Redshirts (37 page)
* * *
Hello.
I don’t know what to call you. I don’t know if you will ever read this or if you will believe it even if you do. But I’m going to write like you will read it and believe it. There’s no point in doing it otherwise.
You are the reason that my life has had joy. You didn’t know it, and you couldn’t have known it. It doesn’t mean it’s not true. It’s true because without you, the woman who was my wife would not have been who she was, and who she was to me. In your world, you played her, as an actress, for what I believe was only a brief amount of time—so brief that it’s possible you don’t even remember that you played her.
But in that brief time, you gave her life. And where I am, she shared that life with me, and gave me something to live for. When she stopped living, I stopped living too. I stopped living for years.
I want to start living again. I know she would want me to start living again. To do that I need to give her back to you. Here she is.
I wish you could have known her. I wish you could have talked to her, laughed with her and loved her as I did. It’s impossible now. But at the very least I can show you what she meant to me, and how she lived with me and shared her life with me.
I don’t know you; I will never know you. But I have to believe that a great part of who my wife was comes from you—lives in you even now. My wife is gone, but knowing that you are out there gives me some comfort. I hope that what was good in her, those things I loved in her, live in you too. I hope that in your life you have the love that she had in hers. I have to believe you do, or at the very least that you can.
I could say more, but I believe the best way to explain everything is simply to show you everything. So here it is. Here she is.
My wife’s name was Margaret Elizabeth Jenkins. Thank you for giving her to me, for the time I had her. She’s yours again.
With love,
Adam Jenkins
* * *
Samantha Martinez stands ankle deep in the ocean, not too far from the Santa Monica Pier, and sprinkles the remains of Margaret Jenkins’ life in the place where she will have one day been on her honeymoon. She does not hurry in the task, taking time between each handful of ash and sand to remember Margaret’s words, and her life, and her love, bringing them inside of her and letting them become part of her, whether for the first time or once again.
When she’s done, she turns around to walk up the beach and notices a man standing there, watching her. She smiles and walks up to him.
“You were spreading ashes,” he says, more of a statement than a question.
“I was,” Samantha says.
“Whose were they?” he asks.
“They were my sister’s,” Samantha says. “In a way.”
“In a way?” he asks.
“It’s complicated,” Samantha explains.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man says.
“Thank you,” Samantha says. “She lived a good life. I’m glad I got to be a part of it.”
“This is probably the worst possible thing I could say to you right this moment,” the man says, “but I
swear
you look familiar to me.”
“You look familiar to me too,” Samantha says.
“I swear to you this isn’t a line, but are you an actress?” the man asks.
“I used to be,” Samantha says.
“Were you ever on
The Chronicles of the Intrepid
?” the man asks.
“Once,” Samantha says.
“You’re not going to believe this,” the man says. “I think I played your character’s husband.”
“I know,” Samantha says.
“You remember?” the man asks.
“No,” Samantha said. “But I know what her husband looks like.”
The man holds out his hand. “I’m Nick Weinstein,” he says.
“Hello, Nick,” Samantha says, shaking it. “I’m Samantha.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Nick says. “Again, I mean.”
“Yes,” Samantha says. “Nick, I’m thinking of getting something to eat. Would you like to join me?”
Now it’s Nick’s turn to smile. “I would like that. Yes,” he says.
The two of them head up the beach.
“It’s kind of a coincidence,” Nick says, after a few seconds. “The two of us being here like this.”
Samantha smiles again and puts her arm around Nick as they walk.
Acknowledgments
I wrote this novel in the wake of having worked on a science fiction television show, so before I do anything else, let me make the following disclaimer:
Redshirts
is not even remotely based on the television show
Stargate: Universe
. Anyone hoping this is a thinly veiled satire of that particular experience of mine is going to have to be disappointed. Indeed, I would argue that
Stargate: Universe
was all the things that
The Chronicles of the Intrepid
wasn’t—namely, smart, well-written and interested in having its science nod in the direction of plausibility.
I was really pleased to have worked on
SG:U
as its creative consultant; I also had a lot of fun with it. And of course I genuinely enjoyed
watching
it, both as a fan of the genre and as someone who worked on it and could see where my contributions showed up on the screen.
That
was cool. I’ve co-dedicated this book to Brad Wright and Joe Mallozzi, the
SG:U
producers who brought me into the show, but I’d also like to take a moment here to bow deeply to the cast, crew, writers and staff of
SG:U
as well. It’s a shame it couldn’t have lasted longer, but no good thing lasts forever.
I also wrote this novel while serving as president of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, the largest organization of SF/F writers in the world (and possibly in the entire universe, although of course there’s no way to confirm this, yet). Over the years, there’s been a bit of received wisdom that if one serves as SFWA’s president, one has to essentially lose a year of creative productivity to the gig, and possibly one’s sanity as well. I’m happy to say I have not found this to be true—and the reason it was not true in my case was that I was fortunate to have an SFWA board of directors filled with very smart, dedicated people, who worked together for its members as well as or better than any board in recent memory.
So to Amy Sterling Casil, Jim Fiscus, Bob Howe, Lee Martindale, Bud Sparhawk, Sean Williams and in particular Mary Robinette Kowal, my sincere thanks, admiration and appreciation. It was an honor to serve with each of you. Thanks also to all those who volunteer for SFWA and make it a writers’ organization I am proud to be a part of.
Every time I write a novel, I am amazed at how much
better
it is when it finally comes out in book form. It’s because so many excellent people improve it along the way. This book was helped along by Patrick Nielsen Hayden, my editor; Irene Gallo, Tor’s art director; cover artist Peter Lutjen; copyeditor Sona Vogel; text designer Heather Saunders and also production editor Rafal Gibek. Thanks are also due to Cassie Ammerman, my publicist at Tor, and of course to Tom Doherty, who continues to publish my work, for which I continue to be ridiculously pleased. Thanks are also due to my agent, Ethan Ellenberg, and to Evan Gregory, who keeps track of my foreign sales.
Redshirts
was read by a small core of first-line readers who offered invaluable feedback and assured me that the thing was something more than just a piss-take on televised science fiction (although obviously it is that too). My appreciation, then, to Regan Avery (as always), Karen Meisner, Wil Wheaton, Doselle Young, Paul Sabourin, Greg DiCostanzo and my wife, Kristine Scalzi, who also deserves thanks for putting up with me in a general sense. I’m really glad she does.
And finally, thank you, dear reader. I’m glad you keep coming back for more. If you keep coming back, I’ll keep writing them. That’s a promise.
John Scalzi,
July 22, 2011
Also by John Scalzi
Old Man’s War
The Ghost Brigades
The Android’s Dream
The Last Colony
Zoe’s Tale
Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded
Fuzzy Nation
Edited by John Scalzi
Metatropolis
About the Author
John Scalzi is the author of several SF novels, including the bestselling
Old Man’s War
and its sequels, and the
New York Times
bestseller
Fuzzy Nation
. He is a winner of science fiction’s John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer, and he won the Hugo Award for
Your Hate Mail Will Be Graded,
a collection of essays from his wildly popular blog,
Whatever
(
whatever.scalzi.com
). He lives in Ohio with his wife and daughter.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
REDSHIRTS
Copyright © 2012 by John Scalzi
All rights reserved.
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
Tor
®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-1699-8 (hardcover)
ISBN 9781429963602 (e-book)
First Edition: June 2012