to point. “I need a little more room here.”
Tod lifted the transparent cube Teague had indicated and looked at the squirming pink bundle inside.
He almost smiled. It was a nice baby. He took one step away and Teague said, “Take ’em all, Tod.”
He stacked them and carried them to where April sat. Carl rose and came over, and knelt. The boxes hummed—a vibration which could be felt, not heard—as nutrient-bearing air circulated inside and back to the power-packs. “A nice normal deliv—I mean, a nice normal batch o’ brats,” Carl said. “Four girls, one boy. Just right.”
Tod looked up at him. “There’s one more, I think.”
There was—another girl. Moira brought it over in the sixth box. “Sweet,” April breathed, watching them. “They’re sweet.”
Moira said, wearily, “That’s all.”
Tod looked up at her.
“Alma …?”
Moira waved laxly toward the neat stack of incubators. “That’s all,” she whispered tiredly, and went to Carl.
That’s all there is of Alma
, Tod thought bitterly. He glanced across at Teague. The tall figure raised a steady hand, wiped his face with his upper arm. His raised hand touched the high end of the Coffin, and for an instant held a grip. Teague’s face lay against his arm, pillowed, hidden and still. Then he completed the wiping motion and began stripping the sterile plastic skin from his hands. Tod’s heart went out to him, but he bit the insides of his cheeks and kept silent.
A strange tradition
, thought Tod,
that makes it impolite to grieve …
Teague dropped the shreds of plastic into the disposal slot and turned to face them. He looked at each in turn, and each in turn found some measure of control. He turned then, and pulled a lever, and the side of Alma’s Coffin slid silently up.
Good-bye …
Tod put his back against the bulkhead and slid down beside April. He put an arm over her shoulders. Carl and Moira sat close, holding hands. Moira’s eyes were shadowed but very much awake. Carl bore an expression almost of sullenness. Tod glanced, then glared at the boxes. Three of the babies were crying, though of course they could not be heard through the plastic incubators. Tod was suddenly conscious of Teague’s eyes upon him. He flushed, and then let his anger drain to the capacious inner reservoir which must hold it and all his grief as well.
When he had their attention, Teague sat cross-legged before them and placed a small object on the floor.
Tod looked at the object. At first glance it seemed to be a metal spring about as long as his thumb, mounted vertically on a black base. Then he realized that it was an art object of some kind, made of a golden substance which shimmered and all but flowed. It was an interlocked double spiral; the turns went round and up, round and down, round and up again, the texture of the gold clearly indicating, in a strange and alive way, which symbolized a rising andfalling flux. Shaped as if it had been wound on a cylinder and the cylinder removed, the thing was formed of a continuous wire or rod which had no beginning and no end, but which turned and rose and turned and descended again in an exquisite continuity.… Its base was formless, an almost-smoke just as the gold showed an almost-flux; and it was as lightless as ylem.
Teague said, “This was in Alma’s Coffin. It was not there when we left Earth.”
“It must have been,” said Carl flatly.
Teague silently shook his head. April opened her lips, closed them again. Teague said, “Yes, April?”
April shook her head. “Nothing, Teague. Really nothing.” But because Teague kept looking at her, waiting, she said, “I was going to say … it’s beautiful.” She hung her head.
Teague’s lips twitched. Tod could sense the sympathy there. He stroked April’s silver hair. She responded, moving her shoulder slightly under his hand. “What is it, Teague?”
When Teague would not answer, Moira asked, “Did it … had it anything to do
Tod lifted the transparent cube Teague had indicated and looked at the squirming pink bundle inside.
He almost smiled. It was a nice baby. He took one step away and Teague said, “Take ’em all, Tod.”
He stacked them and carried them to where April sat. Carl rose and came over, and knelt. The boxes hummed—a vibration which could be felt, not heard—as nutrient-bearing air circulated inside and back to the power-packs. “A nice normal deliv—I mean, a nice normal batch o’ brats,” Carl said. “Four girls, one boy. Just right.”
Tod looked up at him. “There’s one more, I think.”
There was—another girl. Moira brought it over in the sixth box. “Sweet,” April breathed, watching them. “They’re sweet.”
Moira said, wearily, “That’s all.”
Tod looked up at her.
“Alma …?”
Moira waved laxly toward the neat stack of incubators. “That’s all,” she whispered tiredly, and went to Carl.
That’s all there is of Alma
, Tod thought bitterly. He glanced across at Teague. The tall figure raised a steady hand, wiped his face with his upper arm. His raised hand touched the high end of the Coffin, and for an instant held a grip. Teague’s face lay against his arm, pillowed, hidden and still. Then he completed the wiping motion and began stripping the sterile plastic skin from his hands. Tod’s heart went out to him, but he bit the insides of his cheeks and kept silent.
A strange tradition
, thought Tod,
that makes it impolite to grieve …
Teague dropped the shreds of plastic into the disposal slot and turned to face them. He looked at each in turn, and each in turn found some measure of control. He turned then, and pulled a lever, and the side of Alma’s Coffin slid silently up.
Good-bye …
Tod put his back against the bulkhead and slid down beside April. He put an arm over her shoulders. Carl and Moira sat close, holding hands. Moira’s eyes were shadowed but very much awake. Carl bore an expression almost of sullenness. Tod glanced, then glared at the boxes. Three of the babies were crying, though of course they could not be heard through the plastic incubators. Tod was suddenly conscious of Teague’s eyes upon him. He flushed, and then let his anger drain to the capacious inner reservoir which must hold it and all his grief as well.
When he had their attention, Teague sat cross-legged before them and placed a small object on the floor.
Tod looked at the object. At first glance it seemed to be a metal spring about as long as his thumb, mounted vertically on a black base. Then he realized that it was an art object of some kind, made of a golden substance which shimmered and all but flowed. It was an interlocked double spiral; the turns went round and up, round and down, round and up again, the texture of the gold clearly indicating, in a strange and alive way, which symbolized a rising andfalling flux. Shaped as if it had been wound on a cylinder and the cylinder removed, the thing was formed of a continuous wire or rod which had no beginning and no end, but which turned and rose and turned and descended again in an exquisite continuity.… Its base was formless, an almost-smoke just as the gold showed an almost-flux; and it was as lightless as ylem.
Teague said, “This was in Alma’s Coffin. It was not there when we left Earth.”
“It must have been,” said Carl flatly.
Teague silently shook his head. April opened her lips, closed them again. Teague said, “Yes, April?”
April shook her head. “Nothing, Teague. Really nothing.” But because Teague kept looking at her, waiting, she said, “I was going to say … it’s beautiful.” She hung her head.
Teague’s lips twitched. Tod could sense the sympathy there. He stroked April’s silver hair. She responded, moving her shoulder slightly under his hand. “What is it, Teague?”
When Teague would not answer, Moira asked, “Did it … had it anything to do
Similar Books
