Story 2

Martin Lochman

We occasionally reprint stories that have appeared in other publications. The Great Stoppage is one instance of that. Sadly, in this case, the original publication is no longer in existence.

I was three-quarters of the way through this story before realizing it wasn't a post-apocalyptic science fiction story at all. It is the story of two brothers affected by a world-wide catastrophe, each reacting according to his nature.

Martin Lochman is a Czech science fiction and speculative fiction author, currently living and working as a University librarian in Malta. His work appeared (or is forthcoming) in a variety of venues, including New Myths, Kzine, Theme of Absence, XB-1 (Czech SFFH magazine), and others. His passion project/debut collection "All Quiet in the Milky Way: Ray M. Holler’s Adventures vol. 1" was published in 2023. You can find him at: https://martinlochmanauthor.wordpress.com/, Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/people/Martin-Lochman-SF-Author/61552596028127/, or Twitter: @MartinLochman.

I published an earlier version of this story under the title "What We Had to Leave Behind" in Page & Spine: Fiction Showcase in January 2021, but the magazine has since completely disappeared from the Internet, so no traces of the original story are left anywhere. Their only stipulation was that Page & Spine: Fiction Showcase would be cited as the original publisher in the case of a reprint.

-- Martin Lochman

The Great Stoppage

By Martin Lochman

They called it by different names: The Great Stoppage, The Big Break, The Permahalt. A globe-spanning event that had effectively stopped every single vehicle from working.

###

I found him in our dad’s old Škoda Felicia behind the house. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the window base, and staring through the windshield into the darkness beyond. It was almost eleven, the full moon high in the sky, the last remnants of the afternoon heat giving way to cool, night air. This was one of the things I loved about the summer in central Europe: no matter how uncompromisingly hot it had gotten during the day, the dusk always brought a much-welcomed relief.

He didn’t look at me as I opened the door on the passenger side and sat down next to him.

“Couldn’t sleep, bro?” I asked him and as gently as possible slammed the door shut.

“Do you remember the first time I drove this thing?” he said, tapping on the steering wheel.

I wasn’t surprised by the lack of an answer — my brother often ignored questions that could be considered as rhetorical or unnecessary in one way or another. What caught me off balance a bit, however, was a distinct hint of sadness, or at the very least, melancholy in his voice that stood in stark contrast to his usual self.

Knowing full well that he would brush off or disregard any attempt at directly inquiring about his current state of mind, I decided to leave the control of the conversation to him.

“Like I would ever forget!” I smirked and gave him a friendly bump with my shoulder. “You stalled at half of the stops, ran two red lights, and almost collided with that BMW. You were lucky that Dad wasn’t with us; otherwise, he wouldn’t have lent it to you ever again.”

“Hey, in my defense, it was the first real car I drove after getting my license,” he said and finally broke his forward gaze. He was smiling, but there was a strange glint in his eyes that didn’t quite correspond with the cheerful expression. “Besides, you know that the clutch has been screwed ever since he bought it. That’s why it died on me so often then and every other time I took it for a ride.”

“Never seemed to happen to him, though. Maybe you weren’t as good a driver as you thought.”

“Well, as I recall, you didn’t do much better.”

“Touché,” I nodded.

He looked back ahead, the smile disappearing from his face. For the next few moments, we sat in silence, interrupted only by the steady chirping of the insects, the gentle rustle of the leaves, and an occasional hoot of an owl. Having spent most of my life in a city, it had taken me a while to get used to that tranquil cacophony, but nowadays I couldn’t imagine those starry, summer nights without it.

“I just really miss it, you know?”

The suddenness of his words startled me slightly. I had a feeling I knew what he meant, yet I still asked: “What?”

“Driving. Flying. Taking a train, a bus, a damn Uber — everything!” He shook his head.

Unlike the majority of world-changing events throughout human history, The Great Stoppage had occurred suddenly, without any prior warnings, and everywhere at the same time. Cars, motorcycles, and buses wouldn’t move, no matter how much their drivers pressed the gas pedal. Trains, subways, and trams would stay put even though there was nothing wrong with the power grid or their engines. Ships and boats remained in the harbors or adrift, at the mercy of the seas, their powerful propellers still, as if encased in stone. And the vehicles that had already been in motion the moment it happened came to a stop, some faster, some more gradually, subject to the uncompromising friction.

