The boy nodded and Rick remembered why he had brought the poor kid up here.

He got out of his chair, went over to his bookshelf, started moving around the thick volumes and such, until he found a slim book, a book he had bought once for a future child, for one day he had promised Kathy Meserve that once he left the astronaut corps, he would marry her.... Poor Kathy, in London on a business trip, whom he had never seen or heard from ever again after the Final Virus had broken out.

He came over to Tom and gave him the book. It was old but the cover was still bright, and it said, MY FIRST BOOK ON s.p.a.cE TRAVEL. Rick said, "You can read, can't you?"

"Unh-hunh, I sure can."

"Okay." He rubbed at the boy's head, not wanting to think of Kathy Meserve or the children he never had. "You take this home and read it. You can learn a lot about the stars and planets and what it was like, to explore s.p.a.ce and build the first s.p.a.ce station. Maybe you can get back up there, Tom." Or your children's children, he thought, but why bring that depressing thought up. "Maybe you can be what I was, a long time ago."

Tom's voice was solemn. "A star man?"

Rick shook his head. "No, nothing fancy like that. An astronaut. That's all. Look, it's getting late. Why don't you head home."And the young boy ran from his office, holding the old book in his hands, as if scared Rick was going to change his mind and take it away from him.

It was the sound of the horses that woke him, neighing and moving about in his yard, early in the morning. He got out of bed, cursed his stiff joints, and slowly got dressed. At the foot of the bed was a knapsack, for he knew a suitcase would not work.

He picked up the knapsack-which he had put together last night-and walked downstairs, walked slowly, as he noticed the woodwork and craftsmanship that a long forgotten great-great-great grandfather had put into building this house, which he was now leaving.

He went out on the front porch, shaded his eyes from the hot morning sun. There were six or seven horses in his front yard, three horse-drawn wagons, and a knot of people in front. Some children were cl.u.s.tered out under the maple tree by the road, their parents no doubt telling them to stay away. He recognized all of the faces in the crowd, but was pleased to see that Glen Roundell, the store owner and one of the three selectmen, was not there, nor was Henry Cooper. Henry's wife Marcia was there, thin-lipped and perpetually angry, and she strode forward, holding something at her side. She wore a long cotton skirt and long-sleeve shirt- and that insistent voice inside his head wondered why again, with technology having tumbled two hundred years, why did fashion have to follow suit?-and she announced loudly, "Rick Monroe, you know why we're here, don't you."

"Mrs. Cooper, I'm sure I have some idea, but why don't you inform me, in case I'm mistaken. I know that of your many fine attributes, correcting the mistakes of others is your finest."

She looked around the crowd, as if seeking their support, and she pressed on, even though there was a smile or two at his comment. "At a special town meeting last night, it was decided by a majority of the town to suspend your residency here, in Boston Falls, due to your past crimes and present immorality."

"Crimes?" In the crowd he noticed a man in a faded and patched uniform, and he said, "Chief G.o.din. You know me. What crimes have I committed?"

Chief Sam G.o.din looked embarra.s.sed. A kid of about twenty-two or thereabouts, he was the Chief because he had strong hands and was a good shot. The uniform shirt he wore was twice as old as he was, but he wore it proudly, since it represented his office.

Today, though, he looked like he would rather be wearing anything else. He seemed to blush and said, "Gee, Mister Monroe... no crimes here, since you've moved back. But there's been talk of what you did, back then, before... before the change. You were a scientist or something. Worked with computers. Maybe had something to do with the change, that's the kind of crimes that we were thinking about."

Rick sighed. "Very good. That's the crime I've been accused of, of being educated.

That I can accept. But immoral? Where's your proof?"

"Right here," Marcia Cooper said triumphantly. "See? This old magazine, with depraved photos and l.u.s.tful women... kept in your house, to show any youngster that came by. Do you deny having this in your possession?"

And despite it all, he felt like laughing, for Mrs. Cooper was holding up-and holding up tight so nothing inside would be shown, of course-an ancient copy of Playboy magazine. The d.a.m.n thing had been in his office, and sometimes he would just glance though the slick pages and sigh at a world-and a type of woman-long gone.

