A party it was, too. Twin Hearts was described as one who had special knowledge of such non-Heechee matters as "currency" and "debt" and even "profit," and, not only that, had somewhere acquired a very considerable repertory of human round-the-campfire songs (though not really the right voice to sing them with). Stan and Estrella weren't the only organic guests, either. Achiever, turning his nose up at most of the food, looked puzzled when Estrella asked a question. "Salt? Consult memory, please. Have not just in short recency joined Salt in welcoming you and inseminator. For what other purpose would I have felt need to invite companionship of Salt? Already have established fetus is doing quite healthily, have no other concerns with same. This statement represents actuality of fact, unregarding any other statement perhaps emanating from Salt." Then, with a firm head-bob, a different tone: "Ah, apples! Can forgive human nastiness of diet for many things for having provided apples!"
A moment later Marc Antony appeared. He wasn't wearing his chef's hat. He wore what Stan was pretty sure was an army uniform from some war or other—white pants, flashes of scarlet on the blouse, cocked hat— but from what war it was Stan couldn't say.
"Sorry if I am late," Marc said. "The specialists needed to talk to Wan. I had to wait until they were finished, to make sure he was properly deactivated again before I left." He paused to look around at the tables of food. "Is everything all right? Is there anything anyone would like?"
Stan had his hand up. "What specialists are you talking about?"
"I believe most of the party was lawyers and accountants," he said, with approximately the same intonation he would have used if he had been saying "whores" and "lepers."
"Indeed they would have been," Sigfrid explained, taking over. "It isn't just Wan himself that we wanted, you know. It's his money. We're going to fine him for all the trouble he caused. That'll probably come to just about everything he owns, and naturally, after all these years Outside, it isn't going to be easy to identify all of Wan's assets." The smile broadened. "But then, taking it along with Klara's earlier generous contribution, that should be quite enough to pay for all the monetary expenses of immigrating, housing, feeding and settling in all our new citizens from Outside." He paused and changed the subject. "We'll talk about all that at another time. Marc? Can't you provide us with some wine?"
Marc could and did, both material and simulated kinds. He hadn't stopped with wine, either; he had provided little glassy bowls of the fungus that Stan recognized as the Heechee social drug of choice. Klara herself gave Estrella a glass of physically real wine, Sigfrid hovering at her shoulder to assure Stan that one glass would do her no harm at all. Apparently it didn't. Didn't harm Stan, either, so he had a second, and then a third.
He wasn't the only one. When he wasn't looking a dozen or so other guests had appeared, a couple organics of both species but a number of Heechee, mostly Stored Minds. The fact that both they themselves and the fungus they were helping themselves to were simulations didn't seem to hamper their pleasure. Didn't seem to diminish their animated conversations, either, most of them being with at least one organic person included and thus conducted in organic time. Stan had no idea what the conversations were about, though, and he was beginning to feel a bit warm. It occurred to him that it would be a good idea to sit down. There was a vacant space on one of Klara's couches. He collected some more wine and, as he was sitting down, saw that the other side of the couch was occupied by Rowena McClune, sitting by herself. Although she was holding a glass, three-quarters of the wine was still in it. When she saw that Stan had drifted toward her she gave him a polite smile. "I've just been sitting here envying you and your wife," she said, glancing in Estrella's direction. "To have a child! I don't think there's a more joyous occasion in the universe."
"Thanks," Stan, who wouldn't have put it that way but was willing to go along, said. He noted that Achiever, munching a large clump of the party fungus, was standing behind them, listening attentively. Ignoring him, he addressed the McClune woman. "That word 'wife' wasn't quite right. We've never married." And then, to keep her from pursuing the subject, "I see you aren't a big drinker."
"Well," she said, "it wouldn't make any difference if I were, would it? Simulated alcohol doesn't make you drunk. Unless you want it to, that is, and it's been a long time since I wanted anything like that." His expression, balancing curiosity against manners, made her smile again. "When I was first machine-stored, I confess I tried that sort of thing. Many different sorts of things, really. You wouldn't believe some of the surrounds I made for myself, and I'm definitely not going to tell you about them. But I got tired of that. I began looking for something useful to do with my new life."
"That's very interesting," Stan said, glancing at Achiever, who at least didn't seem eager to tell his life story.
Rowena McClune wasn't finished. "Why not?" she asked.
He blinked at her more seriously. "Why not what?"
"Why aren't you and Ms. Pancorbo married?"
It was one of the harder questions Stan had been asked. He considered several different answers: It wasn't a custom here in Heechee land. They didn't have anyone to perform the ceremony. They never thought of it. They hadn't, after all, known each other very long. None of those seemed good enough, so he settled for, "We're all right the way we are."
Achiever gave his braying laugh. "Good response just said by you, Stan," he told them both. "Above-mentioned marrying custom is foolish ancient tribal affair of your tribe, unnecessary in civilized world. My people have done such thing never."
Surprisingly, there was a rumble from behind Stan. When he turned, it was Thermocline. Stan considered asking him why everybody was sneaking up on him, but Thermocline was speaking. "That is not entirely correct, Achiever," he said, polite but positive. "Many of our people on the Wheel found the human custom of 'family' attractive, and formed such groups: mother, father and one or more offspring all living together and forming a family unit."
"Huh," Achiever said, temporarily derailed. He recovered himself well enough to produce a sneer. "Such persons were living among human persons much too length of time, Thermocline. Such situation can cause serious problems of decreased concinnity, as has been demonstrated in unfortunate case of myself."
He turned a challenging look at Stan. Since he had supported Stan's position, clearly he now felt it was Stan's turn to support his. Stan might have done so. What prevented him was that he was having a hard time following the discussion. "I guess," he said vaguely, and then, "Excuse me."
It occurred to him that another glass of wine might clear his head. But as he turned to go in search of one he almost tripped over a short, dark organic human woman standing just behind him. He stared at her with astonishment. "You look just like that baby doctor, Kusmeroglu. Can't be, though. Hypatia told you not to come."
The woman looked pleased with herself. "Hypatia changed her mind. She caught me at the spacecraft terminal, told me Klara wanted me to stay so I could keep an eye on Estrella. And here I am. So you see, I did get to meet Klara after all."
"But—" Stan said reasonably. "But—" He stopped there. He was clear in his mind that the woman must have made some egregious mistake, but he was having difficulty in framing the sentences that would straighten her out. "I think I need to sit down," he said, and looked around for the nearest chair, and did.
Dr. Kusmeroglu bent swiftly to sniff his lips. "Oh, I see," she sighed. "Listen, Stan. Let me collect Estrella. I think we need to get you home."
III