“In the flesh. Such as it is.”
“You juved a third time.”
“I survived,” she said defiantly. “Give me credit for that.”
“The lumps …”
“Tumors. As you’d expect.” Her mouth didn’t move when she spoke. “At present, under control.”
“How are you communicating with me?”
“With difficulty.”
“Deep brain?” He knew it had been tried. Still a few hurdles, last he’d heard.
“I wish.” With an effort—and considerable discomfort—she arched her entire back, too frozen in the neck to independently lift her head, revealing a thumb-sized appliance crabbed to her larynx.
“A plug-in,” he said.
“God bless ’em.”
“It works well.”
“Well enough. I’m due for an upgrade. And you, Doctor. How are you? You don’t mind my saying, you look like you could use an upgrade yourself. Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?”
“I’ve been working.”
“Glad to hear it. Work is better than sleep. Better than almost anything. You get old, you appreciate that.”
“It’s true.”
“I assume your work includes our new object. What can you tell me? Is it worth getting excited about?”
A moment of truth. He decided to lie. “The asteroid’s carbon. Nothing exciting in that. The object is metamorphic rock. A collision artifact.”
“It’s rock?”
“That’s right.”
“Is it valuable?”
“Possibly to a student of astrogeology. To you, no. It’s worthless.”
She didn’t reply. She could have been thinking about deep-space mining, about capital outlay, financial risk, unloading her assets, writing them off, and so on and so forth. Alternatively, she could have been thinking about calling his bluff. In her current ravaged state, she had the world’s most unreadable poker face.
He waited her out.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said at length.
“Yes. I’m sorry, too. I was hoping for something different.”
“Hope sustains us. It’s our daily bread. The only bread I can eat.” She half-grunted, half-groaned. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“Like what?”
“This,” she said. “Me.”
“You look …”
“Unusual?”
“Uncomfortable.”
She barked. “Don’t make me laugh. I look like crap. A crumpled-up bag of bones. Like I’ve been picked at by vultures, chewed up, spit out, then fed to a compacter.”
“You’re in pain.”
“I’m a disaster. Leading naturally to the question of what happens next. How to remedy the situation. Juving is no longer an option. Having used my allotment and then some.” She paused. “Thoughts?”
“You’re asking my advice?”
“Your thoughts. You don’t know me well enough to give advice.”
“Fair enough. A question first: are you on life support?”
“To a large degree. Yes.”
“Stop it. Get rid of all the wires and tubes. Including your feeding tube, assuming you have one.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Take sips of water if you like. Get someone to help, if you can’t do it yourself.”
“I can’t do anything myself. Except think. I’m a thinking machine. A rabble-rouser. A visionary. You want me to stop. You’re telling me to die. Commit suicide.”
“Die with dignity.”
“That’s the best you can come up with? And if I did? How long would it take?”
“Days. A week. Maybe two. Little by little, you’ll fade.”
“I’ll fade.”
“You’ll drift off.”
“I’ll drift.”
“Yes.”
“Slowly.”
“Yes.”
“And gently. You forgot to mention gently. And peacefully.”
“Yes. All that.”
“Like a little cloud, warmed by the sun. I’ll drift away, and slowly evaporate. I’ll become one with the universe.”
He didn’t reply.
“Do you think I’m a child?”
“I know you’re not a child.”
“It sounds awful.”
“You could take something. Go to sleep. Hurry things along.”
“Sleeping pills.”
“Your very own. You wouldn’t have to pay for them.”
“That’s cute.”
“You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
“Of taking pills?”
“Of dying.”
She could barely move her head. He’d been talking to the side of her face for most of the conversation. But something came over her, and she wrenched herself sideways, until she was looking him straight in the eye.
“I’m afraid of nothing, Doctor. Nothing. If I die, I die. But I don’t want to die. I want to live.”
“You’ve proven that,” he said. “Three lifetimes’ worth. Isn’t three enough?”
“Not nearly enough. Four would not be enough. Ten might be enough. Might be. You’d have to ask me then. How old is the universe?”
“You want to live as long as that?”
“Shoot for the moon, then negotiate. I’d settle for a millennium.”
“You’re not greedy.”
The barest hint of a smile on her dry, cracked lips. “A little greedy. Tell me about H82W8.”
“You have our reports. Everything’s there.”
“I don’t want everything. I want your summation. How does it look?”
“You should speak to Dr. Gharia. She’s responsible for the bulk of the work.”
“I plan to. But I’m speaking to you now. Is it promising?”
“Too early to say.”
“But worth pursuing?”
“Depends what you mean by worth.”
“You’re being cagey, Doctor.”
“I’m being honest.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ve been told that Dr. Gharia has left the station. I won’t ask why.”
“It’s no secret. The work is done. The study is complete.”
“Did she take H82W8 with her?”
“Yes. Of course. It’s not ours to keep. It’s yours.”
“Just so. I intend to use it.”
“In what way?”
“On myself.”
“Inadvisable, Ms. Gleem.”
“Not here. There. Where you are. Gleem One. Where it works.”
“We don’t know that it works.”
“Where it isn’t lethal.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We’ll find out then, won’t we? I’ll need help. Obviously. I can’t do anything without help. I can’t eat. I can’t speak. I can barely move. I’m a fully dependent creature, Doctor. Do you know how that feels? Do you know what that means? There’s always someone nearby. A person. A robot. Some other kind of machine. Beeping, spewing, watching. I’m never alone. I’m surrounded. Fenced in. Encased.”
“You need privacy.”
“I need independence. Without it I feel …”
“Trapped?”
“Lost.”
“I understand.”
“Disrespected,” she added sharply.
“Respect comes from within, Ms. Gleem.”
“Oh please. Respect is earned, Doctor. On a daily basis. Speaking of which, I want you to do something with those things.”
“What things?”
“You know what things. The Raggedy Anns. The abominations. I want them.”
“You? Why? For what purpose?”
“They’re mine. I own them.”
“They’re no use to you.”
“I disagree. They’re historic. They should be preserved. Somewhere they can be seen. Viewed. Appreciated.”
“That’s a terrible idea.”
“A museum maybe.”
He stared at her. “How about a trophy case? Or a zoo?”
“Those could work, too.”
“They’re not animals. They’re not souvenirs. They don’t exist for people’s amusement. They’re also not yours. They’re nobody’s. Ownership doesn’t apply.”