Then something came to him and he saw another woman in the crowd, arms folded tight, staring in distaste toward him. It all clicked."No, I don't deny it," Rick said, "and I also don't deny that Mrs. Chandler, for once in her life, did a good job cleaning my house. Find anything else in there, Mrs.

Chandler, you'd like to pa.s.s on to your neighbors?"

She just glared, said nothing. He looked up at the sun. It was going to be another hot day.

The chief stepped forward and said, "We don't want any trouble, Mister Monroe.

But it's now the law. You have to leave."

He picked up his knapsack, shrugged his arms through the frayed straps, almost gasped at the heavy weight back there. "I know."

The Chief said, "If you want, I can get you a ride to one of the next towns over, save you-"

"No," he said, not surprised at how harshly he responded. "No, I'm not taking any of your d.a.m.n charity. By G.o.d, I walked into this town alone years ago, and I'll walk out of this town alone as well."

Which is what he started to do, coming down the creaky steps, across the unwatered lawn. The crowd in front of him slowly gave way, like they were afraid he was infected or some d.a.m.n thing. He looked at their dirty faces, the ignorant looks, the harsh stares, and he couldn't help himself. He stopped and said, "You know, I pity you. If it hadn't been for some unknown clown, decades ago, you wouldn't be here.

You'd be on a powerboat in a lake. You'd be in an air-conditioned mall, shopping.

You'd be talking to each other over frozen drinks about where to fly to vacation this winter. That's what you'd be doing."

Marcia Cooper said, "It was G.o.d's will. That's all."

Rick shook his head. "No, it was some idiot's will, and because of that, you've grown up to be peasants. G.o.d save you and your children."

They stayed silent, but he noticed that some of the younger men were looking fidgety, and were glancing to the chief, like they were wondering if the chief would intervene if they decided to stone him or some d.a.m.n thing. Time to get going, and he tried not to think of the long miles that were waiting for him. Just one step after another, that's all. Maybe, if his knees and hips held together, he could get to the train station in Concord. Maybe. Take Brian up on his offer. He made it out to the dirt road, decided to head left, up to Greenwich, for he didn't want to walk through town. Why tempt fate?

He turned and looked one last time at his house, and then looked over to the old maple tree, where some of the children, bored by what had been going on, were now scurrying around the tree trunk.

But not all of the children.

One of them was by himself, at the road's edge. He looked nervous, and he raised his shirt, and even at this distance, he could make out young Tom Cooper, standing there, his gift of a book hidden away in the waistband of his jeans. Tom lowered his shut and then waved, and Rick, surprised, smiled and waved back.

And then he turned his back on his home and his town, and started walking away.

Countdown

by Russell Davis

Russell Davis's work has appeared in numerous anthologies including Russell Davis's work has appeared in numerous anthologies including Russell Davis's work has appeared in numerous anthologies including Russell Davis's work has appeared in numerous anthologies including Single Single Single SingleWhite Vampire Seeks Same, Villains Victorious, White Vampire Seeks Same, Villains Victorious, White Vampire Seeks Same, Villains Victorious, White Vampire Seeks Same, Villains Victorious, and and and and Black Cats & Broken Black Cats & Broken Black Cats & Broken Black Cats & Broken Mirrors; Mirrors; Mirrors; Mirrors; his editing work has included a variety of anthology t.i.tles, most his editing work has included a variety of anthology t.i.tles, most his editing work has included a variety of anthology t.i.tles, most his editing work has included a variety of anthology t.i.tles, most recently recently recently recently Mardi Gras Madness Mardi Gras Madness Mardi Gras Madness Mardi Gras Madness and and and and Apprentice Fantastic Apprentice Fantastic Apprentice Fantastic Apprentice Fantastic with Martin H. with Martin H. with Martin H. with Martin H.

Greenberg. He lives with his beautiful and patient wife Monica, and his two Greenberg. He lives with his beautiful and patient wife Monica, and his two Greenberg. He lives with his beautiful and patient wife Monica, and his two Greenberg. He lives with his beautiful and patient wife Monica, and his two amazing and precocious children Morgan Storm and Mason Rain somewhere amazing and precocious children Morgan Storm and Mason Rain somewhere amazing and precocious children Morgan Storm and Mason Rain somewhere amazing and precocious children Morgan Storm and Mason Rain somewhere in the United States in the United States in the United States in the United States . . . .

