Vernon fought to get to the front of the room, but there were too many people between him and Walt. One of the women pulled on Walt's arm, almost dragging him over, screaming in his face. Walt yanked free and climbed onto a table. "Stop this! I'm going to answer any questions, but I can't hear any one of you this way."
For the next three hours they questioned, argued, prayed, formed alliances, reformed them as arguments broke out in the smaller groups. At ten Walt took his place on the table again and called out. "We will recess this discussion until tomorrow night at seven. Coffee will be served now, and I understand we have cakes and sandwiches." He jumped from the table and left before any of them could catch up with him, and he and David hurried to the cave entrance, locking the massive door behind them.
"Clarence was ugly," Walt muttered. "Bastard."
David's father, Walt, and Clarence were brothers, David reminded himself, but he couldn't help regarding Clarence as an outsider, a stranger with a fat belly and a lot of money who expected instant obedience from the world.
"They might organize," Walt said after a moment. "They might form a committee to protest this act of the devil. We'll have to be ready for them."
David nodded. They had counted on delaying this meeting until they had live babies, human babies that laughed and gurgled and took milk from the bottle hungrily. Instead they would have a room full of not-quite-finished preemies, certainly not human-looking, with no more human appeal than a calf born too soon.
They worked all night preparing the nursery. Sarah had enlisted Margaret, Hilda, Lucy, and half a dozen other women, who were all gowned and masked professionally. One of them dropped a basin and three others screamed in unison. David cursed, but under his breath. They would be all right when they had the babies, he told himself.
The bloodless births started at five forty-five, and at twelve thirty they had twenty-five infants. Four died in the first hour, another died three hours later, and the rest of them thrived. The only baby left in the tanks was the fetus that would be Celia, nine weeks younger than the others.
The first visitor Walt permitted in the nursery was Clarence, and after that there was no further talk of destroying the inhuman monstrosities.
There was a celebration party, and names were suggested and a drawing was held to select eleven female names and ten male. In the record book the babies were labeled R-l strain; Repopulation
1. But in David's mind, as in Walt's, the babies were W-l, D-l, and soon, C-l . . .
For the next months there was no shortage of nurses, male or female, no shortage of help doing any of the chores that so few had done before. Everyone wanted to become a doctor or a biologist, Walt grumbled. He was sleeping more now, and the fatigue lines on his face were smoothing out. Often he would nudge David and tow him along, away from the nursery, propel him toward his own room in the hospital, and see to it that he remained there for a night's sleep. One night as they walked side by side back to their rooms, Walt said, "Now you understand what I meant when I said this was all that mattered, don't you?"
David understood. Every time he looked down at the tiny, pink new Celia he understood more fully.
Chapter 7
It had been a mistake, David thought, watching the boys from the window in Walt's office. Living memories, that's what they represented. There was Clarence, already looking too pudgy—he'd be fat in another three or four years. And a young Walt, frowning in concentration over a problem that he wouldn't put on paper until he had a solution to add. Robert, too pretty almost, but determinedly manly, always trying harder than the others to endure, to jump higher, run faster, hit harder. And D-4, himself . .
For the next three hours they questioned, argued, prayed, formed alliances, reformed them as arguments broke out in the smaller groups. At ten Walt took his place on the table again and called out. "We will recess this discussion until tomorrow night at seven. Coffee will be served now, and I understand we have cakes and sandwiches." He jumped from the table and left before any of them could catch up with him, and he and David hurried to the cave entrance, locking the massive door behind them.
"Clarence was ugly," Walt muttered. "Bastard."
David's father, Walt, and Clarence were brothers, David reminded himself, but he couldn't help regarding Clarence as an outsider, a stranger with a fat belly and a lot of money who expected instant obedience from the world.
"They might organize," Walt said after a moment. "They might form a committee to protest this act of the devil. We'll have to be ready for them."
David nodded. They had counted on delaying this meeting until they had live babies, human babies that laughed and gurgled and took milk from the bottle hungrily. Instead they would have a room full of not-quite-finished preemies, certainly not human-looking, with no more human appeal than a calf born too soon.
They worked all night preparing the nursery. Sarah had enlisted Margaret, Hilda, Lucy, and half a dozen other women, who were all gowned and masked professionally. One of them dropped a basin and three others screamed in unison. David cursed, but under his breath. They would be all right when they had the babies, he told himself.
The bloodless births started at five forty-five, and at twelve thirty they had twenty-five infants. Four died in the first hour, another died three hours later, and the rest of them thrived. The only baby left in the tanks was the fetus that would be Celia, nine weeks younger than the others.
The first visitor Walt permitted in the nursery was Clarence, and after that there was no further talk of destroying the inhuman monstrosities.
There was a celebration party, and names were suggested and a drawing was held to select eleven female names and ten male. In the record book the babies were labeled R-l strain; Repopulation
1. But in David's mind, as in Walt's, the babies were W-l, D-l, and soon, C-l . . .
For the next months there was no shortage of nurses, male or female, no shortage of help doing any of the chores that so few had done before. Everyone wanted to become a doctor or a biologist, Walt grumbled. He was sleeping more now, and the fatigue lines on his face were smoothing out. Often he would nudge David and tow him along, away from the nursery, propel him toward his own room in the hospital, and see to it that he remained there for a night's sleep. One night as they walked side by side back to their rooms, Walt said, "Now you understand what I meant when I said this was all that mattered, don't you?"
David understood. Every time he looked down at the tiny, pink new Celia he understood more fully.
Chapter 7
It had been a mistake, David thought, watching the boys from the window in Walt's office. Living memories, that's what they represented. There was Clarence, already looking too pudgy—he'd be fat in another three or four years. And a young Walt, frowning in concentration over a problem that he wouldn't put on paper until he had a solution to add. Robert, too pretty almost, but determinedly manly, always trying harder than the others to endure, to jump higher, run faster, hit harder. And D-4, himself . .
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