This, of course, was the case of land and water vehicles. When it came to airplanes, the situation was naturally far worse. Deprived of the ability to remain in flight, they fell out of the sky, the majority crashing to the solid ground of every continent. Close to one-and-a-half million people died instantly, yet — as horrible as it sounds — it was a mere drop in a bucket when compared to the overall number of casualties brought about by the event in the years that followed.

The abrupt absence of all effective means of transportation mercilessly crippled governments the world over. Frozen supply chains manifested in a widespread shortage of food, which in turn sparked massive civil unrest and armed conflicts, not only in those regions that a lot of people living in the civilized West would label as “poor, dirty shit-holes”. Within months, entire countries crumbled into pieces, torn apart from the inside or falling prey to their neighbors.

While the unparalleled crisis was wreaking havoc across the globe, the scientific community committed every available resource to try to understand the phenomenon and, more importantly, reverse it. Their desperate efforts yielded very little in terms of actionable results, but they were at least able to ascertain its full extent. The Great Stoppage affected only vehicles with artificial means of propulsion, be it a good-old internal combustion engine, steam engine, or a state-of-the-art fusion generator, whereas anything put in motion by the elements, animals, or people, such as bicycles, sailboats, or horse-drawn carriages, would still move. This led many to believe that the event was of a natural origin, that it was Mother Nature herself finally putting an end to the massive pollution caused by the unscrupulous and reckless actions of man. Personally, I had never agreed with that theory—after all, everything else that had the least bit to do with corrupting the environment, including the coal power plants and oil refineries, carried on business as usual.

With no salvation on the horizon and the death and destruction raging almost everywhere, it felt like this was the end, the very last chapter in the history of our proud species, yet ultimately, humanity prevailed. It was by no means an easy process, and the price paid would be considered too steep by most, but people adapted to the new way of things, embraced it, and learned to thrive in it. The world that resulted wasn’t entirely unfamiliar compared to the one we used to know, but it was certainly new in many respects. It was also a world of contradictions — thanks to the internet and 21st-century communication, it remained small and interconnected, but at the same time, the necessity to fall back to centuries-old transportation inevitably broke it apart.

“I know,” I said, forcing myself to stop mulling over the days gone by. “I miss it too. But we can’t live in the past. We have to keep moving forward.”

He gave me a sideways glance and uttered bitterly: “Easy for you to say.”

My brother used to work for one of the largest international manufacturers of heavy-duty commercial vehicles. He was quite successful, swiftly moving up the corporate ladder, but not long after he had assumed a position in the top management (for which he had to relocate to California), The Great Stoppage happened. From then on, there was no need for more trucks or power-trains or services associated with their maintenance and distribution, so the company, like so many others involved in transport infrastructure, ceased to exist, and with it, my brother’s planned career prospects.

I, on the other hand, was a teacher. My profession, along with that of librarians, administrators, and scientists, to name a few, remained relevant and essential, though understandably, it had to undergo significant changes.

“Hey, I am sure that sooner or later you will find something that’s right up your alley,” I said, making sure to sound optimistic rather than patronizing. “I mean, you have one hell-of-a-track record. Cars or no cars, businesses need good managers.”

“It’s not that,” he said, and this time the sadness was right there on full display.

I blinked, both astonished to learn that I had gotten him wrong and afraid of what really was on his mind. I waited for him to elaborate, but he kept silent, motionless. Eventually, I couldn’t bear it anymore.

“What’s going on? Talk to me.”

He turned his head to look me in the eyes. Took a deep breath. Pressed his lips together until they formed a thin line.

Suddenly, I didn’t want him to say anything.

“I can’t stay here anymore.”

It was the unshakable definitiveness with which he had said it, rather than the words themselves, that hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water.

“What do you mean?” I blurted out automatically, my head a hive of overlapping thoughts, ideas, and emotions.

“This — ” He made a small, circular motion above his head with his hand to encompass the house and its immediate surroundings. “ — is your home. Your finish line. Not mine.”

“What are you talking about?!” I said sharper than I intended. “It’s your home too.”

