(Copyright Jan 2001) 

1.

Slipping the plastic keycard into the slot I waited for the light on lock to bleep from red to green then pushed open the door and stepped into the house.

I had never known much about my mother’s father. Orphaned by a shuttle crash when I was 4, I had been sent to live with my aunt, my father’s sister and despite my repeated questioning she had resolutely refused to discuss my mother’s side of the family. All I learnt was that my mother, an only child, had been adopted not long after she was born and that her adoptive father still lived somewhere back on earth. I didn’t even know his name, in my mind he was just Grandpa.

Then in my late teens I had managed to turn up an e-copy of my parents’ marriage certificate. This informed me that my mother’s maiden name had been Jayes. So after that he became Grandpa Jayes. More than that was not forth coming until three weeks ago when a firm of solicitors had managed to track me to my present home on Luna Five with the message that my grandfather had passed away naming me his sole beneficiary. Even that had been strange as the name of the deceased had not been Jayes but the solicitors assured me that it wasn’t an error, it was my grandfather.

Rather than just leave it to the executing agents to clear out his home I had decided to use some of my long over due vacation time to come and hopefully piece together what had been one of the great mysteries of my life. The cremation had happened before I had arrived but cradled in my arms I held the small urn containing the ashes of the man whose life was so long denied me.

To the best of my knowledge I had never met my grandfather, my father’s job taking my mother and him to Jupiter Nine before I was born. Perhaps he was one of those people who was sacred of flying and wouldn’t make the long journey out to the starbase. Who knows? Over the years I had concocted fanciful childish daydreams of a caring, loving Grandparent who would welcome me with open arms, sit me on his knee and tell me tall stories. I never got to find out how the reality measured up to the fantasy.

Going into what was obviously the main living area, I set the ashes down on a table just inside the door. I had no idea yet what I was going to do with them, this last tangible link to my mother. Once I scattered them she was gone from me again as surely as he was.

Looking around me, I took in the neat, well appointed room The large comfortable sofa of the kind only available on Earth, the soft fabrics, the homely touches. The whole of one end is dominated by a grand piano. I’ve never seen a real one before, everyone uses synth programs now. It’s obviously been well looked after though there is a thin film of dust gathered there now, the tiny particles shown up by the late evening sun.

Tidily arranged on the top are several framed photos. Wandering over I pick one up; it’s my parent’s wedding photo. Forcing away the tears that unbidden well up, I replace it and pick up another. Even twenty years on the pain is still there. A shy toddler smiles up at me from the picture now in my hand. With a shock I realise it is me, taken on a family holiday. I have a similar photo on my hard drive at home. One of the precious few that my aunt downloaded from my parent’s archive after their deaths.

Then I see the one that I have unconsciously been searching for. Two young men standing side by side, arms flung round each other’s shoulders in that comradely way guys do. Both of them are dressed in combat suits, which, guessing at their rough ages, would put the photo at around 2006, the colonial insurrection. One of them is dark haired with mischievous blue eyes, the other, slightly taller with dirty blond hair and serious looking green eyes.