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"What about the expedition?"
"No word. You might still lead it, you know."
Except that we don't have any sophisticated prosthetics. So you could stay in the Minerva we send over, and watch while other men and women do the exploring. Maybe Cadma
Not too fucking much.
"Just problems. Manpower. We only have one totally free Minerva. If we need both Minervas somewhere else, the camp is without power. There just isn't going to be any exploration if the satellites and the telescope aboard Geographic can do the job," Sylvia continued.
"I suppose that makes sense."
Sylvia tried to identify her husband's voice in that comment. Like everything else in the camp, he had changed.
For a time she just listened to his breathing in the dark. Then she leaned forward to kiss her husband, kiss the father of her unborn child. His mouth tasted of sleep, but not unpleasantly. He pulled away from her embrace a few inches. "Sylvia—what news is there of Cadma
"Mucking Great Mountain, halfway up."
She felt him nod in the dark. "Go up there," he said finally. "Talk to him. He's got to come back."
He strained with his arms to bring his hips closer to her, and even in the darkness she could see that tears glistened on his cheeks.
"Terry... why?"
He ran his hands down her body to the gentle swell of her stomach.
"Because of this. We're going to have a child soon, and this planet will be hers."
"Hers," Sylvia whispered.
"I can't protect her. Cadma
She didn't say anything, just kissed him again, remembering a line from somewhere. That which does not kill us makes us stronger.
Who had said that? Kipling? Nietzsche? She decided Kipling and resolved to look it up in the morning.
"One thing, Sylvia." His voice took on a wholly different quality. "I've talked to Jerry. There are going to be... things that I'll never be able to do again. You... you might not have any more children by me unless we AI."
She cradled his head, afraid that she already knew what he was about to say. "Shhh."
"No," he whispered. "Let me finish. I don't want you creeping out behind my back, feeling guilty. Sooner or later you're going to do it. The instincts run too damned strong here. We came to make the children that will rule this world." There was a definite catch in his voice. "All right. Do what you have to. And know that I understand. Just—not with Cadma
She held him tightly, as if afraid that with those words he might have said all that he needed to say, done all that he needed to do, and that life might slip away from him there in the darkness.
And as they held each other, for the first time since they had landed she realized how very much she loved him, and how much he loved her.
Sylvia's stomach jolted as the Skeeter hit an air pocket. She lurched to the side—the seat belt she shared with Mary A
Mary A
But it was inarguable that Mary A
Carlos brought the Skeeter around in a circle, following the satellite-relayed coordinates. A pterodon cruised by, not so scared by the Skeeters as the beasts had been a year ago.
You get used to anything, Sylvia thought. Carlos's brow was creased with concentration. He gri
The creature fluttered around them again, peering, poking, but staying carefully clear of the rotors.
"Eh!" Carlos yelled, dark face angry. "Apartese un poco, queso de bola!"
Sylvia gri
"One gasp. Gulps go in. Gasps come out. When a gulp comes out, it's time for the mop. What I said in my musical native tongue was an important, sensitive, poetic statement."
Mary A
"Ah, senorita—it is not what you say, it's how you say it."
"There it is," Mary A
The fog had thi
Cadma
Carlos brought the Skeeter down.
They were forty meters from Cadma
He could build here. Happily. There's water and food, and there may be game too. He wouldn't overlook that. If there's game anywhere, Cadma
"Well," Carlos said, breathing a sigh of relief. "At least he left his rifle in the tent."
"Note the puppy, please."
Mary A
"This is Carlos to Civic Center. We've reached the encampment. Cadma
Cadma
There was something in his expression—something wild and uncomfortably strong, and her stomach went sweet-and-sour.
"Cadma
Cadma
Carlos's hand hung there in the air like half of a suspension bridge awaiting completion. Finally he humphed and put his hand back in his pocket.
"What the hell do you want?" Cadma
"Just wanted to make sure that you were all right, amigo," Carlos said uncomfortably. "You were hurt pretty bad."
Cadma
The eyes, the unsteadiness. He was drunk, roaring drunk, and had probably been drunk since he came here. "Yeah. Hurt bad. I guess you must care about that. Your conscience acting up? Hell with it."
"Cadma
"Keep away from me," he growled. "All of you. Not one of you came up and put your ass on the line when it would have made a difference. Stew in it."