Solitaire

by Kathleen Ann Goonan

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SB grew up to win a scholarship first at OU and then at Cal Tech, in math. But it was about ten years later when he came across a paper that excited him greatly. The author was a physicist who worked for a private French company that made a business of launching things into space. He was describing, mathematically, a solitaire game. With growing excitement, SB thought ahead as if each new set of inferences was a new card dealt, understanding the absolute crystal rigor of the man's thoughts, the yearning perfection of the barely possible outcome. The author was linking the possibility of other intelligent beings existing, somewhere, with the possibility of developing, on Earth, the means of going there. Too many variables, really. SB — now Norm — knew the author's name before he read it. He was also not surprised when he read later that one of the launches of the French company had left the solar system, headed, they thought, for Tau Ceti. It took a lot more digging to discover what few people knew, that it had been manned. Godspeed, thought SB, the night he found that out, beneath brilliant stars, breathing chill air in his backyard, his kids asleep upstairs, his wife's reading light illuminating their bedroom, as he stared into space and thought ahead to possible outcomes. He had not felt this way since he was a kid, since the day he had seen the twisted metal shape in the woods by Mill Creek, since the day he had heard the whispered pain in his new companion's voice. The day surfaced suddenly, forgotten, or pushed aside, for all these years. "Like cards," he heard again. "Can't win," and saw his friend's eyes overflow with tears. He opened his mouth and did not know what to say. He was reminded of how Jeff had known the plays of that ball game. But there was no one around to hear him. Nevertheless he spoke, as if stars pulled it from him with the power of some previously unknown velocity. "Win," he whispered. [ THE END ] BACK TO OMNI FICTION ARCHIVES