The whole camp, a few of the Old Ones included, was watching some sort of incomprehensible musical thing when DeVon Washington popped up, smiling, pleased with himself for having thought of such a clever gift. No, he admitted, the fans weren't actually his—weren't anybody's, really, because they had been left behind by one of Wan's long-ago organic concubines.
Which made Grace Nkroma look up. "What else did she leave?" she demanded.
Washington held up a finger, flicked out of existence for a moment and returned. "This is what we've got," he said, and began to recite a catalogue of available leftover goods. There wasn't anything really useful. No food or clothing; everything of that sort had long since rotted away. Most ceramics had survived pretty well, though, and so of course had everything made of the nearly indestructible Heechee metal. So when Washington's next load of gifts arrived, Estrella had a mirror that not only reflected well but radiated a faint blue glow, and everyone in the compound had teacups to drink their water out of, though of course no tea.
IV
There were many things Stan missed, in this dismal corner of the universe, but none much more than Stork. He missed his daily viewing of his child. He saw that Estrella's belly was getting a little rounder every day, and he listened to her tell about all the little kicks and twitches she felt— but, even when he put his hand on her, he couldn't feel them. He supposed that by now the tiny thing might have changed in wonderful ways, actual features, usable limbs, all sorts of things he could have seen for himself.
But then, while they were having their before-bed dip in the lake he saw something that even Stork wouldn't have shown him. He was staring at her gently rounded midsection. "Hey! What happened to your belly button?"
She laughed at him. "You just noticed? Right, I used to be an insy and now I'm an outsy. That's what happens when you're pregnant. The baby's growing. Like babies do." She tossed the last of her laundered garments on the narrow beach to dry. "But don't worry," she told him. "I'm still pretty spry for an almost mom. Let's race back to the bedroll to warm up."
They did warm up, actually very enjoyably, but then Stan lay next to the sleeping Estrella, wide awake, staring up at Arabella's unfamiliar stars, thinking about the morrow. It was not a happy thought because after tomorrow there would be another tomorrow, and another. And some time, after all those tomorrows had passed, would come an inescapable today, the today when Estrella would come to term, and the only person around to help her through childbirth would be the veterinarian, Grace Nkroma.
The next morning, the first minute he could get away from Estrella herself, Stan sought out Grace Nkroma. When he began to tell her his worries she didn't provide much comforting. "For God's sake, buck up!" she ordered. "She'll be all right. I know what I'm doing."
Stan gave her a ferocious look. "You? What makes you think you can handle Estrella having a baby?"
"Well, let's see. I got my Doctor of Veterinary Medicine in Johannesburg and then I had two years with the Bureau of Game in Nairobi, mostly on breeding programs, before this job with the Old Ones came along."
"Game! You're talking about animals!"
Grace's expression froze. "The Old Ones are animals, all right. Just like you and I are animals. The kind of animals they are is called primates. Same as you and me. How much difference do you think there is between one primate and another?"
"Yeah, but have you ever actually done a childbirth?"
Grace sounded exasperated. "Sure. Shelly had twins right after I got there. You've seen them running around, haven't you? There was no problem."
"And how did you prepare her for the birth?"
Grace regarded him with annoyance, then with the kind of look that conceded a point made by the other debater. "I loaded Shelly into the ultralight and flew her into Nairobi for ultrasounds, is all. Okay, we don't have any of that stuff. I'll just have to get along without it." She turned away, then back. Her voice softened. "Listen, there's every chance she'll be all right."
"And if something goes wrong?' A shrug. "You know what I wish? I wish I had one of those what-to-do books."
"And what kind of books are those?"
Stan turned defensive. "I saw one once. One of the, ah, girls who lived near us in Istanbul had it. It was in Turkish, actually, but that didn't matter. When Tan and I sneaked it once all we were looking for was dirty pictures. There weren't any, though."
"Oh, for Christ's sake," Grace said, her annoyance no longer faint. "Take a good look around. I don't have one of those books. I don't have any equipment, either. All I have is what I know, and if that isn't good enough—If that isn't good enough—" Her voice trailed off. She was silent for a moment. Then in a different tone, "Never mind that, Stan. She's healthy. I don't anticipate any big problem. Just make sure she gets food and rest and you don't aggravate her too much. I think we'll be fine."
Grace's reassurances didn't reassure Stan. He couldn't get the worry out of his mind, and couldn't help talking to everyone who would listen about the problem—when Estrella wasn't nearby, that is. It didn't take long for them to get tired of the subject, though. He began on Wan's people.
DeVon Washington showed some tolerance for the discussion. His patience wasn't endless, though, and when Washington began to look as though he might flicker away at any moment Stan changed his tack. "Okay, DeVon, then tell me something else. What do you think are the chances that somebody will come to rescue us in the next month or so?"
Washington was amused but patient. "Who would that somebody be?"
"God, I don't know. There must be some inhabited planets somewhere near here, mustn't there?"
Washington considered the question, shook his head. "Um ... no. I don't know much about it, but I don't think so. The way I heard it there are only a few inhabited planets left in the outside galaxy. Maybe a dozen, and most of them pretty nearly empty anyway—you know, religious cults that don't believe in machine storage and so on. I heard Wan say once that there was less than a billion flesh-and-blood people left out here."
Stan was taken aback. "I had no idea. What about machine-stored?"
"Oh, sure, there's plenty of them out there, but they wouldn't help you. They don't care a bit for anyone but themselves. Can you blame them? You know what it's like to be machine-stored? When you own your own works, I mean, so you can do anything you like, with anybody you like, as long as you like? Hell, I can't wait for Wan to turn me loose."
Stan said stoutly, "Then somebody will come after us from the Core."
Washington gave him a look of wide-eyed surprise. "From the Core? How could they?—oh, maybe you didn't know!"
"Know what?" Stan said, afraid to ask the question because he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what the answer would be.
It was as bad as he feared. Worse. "That star," Washington said. "It's going to explode. Honest. Never mind what Wan said. Letting people he hates get away with anything isn't his way. He left orders. Give us enough time to get clear out into the galaxy, he said. Then blow the sucker up."
The first thing any one of the captives did when they heard Stan's news was to deny it. "Jesus, Stan, can't you see that's just some of Wan's crap to make us suffer more?" Or just, "You're crazy." But then they began third-degreeing each of the simulations from Wan's retinue, every chance they got. And then, when it finally sank in, they just stopped talking about it at all. Because what was the use?