He shook his head again.

“You were the one who wanted to stay in our homeland. Get out of the city, buy a house in the countryside, put down roots—that has always been your dream. I never wished for that. Sure, I would also like to settle down, but not here, not now.”

As much as I hated to admit that, he was right. Whereas I never liked traveling and living abroad was something I would never in a million years see myself voluntarily doing, he had snatched every chance he got to venture beyond the borders ever since he was old enough to make independent decisions. All those trips during high school, semesters at foreign universities over the course of his undergraduate and graduate studies, and eventually moving for work, first to the Netherlands and then the United States, made it crystal clear that only the whole world was big enough for his ambitions.

I guess I shouldn’t really have been surprised he felt that way, but at that very moment, what he said shocked me to such a degree that for the next couple of seconds, I had no idea what to say.

He must have noticed my reaction — or the lack thereof — since he quickly added: “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. I really appreciate you and Anna taking me in. I don’t know what I would have done if it weren’t for you.”

Contrary to what you might expect, the United States was, in fact, among the countries that had completely fallen apart in the wake of The Great Stoppage. Some ascribed it to the sheer size of the territory, which simply couldn’t be kept together absent the better part of its critical infrastructure; others blamed the downfall on longstanding societal issues that had finally boiled over, but ultimately, the why didn’t matter. What did, however, was the fact that it had become a difficult place to live, especially for foreigners who were, at best, made to feel extremely unwelcome. At worst, well, I think you get the idea…

It had taken my brother nearly two years to make his way back to our homeland. He would hardly talk about his journey, but from the bits and pieces, it was clear that it was an experience beyond imagination. That was why I was even more taken aback by his statement.

“You would have done the same for me,” I rasped. I cleared my throat, then continued: “Where do you want to go?”

“Japan.”

He didn’t say anything else, as if that single word were enough of an explanation. I drew in a sharp breath—I had expected one of the neighboring countries, or Great Britain at the most, but certainly not a destination on the other side of the world. He might as well have said that he wanted to fly to the Moon.

“Why Japan?”

“Because they are the only ones who seem to be doing anything about this whole thing anymore,” he said. “I’ve heard that they are working on a way to circumvent the… whatever it is that’s keeping everything still.”

I knew that even though the majority of the world’s intellectuals had long given up, having classified The Great Stoppage as irreversible and as irremovable as any of the known laws of physics, there were still those who simply couldn’t and wouldn’t throw their hands up. As far as I was concerned, however, they were individuals or small, isolated groups that lacked sufficient backing and resources.

“Where did you hear that?”

“From a friend of mine who used to work for a subsidiary in Tokyo. He stayed even after the company went out of business. He’s got a few contacts in the right places, and they told him about this new project. It’s big, their government is pulling out all the stops.”

“What is it? Some kind of alternative propulsion system?”

“Nah, it’s nothing like that,” he said and frowned, an expression of intense concentration settling on his face. “If I understand it correctly, they are designing a whole new mode of transport. Something that gets you from point A to point B without actually setting you in motion.”

“That’s impossible!” I uttered, trying to wrap my mind around what he was saying. “When you want to get somewhere, you have to move. There is literally no way around it!”

I looked at him and in that very moment, it hit me.

“Teleportation! You are talking about teleportation!”

He slowly nodded. “Not per se, but something to that effect. The explanation I got was quite complicated, but I—”

“That’s insane!” I burst out. “You want to move halfway across the planet because someone told you that they are building teleports there? Can you not see how crazy that sounds?”

Only as the words left my mouth did I realize that I had just effectively turned our casual evening conversation into an argument—one that I was bound to lose on account of the simple fact that where I liked to avoid conflict at any cost, my brother thrived on it. Surprisingly enough, however, he didn’t retaliate—hell, he didn’t even raise his voice.

“I know it’s a long shot. It might be a while before they have something usable, and before they can implement it on a national, let alone global scale. But I can assure you that it’s real, and they are making progress. I need to be there when it’s ready.”

