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It’s a funny thing, telling folks that my astronaut daughter was lost at sea—funny, like slowly pulling up a weed with a taproot anchored in my heart; which is to say, not very funny at all. But then, watching one’s flesh and blood descend from the upper atmosphere to scatter into a billion pieces takes a strange toll on a man’s sense of humor. Anna would have laughed to hear me describe it. Rolled her big brown eyes, then flashed that crooked smile that only ever showed a dimple on one side, as she told me I was worrying for nothing. The orbital repair mechs are safe. Astronauts have been riding them in and out of space for decades without incident.
Oh, my child, I would say. My sweet, darling Anna—light of my life.
Tragedy can befall anyone at any time.
It’s patient.
Random.
Look to the old man wandering the beach as evidence. See the slump of his...
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Here Come The Men In Black, or, Out Wrecks The Shroud, or, Kelly’s Black Boyfriend Is Actually The Eschaton??? by Christopher Leigh Silverberg