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1986-10-29
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4KB
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116 lines
HOMER NARR2-PD/Ref@5516
"She's there," he told the others. "The
ship's in elliptical orbit a light-day
out, 25,920,000,000 kilometers, more or
less. Yet terrific tidal forces pull at
it. The ship creaks and groans like the
ice up there. The fields will hold, the
ship won't pull apart, but the power of
that thing is tremendous." He nearly
laughed. "It'll do," he said.
Later Larin came to him. He looked up
from his work and rubbed his eyes.
"Hello, there," he said.
She shifted in the doorway, rubbed her
palm over her soft fur as she did when
she was uneasy. "Hi," she said after a
pause.
He turned in his chair and flicked off
his workstation. "Want to sit down?"
"No, I...all right. Listen, I don't want
to bother you."
He waited.
She looked at her hands, at the wall, at
her feet. She ran her hand over her head
again. "I love you," she blurted.
"I know," he said gently.
"You love Wanda. I know that. It's just
that...she's not real. She's just not
real, Peter. I've never met her. Hell,
you've never met her. She's locked into
a cryofield. Her heart beats once a day!
She takes a breath every month or two.
She's been leaving us at almost the
speed of light..."
"Not any more," he said.
"No. Not any more. I hate her. I'm
sorry. I thought if I waited, all these
years... I don't know. And now..."
"And now?"
"And now I know it's hopeless. I want to
marry, I want to have a child. I know it
isn't an Ant custom, marrying.
Co-sponsoring. I want a co-sponsor,
then. I'm twenty-five, Peter. I want a
child."
"Go on," he urged after a moment.
"Shem has agreed." She ran her hand over
her fur again and again. "I'm sorry. I'm
sorry I said I hated Wanda. It's not
really true."
"I know it isn't. As you say, she isn't
real. Some day she will be, but now she
isn't. I'm not sure I really believe it
myself." He smiled. "Shem is a good man,
Larin, as you are good."
"It's all right?"
"Of course. Do you want my blessing, or
something?"
She looked down. "Yes," she whispered.
"You have it. Gladly."
"Thank you."
He could barely hear her. She did not
leave. Peter waited.
"There's one more thing," she said
finally, looking up. "I'm worried about
the child. We're...going. I understand
that. What of children? There will be
children, you know. We can't leave
them."
"No," he agreed. "We can't leave them."
"What will happen?"
"I don't know," he answered
thoughtfully. "Your concerns are
important ones. There are many
unanswered questions as yet. There will
be those who are dying, those on
longevity technology, the yams left in
hospices all over the world. There will
be children, born and unborn.
Consciousness is the crux of what we are
doing, Larin. Does an unborn child, or a
newborn, have consciousness, or enough
of it? We don't know yet. The equations
are very complex, as you well know.
We're working on it. I promise you we
won't do anything until we do know.
Meantime, have your child. We won't be
leaving tomorrow, you know."
She smiled shyly. "Thank you, Peter."