Although he spoke calmly and in measured tones, there was a stone-like determination behind each syllable that effectively squashed any potential counter-argument I might have raised. It didn’t matter whether the project was actually genuine or not — he had already made up his mind, and nothing was going to change that. When we were growing up, I had often admired that bullheadedness of his, and sometimes even caught myself feeling somehow less competent for not possessing it too; now, all I wished for was that he would be more like me.

“So when are you planning on leaving?”

It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to say, but it was the only thing I could under the circumstances.

“In a couple of days,” he replied, and I could swear that I heard the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.

I took it as a certainty.

“Why so soon? You said yourself that it would take them some time to come up with a practical application. You could stay longer and go only once your buddy reports that they are close.”

He didn’t react, so I continued: “We love having you here, you know that, right? And Julia absolutely adores her uncle.”

Mentioning my bubbly, three-year-old daughter elicited a grin from him. I matched it with my own and nudged him with my elbow.

“Come on, bro. There is no hurry.”

He looked up at the ceiling of the car as if the decision hung there, then slowly nodded.

“Okay,” was the only thing he said, but it was all I wanted to hear. A wave of relief washed over me.

“Okay,” I repeated after him. “In the meantime, if you want, we can see if there is something in the city you can sink your teeth into. Temporarily, of course.”

“Sure,” he said and reached for the door handle. “Let’s talk more tomorrow though. I am beat.”

We got out of the car. The air had gotten even colder in the meantime, but it was still a beautiful night. My brother closed the door shut on his side, but didn’t head for the house immediately, staying instead in place, his demeanor serious.

“Thank you, truly. For everything.”

“Of course, bro,” I said hesitantly, taken aback by his sudden sincerity, but before I could ask what brought it on, he gave me an impish wink and, uttering “good night”, turned toward the house.

I looked around for the last time, taking in the dark silhouettes of the trees and the few, isolated lights in the distance, and followed after him.

###

He was gone the next morning. He must have snuck out before first light because when I got up at around six, right after the first rays of the sun poked through the tiny gaps in the window blinds, his room was already empty, the door standing ajar. My first thought was that he had simply gone out for an early morning run—he had recently started jogging on a regular basis — but as I peeked in, I noticed that the big hiking backpack he kept in the corner ever since he had moved in with us was missing. With a sinking feeling, I checked the wardrobe and the drawers and found them virtually empty.

I tried calling him almost immediately, as well as numerous times in the days that followed, but all my attempts went straight to voicemail. I knew that he wasn’t going to come back—to think that would be downright foolish; on the other hand, I felt that I deserved an explanation for why he had left without a word, especially when we had agreed on something completely different the night prior. The lack of success in getting through to him slowly turned whatever negative feelings I had inward, until I almost became convinced that it was something I had said that drove him away — perhaps my unwillingness to take the whole teleportation idea at face value, or that remark about helping him find a temporary job in the city, or anything else I had uttered during our conversation.

When he finally got back to me almost three weeks later (he was already at the Ukrainian-Russian border by then), I was too relieved to hear that he was okay to care that much about his motives. Nonetheless, he made an effort to disclose them, the gist being that he simply wanted to spare me and my family a painful goodbye. In retrospect, I think he was full of crap and he did it all for himself — maybe even because he was actually afraid that if he really stayed longer, he eventually wouldn’t be able to bring himself to leave at all.

We stayed in touch throughout his entire journey to the Far East (which proved to be nothing if not eventful) and long after he settled down in the Japanese capital. As far as I could tell based on our calls, he was excited about being there, in spite of the hardships he faced as a foreigner in a completely alien environment and the fact that the government project was progressing at a much slower rate than he had expected. He wasn’t home, but I sensed he was happier than he had been in a long time, as much as I initially hated to admit it.

I like to think that he is still happy, and more importantly, safe because the truth is that I cannot know for sure—not since the telecommunications networks went down two years ago, taking the internet, long-distance calling, and everything else that held what was left of the world together after The Great Stoppage permanently out of the equation. What I can and do know is, despite everything that has happened, there is a chance, however slim, that I will see him again. Tomorrow, next week, or in a few months or years — it doesn’t matter.

And that is something worth holding onto.

END

[Index] [About Us] [Stories] [Story 1] [Story 2] [Story 3] [Story 4] [Guest Art] [Editors Write] [Archives] [Contact Us] [Links]