Where the Heart Is

From across the asphalt a ragged, filthy, old, old man beckoned wildly to me. I stared for a second in surprise, then hurried over to the bent figure. We ran on and scuttled under a concrete overhang. He and I both collapsed to catch our breaths. In the confined space I reeled at the man’s smell. He reeked of sweat and wood smoke and more sweat: a rag doll made from ancient socks and rancid underwear.

He cut loose a cackling laugh showing popcorn-kernel teeth. “Bet you’re surprised to see me, boy.”

I regarded the old coot, crumpled and weather-hewn. “You bet. Who are you?”

“They call me String. Cap’n String.”

I felt a broad grin spread across my face as I extended my hand. “I sure am glad to see you, String. My name’s—

“You’re Hunt. Carl Hunt.” String’s knobby fingers shook my hand with surprising strength. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” I shook my head. Relativity is a crazy thing. “You weren’t even born when I left.”

String cackled again. “They talked about you in school. Last of the starprobes. Mission to Zubenelgenubi.” The laugh again. “I’m a space buff, you know. You guys were my heroes.”

For the first time, I noticed the filthy, tattered jacket String was wearing. It was covered with patches. Not mismatched pieces of cloth repairing rips and tears: space mission patches. Friendship 7. Apollo 11. Apollo-Soyuz. A host of Vostoks. The Aurora missions. Ares. Glooscap. And, yes, the Starprobes. A complete history of spaceflight. “String, what happened to Toronto? Where are all the people?”

String shook his grizzled head. “Ain’t nobody else. Just me and the sandworms. Plenty of food around. No one to eat it.”

“So it’s true. The computers have taken over.”

“Damned machines! Harlie! Colossus! P-l! Men got to be men, Hunt. Don’t let them get you.”

I smiled. “Don’t worry about me.”

String had a far-off, sad look. “They canceled the space program, you know. Your flight was the last.” He shook his head. “Only thing kept me going all these years was knowing one of the spacers was going to return.”

“Spacers?” I’d never heard that term before outside of a comic book.

String’s gaze came home to roost above his bird’s-nest beard. “What was it like… out there? Did you have a”—he lowered his voice—“sense of wonder?”

“It was beautiful. Desolate. Lonely. I met intelligent aliens.”

He whooped and shoved his scrawny arm high. “All right!”

“But I’ll tell you, String, I felt more at home with the liquid lights of Zubenelgenubi than I do here on Earth.”

“Liquid lights! Dragons of Pern! Tharks of Barsoom!”

“What—?”

“The Final Frontier, boy! You were part of it! You—” String jumped to his feet. A robot had slipped up on us. “Run, boy! Run for all you’re worth!”

We ran and ran through the starport grounds, past concrete bunkers and concrete towers, through concrete arches, down concrete tunnels, and along concrete sidewalks. Ahead, in the center of a vast concrete platter sat my boomerang-shaped landing module, the Foxtrot.

String stopped, rubbed his arm, and winced in pain. Two info robots and a cargo flatbed rolled out from behind the Foxtrot. The one in the middle, a cube labeled 101, moved slightly forward. “Let me tend to the old man. He requires medical aid.”

“Leave me alone, machine,” String shouted. “Hunt, don’t let them have me!”

So near, so near. I turned away from my waiting ship and ran with String in the opposite direction. I could feel my own chest heaving and could hear a ragged, wet sound accompanying String’s pained breathing. Once we were well away, I stopped running and reached out an arm to stop the old man, as well. We leaned against a gray wall for support. “String, you’ve got to tell me. What happened to everybody?”

He managed a faint cackle. “Future shock, boy! They built computers bigger than they could handle. It started before I was born; just after you left. Everybody was numbered, filed. A terminal in every home. No need to go to the office. No need to go shopping. No need to go to the bank. No need!”

I shook the man. “What about the people?”

“If you’ve got machines to do everything for you, you just fade away, boy. Obsolete. You end up as just a shell. The ‘New Order,’ they called it.”

“People don’t just ‘fade away.’ ”

“I seen it with my own eyes, boy! It happened!”

I shook my head. “There’s got to be more to it.”

The voices spoke from the PA horns mounted high on the walls. “There is. Much more. Hear us out, Hunt.”

String ran off and I followed. Suddenly, the old man stopped and grabbed at his chest. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, String?”

“I don’t feel so good.”

“Let us help him,” said the voices.

“Keep them away from me, Hunt.” String forced the words out around clenched teeth.

“I—”

“Keep them away! Swear it!”

I looked up. An info robot was approaching fast. “I swear it.”

The old man doubled over, clawing at his chest. He reached into a tattered pocket and pulled out an ornate, gaudy pistol. “Here, take my gun.”