One's Aspect to the Sun (42 page)

“So you're staying on here for a while.” It wasn't really a question; the relationship I'd suspected she had with Gusain Buig had turned out to be very obvious, and she'd already been talking about getting back to her ongoing research. The trip to Schulyer Group's labs was in the works, and Dr. Ndasa was keen to show her what they'd done.

She nodded and sighed. “And you're not, I suppose.”

I smiled. “Part of me would like to. We still have years' worth of things to catch up on. But you're going to be pretty busy for a while.”

“That's for certain. But I'd squeeze you in.”

“I know. I think it will be even more fun if I come back later, and bring Karro and Aliande, and their children, if they'll come. I'll mention it to Lanar next time I talk to him. We'll have a real family reunion.”

“That would be wonderful.” Her voice was warm, and there was a catch in it.

I pulled a dark violet
jarlee
fruit from one of the vines and rolled it in my fingers, enjoying the plump promise of sweetness.

“Hirin came to see me about the new breed of bioscavengers,” she said. “I explained what they could and couldn't do for him. But he seemed happy for whatever they'll accomplish.”

“He's already had the treatment?” I was surprised he hadn't told me.

“Yesterday. Maybe he wanted to surprise you.”

“Hmmm. Maybe.” I thought it might be something else, but I'd have to ask him later. “Mother, it's kind of strange, but—now that the die is cast, I think I understand your hesitation to unleash immortality on humans.”

Mother laughed. “Oh, really? You told me rather bluntly that it wasn't my business to decide for the entire race.”

“Well, something like that, I guess. But when I think about people like Alin Sedmamin and Dores Amadoro, I wonder if you weren't right after all. We could do a lot of harm if mortality isn't an issue anymore. There seems to be an almost limitless capacity for greed and mean-spiritedness in us as a race.”

“We could.” She picked a
jarlee
fruit and popped it into her mouth. “On the other hand, we might get over the short-sightedness that's plagued us for centuries. Might be more mindful of the hundred-year consequences of our actions if we have every expectation of being around to experience them. We have great capacity for kindness and compassion, too.”

“True.” I grinned. “I guess we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?”

“I guess so. There's a quotation from an old Earth writer that's always intrigued me. It goes, 'I don't believe in ageing. I believe in forever altering one's aspect to the sun.' I don't know what she actually meant by that, since she killed herself years later, but I've always taken it to mean that instead of worrying about getting older, we should instead be able to use time to change our perspective on things. Change how we see the universe and the face we present to it.” She laughed a little. “I guess that's what I hope this research will ultimately enable people to do. Alter their perspective from time to time, because they'll be around long enough to do it.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “I guess that's what I've been doing for years, I just didn't realize it.”

We walked a long way in silence after that, and it was perfectly
okej
.

That night when we were getting ready for bed, I told Hirin about my visit with Mother.

He smiled. “I'm so glad you finally found her. All that time—it wasn't wasted.”

“I wouldn't have said it was wasted, anyway.” I sat beside him on the bed. “We had a lot of good years out there on the
Tane Ikai
.”

“And a lot of close calls,” he said with a chuckle. Then his face grew serious. “Luta, this has turned out so differently than what we talked about when I left Earth. You've gotten into something you didn't expect . . . or maybe even want.”

I'd suspected as much. I turned to meet his eyes, eyes I'd looked into for decades, loving them with every glance. They were no longer clouded with age, no longer sunken—the bioscavengers had taken a good fifteen years off his appearance and probably fixed him up inside even better than that.

None of that mattered to me at all. I'd never felt that he'd aged beyond me, only that he'd been subject to forces that had bypassed me, like an illness to which I'd been blessed with immunity. Our souls were the same age, and that was what had brought us together and kept us together all that time, anyway.

“Mother said you went to see her yesterday. Looks like you don't have to worry about dying in space—or anywhere—just yet.”

He nodded. “But you weren't counting on that, and I'll understand if you'd rather—”

I kissed him, which shut him up briefly, but then he pulled away and said, “No, I'm serious about this—”

“And so am I.” I kissed him again, harder this time. “You silly old man. You're not getting rid of me that easily. Unless you're thinking you want a younger woman now—”

At which point he made it very clear that, in fact, he did not.

THE END

Acknowledgements

Every novel bears the name of at least one author on the cover, but in truth, no book comes into being through the efforts of just one individual. This one is no exception. I've had readers, consultants and editors galore in the process of creating this novel, and I thank you all.

In particular, I'd like to mention the folks at National Novel Writing Month, under whose crazy auspices the first draft of this novel came into being, and the (anonymous) Atlantic Writing Competition judges who provided valuable commentary on an early incarnation of the novel. For feedback, advice, and proofing on many and various stages of the book (until I'm sure they were sick of looking at and hearing about it), huge thanks to Nancy Waldman, Julie Serroul and my sister Krista Miller, and special thanks to my husband Terry Ramsey for helping me untangle the intricate web of Nearspace wormholes. For advice, cheerleading, and general encouragement, I must thank my incomparable writing group colleagues in The Story Forge and The Quillians.

I owe special thanks for many thoughtful editorial insights to my editor, Margaret Curelas, who in particular helped me find my way to the best ending for the book.

And of course, none of the rest would really matter at all without the ongoing and unfaltering support of my family and friends.

Finally, thanks to anyone who ever told me (sincerely or not) that I did not look my age, since that's what sparked the whole idea.

Even with all that help, there will still be imperfections . . . they are entirely my fault, and I can only hope that perhaps in some alternate universe, even those have been fixed.

About the Author

Sherry D. Ramsey is a writer, web & indie publisher, jewlery-maker and self-confessed internet geek. She lives in Nova Scotia with her husband, two children, and two dogs, where the rest of the family is also creative in various ways, even the dogs (who consistently develop new ways of begging).

She interacts with fellow members of the species
Homo scriptor
through the Writer's Federation of Nova Scotia, SF Canada, and other workshops and writing groups both online and off.

Visit Sherry's blog and website by surfing to
www.sherrydramsey.com
, or keep up with her more pithy musings on Twitter @sdramsey.