She recoiled from that idea, the sense of helplessness. Never mind! Right now we only have to cope with the universe. Which means first coping with man.
Will and strength rallied. She turned back to her visitor. He stood waiting for her to find words after his cautious greeting. The trace of a smile on his lips was like a flag of truce.
Not that Omar Hamid would recognize a symbol so archaic. Laurinda drew breath, formed a full smile herself, and bowed her head briefly over bridged fingers. He responded likewise. The modern gesture calmed her. The foreboding that his entry had roused died away as quickly as it had risen. It had been unreasonable. After all, he had called ahead, days in advance, and he was here simply to talk. She was surprised that meeting him could affect her so much.
“Yes, you’re welcome, Omar,” she said. “Always.”
His shyness, if that was what it had been, hardened into a certain wariness. “In spite of my errand?” His Inglay was more accented than formerly. Perhaps he hadn’t had many occasions to use it.
Laurinda shook her head. “In spite of its having been so long,” she answered low.
“I’m sorry.” It sounded genuine. “I thought you would rather not … see me again.”
“True. For a while.”
“And then?” The tone was half anxious.
“It stopped hurting. I remembered what was good. Otherwise—we made a mistake, you and I. An honest mistake, and we were very young.”
The look he gave her was briefly, uncannily familiar. It was as if the wrinkles and the short white beard were a mask, gone transparent for a glimpse of the face she once knew.
“Sometimes I even wished you would call,” she added.
“I hardly dared,” he said.
“Me too. Although I think what we both feared most was pride, wounded youthful pride, each other’s and our own.”
“It would probably have been another mistake to try again.”
“The same one, with the same result. Or still more bitter. But I did begin thinking, now and then, how nice it would be to hear from you.”
“Likewise for me. Of course, I kept hearing of you, oftener and oftener. I hoped—I hope you’ve been happy.”
“Why should I not have been?”
“Your life became so different.”
Their gazes met and held steady, but somehow hers went through him, beyond this room and this moment. “‘A sea change,’” she murmured, “‘into something rich and strange.’”
The living planet and the souls upon it. The knowledge, vision, wisdom, and presence of Terra Central. The minds at other stars, the stars themselves, the marvel and mystery that is the cosmos. And I amidst all these.
Omar’s question drew her back out of reverie. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, that,” she said, carefully careless. “Only a quotation.”
“Your style of talking has certainly changed. Scholarly, is that the word? I suppose working with Terra Central did it.”
“Not really. I read a great deal.” Laurinda formed a new smile. “Anachronistic habit, agreed.”
But necessary, she had found—for her, at any rate, if not for everyone who served as an interface between human and machine. Those wonders were too great, those thoughts too high. She had been in danger of losing her own humanness to them. The works and songs of the past redeemed it. Sometimes that past, even its fictions—Hamlet, Anne Elliott, Wilkins Micawber, Vidal Benzaguen—felt closer to her than the world she lived in.
She broke off. “Enough,” she said. “At least, enough about me. Do sit down, please. What refreshment can I offer? You used to like coffee, black, strong, and sweet.”
“Thank you,” Omar replied. “I still do.” He paused. “Thank you for remembering.”
Chairs shaped themselves to bodies with fluid, unnoticed sensuality. Laurinda gave the house an instruction. “Tell me about yourself,” she urged her guest.
“You know.” He spoke defensively.
“Just your recent activities. What did you do, how did you do, in the years between?”
He shrugged. “On the whole, contented. I pursued my interests—mainly sports, you know.”
“I suppose you became a champion.”
“Not quite, but I didn’t do badly.”
“I’m sorry. I should have followed the athletics news.”
“No, no. I realize you’ve had too much other claim on your attention.” Ruefulness: “Besides, that also is well behind me. Treatments, therapies, regenerations, the whole kit of somatics, can only hold off aging for so long.” Again he regarded her, and she thought that what he saw pained him a little. He continued faster: “Games and contests haven’t been everything. I’ve made a fair amount of yun both as a coach and as a personal counselor.”
She raised her brows. “Yun?”
“Local slang. I’ve spent the past decade mainly on Taiwan. If you haven’t happened to encounter the word, it means credit earned, over and above the basic issue. Do they still call it plusses in England?”
“Yes. I should have guessed. But I feel a bit overwhelmed today.” Laurinda hesitated. “I don’t want—to be impertinent—but—”
Omar chuckled, more nearly at ease than hitherto. “But you were never timid. Well, for the most part I’ve been happy. One orthomarriage lasted more than forty years. We were allowed two children. We chose girls.” He must have seen her own quick pain; he must know she had never had any. Doubtless he assumed that was because, whatever her relationships with men, none had endured. Or did he go deeper and see that Terra Central had taken up too much of her time, of herself? He finished roughly: “And I’ve become active in public affairs.”
She nodded. “Politics.”
Scorn responded. “Not standing for election. What does any political office mean anymore? But advisory committees.”
“That is today’s main form of politics, isn’t it? That, and working to create a general consensus on major issues.”
“It’s why I’ve come here.”
“Certainly. Again, welcome, old friend.”
The house recognized a psychological moment. A servitor glided in to set down the freshly synthesized coffee for him, tea for her, and small cakes. Incense wafted from a miniature brazier. As they partook they exchanged conventional remarks, empty of practical significance, full
