9
I learned that we’d acquired Ricky-Two right after the first Ricky had died. I guessed it was an attempt to fill the gap that had appeared in her life. The rest of them soon passed as well, and it had all just become too much for her.
Watching reruns of this family that I had, but never had, I was filled with an indescribable sadness. But maybe, just maybe, Cindy had gotten what she’d wanted. Did living a full life, in a few short months, make it any less? Did I feel any less sense of meaning in my life, having watched my children grow up and grow old and pass before my eyes so quickly?
It was all very hard to say.
What I could say with certainty was that Cindy’s family flatly refused to allow me to have access to her DNA for the purposes of having children, which I’d petitioned for in case anything else went wrong.
“Rick,” her father told me, “I know Cindy loved you, more than we could understand after you kept leaving her alone for each new tour of duty. You nearly killed her each time you went back out.”
“I know, sir—”
“She begged you for children, and now you’ve.…” He tried to stay calm, but his voice trembled. “This is an abomination, man! What in the world are you people doing out there?”
They didn’t ask to move Cindy from Atopia, as this remained the one place where they could still hold out hope. The future was approaching fast out here, and maybe there was a way we could fix what had happened.
“So you have no ideas left, doc?”
“Commander Strong, we’re going to have to refuse any further meeting requests until we have something new,” said the doc’s proxxi. “It’s one thing to play with the inputs and outputs to the brain, but the actual place where the mind comes together…it’s a tricky thing.”
Jimmy was with me, trying to help out. “Why don’t you just take it easy, Commander? I’ll keep you posted if we can figure anything out.”
So I left it in their hands. Apart from watching reruns of my family, I spent a lot of my time floating back up on the edge of space, following the UAVs in their lazy orbits high in the stratosphere around Atopia, looking down at the storms that threatened to crush and destroy it.
They could figure it out without me. I had other things to do.
Sitting near the top of the bleachers, the drama of the Little League game was spread out before me. Tensions were running high at the bottom of the ninth inning, and everyone held their breath as the final hitter came to the plate.
Nervously shifting silhouettes far in the outfield cast long shadows in the last rays of a late summer sunset. I squinted into the sun, trying to make out which kid was which, then turned my attention back to the hitter.
Strike went the first pitch. Then strike again went the second. Hushed silence as the pitcher went into his windup.
“Strike three!” thundered the umpire, and the field erupted in pandemonium.
“What a great game!” said the man standing beside me. “You got a kid playing?”
“I sure do,” I replied as my boy scampered up the stairs through the departing crowd. Leaping into my arms, he squealed in excitement. “We won, Dad!” He looked up at me. “Why are you crying, Dad? We won!”
I wiped my face. “You sure have your mother’s eyes, you know that?”
Ricky smiled without understanding. Drying my eyes I took his hand, and we walked down off the bleachers, across the infield, and into the dying sunshine.