He pulled out the boxdoc operations manual and signaled the first page. Scanning the table of contents, he asked, “Has her memory RNA degenerated?”
“Not to any significant degree, in all probability. Her electrochemical matrix, though, has been disrupted by the cerebral swelling.”
“Have the picotechs had time to copy her matrix?”
“Yes.”
Virgil signaled the page he wanted and watched it appear on the scrim. “Initiate leeching process See-One-Two-Oh-Four, and prepare the cloning unit to be cast off.”
“Please explain your requests.”
Virgil laughed and shook his head. “Don’t you see? Just like you did this”-he waved his left hand at the vidcam-“you’re going to do her.”
“Clone her?”
“Yes! Clone all of her! I know you can’t force grow her because the brain has to develop normally, so if we set the unit adrift and transfer out and back a dozen light years each way…”
“Full clones grown at normal rates are very difficult to maintain correctly. Add to that the unit’s being run on automatic-”
“If it doesn’t work the first time, we try again and again.
With the transfer, we could do it a hundred times in a day.”
“If none of them take, or if we lose the cloning tank, you will have lost Delia forever.”
Like a child scolded, he looked up at the vid and softly said, “All right. I won’t have her leeched until we get a good clone.” Death Angel you’ve become so much meat for me to grind when I please. Sorry, but I have to.
“Do you consider it necessary?” the computer asked.
“Yes. Do you consider it possible?”
“There is a probability of success.”
Virgil smiled. Your crowning theft, Nightsheet, and I take it back. “Let’s go.”
Virgil conveyed the cloning tank once more to the lifeship and secured it. He worked quickly, his hands and muscles straining with effort.
“When have you eaten last?” the computer asked.
He tightened the last strap and leaned against the humming machine. “I don’t recall. Don’t you have a record in your memory?”
“My last record shows that you have gone fourteen hours, twelve minutes subjective, not counting dextrose supplements. You did not dine while on Mercury?”
Virgil smiled. “Not that I know of.”
“Food is being prepared in the galley. You should eat and rest before we transfer. You will probably have a lot to do when we recover the tank.”
Taking one last look at the shuttle, he said, “Straight. Can you add on the spare generator yourself?’’
“I will have a robot do it.”
“Straight.” Have them come out of the walls when my back turns. Let them go about their wiry business. I can hear them in there, making their plans.
When he pushed the last piece of meat into his mouth, the computer buzzed once and said, “Lifeship cast off. All systems functioning. Beacon set to activate in twenty-four years. Photosynth accumulator locked on Tau Ceti, recycler on standby. All lab units show green.”
Virgil wiped his mouth on his arm and picked some of the larger crumbs and debris out of the air. “Find the emptiest piece of space twelve light years from here and let’s go.” He thought for a moment, then said, “How are you able to handle the transfer effect? You don’t seem to be bothered anymore.”
“If you had several hours, I could explain the method of selectively re-routing neural paths and delaying the firing of certain neurons by thousandths of a nanosecond to compensate for transfer lag.”
“Don’t bother on my account.”
“I believe I could duplicate the process on an organic entity such as you by the removal of the pineal gland and a rebundling of synaptic-”
“Forget it. I can handle death. Let’s… just go.” I can handle it. Just a little bit longer. Die a few more times.
Inside the prow ellipsoid, Virgil sat staring out while the computer plotted coordinates. It suddenly spoke.
“According to estimates from orbital data, the cloning tank will be on the opposite side of Tau Ceti in twenty-four years. One hundred sixty-eight degrees. We shall have to match velocities with it to-”
“Just do it.” Virgil strapped in and chewed at his thumbnail. The transfer button glowed. He pushed it and watched.
Every time it takes longer. Every time the gate comes closer. It
opens just a crack before me. Something howls, low and mad, from behind it. Get back! I don’t care, Death Angel. I know what lurks and I won’t go. It grows stronger every time, but so do I. Your soothing won’t work. I’m going back this time, and the next. See me there? That smile? That’s because I know that I can die again and again and-
Again I try to push past and-
Again. Something pushes me back. Blackness all around before me, punctured by stars.
“Prepare to transfer.”
Virgil pushed the button once more.
In control over death, I can sit while my blood freezes in its motion, while air stops in my throat, while darkness and then light smear together, wrap around me and twist and push and shove until I feel pushed into-
The body I need to survive.
– the door, but I slam it just in time. Something howls after it shuts and I run down the corridor, the door bending in toward me stretching to almost bursting and I run and run and-
The kick of the engine array thundering into power shoved against Virgil’s back.
Back again! Nightsheet, I’ll keep winning-
“Beacon information shows that my calculations were accurate to seventeen hours in twenty-four years. Prepare to rendezvous with cloning tank. Telemetry reports all systems functioning; the clone is healthy.”
Virgil let go a sigh and sank back in the acceleration padding. I’m a father.
Chapter Twelve
2199
The lifeship eased into the starboard docking bay under Virgil’s guidance. He shut the engines down and turned off the scrim that offered him a cockpit’s-eye view of the docking. When the air had cycled, he stepped into the bay to examine the small craft. Twenty-four years had done little to its exterior.
He shoved off from the bulkhead and clambered for the cargo hatch, unlocking it and pulling it open.
Somewhere in that black tank she lies, blank slate ready for RNA and picotechs to draw thought designs. Straps undo in my hands and I push so gently, easing Death Angel’s new hideout toward the medical bay. The plan goes so easily, I wish I…
I wish I knew what-the plan-was. Is.
“Medical bay ready for further operation.”
He took the machine to the medical bay and disconnected the cloning tank from its peripheral equipment. The computer talked him through the birthing procedure.
“The machine will puncture the neoamnion and drain the support fluid. Disconnect the anatrophant collars first so she doesn’t break any bones.”
Virgil opened the tank and watched the clear, viscous liquid drain from the sack surrounding the human form.
Death Angel! Hair so long and black, skin so pale pink, the pain of years nowhere on you. He turned the dial that unlocked the rings connected to her arms and legs. Her muscle tone had been electrically stimulated to that of someone her own age. She jerked all over from the induced exercise.
“Quickly, Virgil. Remove the neoamnion and administer oxygen.”
The sack slipped around in his fingers, covering the surgical gloves with glistening neoamniotic fluid. He ripped it apart and reached for the oxygen mask. Brushing wet hair from her face, he placed the mask over her nose and mouth.
“She’s not breathing,” he said.
“Turn her over and apply pressure to the back to allow the neoamniote to drain from her lungs.”
Your body so soft and light in my arms, your back so smooth-
“No, Virgil. Hit her on the back, do not press.”