Rollback

Percy was thirteen, all loose limbs and long hair. Cassie, at four, was a whirlwind with pigtails. Because of the age difference, it was hard to entertain them both together, so Cassie and Sarah had gone upstairs with Gunter to look at whatever treasures Sarah’s closets held, and Don and Percy were on the couch in the living room, half-watching the same hockey game Percy’s parents had gone to on the TV above the fireplace, and making their own game of trying to spot Carl and Angela in the crowd.

"So," Don said, muting the sound during a commercial break, "how’s grade eight treating you?"

Percy shifted on the couch a bit. "It’s okay."

"When I was a kid, we went all the way to grade thirteen."

"Really?"

"Yup. Ontario was the only place in North America that had that."

"I’m glad we only have to go to grade twelve," said Percy.

"Yeah? Well, in grade thirteen we were old enough to write our own notes for missing class."

"That’d be cool."

"It was. But I actually had fun in grade thirteen. Lots of interesting courses. I even took Latin. It was practically the last year they taught that in public schools in Toronto."

"Latin?" said Percy incredulously.

Don nodded sagely. "Semper ubi sub ubi."

"What’s that mean?"

" ‘Always wear underwear.’ "

Percy gri

The game resumed. The Leafs were doing okay, although it was still early in the season. Don didn’t really know the players anymore, but Percy did. "And," Don said, when there was a lull in the play, "our school had a little radio station, Radio Humberside. I was involved with that in grade thirteen, and that’s what got me into my career."

Percy looked at him blankly; Don had retired long before he’d been born. "I used to work at CBC Radio," Don said.

"Oh, yeah. Dad listens to that in the car."

Don smiled. He’d once had a friendly argument with a guy who wrote for the Canadian edition of Reader’s Digest. "Better," Don had said, "to produce something that people only listen to in the car than something they only read on the toilet."

"So, when did you work there?" asked Percy.

"I started in 1986 and left in 2022." Don thought about adding, "And, to save you from asking, Sally Ng was prime minister when I retired," but he didn’t. Still, he remembered being Percy’s age and thinking World War II was ancient history; 1986 must have sounded positively Pleistocene to Percy.

They watched the game some more. The defenseman for Honolulu got three minutes for high-sticking. "So," Don said, "any thoughts about what you’re going to do—"

He stopped himself from saying "when you grow up"; Percy doubtless thought he was plenty grown-up already. " — when you finish school?"

"I du

"To study…?"

"Well, except on weekends."

Don smiled. "No, I meant, ‘To study what?’ "

"Oh. Maybe ornithology."

Don was impressed. "You like birds?"

"They’re all right." Another commercial break was upon them, and Don muted the sound. Percy looked at him, and then, maybe feeling that he wasn’t holding up his end of the conversation, he said, "What about you?"

Don blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah. I mean, now that you’re young again. What are you going to do?"

"I don’t know."

"Have you thought about going back to the CBC?"

"Actually, yeah."

"And?"

Don shrugged. "They don’t want me. I’ve been out of the game too long."

"That sucks," Percy said, with a perplexed face, as if unused to the notion that life could be unfair to adults as well.

"Yeah," said Don, "it does."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don’t know."

Percy considered for a time, then: "It should be something — you know — something important. I looked up how much a rollback costs. If you’re lucky enough to get one of those, you should do something with it, right?"

Don tilted his head, regarding Percy. "You take after your grandmother."

The boy frowned, clearly not sure if he liked that notion.

"I mean," said Don, turning the sound back on as the action started up again, "you’re very insightful."

After Carl and Angela had picked up their kids, Don decided to go for a walk. He needed to clear his head, to think. There was a convenience store three blocks away; he would head over there to get some cashews. They were his favorite indulgence — reasonably low in carbs, but still decadent.

It was a cold, crisp night, and some houses had jack-o’-lanterns out in anticipation of Halloween; appropriately, the trees, denuded of leaves, looked like twisted skeletons writhing toward a clear, dark sky. In the distance, a dog was barking.

His walk took him along the descriptively but prosaically named Diagonal Road, which deposited him near the grounds of Willowdale Middle School. On a whim, he wandered into the school’s large back field, where he used to occasionally go to watch Carl play football all those years ago. He got as far away as he could from the streetlamps — not that it made much difference — and pulled out his datacom. "Help me find Sigma Draconis," he said to it, holding up the small hinged tablet with the display facing toward him, the way he oriented it when using it as a camera.

"Turn around," the datacom said, in its pleasant male voice. "Tilt me higher… higher. Good. Now move me to the left. More. More. No, too far. Back up. Yes.

Sigma Draconis is in the center of the display."

"That bright one near the top?"

"No, that is Delta Draconis, also known as Nodus Secundus. And the bright one farther down is Epsilon Draconis, or Tyl. Sigma Draconis is too dim for you to see."

Crosshairs appeared on the display, centered on a blank part of the sky. "But that’s where it is."

Don lowered the datacom and looked directly at the same emptiness, focusing his thoughts on that star, so close by cosmic standards but still unfathomably distant on a human scale.

Somehow, despite the fact that the Dracons had been part of the background of his life for four decades now, they’d never quite seemed real. Oh, he knew they were there — right there, right now, along his current line of sight. Indeed, perhaps at this very moment, there were Dracons looking this way, regarding Sol — which would be almost as dim in their night sky as Sigma Draconis was in Earth’s — and thinking about the strange beings that must be here. Of course, Sarah would say that the concept of a simultaneous "right now" was meaningless in a relativistic universe; even if Don could have spotted Sigma Draconis, the light he’d have seen would have left there 18.8 years ago. That discontinuity added to the unreal quality the aliens had always had for him.

But if they went ahead with what the Dracons were asking for, the aliens would go from mere abstractions to being here, in the flesh. Granted, the ones born on Earth would know nothing firsthand of their home world, but they would nonetheless be tied to it.

He closed up his datacom, slipped it into his jacket pocket, and began walking again.

Maybe because he’d been thinking about prime ministers earlier, it occurred to him that Pierre Trudeau had held that office when he himself had been in middle school.

There were many famous Trudeau moments, he knew: the "just watch me" response when asked how far he’d go to put down the terrorists in the October Crisis of 1970; giving the finger from his railcar to detractors in British Columbia; decriminalizing homosexuality and telling the country that "the state has no place in the bedrooms of the nation." But one that had always haunted Don was the famous walk in the snow, when Trudeau had wandered off, alone, to contemplate, weighing his own future against that of his nation. The great man had decided to quit politics that night, to step down as PM.