replied, not smiling but feeling better for some reason.
"What a fine Scottish name! I'm in love!"
"She's a Navy captain and an ex-Marine," Mama warned.
"I'm up to the challenge!"
= = =
A six-member Marine honor guard dressed in dark gray uniforms slow-marched into the chapel of the Freedom, one of them carrying a small polished steel urn. They halted and ritually passed the urn among them, to place it on the black velvet surface of a funeral bier they surrounded. They fell back to either side and silently came to attention.
Captain Jon Horss marched forward and took position behind the bier.
"At ease," Horss ordered. Unrehearsed, the Marines only relaxed into a tentative parade-rest. "At ease," Horss gently repeated, and the men tried to stand as relaxed as their full dress uniforms seemed to allow.
"Here are the ashes of Captain Direk," Horss continued, "the Captain Direk. The man who gave his life that Admiral Demba and her son Sammy might escape a trap and return to us. Most of you understand by now that Captain Direk was a copy of the son of Aylis Mnro. But I had the good fortune to know him - not as well as I would have wished - and I just will never remember him as a copy! I may think of him as a twin, perhaps. But he was a real person!
"I've had to preside over, or attend, too many funerals for the Navy and the Marines. It is never easy, but I think this is a special funeral, because we - this crew - are more profoundly a family than any other ship on which I've served. We are a unique crew aboard a unique ship, with a mission which may have profound consequences for the human races.
"Know that Captain Direk will not be allowed to have died without receiving the expression of our full gratitude for his bravery.
"I would say more, but it would be repetitious. I yield this place of honor to others who would speak of Captain Direk."
Of the few score of officers in the chapel there seemed to be many who started to rise but one person was striding down the aisle toward the bier, causing them to wait. It was Direk.
"Captain Direk," Horss greeted, saluting him. Direk paused at attention and returned the salute. He turned around in front of the bier. He paused again, as two late arrivals - Zakiya and Aylis - entered the chapel and walked to the front row of pews. It seemed that Zakiya was urging Aylis along, as though Aylis did not want to attend the ceremony.
/
"We could expand this funeral or memorial," Direk spoke quietly, watching the two women seat themselves just in front of him. "Captain Direk is not the only one of our crew to lose his life. His death is certainly less tragic than Sammy's and not a bit more heroic. Unfortunately, we don't know enough about Sammy to properly speak of him. All I can say is that he was amazing and endearing and I am terribly saddened by his absence on this ship.
"Our Captain Direk," he continued, "whose remains are in this urn, was a copy of the son of Doctor Mnro. He was one of four copies. He was the one who primarily helped Admiral Khalanov build the Freedom. The other three, along with the original Direk, labored, off and on, for two centuries building the jumpship modification that now encloses the Freedom. All of them were real people. All of them were very much Direk. I experienced many of their memories and their hopes and their desires. Although I can hardly be objective about my selves, I feel strongly that we should also remember them at this time. They are all dead now, all but me.
"Being a copy of Direk myself," Direk said.
He hesitated as the statement caused the reactions he expected. He saw, however, that the woman he thought of as his mother - Aylis Mnro - leaned her face against Zakiya's shoulder: an action that might show she did already know he was only a copy of her son. He had expected she would know and had not dared to confirm the fact, nor had she offered to comment on his status. He did not know if it made a difference to her, that he was only a copy. After personal eons of depriving himself of the introspection that could have illuminated and defined his emotions, he was only now wading into the deeper waters of emotion, and also finding the hormones of a new youth not very helpful for clarity.
"Being a copy of - in a sense - all of them - all of us - I can assure you this is no great tragedy," Direk continued. "We did what we had to do. I dare say, we did what we loved to do. We shared our heartbreaks and our successes, and we died knowing that one of us would live on. I am not, of course, our first choice for survivor, but I also know it did not matter much to us. Existence is a miracle I fully appreciate, and multiple existences is even better. We are all here, in me, and we will live like we never lived before."
Direk started to step away from the bier. He stopped when he saw Jamie enter the chapel. Jamie walked down the aisle to Zakiya and Aylis and leaned over to speak to them, placing a hand on Doctor Mnro's shoulder.
