Pass It On

And the whispers faded away.

*****

As the bus pulled into the terminal in Dallas, Mr. Greene heaved a sigh of relief. It had been just like any other trip, nothing unusual about it, not at all. Yet, as he stood at the bottom of the stairs and lit his first cigarette of the day, he couldn’t help but notice his hands were shaking. Leaning against the bus, he closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep drag of his cigarette…then was startled by the sound of someone clearing his throat.

“Ah, Mr. Greene. You’ve done such a fine job driving us through this night. I just wanted to shake your hand in thanks.”

And though, somewhere in his mind, a voice cried “Don’t do it!” in a terror-stricken way, Mr. Greene felt his right hand extend outward almost reflexively.

*****

Having finished his last task, Sidney Q. Wickington stood on the curb at the bus depot and contemplated his next move.

It had been a long time since he had had that luxury.

Having passed on the sum of the experiences and memories he had collected as a Nomad host, he was released from the compulsion to do anything more. He was free to go where he wanted, and do what he wanted…up to and including ending his own life.

He turned and looked back at the bus, thinking of the six sleeping people within. Five of them would wonder if it had all been an erotic fever-dream. Until they found the bottles of ‘soap’ in their luggage, with the one simple instruction that ruled all the Nomad hosts across this planet, or any other.

Pass it on.

And they would invite their best friends to a party, one night soon, and put out their special dispensers of ‘soap’ in the bathroom…and then even more memories and experiences would belong to Sidney Wickington. As it had been for one hundred years now.

He ran his hand over his face, suddenly feeling old and tired, though his body had not aged more than 10 years in the last hundred.

‘I think I’m getting too old for this shit,’ was his last thought…

…before he stepped into the path of an oncoming bus.

*****

When Tanya awoke that morning, she was alone, in the front seat of the bus, directly behind the driver. All of the other passengers had already gone, including the ever-smiling Sidney Wickington.

As she began to rise from her seat, Mr. Greene rose from where he was sitting, looking more than a little relieved. “Mr. Wickington said I should stay here with you until you woke up, to make sure you made it to your next stop okay.”

Tanya began to stretch, then stopped quickly. Apparently, she had already been stretched to her limit in at least one spot in her body.

Mr. Greene stood in front of her, holding her bag, trying not to appear eager to get her off his bus, and failing miserably. “Mr. Wickington told me to give you this when you woke up, but to tell you to read it when you were alone.”

She nodded her thanks as he handed her a folded note. Then, with nothing better to do, she walked down the stairs and out into the day.

Inside the bus depot, she walked over to the nearest bench and sat her bag down, inviting Mr. Greene to do the same with the one he was carrying. “I’ll be alright from here out, Mr. Greene. Thank you for looking after me.”

Mr. Greene looked at her with a bit of puzzlement in her eyes. “I don’t know why, missy…but I don’t believe I had any choice.” And he tipped his hat and hurried away.

Alone, she opened the note, handwritten by someone in an apparent hurry:

Tanya:

By the time you read this, I will have made my own choice, the first time I have had that luxury in nearly 100 years. I have enjoyed my time as a host and as a human…but, though I find the technological advances dizzying, I find myself doing the same things over and over. I am growing bored.

By luck or by chance, you have become the receptacle of my fate, my redemption – though not by your own choice. But, your spirit is strong, and you still have much to learn. In that, I envy you.

Take your time. Learn what you are and are not capable of doing. Listen to what the voices of experience will tell you. And always remember the primary rule.

Pass it on.

S.Q. Wickington

She glanced at the note for a moment more, then balled it up and threw it over her shoulder.

She ignored the sounds of sirens as she took her bags and moved toward the cabstand.

FINIS