“Thanks, guy,” he murmured, and he got up and went downstairs, to think of what might be for dinner.
Later that night he was in the big backyard, a pasture that he let his other neighbor, George Thompson, mow for hay a couple of times each summer, for which George gave him some venison and smoked ham over the long winters in exchange. He brought along a folding lawn chair, its bright plastic cracked and faded away, and he sat there, stretching out his legs. It was a quiet night, like every night since he had come here, years ago. He smiled in the darkness. What strange twists of fate and fortune had brought him back here, to his old family farm. He had grown up here, until his dad had moved the family south, to a suburb of Boston, and from there, high school and Air Force ROTC, and then many, many years traveling, thousands upon thousands of miles, hardly ever thinking about the old family farm, now owned by a second or third family.
And he would have never come back here, until the troubles started, when—
A noise made him turn his head. Something crackling out there, in the underbrush.
“Who’s out there?” he called out, wondering if some of the more hot-blooded young’uns in town had decided not to wait until the meeting was over. “Come out and show yourself.”
A shape came out from the wood line, ambled over, small, and then there was a young boy’s voice, “Mister Monroe, it’s me, Tom Cooper.”
“Tom? Oh, yes, Tom. Come on over here.”
The young boy came up, sniffling some, and Rick said, “Tom, you gave me a bit of a surprise. What can I do for you?”
Tom stood next to him, and said slowly, “I was just wondering… well, that cold stuff you gave me earlier, that tasted really good. I didn’t know if you had any more left…”
He laughed. “Sorry, guy. Maybe tomorrow. How come you’re not with your mom and dad at the meeting?”
Tom said, “My sister Ruth is supposed to be watching us, but I snuck out of my room and came here. I was bored.”
“Well, boredom can be good, it means something will happen. Tell you what, Tom, wait a couple of minutes, I’ll show you something special.”
“What’s that?”
“You just wait and I’ll show you.”
Rick folded his hands together in his lap, looked over at the southeast. Years and years ago, that part of the night sky would be a light yellow glow, the lights from the cities in that part of the state. Now, like every other part of the night sky, there was just blackness and the stars, the night sky now back where it had once been, almost two centuries ago.
There. Right there. A dot of light, moving up and away from the horizon.
“Take a look, Tom. See that moving light?”
“Unh-hunh.”
“Good. Just keep your eye on it. Look at it go.”
The solid point of light rose up higher and seemed brighter, and he found his hands were tingling and his chest was getting tighter. Oh, God, how beautiful, how beautiful it had been up there, looking down on the great globe, watching the world unfold beneath you, slow and majestic and lovely, knowing that as expensive and ill-designed and over-budget and late in being built, it was there, the first permanent outpost for humanity, the first step in reaching out to the planets and stars that were humanity’s destiny…
The crickets seemed louder. An owl out in the woods hoo-hoo’ed, and beside him, Tom said, “What is it, Mister Monroe?”
The light seemed to fade some, and then it disappeared behind some tall pines, and Rick found that his eyes had gotten moist. He wiped at them and said, “What do you think it was?”
“I dunno. I sometimes see lights move at night, and Momma tells me that it’s the Devil’s work, and I shouldn’t look at ’em. Is that true?”
He rubbed at his chin, thought for a moment about just letting the boy be, letting him grow up with his illusions and whatever misbegotten faith his mother had put in his head, letting him think about farming and hunting and fishing, to concentrate on what was real, what was necessary, which was getting enough food to eat and a warm place and—
No! the voice inside him shouted. No, that’s not fair, to condemn this boy and the others to a life of peasantry, just because of some wrong things that had been done, years before the child was even born. He shook his head and said, “Well, I can see why some people would think it’s the Devil’s work, but the truth is, Tom, that was a building up there. A building made by men and women and put up in the sky, more than a hundred miles up.”
Tom sounded skeptical. “Then how come it doesn’t fall down?”
Great, the voice said. Shall we give him a lecture about Newton? What do you suggest?
He thought for a moment and said, “It’s complex, and I don’t want to bore you, Tom. But trust me, it’s up there. In fact, it’s still up there and will be for a while. Even though nobody’s living in it right now.”
Tom looked up and said, “Where is it now?”
“Oh, I imagine it’s over Canada by now. You see, it goes around the whole globe in what’s called an orbit. Only takes about ninety minutes or so.”
Tom seemed to think about that and said shyly, “My dad. He once said you were something. A spaceman. That you went to the stars. Is that true?”
“True enough. We never made it to the stars, though we sure thought about it a lot.”
“He said you flew up in the air. Like a bird. And the places you went, high enough, you had to carry your own air with you. Is that true, too?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Jeez. You know, my momma, well…”
“Your momma, she doesn’t quite like me, does she?”
“Unh-hunh. She says you’re not good. You’re unholy. And some other stuff.”
Rick thought about telling the boy the truth about his mother, decided it could wait until the child got older. God willing, the boy would learn soon enough about his mother.
Aloud Rick said, “I’m going back to my house. Would you like to get something?”
“Another cold treat?” came the hopeful voice.
“No, not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Tonight, well, tonight I want to give you something that’ll last longer than any treat.”
A few minutes later they were up in his office, Tom talking all the while about the fishing he had done so far this summer, the sleep-outs in the back pasture, and about his cousin Lloyd, who lived in the next town over, Hancock, and who died of something called polio. Rick shivered at the matter-of-fact way Tom had mentioned his cousin’s death. A generation ago, a death like that never would have happened. Hell, a generation ago, if somebody of Tom’s age had died, the poor kid would have been shoved into counseling sessions and group therapies, trying to get closure about the damn thing. And now? Just part of growing up.
In his office Tom oohed and aaahed over the photos on his wall, and Rick explained as best he could what they were about. “Well, that’s the dot of light we just saw. It’s actually called a space station. Over there, that’s what you used to fly up to the space station. It’s called a space shuttle. Or a rocket, if you prefer. This… this is a picture of me, up in the space station.”
“Really?” Tom asked. “You were really there?”
He found he had to sit down, so he did, his damn hips aching something fierce. “Yes, I was really up there. One of the last people up there, to tell you the truth, Tom. Just before, well… just before everything changed.”
Tom stood before a beautiful photo of a full moon, the craters and mountains and flat seas looking as sharp as if they were made yesterday. He said, “Momma said that it was God who punished the world back then, because men were evil, because they ignored God. Is that true, Mister Monroe? What really happened back then?”