A middle child and an orphan. It explained a lot about Carlos.
The synth vat beeped.
Carlos checked the readout again. “Ready for a drink? That’s the final test.”
The fluid Blake decanted looked like milk, if with the blue tinge of the skimmed variety. It smelled like milk. It tasted like milk. So why was Carlos watching him expectantly?
Then Blake’s stomach lurched.
Carlos leapt back off his stool, although nothing had come up. Not quite.
There wasn’t a rag or towel in sight, and Blake wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Where did I go wrong?”
“It’ll be faster to say what you did right.”
Ignoring the ominous gurgle in his stomach, Blake said, “You may as well give me the complete version. It’s something to do while we wait.”
17
Antonio flopped in his hammock like a fish out of water, exhausted but unable to sleep.
How long had he worked without a break? Rikki had proposed they take a breather, then Dana had. Somewhere along the line Rikki must have left on her own, because when she had returned to the bridge with food trays he realized he hadn’t seen her for a while.
Not until he had nodded off in his seat and startled himself awake with a loud snort had he conceded to reality.
On the bridge or here in the crew cabin, eyes open or shut, it made no difference. His mind churned with vectors and parallax measurements and error bars. For star after star, there were estimates of mass, and age, and metal concentrations. About half the stars were binaries, and those added orbital parameters to the numeric stew.
And planets discovered? That also was a number. Zero.
Numbers had always been his friends. Unlike people, numbers were precise, trustworthy, and unambiguous. Numbers made sense. And then—
From an adjacent hammock, a shadowy presence in the dark, Li said, “Once you find our new home, we become parents to twelve thousand children. Imagine that.”
“I…can’t,” he’d stammered.
She laughed. “Soon you won’t have to imagine it. You might want to sleep while you have the chance.”
“Point taken. Goodnight.”
Twelve thousand. That single, chilling number all but drove the rest from his head.
I’m one sixth of humanity, Antonio thought. Sixteen and two-thirds percent. Zero point one six six six six….
He could recite sixes to himself without end, and never reach peace of mind. Against all odds, he had saved a few people. That he could believe. But that he should have a role in raising twelve thousand children, and then the offspring they would bear? These were numbers beyond logic, beyond sense, beyond comprehension.
Yet here you are, the memory of Tabitha reminded. She was smiling. In his mind’s eye, she always smiled.
Of course his mind’s eye did a better job than his physical eyes of looking at people.
With an even warmer smile: You’ll do fine, honey. Somehow, you always do.
From the next hammock: even breathing. Had Li fallen asleep?
Six of them to raise thousands, if not in person then by setting the example. The longer he spent with his shipmates, the more impressed he was with Hawthorne’s selections—
Except for one glaring lapse: not one of them had ever raised a child. Carlos had fathered a child, in his second marriage, but from everything Antonio had heard, Carlos’s contribution to rearing his daughter had been limited to sending money and keeping his distance.
Neither was an option here.
Quit worrying, Tabitha gently scolded, still smiling. I know you. You’ll be a great dad.
Soon after meeting Tabitha, he’d deemed her as trustworthy as numbers. With a grin, she had called the comparison high praise—and it was like he’d been struck by lightning. Another person could understand him. In that instant he had known she was the one.
He would have believed the affirmation coming from Tabitha. He had believed everything she said. But believe his own wishful thinking, words put into Tabitha’s mouth? That his subconscious would undertake such a pitiful ruse only terrified him further.
Twelve thousand young minds to educate. Even sooner, twelve thousand mouths to feed, cribs to build, and bottoms to wipe. Twelve thousand eager gazes to avoid.
“You’re restless,” Li murmured. “Something I can help with?”
You’ve helped enough. “Twelve thousand diapers to change. It seems like a lot.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” she said. “You can take comfort that we have far fewer artificial wombs. Though once we have a world into which to spread, I expect our techies will find a way to construct more. And of course there is the old-fashioned way to make babies.”
Shelter for thousands. And food. Clean water. Sanitation. Power. Healthcare. Clothing. A city’s worth of people—and a city—all somehow to be provided on an unknown planet.
Antonio did not understand people. He knew that. Just the attempt—seldom successful—to parse facial expressions could exhaust him. He had barely managed to give lectures at the university.
His right hand, unbidden, rose to his chin. He began stroking the long, jagged scar that connected him still with Tabitha. How could he be father to thousands?
(“Short words, honey,” she would counsel when he couldn’t get out of giving a lecture or a public talk. “Simple, direct sentences. You’ll do fine.”)
“Build a society. From…scratch. Do we know how?” he asked Li.
“We’ll figure it out,” Li said confidently.
How had he ever imagined the worst would be over once they escaped Mars?
“It’s quite fascinating,” she continued. “I expect that the first children we raise will help tend to their younger cohorts. Some of them, anyway. Others of the firstborn will contribute to supplying the material needs of the settlement. And in time the children will have opinions, too, as to what our priorities should be. Nor will they always be children. Fascinating.”
“I’m still overwhelmed by all the dirty diapers.” And scared shitless myself.
“Then get some sleep.” Li rolled onto her back. “Goodnight again.”
“Good advice and good…night.”
Only Antonio never did fall asleep. Twelve thousand. The number echoed in
