“Canyons do, too. And glaciers.”
He gave her a look. “Do they puke? If so, I’m not aware of it.”
“Volcanoes do.” Steering him steadily toward reason. In this case, back to lava.
He didn’t reply.
He was staring at the image. Captivated.
They’d been married fifty years. She’d always been a patient person. She didn’t mind waiting. Good things often came to those who did.
Only now she felt a little differently. She was different. She only had this one last life. Just one. Sixty-plus years.
“Knock knock,” she said. “Outer space to outer space. The entity known as G is waiting.”
Still nothing.
She grew impatient. Slowly, Cav changed before her eyes from the man she knew and loved into someone standing in her way. She wanted to grab him, shake him, slap some sense into his head. It would do him good. Do both of them a favor.
“Time’s up,” she announced.
He nodded absentmindedly.
“I’m getting a feeling here,” she said.
“From it?”
“From you. You do think it’s living.”
“Is, or was.”
An astounding assertion.
She grabbed him by the neck, and shook.
“Hey!” he squawked.
“Want more?”
“I take it you disagree.”
She shook him again.
“Control yourself,” he squealed.
“Talk sense. And answer when I ask you a question.”
He peeled her hands off. “That’s fair. I have one for you. What’s going on? You don’t seem yourself. Have I done something wrong? Offensive?”
Reasonable questions. The answers were yes and yes.
She was in the grip of something, no doubt about it. She felt like a runaway train. Dashaud Mikelson, of all people, came to mind. She hadn’t thought of him in years. Hadn’t wanted to.
“You’re hormonal,” said Cav. “Is that it?”
He was probably right. It was a common aftereffect of juving. All the major hormones raged. A temporary condition, though on occasion the first manifestation of a lasting personality change.
As a rule, post-juving changes were slight: a little more this, a little less that. Gender, in particular, was prone to shift and recalibrate, as all things essentially fluid to begin with did. Usually the shift was subtle, and always enlightening.
But a slap upside the head?
“Consider it a hypothesis,” said Cav, extending the olive branch.
She wasn’t in the mood for olives quite yet. “I’m sorry, but no. Living doesn’t deserve the rank of hypothesis. Something else maybe. Lower in the pecking order. Let’s see. Help me out here.”
He knew what she was driving at. “Wishful thinking?”
She snapped her fingers. “Bingo.”
“It’s more than that.”
“We’ve been through this before,” she reminded him.
By “we” she meant Earth. By “this” she meant, of course, the Hoax.
“Life does exist elsewhere,” he said.
“I don’t disagree.”
“We won’t necessarily know it when we see it.”
This was the canon. One of two party lines, the less terracentric, more inclusive. Impossible to disprove.
“It’s your dream,” she said.
“Yes. Everyone’s.”
She glanced at the object on-screen. “You’re going to be disappointed. I promise you.”
“It’s possible. Who can say?”
She gave him a look, then heaved a sigh. “You have a feeling about this.”
“I do. A hope, for sure.”
“I want to honor it. I have a feeling, too.”
“You think I’m crazy. I’m losing my marbles.”
“I’m frustrated, Cav. I don’t understand. Tell me again why you’re putting off juving? Because it seems to me that you’re intentionally rolling the dice.”
“I’m thinking about other things.”
“Such as?”
“Do we have to talk about this now?” He couldn’t keep his eyes off the screen. “I know it’s probably not alive, but what if it is? What kind of life could it be?”
“If you drop dead tomorrow, you’ll never know, will you? Someone else will find out. Someone else will have his dream come true.”
“I’m not dropping dead tomorrow. Why the sudden worry?”
“I’m not worried. I’m curious. What’s the point of waiting?”
“I’m not waiting.”
“You’re not taking action.”
He shrugged.
“Because I’m very fond of you. And I know you’re fond of me.”
“I am. Excessively.”
She arched an eyebrow. A slip of the tongue? Or a bad connection? Both were happening more frequently of late. It bothered her not knowing which was which, though not nearly as much as watching him deteriorate. He wasn’t just ignoring common practice, he was putting their marriage at risk. She felt unwanted, invisible.
“Exceedingly, I believe, is what you meant.”
“Exceedingly what?”
She stared at him. Kindness and concern bent beneath the weight of anger and self-preservation. “Maybe one life together is enough.”
He froze, like a deer in headlights. “What do you mean? What are you saying?”
“I’m asking. Do you want out?”
“No. I don’t want out. How can you ask? I love you. Exceedingly.”
She wasn’t amused. “Then why are you distancing yourself?”
He had no reply to this. It was true. He had been. Not intentionally, or mostly not. It was a natural part of growing old. The pulling in of feelers, the gradual encapsulation, the cutting of ties, in preparation for the final, the ultimate separation.
Withdrawal, then adios.
Fortunately, there was an antidote to this.
Juvenation had changed the face of life on Earth. He’d done it once, no questions asked. Life was simply too precious not to.
This time, for some reason, he was dragging his feet. A counterweight, counterargument, had been steadily asserting itself.
Opposed to it, all the things he would leave behind and miss. Gunjita chief among them, never less than a potent, eloquent argument to live, and now in the bloom of youth.
“You’re right,” he confessed. “I have been. I’m sorry.”
“Is something wrong? Are you sick?”
“I’m fine.”
“Because this thing, whatever it is, is a golden opportunity, Cav. It’s a gift. From outer space. C’mon. The great unknown. Don’t you want to study it?”
“Of course. I plan to.”
“Thoroughly. Piece by piece. Molecule by molecule. Atom by atom, if necessary. Every way possible.”
“It could take weeks. Months.”
“Years,” she said. “We get three lives, Cav. It’s not that many.”
His first two had been rich beyond all expectation. What could a third reasonably add? How much wealth did a man need, could a man absorb?
The answer: How could one mind be so hungry for knowledge and experience? And one woman so incredibly beautiful?
“I want to eat you,” he said.
“Me?”
“I love you.”
“Excessively. I know.” She fiddled with the screen. “We need better resolution.”
“What we need is a closer look.”
“Ninety-six minutes,” she said.
–TWO–
Gleem One, their present home, took its name from Gleem Galactic, the company that spawned it. The station was one of eleven in orbit, all but two private, and the only one of the lot not dedicated to ozone remediation, energy development, climate abatement, extreme sports, or defense. Gleem Galactic took its name from Laura Gleem, a rags-to-riches story—spanning three lifetimes—they wrote books and made movies about, also plays, including a musical, panned by critics, adored by fans, and hugely successful. From drug pusher to drug rep, then saleswoman-of-the-year, of what was at the time the world’s second largest pharmaceutical company. Then sales director, overseeing a half-trillion-dollar operation. Five years later, after juving for the second and final time, she became CEO.