When he quit trying, when he got up to contend with the more tractable, somehow friendlier, number of nearby stars, he could not shake the oddest impression.
That Li had been awake the entire time, observing him. And that their conversation was not at all as casual as it had seemed.
*
Li studied her datasheet, stylus in hand, surreptitiously studying Dana. You could not be a therapist without the ability to read and take notes while observing a subject.
Not that Dana was formally a subject. In fact, Dana was studying Li. They had the galley/commons to themselves—and by the way Carlos had scuttled off at Dana’s entrance, the coming tête-à-tête was no mere happenstance.
“What have you got there?” Dana asked.
Li looked up and smiled. “Earth history.” She went back to her reading.
Dana filled a drink bulb. “Would you mind if I join you?”
“Please do.” Li folded her datasheet.
Dana sat across the table from Li. “Earth history. A very broad subject.”
Dana doubtless imagined herself being subtle. She had never admitted to having personnel files, but of course she did. Neil Hawthorne had had his reasons for kidnapping this particular crew; he would not have left his surrogate uninformed.
Let’s show you something about subtlety, Li thought. Not that I expect you to notice. “Yes, a long history. Many accomplishments. Many lessons learned. It’s hard to take in that so much has come to an end.”
“Aren’t we continuing that history?”
“In the sense of biological continuity, I can’t argue. Assuming we’re successful, of course. But in any deeper way? I have yet to see that.”
“We survived. Survival had to come first.”
“You caught me in an introspective mood, Dana. I didn’t mean to imply any criticism. What you have accomplished is little short of miraculous.”
Compliments discomfited Dana’s type; Li let her squirm. You have something to ask me, Dana? Then ask.
“You and I are very different people, aren’t we?” Dana finally said.
“How is that?”
“I don’t answer questions with questions.”
“Touché,” Li said, laughing.
“We talk. I enjoy your company well enough. I respect you. Still, I know nothing about you. After so much time together, that strikes me as, well, not an accident.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Damn it, Li, I’m not on your couch.”
“Habit. It slipped out,” Li lied. She’d intended the clichéd question as a goad, and it had worked.
“I’m sure I lapse into habit, too.” Dana sighed. “Let’s try this. You and I are two of the last six human beings in the universe. We’ll need all our strengths to start a colony. As we’ve seen: without you, I think we would have lost Carlos.”
“Circling back to the two of us being quite different.”
“I come from a military background. No secret there, but maybe there’s more to it than I’ve volunteered. Dad was Space Guard, too. Dad’s mother flew in the ASE Force. I guess Dad and Gram were made of sterner stuff than I. When I left the Guard, no way was I going to retire to Earth’s gravity.”
A self-deprecating admission, to encourage Li to share. How adorably amateurish. How patently obvious.
Li said, “You wanted to know why I came to Mars? Let’s just say I chose to put some distance between me and a messy break-up.”
Messy enough to put her practice, even her med license, at risk. Messy enough to invoke Mother’s influence in smoothing things over. And Li had gotten that help, too. For a price. She had been ordered far enough away that Mother would never face such “embarrassment” again.
Well, Mother, I was just as disappointed, learning the hard way that the Famous Radical Free Thinker could be so conventional. So…Victorian. I mean, who was hurt, really?
None of which Li had any intention of sharing.
She went on, “And if you’re curious about my family tree, you could just ask.”
Anger flared in Dana’s eyes. “I’m frustrated that I have to ask.”
“To my knowledge, I’ve followed your every order, Captain. Now I’m supposed to anticipate your curiosity?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Dana snapped.
And Li had Dana where she wanted her.
“Yes, we are different,” Li said.
Hawthorne’s files would have reported that Li’s mother was political. That Li had made a few unsuccessful runs for municipal office, back on Earth. That while she had not run for office on Mars, she had become influential behind the scenes in the Social Justice Party.
What Dana truly wondered? Whether Li meant to compete here for authority.
Li continued, “Here we are, the sole survivors. The last, best hope of humankind. Here’s what strikes me. That we’ve not had one conversation about what it means to be human, or civilized, or how the colony-to-be can best preserve our heritage. It saddens me.”
“You never said anything.”
“Could I, without undermining your authority? Your priorities aren’t a big secret.”
Dana frowned. “I’m doing my damnedest to keep us alive. To bring us somewhere safe, no matter that we have yet to find a haven. If on occasion I overlook longer-term goals, people need to remind me. You need to remind me.”
“That’s good to hear.” But not quite where I want your mind to go. Li waited.
“So tell me, what does it mean to be human?” Dana glanced at her wrist. “In ten minutes or less.”
“I never claimed to be a philosopher.” Li patted her folded datasheet. “I find comfort in reading them, though.”
Dana said, “I haven’t had a lot of time to read. But maybe, while Antonio and Rikki go on about their survey…”
“‘Had we but world enough, or time.’”
“What’s that?” Dana asked.
“A classical lament.” From a poem about sex and seduction, not study, but none of Li’s shipmates were of a type to know that. Take the hint, Dana.
“Enough time,” Dana said wistfully, and stood. “I’m glad we had this talk. We few have endured all this for a purpose. I appreciate the reminder. But me reading philosophy? I wouldn’t know where to begin. Can you offer some suggestions?”
“Of course.”
Dana walked away, then hesitated in the hatchway. “You proposed soon after we left Mars that the crew rename this ship. That turned out to
