
live on Medea again!_ And he saw the fleet of great gleaming ships swinging
around, heading back, moving like mighty dolphins across the void, shimmering
like needles in the purple sky, dropping down by the hundred to unload the
vanished settlers at Chong and Enrique and Pellucidar and Port Medea and
Madagozar. Swarms of people rushing forth, tears, hugs, raucous laughter, old
friends reunited, the cities coming alive again! Morrissey trembled. He closed
his eyes and wrapped his arms tight around himself. The fantasy had almost
hallucinatory power. It made him giddy, and his skin, bleached and leathery
from a lifetime under the ultraviolet flares of the twin suns, grew hot and
moist. _Come home, come home, come home! The earthquake's been canceled!_
He savored that. And then he let go of it and allowed the bright glow
of it to fade from his mind.
He said to the fux, "There's eleven weeks left. And then everything on
Medea is going to be destroyed. Why are you so calm, Dinoov?"
"Why not?"
"Don't you _care?_"
"Do you?"
"I love this place," Morrissey said. "I can't bear to see it all
smashed apart."
"Then why didn't you go home to Earth with the others?"
"Home? Home? This is my home. I have Medean genes in my body. My people
have lived here for a thousand years. My great-grandparents were born on Medea
and so were _their_ great-grandparents."
"The others could say the same thing. Yet when earthquake time drew
near, they went home. Why have you stayed?"
Morrissey, towering over the slender little being, was silent a moment.
Then he laughed harshly and said, "I didn't evacuate for the same reason that
you don't give a damn that a killer quake is coming. We're both done for
anyway, right? I don't know anything about Earth. It's not my world. I'm too
old to start over there. And you? You're on your last legs, aren't you? Both
your wombs are gone, your male itch is gone, you're in that nice quiet
burned-out place, eh, Dinoov?" Morrissey chuckled. "We deserve each other.
Waiting for the end together, two old hulks."
The fux studied Morrissey with glinting, unfathomable, mischievous
eyes. Then he pointed downwind, toward a headland maybe three hundred meters
away, a sandy rise thickly furred with bladdermoss and scrubby yellow-leaved
anglepod bushes. Right at the tip of the cape, outlined sharply against the
glowing sky, were a couple of fuxes. One was female, six-legged, yet to bear
her first litter. Behind her, gripping her haunches and readying himself to
mount, was a bipedal male, and even at this distance Morrissey could see his
frantic, almost desperate movements.
"What are they doing?" Dinoov asked.
Morrissey shrugged. "Mating."
"Yes. And when will she drop her young?"
"In fifteen weeks."
"Are they burned out?" the fux asked. "Are they done for? Why do they
make young if destruction is coming?"
"Because they can't help -- "
Dinoov silenced Morrissey with an upraised hand. "I meant the question
not to be answered. Not yet, not until you understand things better. Yes?
Please?"
"I don't -- "
" -- understand. Exactly." The fux smiled a fuxy smile. "This walk has
tired you. Come now: I'll go with you to your cabin."
* * * *
They scrambled briskly up the path from the long crescent of pale blue sand
that was the beach to the top of the bluff, and then walked more slowly down
the road, past the abandoned holiday cabins toward Morrissey's place. Once
this had been Argoview Dunes, a bustling shoreside community, but that was
long ago. Morrissey in these latter days would have preferred to live in some