If you are not too long, I will wait for you all my life.
- Oscar Wilde
West closed the door behind him and flopped facedown on the bed. Outside, the rain continued to pour, just as it had for the past week, making a clattering racket on the motel's uninsulated roof. West's mind was a blank, all conscious thought obliterated out of his brain by the all-encompassing fatigue in his bones. A month of boring cargo runs between Serenity and the Oo-oo-ah homeworld hauling yorna berries had left him drained and feeling old before his time.
He listened to the rain on the roof. It would probably be quieter in his cabin aboard the Rocinanté, but after a month of being cooped up in that small space he had to get out, even if it was just to this sleazy motel for a night. After a few minutes he drifted off to sleep...
...And awoke to the insistent bleating of the communication terminal on the nightstand. He felt like he had just dozed off a few seconds ago, but the sunlight lancing through the cracks in the lopsided window shade told him it was already tomorrow.
West groaned and rolled over. He'd lain where he'd collapsed all night without moving, still fully dressed, boots and all. He was glad he'd at least had the presence of mind last night to bring along a change of clothes. He pulled off his boots in preparation for taking a nice long shower and glanced over at the nightstand.
A small red light on the bottom of the communication terminal indicated he had a message waiting.
West tossed aside his boot and reached over to push the blinking button. The antique machine whirred to life. There was no video image on the screen, nor even a voice recording, but with a clatter of motors and gears, the terminal disgorged a sheet of paper into his waiting hand.
An email? What kind of dinosaur uses email anymore? he wondered. He could think of a few.
As West read the contents of the curt missive, his eyes grew wide in surprise, but that quickly gave way to other emotions. His forehead creased in puzzlement and concern. After so many years, why is he contacting me now? he wondered.
He folded the message printout and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. After diving back into his boots and grabbing his belongings, he headed out the door, wrinkled clothes and shower forgotten, displaced by more important concerns, like why a man he hadn't seen in over twenty years suddenly felt it necessary to send him this strange message.
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