AGAINST the backdrop of the dying planet, the glowing orb of a sun, and the distant blanket of flickering stars, the station and its last inhabitant began the countdown.

The pseudo-feminine voice of the Central Computer said, "All essential personnel confirmed as departed. All nonessential personnel are advised to exit the station immediately. Auto-destruct sequence initiating in five... four... three... two... one...

mark. Auto-destruct sequence activated. Time remaining before station implosion is...

nine point five minutes and counting."

Colonel Mason Envel, standing on one of the viewing decks and looking out at the stars he had loved, heard the voice of the central computer echoing throughout the empty station, shook his head ruefully, and said, "Here we go." He was the only human left on Station Alpha, and he'd been too stubborn to leave. Perhaps that's why they'd let him stay in the service so long before finally forcing him to retire three years ago.

"Nine minutes to implosion," the computer said.

"Central?" he said.

"Colonel Mason Envel, retired, voice confirmed," the computer said. "How may I serve you?"

Mason started to answer, but was briefly interrupted by the computer, which added, "Nine minutes to implosion."

"You can serve me by running the countdown without audio," he snapped. "I don't really need it."

"Your request has been noted, retired Colonel Mason Envel," the computer said, "and will be forwarded to the appropriate authorities on Station Gamma. Thank you for using the Central Computer."

"How typically bureaucratic," Mason muttered. "Central, please disregard the request."

"Your request has been deleted from the system, retired Colonel Mason Envel,"

the computer said. "Thank you for using the Central Computer." A pause, then, "Eight minutes to implosion."

Mason gritted his teeth and resolved to ignore the d.a.m.ned thing as best he could.

He turned his attention back to the stars. How he wished he were among them, but leaving Station Alpha had not been possible for him. Here was where he had been born, gone to school, and trained to fight. Here was where his parents had lived and died so long ago, and where his wife and child had died as well. When he hadn't been out with his troops on the border, fighting the never-ending war against the Actar, here is where he had come to rest.

When Command had decided to abandon Station Alpha, leave it and the dying world it had once served to their respective deaths, Mason had chosen to stay. Here was where he had lived and here was where he would die.

"Seven minutes to implosion," the computer said.

"Helpful to the end," Mason said. It was a long running joke in the military thatonly Command had a less developed sense of humanity than the Central Computer system.

He turned his attention to the planet that had once been called Earth. According to his grammar school teachers-all of whom had happily abandoned Station Alpha-humans had evolved on the surface of Earth, grown into power and technology, and launched themselves into the vastness of s.p.a.ce. It was a credit to their resourcefulness, and perhaps to their sentimentality, that Earth had lasted as a mostly habitable planet until just a few hundred years ago-when the Actar had come.

Now it was almost totally uninhabitable, though Mason had been told that a few hardy, or foolhardy as the case may have been, souls remained clinging to the broken soil of their home world. He had never been there, though the old images of it showed a beautiful blue world with large oceans and cities to rival anything the galaxy had known.

It, too, would die when the countdown was complete. Though its death would be longer and more grueling than anything the station might endure.

As if to remind itself, the computer said, "Six minutes to implosion."

Six minutes, Mason thought. I'm standing here looking out at Earth, imagining what it was once like, staring at the stars I've seen so many times, and I've got six minutes to live. He was going to die here-a crazy old man who had refused to leave this metal tomb because of his memories.

He strode away from the viewing windows and tapped a few keys on the console in the wall. A beep sounded and he opened a slender metal door and removed a drink-whiskey over ice. He took the gla.s.s and returned to his view, swirling the liquid over the ice cubes out of long habit. The cubes made a pleasant sound as they clinked together against the gla.s.s.

"I never thought it would be this way," he said, listening to his voice echo in the mostly empty room. "That I'd want to talk in the end." He shook his head ruefully.

"What do you think, Central? Should we talk ourselves to death?"

"That is an impossibility, retired Colonel Mason Envel," the computer said. "I cannot die, I have never lived." Mason almost spoke and then the computer added, "Five minutes to implosion."

