art by Steven R. Stewart
The figure emerged inside the three-dimensional matrix. My brother, the mathematician, looked on as if he had never had a doubt the algorithm he devised would work. Using our own energy signatures as an identifying marker was pure genius, even if the probability of success was equivalent to locating a specific speck of dust on a landscape the size of planet Earth. But we never gave up. After years of searching, using an etheric energy detection and capture system I designed, at last we had him, our very own Shroud of Turin. Only this one was made of energized plasma. He wasn't Jesus Christ, but he was God to us.
"Dad? Can you hear us?" There was a slight crackle as I locked in the coordinates. I stared at the image of our father floating before us in the lab.
Our father opened his deep-set eyes, as if awakened from a long sleep. There was bewilderment and fear in his gaze. His mouth opened, speechless.
"We needed to see you again. We wanted to tell you everything is fine. We're fine."
My brother nudged me.
"And the accident wasn't your fault. It's okay. You can stop blaming yourself."
I smiled but I wasn't sure if we were getting through to him. I increased the gain and tweaked the resolution. The look on his face began to soften. He appeared to acknowledge us. His eyes brimmed with joy.
My brother stepped forward. "We just wanted to say thanks for being a great dad. We've got everything we've ever wanted here, and more. It's a true heaven, Dad...a true heaven."
Before I could tell my brother, "Not too close," our father's image flickered. I adjusted the gain to compensate for my brother's proximity, but it was already too late. The image began to waver then wink out one pixel at a time. Like dominoes, in a matter of seconds, the entire matrix went dark. Our father was gone.
"Dammit! So that's it?" My brother knew the odds of recreating the experiment were virtually nil.
I stared at the space where our father had been.
"Do you think he understood?"
I turned to my brother. "For his sake, I hope so."
I shut down the equipment and we left the lab. When I turned off the light I thought I was seeing things. Where our father had appeared there was a very faint ghost image.
"Persistence," my brother said, a technical term used to explain the phenomenon. But even then I believed it to be more than that.
The image stayed for weeks, then months, then for years afterward. My brother gave up trying to explain it away. Me, I didn't want it to go away. There was comfort in having our father looking over our shoulder while we worked, even if he was just a ghost, and our thoughts of him just memories.
After all, here in the afterlife we get to have everything we've ever wanted and more.
Except the living.
The End
This story was first published on Monday, July 11th, 2011
We hope you're enjoying
Persistence by
Kurt Newton.
Please support Daily Science Fiction by becoming a member.
Daily Science Fiction does not have a paywall, but we do have expenses—more than 95% of which are direct payments to authors for their stories. With your $15 membership, less than 6 cents per story, we can continue to provide genre fiction every weekday by email and on the website to thousands of readers for many years to come. You may also choose to support us via patreon.
Tell me more!
Support Daily Science Fiction
Please click to rate this story from 1 (ho-hum) to 7 (excellent!):
Please don't read too much into these ratings. For many reasons, a superior story may not get a superior score.
5.6 Rocket Dragons Average
Please join our mailing list and
receive free daily sci-fi (your email address will be kept
100% private):
