“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 Godin. You know me. What crimes have I committed?”
Chief Sam Godin looked embarrassed. 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 lustful 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 damn 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 pass 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 damn charity. By God, 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 damn 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 God’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. God 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 damn 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 Single White Vampire Seeks Same, Villains Victorious, and Black Cats & Broken Mirrors; his editing work has included a variety of anthology titles, most recently Mardi Gras Madness and Apprentice Fantastic with Martin H. Greenberg. He lives with his beautiful and patient wife Monica, and his two amazing and precocious children Morgan Storm and Mason Rain somewhere 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 damned 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.