“She retired. Onstage. A kite, a knish, and a good-bye kiss. Her final bow. You didn’t hear?”
Her relief was immediate and immense. She slumped like a rag, then picked herself up, and shoved him in the chest.
They flew apart. Several pieces of lab equipment flew with them. Gunjita couldn’t have cared less.
“You know something, Dash?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re an asshole.”
At last, a little warmth. A little affection.
“And you do want to sleep with me. It’s the truth. You shouldn’t protest. I don’t mind that you do. But I’m curious. Is it coming from you? Or did Cav put you up to it?”
–EIGHT–
When you live a long life, there are things you forget. Some you choose to forget. Some, simply, are forgettable. This is natural.
When you live three long lives, with three times the experiences in a one lifetime–sized brain, the forgotten begins to pile up. By the end the pressure can be immense, rather like a storm about to break. A neurobarometrically volatile time in one’s life. You may hear voices. You may be jittery and restless. Wake frequently at night. You may feel out of sorts, as if you’re not yourself. Don’t be alarmed.
Alternatively, you may feel more yourself than ever. Don’t be alarmed by this, either.[1]
Gunjita was asleep. Cav slid into the mod, trying not to disturb her.
She opened her eyes.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay. I’m awake.”
“You know a guy named Cantrell?”
“No. Should I?”
“I just got off the comm with him. He heard about our Ooi. Had some questions.”
“He’s a reporter?”
“An interested party. His words. A friend of Dash. Also his words.” He told her what he knew about him.
“What does Dash say?”
“That he’s clever. Smart. A bit of an oddball.”
“How’d he get past security?”
“One of his talents, I take it.”
“What did you tell him?”
Cav loosened his belt and started to undress. “We’re half-alien to begin with. Xenophobia is oxymoronic.”
“Is that what you said?”
“I’m saying it to you.”
She’d heard it a hundred times before. “Did you tell him it was alive?”
“No.”
“Dead?”
He got his pants as far as his ankles, but couldn’t free his legs. “When did we develop such an antagonism to other species?”
“Did you say ‘species’? Did you use that word?”
“I might have. I don’t remember.”
It was only a species if he said so publicly. From that point on, right or wrong, they would have no peace. The world would have no peace. The Hoax had proven this. Not a restful time for planet Earth.
And the instigator? The provocateur?
He’d be a hero to all the wrong people, a laughingstock to everyone else.
At present his pants were stuck. He couldn’t get them off, and was thrashing back and forth like a fish on a hook. He was a laughingstock now.
She chided herself for the thought.
“When they tried to kill us,” she said. “Or killed us, without trying. Let’s see. When did that start? How about the beginning of time.”
“Most of them don’t. Nature preaches harmony, mostly.”
“We preach harmony. Nature preaches tooth and claw.”
“When did you get so cynical, Gunji?”
“When did you get so soft?”
He felt the opposite. Courageous. Defiant. Scared, sure, but you couldn’t be courageous if you weren’t.
“I have something to tell you,” he said.
“So tell me.”
“I love you very much.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
“I’m sorry. I know. What I’ve put you through the last few weeks … I can’t imagine what it’s been like. In return, you’ve shown me nothing but patience and kindness. You’ve been incredible.”
“Thank you, Cav.”
“You are incredible.”
She kissed him, then took hold of his pants and yanked.
“Nicely done,” he said.
She turned off the light.
“Have you given any more thought to your precatastrophe alarm?” he asked.
“A little. Not much. Why?”
“It’s a good idea.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
“If not that, then what? What next?”
“Not sure. I have some ideas.”
“Care to share them?”
She tossed a few out, wondering where this sudden curiosity was coming from.
“Will you teach?”
“I don’t know.”
“You should. You’re a wonderful teacher. Passionate. Inspiring. I remember the first time I heard you. The lecture you gave. I haven’t been the same since.”
“That’s nice,” she said. “I might. I might try something else. I haven’t decided.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She rolled on her side, and faced his dark bulk. “How doesn’t it matter?”
“You’ll be good at whatever you do.”
“How do you know that?”
“Not only good, but happy. You’ll be happy. I know because I know you.”
“I hope I will be. I plan to be.”
“I love you, darling.”
She felt a growing uneasiness: so much affection and encouragement, welcome at any other time, only half-welcome now because of the feeling that something was off.
She rolled onto her back, and closed her eyes. “We have a busy day tomorrow. Time to sleep. Good night, Cav.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
The next time she opened her eyes, it was morning, and he was gone. She dressed, and went looking for him, checking the bay first. The HUBIES floated like hot-air balloons. It sickened her to look at them. The Ooi was yellow-green, and save for the small missing part, unchanged.
She found him with Dash in the lab, the two of them scrolling through a series of images that looked like smears of paint.
Dash looked up when she arrived. His eyes were bloodshot. His voice, tired and contrite.
“It didn’t work. Not sure why. Maybe how I mixed the stain. Or something in the transfer.”
“You said you could do it.”
“I said I’d try.”
“The slide is worthless?”
He stood aside and motioned to the images. “See for yourself.”
She ran through them rapidly. There were slashes, drips, and splotches of stain, some of them translucent, some opaque. Nothing close to informative.
“A waste,” she said.
“Maybe not,” said Cav. “Maybe it’s telling us something. There’s a message here.”
She ignored him. “You’re going to make another one?”
“I can. No guarantee.”
“Make three,” she said. “Let’s learn from our mistake.”
“It’s unnecessary,” said Cav.
“No you don’t. It is necessary.”
“It’s not.” He cleared his throat. “I have something to say.”
It sounded serious. She wished she were elsewhere. “I have something to say first. We’re done with the HUBIES. They’ve served their purpose. We have no further use for them. We should put them to sleep.”
Cav raised his eyebrows.
Dash looked like he’d been dropped from a cliff.
“We should put them out of their misery,” she added.
“They’re not in misery,” Dash reminded her.
“They’ve done what they were asked to do.”
“Made to do,” he said.
“Precisely. Cav?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. In their place he felt a flutter in his chest, as if a moth were trapped. His vision blurred. The room receded. He couldn’t feel his legs.
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