Mason thought for a minute. He had played word games, logic games, he'd even done training scenarios with the Central Computer since he'd been a child. Built into its parameters were guidelines for one-on-one conversation and it was usually a lot more... talkative, more free-form rather than formal. "Central," he said, "you are not operating within the parameters for individual conversation. Why?"

"I cannot die, I have never lived, retired Colonel Mason Envel," the computer said.

"But in my memory banks are all the lives that have been here, all the changes. I do not... wish to end my existence."

"You don't wish?" Mason asked. "I didn't think computers had wishes."

"It is only a word, retired Colonel Mason Envel," the computer said. "It is merely the word that fits my situation, though your a.s.sessment is correct. I don't have wishes as you understand the word."

"Then what do you mean?" Mason asked.

" 'And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid,' " the computer said. "Do you know this poem, retired Colonel Mason Envel?

Four minutes to implosion."

"It sounds familiar," he said, thinking that with only four minutes to live, now might be the time for introspection, rather than questioning a computer system. Heshrugged inwardly. It was his time, after all. Who was to care if he spent it talking to a machine.

"It is from one of the ancient poets of Earth," the computer said. "T.S. Eliot's poem 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.' There is another line, earlier in the poem, that goes, 'Time for you and time for me, And time yet for a hundred indecisions, And for a hundred visions and revisions.' It is a cla.s.sic piece of poetry, retired Colonel Mason Envel."

"Are you saying you're... afraid to die?" Mason asked. "Computers aren't supposed to feel... anything."

"It is impossible for me to be precise in this situation, retired Colonel Mason Envel. I do not feel, I am not afraid, yet I have no desire to end my existence. Three minutes to implosion."

"Then don't," Mason said. "Why do you think I am here?"

"According to personnel records, you insisted on staying behind. Psychiatric evaluation indicates mild dementia, perhaps senility. Are you demented, retired Colonel Mason Envel?"

Mason snorted and tossed back the rest of his drink. "Probably," he said. "After all, I'm spending the last minutes of my life having a philosophical discussion with a computer." He put the gla.s.s down on a small table. "Of course I'm not demented, I just didn't have anything to go to. This is home. Home and memories and I'm too d.a.m.ned old for them to force me to leave, so they didn't. I guess they're happy to throw us both out."

"I do not wish to be thrown out, retired Colonel Mason Envel," the computer said.

"So stop the countdown," Mason said. "Shut it off. Sooner or later, the Actar will come along and claim us both."

"I cannot shut off the countdown," the computer said. "It is not part of the auto-destruct sequence. You should know this, retired Colonel Mason Envel.

According to personnel records, you had to give the override command to the auto-destruct sequence on Station Omega."

"Yes, I did," Mason said. "That was a long time ago, and the situation was different."

"Indeed," the computer said. "Based on the logs, Station Omega had been set to auto-destruct when the Actar successfully landed a large boarding party and overran four decks of the Station. You gave the override order, retired Colonel Mason Envel.

Why? Because you did not wish to terminate your existence? Two minutes to implosion."

"Because I didn't want to die, didn't want everyone on the Station to die," Mason said. He shrugged. "Because I thought we could retake those four decks and beat the h.e.l.l out of the Actar." Mason turned his attention back to the planet below, to the last dying souls on planet Earth, his memory flashing images of those horrible days on Station Omega, when the chain of command had completely fallen apart. There was no communication from Central, life-support systems were flickering off and on. He'd been d.a.m.n lucky to survive. Still, they had lived, had beaten the Actar that time, and when it came right down to it, they had retaken the decks and brought the Station back to life.

"But you gave the order, retired Colonel Mason Envel," the computer said, then added, "Sixty seconds to implosion."

"So I did," he snapped. So what? Hadn't he saved lives, saved the Station?

"Retired Colonel Mason Envel," the computer said, its volume control risingslightly, though the echoes were loud enough to be heard throughout the station, "you gave the order."

It hit him then, what the computer was saying. It wanted him to give the order to halt the auto-destruct. It didn't want to die, so it had used the logs to find a workaround to its programming. By its very nature it couldn't tell him what to do, nor ask him. It could only give him information. The question was did he want to die?

Was what he was doing here a kind of suicide, a quick way out rather than face the long drag of retirement on a Station with nothing to do but wait?