The Settlers (3 page)

Sure, Tasneem says.
I understand that.
I worry a little about that, too.

Why?
You're perfect for it.
You'd get to see everything happen that you've been thinking about for the last twenty years.
 

Oh, yes, and that's why I'm trying for it, Tasneem says.
But I'm not all about my work, you know.
And I've never really known what to do with my free time.
Studying people for so long has changed me.
I can't watch a program without wondering what future versions of us might think of it.
What would they learn about me by watching it?
 

You really can drain the joy out of anything, you know.
 

It's a talent, Tasneem says.
 

The doctor's working quarters are sparsely decorated.
The seamed wall panels are stark and unwelcoming.
He is one of the fortunate few with a window on the outer ring of Station Aries, and Tasneem's view at this very moment makes up for her bleak surroundings.
 

Aries turns like a great wheel over Earth.
From Dr.
Widla's office, Tasneem is overjoyed to see her mother's birthplace.
India descends into the ocean like a great fang, although it is narrower than it once was, and flanked by several small islands that were once part of the mainland.
Clouds stretch thin like shoestrings over the land, and are blown into taffeta as they cross the sea.

Humbling, yes?
 

Tasneem turns from the window as Dr.
Widla enters the room.
He's a stout man, perhaps in his late fifties, with a scruff of silvery beard hiding his mouth.
Still, she recognizes a smile in his eyes, and returns it.
 

It's beautiful, she says.
But only for a moment, and then it's horrifying.
 

I know just what you mean, Dr.
Widla says.
From time to time we pass over my home, and I'm troubled to discover that it is somewhere beneath the ocean now.
But it is oceanfront property now, is it not?
 

Tasneem laughs politely.
 

It's okay, you don't have to laugh.
It is the most terrible joke I could say.
Dr.
Widla settles into the chair behind his desk, and indicates the chair near Tasneem.
Please.
Sit.
 

Tasneem reluctantly steps away from the window.
Already India has moved on.
She takes her seat and rests her hands nicely on her knees.
 

So, Dr.
Widla says, turning slowly in his chair.
You would like to live forever.
 

Well, not forever, Tasneem says.
I know that's not really the case.

Ah, but you must not imagine only the now, Ms.
Kyoh.
You must consider the future, when you have lived for a century and someone has discovered a way to improve this treatment.
What then?
Will you take it?
How will you feel about becoming truly immortal?
 

I suppose I won't know until I've been almost immortal, Tasneem says.
 

Dr.
Widla studies her closely.
Then he clasps his hands sharply.
Tasneem flinches.

That's not a bad answer, he says, and his beard smiles at her again.

Shaken, Tasneem digs deep for a half-smile.
Thank you.

So I'll begin here, Dr.
Widla says.
There are many things that the average person doesn't think about when they consider taking the treatment.
For example, do they love their career?
Will they be content to forestall retirement for several hundred years?
That's a long time to work if you aren't in love with your work.
Let's begin there.
What will you do for income?
 

I've thought about this at length, Tasneem says.
And I suppose the obvious answer would be that I could change careers at will, the treatment would provide me with ample time to discover new abilities or train for new experiences.
There would be almost no limit on the number of careers I could experiment with.
 

Dr.
Widla nods thoughtfully.
But?

But I do genuinely love what I do, Tasneem confesses.
I'm rather simple that way.

And what do you do?

Anthropology, she replies.
I study us.
 

And what made you choose anthropology?
From the great wheel of life and all of its choices, why that one?
Why didn't you choose, say, baseball?
Or terraforming?
Or server at a restaurant?

Tasneem has been asked this question before.
I've always been interested in what drives our behavior, she says.
What led us to believe in gods for so long?
Was it fear, or an overabundance of love?
Why did we build roads?
What was the purpose of the structures we created?
I love stories, and there are countless stories in our history, and happening right now.
 

I see, Dr.
Widla says.
He picks up the documents prepared by the nurse the previous week, and makes a show of turning quickly through them.
Then he drops them on the table again.
I had theorized that it was because of your father.
 

