Rollback

Although Lenore doubtless knew that Sarah had died. For the first few weeks after her passing, Don had assumed he’d hear something from her. In a previous age, she might have sent a consolatory telegram or a paper card, neither of which would have invited dialogue, neither of which would have required a response. But these days Lenore’s only real options would have been to phone, which certainly would have engendered a conversation, or to send an email, which netiquette would have required Don to reply to.

But as first one month and then another passed, Don realized she wasn’t going to be in touch — which, he supposed, might have been just as well, for what could she have said? That she was sorry that Sarah was dead? And yet, wouldn’t there have been, between the lines, too horrible to acknowledge directly but impossible to dismiss from consciousness, a concomitant thought that she was sorry Sarah hadn’t died sooner? Not out of any animus but simply in recognition of the fact that Sarah’s existence was what had ultimately kept Lenore and Don apart?

Every few weeks, he searched the web, looking at references to Sarah. There was so much about her, and even though most of it was quite old, it made it seem, in a strange way, like she was still around.

He never googled himself anymore, though. There was, as Randy Trenholm had said, lots of discussion of the peculiar circumstances of his rollback, and he found reading it made his stomach turn. But every now and then he did put in Lenore’s name, to see what would come up. She had indeed finished her master’s, and, as she’d said she’d hoped to, had now moved to Christchurch, and was working there on her doctorate.

He looked at whatever his searches found: references to her on the University of Canterbury website, citations of a paper she was junior author on, her occasional postings to political newsgroups, and video of her on a panel discussion at a conference in Tokyo. He watched the clip over and over again.

He would never get over the loss of Sarah; he knew that. But he did have to get on with life, and soon enough that life would change totally and completely, in ways he couldn’t begin to guess. McGavin said the womb should be ready in a matter of weeks now. Of course, the gestation would take a while — seven months, according to the message the Dracons had sent.

Lenore had been out of his life for almost a year and a half now. It was too much to hope that she might still be free. And, even if she were free, maybe the whole episode (that was the word she’d use) was something she wanted to put behind her, anyway: the insane time during which she’d fallen for what she’d thought was a contemporary, only to discover to her shock and disgust that he was — that hated term again — an octogenarian.

And yet…

And yet, in the end, she seemed to have more or less come to terms with the reality of what he was, accepting his dual ages, his youthful exterior and his less-youthful interior. It would be a miracle to find someone else who could deal with that, and although this was the age of miracle and wonder, Don didn’t believe in that kind of miracle.

Of course, he thought, a sensible man would contact Lenore by phone or email. A sensible man wouldn’t fly halfway around the planet in the faint hope that he’d be greeted with open arms. But he wasn’t a sensible man; he was a supremely silly one — both the women he’d loved had told him that.

And so…

And so, here he was, on a flight to New Zealand. As he took his seat on the plane, he realized he had a real advantage over the aliens on Sigma Draconis. The Dracons could only broadcast their messages into the darkness, and, unless a reply was sent back, they’d never even know if their signals had been received, and then not for years to come. He at least would see Lenore’s face — and, he expected, that was all he’d need to see: the message it contained when she first laid eyes on him would be unguarded and honest, an unencrypted signal. And yet, what he’d give to know the answer now…

By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore —
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore