Free Threshold Shift by G. D. Tinnams

to
side around him. It reminded him of being at sea, and he had never
been a good sailor. But this time there was no side to vomit over and
the wall had to do. He felt better afterwards.
    “Jon!” he shouted. “Roe, come up here now.”
He wrenched open the door and staggered outside, almost tipping down
the stairs.
    “Dad?”
Jon shouted back.
    Jacob
saw his son standing at the foot of the staircase. He grinned, and
then went tumbling down.
    The
world turned black.
    “Dad,”
Jon said.
    Jacob
felt his son’s cool palm on his forehead, a palm, crackling
with energy. It was tempting to drain off some of that energy just as
he had done before. But this time he did not, he had no right. “Jon,”
he smiled. “Son.”
    “You
shouldn’t be out of bed,” Jon said. “You’ve
hurt yourself.”
    “Too
far gone anyway,” Jacob replied. “But you still need me,
Threshold needs me.”
    “Roe
and I can take care of it,” Jon said, attempting to lift him.
“Roe, get over here.”
    Jacob
pulled off the memory disc from around his neck and offered it to
Jon. “Take this.”
    Jon
peered down. “What is it?”
    “A
failsafe,” Jacob explained. “If I die, you are authorised
to create a sim using this disc. Threshold needs a Marshal.”
    Jon
eyed the disc with disgust. “No, I don’t think so. You
keep it.”
    Roe
appeared at his other side. “Give it to me,” she said.
    “You
can’t,” Jon objected.
    She
ignored him, and gathered up the disc and chain in her hands. “You
can rely on me Jacob.”
    Jacob
smiled weakly. “Don’t wait,” he said. “We
could be attacked at any time. You need me at your side.”
    “OK,
Dad,” Jon replied with an angry glance at Roe. “But right
now we need to get you back upstairs.”
    Jacob
closed his eyes, and let himself be hauled up the stairs. It was a
narrow staircase, and he was vaguely aware of his head bumping
against the banister. It didn’t matter anymore. Finally he sank
back into bed, opening his eyes to see Roe retch in disgust at the
sight of his vomit dripping down the wall.
    “Sorry,” he apologised.
    “We’ll
take care of it,” Jon said. “Roe, clean that up.”
    “What
did your last servant die of?”
    “Please.”
    Jacob
watched as Roe reluctantly ran downstairs. He looked up at Jon, who
was struggling to keep his composure. “You have to use the
disc, Jon.”
    “Don’t
you worry about it, Dad,” Jon replied. “We won’t
need to.”
    “If
you use that disc, I can take care of you.”
    Jon
turned the extractor fan up to maximum. The room did not smell
pleasant, and with security protocols in place, the plexiglass
windows were barred on both sides. He was a prisoner in his own
personal cell. Roe returned, and he watched her grit her teeth as she
mopped up the vomit.
    “I’m
sorry Roe,” he said.
    “It’s
all right,” she replied, wiping it away with the sponge.
    “I
could have been a better teacher, a better Marshal,” he began.
“But my mind has been distracted lately.”
    She
nodded, turning to smile back at him. It was a faint smile,
sympathetic, brave, with just a little disgust. He realised he was
rambling, asking for pity. That was no good, pity would only weaken
her.
    “Don’t
worry, Jacob,” she said. “Everything will be fine.”
    He
saw her share a look with Jon. She was an awful liar. Jon disappeared
into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water.
    “Drink
this,” Jon said, holding the glass to his lips.
    Jacob
gulped down a few mouthfuls but choked and coughed it out again. He
pushed the glass away. “Use the disc, Jon,” he said.
“Please.”
    Jon
stared into his eyes, and nodded painfully. “OK Dad.”
    Jacob
slumped deeply into his pillows.
    “We’ll
leave you be,” Jon said. “Come on, Roe.”
    Jacob
watched her collect her bucket and sponge and head for the exit. She
barely offered him a backward glance.
    “I’ll
check on you in an hour,” Jon said.
    Jacob
nodded.
    Jon
lingered briefly, taking