"It's alright," Jamie said to Aylis. "It's alright. He is still with us."
Jamie stepped over to Direk and took his hand, leading him to a seat in the pew next to Aylis and Zakiya. Captain Horss continued the ceremony.
The easy part is over, Direk thought. Now we have to say goodbye to Sammy, and I wish I had known him.
2-32 Patrick
"I thoroughly enjoyed the meeting," Mai commented, "although it was disconcerting, watching all of you become possessed by your auxiliary memories as you remembered Patrick."
"I hope we gave you a better impression of Pat," Aylis said. "He isn't - or wasn't - what he now appears to be."
"But you have to admit, he was a daring and outspoken man. I can't believe how many times he risked his life on account of some specimen of alien life he wanted to study."
"Yes, and he always claimed to be a coward. Are you certain of your diagnosis, Mai? I still feel there's something wrong with him."
"How can anything be right with him?" Mai asked. "The human brain never ceases to amaze me. Think of what Sammy must have suffered, in addition to what we know he suffered, and yet he was such a sweet person." Mai stopped and joined the others in a moment of renewed sorrow. She briefly squeezed Zakiya's hand, then resumed. "Patrick's scans remain normal. I have high hopes for him."
"How many years was he alone on that ship, waiting to die?" Phuti Mende spoke. "Does that show up on a scan?"
= = =
It was impossible that he was still alive. He was sure he remembered giving up and falling into the darkness of death. Yet he dreamed. Or did he continue as a ghost, only to be haunted by other ghosts? Women, so many beautiful ghostly women! They made him think he was thinking. They made him feel he was feeling. He was feeling fear. He was thinking enigmas. Neither science nor faith offered a solution to the question of whether he lived or did not. All he could do was begin to pay attention to the disturbances out there, the beautiful women and their beautiful voices. All he could do was yearn for rebirth, even while he feared the consequences. But...
It was impossible to begin, and so he greatly regretted that he was, perhaps, conscious again. It was impossible to form new relationships. New friendships were beyond even imagining. It was impossible to speak, and to say anything that meant anything. It was impossible to be serious, impossible to be funny, impossible even to be truthful, because the truth was so dangerous. Yet, he had to take the next breath, and open his eyes, and see the impossible, and do what was merely and possibly real.
"Is everyone pregnant around here?" It was just something to say. It seemed harmless, pointless, silly: just the way he was. She wasn't obviously pregnant the first time he saw her, and so that must have been weeks ago. Now she was surely pregnant. Now he was disappointed. It was a mystery that he should feel that way, until he saw the other Asian woman. What ancient experiences haunted his brain to raise an awareness of a fondness for women with narrow brown eyes?
"You finally noticed?" She gave him a smile for encouragement.
Bless her! He almost couldn't bear to keep looking at her. She seemed so real. His eyes seized upon the smallest detail, such as a strand of hair that escaped to tickle her nose, to be brushed back with the tip o
f her little finger. He had to look away, stare at the ceiling, glance over at the other woman, take a deep breath, and use the breath stupidly with ugly words.
"Such a great disappointment." He cringed to listen to himself. "All the pretty ones. Well, not quite all. Who is the very young lass by the door?" He knew who she might be, although the name would not come to him. He was appalled he asked of her, especially if, by some miracle, she was who he wished her to be. He was certain that one was always beyond his reach. It was the pinnacle of self-delusion to imagine she was that one - the one he thought he remembered, thought he wanted, thought he would someday... He almost wanted to laugh - or cry - at the crazy things his mind entertained.
"When will you get control of yourself, Dr. Jenkins?"
Never, apparently! He snatched his hand back from where it wandered. "So sorry! Please call me Pat. What's your name?"
"I'm Dr. Sugai. This is the third time I've told you."
"I don't care about doctor this and doctor that. What's your name? Why can't I know your name? I want to know your name!"
"My name is Mai."
Oh, miserable fool! Must I act so poorly? "I knew that! I heard the other pregnant one call you that. May I call you Mai? I want to call you Mai. Does your husband know you're flirting with me?"
He hoped she knew he was a harmless idiot. No, he hoped the opposite. He was never