ET E R N I TY 255

FIFTY-THREE

Earth, Thistledown

Lanier had resumed walking the trails again, climbing the side of the mountain, looking down over the autumn-brown grasslands and the increased flocks of sheep. Despite all that had happened, he thought himself a contented man. He could not save all of humanity from its follies; could not stop the flow of history.

Losing his sense of responsibility was a necessary liberation; he had spent much of his life helping others. Now was the time to calm himself and prepare for his own next step.

Despite the forced implant, and his relief at being saved from death, he knew he would not choose immortality. When the time came--whether it be ten years, or fifty years he would be prepared.

He did not think his personality was so valuable that it should impose itself on others for more than a century. This was not humility, nor was it exhaustion; it was the way he had been raised.

He accepted that Karen did not agree. Even so, they were much closer than they had been in years. That was sufficient.

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Two months after his recovery, on a particularly crystalline night, they walked under the stars. Thistledown was not visible. "I'm not sure I care what's happening up there, down there." She pointed through the Earth at where Thistledown might be~

Lanier nodded. They walked on, lantern illuminating the trail in a blue circle for several meter's ahead. "That's where we met," he said, and it sounded silly once he said it; silly and awkward, the words of an uncertain youth, not an old man. Karen smiled at him.

"We have had many good years, Garry," she said. Then, with her usual directness, she said, "What's more important to us now, our past together, or our future?"

He could not answer. In a way, he Was being forced to stay alive. That implied that he wanted his future to be brief.... Yet he did not wish to die. He simply wanted equality and justice, and under the present cfi 255 GREG BEAR

cumstances, immortality did not seem just. He was willing to die for these convictions. "Just us, now," he said.

She held his hand more firmly. "All right," she said. "Just now."

Lanier knew that Karen would not stay at his side forever. Once the isolation was liftedmalmost certain within the next few months--she would become active again, and perhaps separation would drive them apart again. He didn't want that, but they were no longer well matched.

He could accept being old; she could not.

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Still, there were many people he would like to see again.

Questions he would like to have answered.

Whatever happened to Patricia?

Was she home, or alive in some other alternate universe, or had she died trying?

Thistledown orbited Earth every five hours and fifty minutes, as it had since the Sundering. In some regions of the Earth, the asteroid's bright star was worshipped even after decades of education and social engineering; humanity's psychological yolk sacs could not be eliminated so easily.

The news that the Earth's saviors might soon leave--so the stories had been simplified caused panic in some areas, relief in others. Those who worshipped the Thistledown and its occupants believed they were leaving out of disgust for Earth's sins. They were correct in a sense; but if the Earth could not abandon its past, neither could the Hexamon.

With the re-opening on schedule, and Korzenowski's wonders performing flawlessly, the Nexus Special Committee set about healing some of the worst wounds in their relations with Earth.

There was not much time; nor did they expend an enormous amount Page 459

of effort. The Hexamon was enthused; hysteria was not possible, or at least highly unlikely, in the population of the orbiting bodies, but an almost drugged sense of splendor reigned. They were proud of their power and cleverness; they were happy to be working to solve otherwise insoluble problems. And they felt that Earth would benefit in the long run, that the Way would bring prosperity to them all.

Mirsky's warnings were virtually forgotten. Hadn't the so-called avatar vanished without trace? If his strength had been so enormous, why hadn't he put a stop to the vote and forced the Hexamon to do things his way? Even Korzenowski gave Mirsky little consideration. There was too much to do, too many compulsions exterior and interior; and the interior compulsions grew stronger with each day.

The Engineer tracted from one end of the bore hole to the other, wrapped in his closed-end, baggy red robe like an overgrown infant.