten invasive, he'd gotten defensive, then whatever he had on his head had induced a headache that broke him. 

In the grand scheme of things, she couldn't see how any of this could've led to irreconciliable differences. It made no sense. Why would 'goodbyes' ever be voluntary?

"Tell Shigure that... "

'I'm sorry.'

'What did I do wrong?'

'Why does everyone leave me?'

'When will they stop leaving me?'

'What is wrong with me?'

'Is it my fault?'

"...that... I hope he has a good life, and that I hope things get better for him."

"I will," replied the social worker. "He'll appreciate it."

'He won't.'

'You knew him for less than a week. What is wrong with you?'

'He 'lost his freedom' our of his own 'volition'. What is wrong with him?'

'What is wrong with everyone?'

'Why is everyone so strange and bad?'

'Why is everyone so sad?'

No war, no poverty, androids and humans co-existing, spatial colonization, space-time bridges, not worrying about stranger danger, no prisons, changing major physical attributes at will... all of this, all of this, and yet... it wasn't enough. 'Something' always went 'wrong'.

"Please," Stella said. "Please please please let me talk to him. Please. I'll do anything. Please."

Then she realized she was talking to a dead end.

Isla backflipped on his way out. It wasn't that amusing anymore. Anyone could do it under these conditions. "How did it g... oh."

After Stella handed him the phone, she curled into a ball again.

"Oh, my. That bad, huh? But hey, we can forget about it for the night I was thinking, what if we give that home theater a try? There's this really funny rom-com that—"

"No."

"That's fine, that's fine. How about fantasy?"

"I want to be alone," she said, to her and to him.

'You'll just leave in three business days anyway'.

"...gotcha. Yeah... I get it. See you tomorrow. I hope you feel better soon?'"

"Understood."

He looked as though he were about to speak, but Isla did not. He patted her head, though. As though she were a pet.

When he left, without so much as shifting her weight, Stella waited.

And waited.

That was all she could do. Wait for the next morning to arrive, and for it to start and end yet again.