Read Online Rollback by Robert J. Sawyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert J. Sawyer
Ads: Link
shell-shocked, and she was slowly, almost imperceptibly, shaking her head back and forth. "What?" demanded Don.
The doctor looked up, and it seemed to take her eyes a moment to focus. "Sorry," she said. "I just—well, I just never thought I'd end up having to apologize for giving someone another sixty or seventy years of life."
Don crouched down next to his seated wife. How excruciating doing that would have been just a short time ago—and yet it gave him no pleasure now to be able to do it with ease. "I am sorry, honey," he said. "I am so sorry."
But Sarah was shaking her head. "Don't be. It's going to be all right. You'll see."
How could it be all right? he wondered. They'd spent their lives in synch, born the same year, growing up with the same events in the background. Both remembered precisely where they were when Neil Armstrong set foot upon the moon during the year they'd each turned nine. Both had been teenagers when Watergate happened; in their twenties when the Berlin Wall fell; in their thirties when the Soviet Union collapsed; in their forties for the first detection of alien life. Even before they'd met, they'd been marching through the stages of life together, jointly aging, and improving, like two bottles of wine of the same vintage.
Don's head was swimming, and so, it seemed, was his vision. Sarah's face appeared blurred, the tears in his eyes doing what Rejuvenex's sorcery couldn't, erasing her wrinkles, smoothing out her features.
-- Chapter 10 --
Like most SETI researchers, Sarah had worked late many nights after that first alien transmission had been received back in 2009. Don had come to see her in her office at the University of Toronto on one of those evenings, after he'd finished his work at the CBC.
"Anybody home?" he'd called out.
Sarah had swung around, smiling, as he came through the door carrying a red-and-white Pizza Hut box. "You're an angel!" she crowed. "Thank you!"
"Oh," he said. "Did you want something, as well?"
"Pig! What did you get?"
"A large Pepperoni Lover's ... 'cause, um, I like pepperoni, and we're lovers..."
"Awww," said Sarah. She actually preferred mushrooms, but he couldn't stand them. Coupling that with his dislike for fish had given rise to the little speech she'd listened politely to him give on numerous occasions, a pseudo-justification that he thought was witty for his eating choices: "You should only eat food that's as evolved as you are. Only warm-blooded animals—mammals and birds—and only photosynthesizing plants."
"Thanks for coming by," she said, "but what about the kids?"
"I called Carl, told him to order a pizza for him and Emily. Said he could take some money out of my nightstand."
"When Donald Halifax parties, everybody parties," she said, smiling.
He was looking around for somewhere to set the pizza box. She leapt to her feet and moved a globe of the celestial sphere off the top of a filing cabinet, setting it on the floor. He placed the box where the globe had been and opened its lid. She was pleased to see some steam rising. Not too surprising; the Hut was just up on Bloor Street.
"So, how's it going?" he asked. This wasn't the first time he'd brought food to her office. He kept a plate, knife, and fork in one of the office cupboards, and he got them now. Sarah, meanwhile, pulled out a piece of pizza, severing the cheesy filaments with her fingers.
"It's a race," she said, sitting down in the chair in front of her workstation. "I'm making progress, but who knows how it compares to what everyone else is achieving? I mean, sure, there's a lot of sharing of notes going on online, but I doubt anyone is revealing everything yet."
He found the other office chair—a beat-up folding one—and sat next to her. She was used to the way her husband ate pizza, but couldn't actually say she liked it. The crust wasn't part of his diet—of course, the greasy Pizza Hut deep-dish crust probably shouldn't be part of anyone's diet, although she found
The doctor looked up, and it seemed to take her eyes a moment to focus. "Sorry," she said. "I just—well, I just never thought I'd end up having to apologize for giving someone another sixty or seventy years of life."
Don crouched down next to his seated wife. How excruciating doing that would have been just a short time ago—and yet it gave him no pleasure now to be able to do it with ease. "I am sorry, honey," he said. "I am so sorry."
But Sarah was shaking her head. "Don't be. It's going to be all right. You'll see."
How could it be all right? he wondered. They'd spent their lives in synch, born the same year, growing up with the same events in the background. Both remembered precisely where they were when Neil Armstrong set foot upon the moon during the year they'd each turned nine. Both had been teenagers when Watergate happened; in their twenties when the Berlin Wall fell; in their thirties when the Soviet Union collapsed; in their forties for the first detection of alien life. Even before they'd met, they'd been marching through the stages of life together, jointly aging, and improving, like two bottles of wine of the same vintage.
Don's head was swimming, and so, it seemed, was his vision. Sarah's face appeared blurred, the tears in his eyes doing what Rejuvenex's sorcery couldn't, erasing her wrinkles, smoothing out her features.
-- Chapter 10 --
Like most SETI researchers, Sarah had worked late many nights after that first alien transmission had been received back in 2009. Don had come to see her in her office at the University of Toronto on one of those evenings, after he'd finished his work at the CBC.
"Anybody home?" he'd called out.
Sarah had swung around, smiling, as he came through the door carrying a red-and-white Pizza Hut box. "You're an angel!" she crowed. "Thank you!"
"Oh," he said. "Did you want something, as well?"
"Pig! What did you get?"
"A large Pepperoni Lover's ... 'cause, um, I like pepperoni, and we're lovers..."
"Awww," said Sarah. She actually preferred mushrooms, but he couldn't stand them. Coupling that with his dislike for fish had given rise to the little speech she'd listened politely to him give on numerous occasions, a pseudo-justification that he thought was witty for his eating choices: "You should only eat food that's as evolved as you are. Only warm-blooded animals—mammals and birds—and only photosynthesizing plants."
"Thanks for coming by," she said, "but what about the kids?"
"I called Carl, told him to order a pizza for him and Emily. Said he could take some money out of my nightstand."
"When Donald Halifax parties, everybody parties," she said, smiling.
He was looking around for somewhere to set the pizza box. She leapt to her feet and moved a globe of the celestial sphere off the top of a filing cabinet, setting it on the floor. He placed the box where the globe had been and opened its lid. She was pleased to see some steam rising. Not too surprising; the Hut was just up on Bloor Street.
"So, how's it going?" he asked. This wasn't the first time he'd brought food to her office. He kept a plate, knife, and fork in one of the office cupboards, and he got them now. Sarah, meanwhile, pulled out a piece of pizza, severing the cheesy filaments with her fingers.
"It's a race," she said, sitting down in the chair in front of her workstation. "I'm making progress, but who knows how it compares to what everyone else is achieving? I mean, sure, there's a lot of sharing of notes going on online, but I doubt anyone is revealing everything yet."
He found the other office chair—a beat-up folding one—and sat next to her. She was used to the way her husband ate pizza, but couldn't actually say she liked it. The crust wasn't part of his diet—of course, the greasy Pizza Hut deep-dish crust probably shouldn't be part of anyone's diet, although she found
Similar Books
