Big Gun Introspective

By Aquarius

Mom always said that everything happens for a reason.

Now, I've never been one to back-talk and argue with my mom, but I've gotta be honest: sometimes I've had trouble believing her the last couple of years.

The thing is, when you're a guy who's been frozen in a freak accident and you die, you just figure your number's up; it's just your time. Every ride's over sooner or later, and that's reason enough. You accept that when you're a test pilot like me.

But when you're a guy who's been frozen in a freak accident and you've been thawed out and woken up 500 years later, and everything you knew and everyone you ever loved and even the people you didn't like much are just gone-poof!-it's hard to believe there's any good reason for it. Then they put you in a room and tell you there's no more clear blue sky and no more grass and no more Chicago and they tell you the air outside the dome is barely breathable-you can't help but get up every morning and wonder what the hell it's all for, why you could possibly have been brought to this time and this place because you don't know anything about anything, and all you are is lonely.

And you can't even tell Mom you think she's wrong about this one, because she's stopped listening for you 500 years ago.

But like most grown men, you live your life for a while, and you realize that your parents weren't so dumb after all, that there's really something to all the stuff they've been telling you. I'm starting to believe Mom again about all this happening for a reason because of something else she always said:

There's someone out there for everyone.

Yeah, I know, that's what moms tell their kids when they can't get dates for the big dance, but it's true. I know, because I found her. Here—in the twenty-fifth century of all places. She's sleeping next to me right now.

Wilma was a tough nut to crack, though, I have to tell you. She never laughed at any of my stupid jokes—okay, maybe that's because 500 years later they weren't funny any more, but still, it's been a long time since I met a woman who wasn't impressed with me and didn't throw herself at me. Wilma's very no-nonsense, but when she did finally crack a smile, it was killer. Her combination of brains and gorgeous looks are almost criminal, and I still have a hard time believing those tight, shiny jumpsuits are what pass for a uniform around here—hoooooooooooo, boy! Was I in trouble the first time I saw her! And I'm not even talking about the allegations that I was a Draconian spy. She was a blonde when I first met her, but now her hair is almost as dark as deep space and it brings out eyes bluer than any sky I can remember. Wilma's always reserved at first, but once you get to know her she's got a sharp wit and a well-hidden playful streak that comes out after a while.

And did I mention that she can out-pilot anybody, even me sometimes? She's nothing short of amazing.

Just the kind of woman my mom wanted to keep her boy in line. I wish she could see Wilma. She'd love her.

So I guess I have to give it to Mom this time, too. She was right, because Wilma's the only thing that makes any kind of sense in this whole crazy mess. Maybe she really was made just for me. Maybe my ship's malfunctioning life-support was the only way I'd be able to wait 500 years for her.

Huh. I wonder what Mom would think about that?

Noises are coming from the living room of our apartment. Wilma's eyes open and she's instantly alert. It figures. In the short year since Wilma and I got married and moved back to New Chicago, this'll make the fifth time that someone's broken in and tried to kidnap one or both of us, or steal something we were supposed to be protecting. I really need to have a word with Security about that.

I go for my pants, but Wilma goes straight for her laser rifle. Like I said, she doesn't screw around. We're probably in some kind of mortal danger, but I can't help grinning at the sight in front of me, of the naked pretty lady with the really big gun. A guy's life just doesn't get any better than that. You can bet your sweet bippy that they didn't make 'em as tough as Wilma in the twentieth century, or as beautiful. That's for damn sure.

They're knocking stuff over outside. There's only two or three of them this time, from what I can tell. I know that Wilma could probably take them easily, especially with the surprise they have coming, but I grab my gun, too. I won't have it said that twentieth century chivalry is dead as long as I'm still around. Besides, the sooner we take these jokers out, the sooner Security can haul them away, and the sooner we can get back to snuggling up under the covers.

I take one side of the door, and Wilma takes the other, her finger hovering over the open/close button. I wink at her and she smiles, nodding that she's ready for whatever's on the other side.

Yep, Wilma Deering was definitely worth the 500-year wait. I've lost so much, but I'd do it over and over again.

Just for her.

I'm just glad that Mom isn't here to see this.

END