The Storm Fishers and Other Stories
Page 23
scientist, if I’m not your husband and Folk’s father, my parent’s son, who am I?”
“That’s the grand question isn’t it? And it’s for each of us to ask. I, we, no I. When I asked permission, I just wanted him back so much. And I wanted to touch him and have Folk touch his father’s hand and I wanted things to be like they were before. And I hurt you because I wasn’t going to, because I didn’t know, I didn’t let you be anyone else. And I’m sorry.”
“If forgiveness is what you want, I have none.”
“I deserved that.”
The PA whistled and Dross’ voice came echoing down, “Get on with it. The Bohr is approaching and we don’t think the shufflers should see him again.”
“What does she mean?”
“I persuaded them to give you a work ID and send you to a leisure ship. From there, where you go. You can’t come back to us. Ever. That’s the condition of your transfer.”
“Where do I go?”
“That’s not for us to decide. You belong to yourself now.”
“And what about Folk?”
“That’s my burden. Please don’t contact him again. The only thing I can promise you is I’ll do right by him.” She looked overhead, through the blue and gray tint at the heavy shadows vanishing one by one until a single silhouette remained.
“Please do not try to contact us again.”
With those words, the specter vanished and they were together alone one more time.
With a hiss the airlock slid open and the dozens of transfers waiting, looking out at the universe unpolluted by fluorescence and argon, feeling some of them for the first time small in the presence of the stars from whence life comes. A buzz signaled permission to begin their journey toward the Recreation Vessel Bohr’s Last Laugh. She stood beside him, holding his hand as he fiddled with the straps on his small blue backpack.
“I wish I could have taken more books.”
“You go to the directory and look up the library. They have one of the best collections of tree books left anywhere.”
“Was I a good man?”
“You were a father when he needed one. For him, that’s better than a good man.”
She watched him in the crowd cross the walkway until she could no longer distinguish his gait from the excited vacationers. He looked back for a moment and through the sheen and glint of nebulae and sunlight saw nothing where he hoped she would be, one last time.
The Bohr buzzed with laughter drowning the music and the air was sweet and light. He reached for the strap of his pack and brushed his hand over a small plastic bag. It was where he left it. He looked down to see the orange swath brushed across the beetle and stepped slow wondering where he would find a place to rest. But instead rejoiced and wiped away the emptiness like a tear; the choice was his alone.