But Sarah’s amusement soon turned to downright cringing. Foster went to see a large corporation to get funding for SETI, and, when it initially turned her down, she went ballistic, exclaiming that contacting an extraterrestrial civilization would be the biggest moment in human history, more significant than anything anyone had ever done or could possibly imagine doing, a species-altering moment that would be worth any cost to attain.

Sarah cringed because she remembered giving such patently ridiculous speeches herself. Granted, the detection of the original signal from Sigma Draconis had been page-one news. But until the second message had been received, it had been over thirty years since a mention of aliens had appeared on the front page or main screen of any newspaper that didn’t have the words "National" and "Enquirer" in its title.

It wasn’t just SETI researchers who had overhyped the impact of such things. Sarah had forgotten that then-president Bill Clinton appeared in Contact, but there he was, talking about how this breakthrough was going to change the world. Unlike the cameos by Jay Leno and Larry King, though, which had been specifically staged for the movie, she immediately recognized the Clinton speech as archival footage — not about the detection of alien radio messages, but about the unveiling of ALH84001, the Martian meteorite that supposedly contained microscopic fossils. But despite the presidential hyperbole, that hunk of rock hadn’t changed the world, and, indeed, when it was ultimately discredited several years later, there was almost no press coverage, not because the story was being buried, but rather because no one in the public even really cared. The existence of alien life was a curiosity to most people, nothing more. It didn’t change the way they treated their spouses and kids; it didn’t make stocks rise or fall; it just didn’t matter. Earth went on spinning, unperturbed, and its denizens continued to make love, and war, with the same frequency.

As the film continued, Sarah found herself getting increasingly pissed off. The movie had its extraterrestrials beaming blueprints to Earth so humans could build a ship that could tunnel through hyperspace, taking Jodie Foster off to meet the aliens face-to-face. SETI, the movie hinted, wasn’t really about radio communication with the stars. Rather, like every other cheapjack Hollywood space opera, it was just a steppingstone to actually going to other worlds. From the beginning with Jodie Foster’s cockeyed math, through the middle with the stirring speeches about how this would completely transform humanity, to the end with the totally baseless promise that SETI would lead to ways to travel across the galaxy and maybe even reunite us with dead loved ones, Contact portrayed the hype, not the reality. If Frank Capra had made a propaganda series called "Why We Listen," Contact could have been the first installment.

As the credits started to roll, Sarah looked at Don. "What did you think?" she asked.

"It’s a bit dated," he said. But then he lifted his hands from his lap, as if to forestall an objection. "Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but…"

But he was right, she thought. Things are of their times; you can’t plug something meant for one era into another. "What ever happened to Jodie Foster, anyway?" she asked. "I mean, is she still alive?"

"She might be, I guess. She’s about your…" He trailed off, but it had been obvious what he was going to say: "She’s about your age." Not "about our age." Although he still saw her as an eighty-seven-year-old, it seemed he was now in full denial about the chronological facts that applied to himself — and that was driving Sarah up the walls.

"I always liked her," she said. When Contact had come out, the American press had said that Ellie Arroway, Jodie Foster’s character, was based on Jill Tarter, and the Canadian papers had tried to spin it that Sarah Halifax had been the inspiration. And although it was true enough that Sarah had known Sagan back then, the comparison was a stretch. Why the press refused to believe that characters were just made up was beyond her. She remembered all the theories about who the paleontologists in Jurassic Park were based on; every woman who had taken even one paleo course was reputed to be the model for the Laura Dern character.

"You know what movie Jodie Foster is really good in?" Sarah said.

Don looked at her.

"It’s um — oh, you know the one. It was one of my favorites."

"I need another clue," he said, a bit sharply.

"Oh, you know! We bought it on VHS, and then DVD, and then downloaded it in HD. Now, why can’t I think of the title? It’s on the tip of my tongue…"

"Yes? Yes?"

Sarah winced. Don was becoming more and more impatient with her as time went on. When he’d been slow, too, he hadn’t seemed to mind her slowness as much, but now they were out-of-synch, like the twins in that film she used to show her undergrads about relativity. She thought about snapping that she couldn’t help being old, but, then again, he couldn’t help that he was young. Still, his impatience made her nervous, and that made it even harder for her to dredge up the title she was looking for.

"Um," she said, "it had that guy in it, too…"

"Maverick ?" snapped Don. "The Silence of the Lambs ?"

"No, no. You know, the one about the—" Why wasn’t the term coming to her? — "the, the… the child prodigy."

"Little Man Tate," Don said at once.

"Right," said Sarah, very softly, looking away.

Don moved over to the La-Z-Boy after Sarah had gone to bed, and sat glumly in it.

He knew he’d made her feel bad earlier, when she’d been trying to remember the title of that movie, and he hated himself for it. Why had he been patient when his days were numbered, but impatient now that he had so much time? He’d tried not to snap at Sarah, he really had. But he just couldn’t help himself. She was so old, and—

The phone rang. He glanced at the call display, and felt his eyebrows going up:

"Trenholm, Randell." It was a name he hadn’t thought about for thirty years or more, a guy he’d known at the CBC back in the Twenty-Teens. Ever since the rollback had gone bad for Sarah, Don had been avoiding seeing people he knew — and now he was doubly glad they didn’t have picture phones.

Randy was a couple of years older than Don was, and, as he picked up the handset, it occurred to him that it might be Randy’s wife calling. So often these last few years, calls from old friends were really calls from their surviving spouses with word that the friend had passed on.

"Hello? "said Don.

"Don Halifax, you old son of a gun!"

"Randy Trenholm! How the hell are you?"

"How is anyone when they’re eighty-nine?" Randy asked. "I’m alive."

"Glad to hear it," Don said. He wanted to ask about Randy’s wife, but couldn’t remember her name. "What’s up?"

"You’re in the news a lot lately," Randy said.

"You mean Sarah is," said Don.

"No, no. Not Sarah. You, at least in the newsgroups I read."

"And, um, what groups are those?"

"Betterhumans. Immortality. I Do Go On."

He knew gossip about what had happened to him had to have spread further than just the block he lived on. But "Yeah, well" was all he said in reply.

"So Don Halifax is rubbing shoulders with the movers and shakers," said Randy.

"Cody McGavin. Pretty impressive."

"I only met him once."

"Guy must have written you a pretty big check," Randy said.

Don was feeling more and more uncomfortable. "Nah," he said. "I never saw the bill for the procedure."

"Didn’t know you were interested in life prolongation," Randy said.

"I’m not."

"But you got it."