Tasneem cocks her head to the side.
My father?
 

Sure, Dr.
Widla says.
Why do any children grow up to choose what they do?
With few exceptions, their reasons come from their parents.
Why do you think I'm a doctor?
 

Why do you say my father?
I don't see the connection.
 

Dr.
Widla leans across the desk and clasps his hands together.
You did not know him, yes?
 

Tasneem nods, her mouth suddenly dry.
He died before I was born.

Quite some time before you were born, yes?
 

She nods again.

In a way, your father not only didn't live to see your birth and your great accomplishments as you became a woman -- but he didn't even know what he was going to miss out on.
Forgive me if this seems direct, but your father died without a single thought of you in his head.
 

Tasneem's eyes have filled.
That's not true, she says, voice trembling.
My father planned for me.
 

Oh, yes, sure, Dr.
Widla says, leaning back again.
I did not mean to suggest that he didn't.
But surely you can agree that your father planned for the
idea
of you, rather than you, specifically.
 

Tasneem turns her face.
 

My dear, I'm sorry, Dr.
Widla says.
Please don't cry.
What I suggest is not that your father didn't care -- only that your father, sadly, did not have the opportunity to meet you, and didn't know what he was missing.
If there is a clearer reason for that man's child to become a chronicler of human accomplishment, an investigator of human stories, I don't know what it might be.
 

The doctor moves to the chair beside Tasneem's.
He hands her a tissue.
 

Here, he says.
 

Tasneem takes it and dabs at her eyes.
I'm sorry, she says.
 

No need, my dear, he says.
It was not my intention to probe.
 

Tasneem nods, fighting the urge to cry again.

Do you know what your name means?
Dr.
Widla asks.
I do.
I looked it up.
I always found Indian names to have such beautiful etymologies.
 

Tasneem says, It means
river
.

Dr.
Widla says, Yes, but there's more.
It means
river in heaven
.
 

I've never heard that before.

Rivers are like thread, he says.
They stitch places together.
They are seams that connect very different lands.
I think it is lovely that you are an anthropologist.
What better name for a woman who might herself be a river through time?
he asks.
You will have stability in your career once you are almost-but-not-quite godlike.

You're a philosopher as well as a doctor, Tasneem says.

Dr.
Widla smiles.
Time is always changing, and you will ride upon it, witnessing all of the great events that so many people will miss.
So, Tasneem, you will probably not feel trapped as easily as a financier or a warehouse manager.
Can you imagine spending four hundred years organizing inventory on a space dock?
 

Tasneem laughs.
 

You are bright, and I am charmed by you, Dr.
Widla says.
And so we shall do this.
 

Tasneem looks up at him, startled.
But the nurse said it takes nearly two months to --
 

Pffft
, Dr.
Widla says, flapping a hand in the air.
Sometimes you just know.
We'll take care of the paperwork, and have you return in seven or eight weeks for the administering of the treatment.
We can handle all of the extra steps on paper without running you through the grinder, he says, but unfortunately I cannot make time go any faster.
That is the earliest we can manage.
 

Tasneem throws her arms around the doctor's neck.
That's wonderful!
she sobs.
 

You are still crying, he observes.
 

I'm sorry, she laughs, very nearly bawling.

Perhaps you will need all of my tissues, he says.
 

As Tasneem stands to leave, he says, Oh, please.
One final thing.

What's that?
she asks.
 

Be remarkably careful and thoughtful during these next few weeks, he says.
Sometimes people who are approved seem to forget that they haven't had the treatment yet, and behave as if they are already nearly immortal.
 

Oh, no, Tasneem says.
What happens to them?

Usually?
They're run over by transports, or they forget to take spare oxygen cells when they work outside, he says.
Dumb things.
I can test for a lot of things, but sometimes pure dumb dumbness gets right by me.
So you stay safe, and look both ways.
Best if you simply strap yourself into your bunk until February.