“That’s one part, yes,” said Olhado. “But part of the purpose of it is now, is the moment. And part of it is the web of connections. Links from soul to soul. If the purpose of life was just to continue into the future, then none of it would have meaning, because it would be all anticipation and preparation. There’s fruition, Grego. There’s the happiness we’ve already had. The happiness of each moment. The end of our lives, even if there’s no forward continuation, no progeny at all, the end of our lives doesn’t erase the beginning.”
“But it won’t have amounted to anything,” said Grego. “If your children die, then it was all a waste.”
“No,” said Olhado quietly. “You say that because you have no children, Greguinho. But none of it is wasted. The child you hold in your arms for only a day before he dies, that is not wasted, because that one day is enough of a purpose in itself. Entropy has been thrown back for an hour, a day, a week, a month. Just because we might all die here on this little world does not undo the lives before the deaths.”
Grego shook his head. “Yes it does, Olhado. Death undoes everything.”
Olhado shrugged. “Then why do you bother doing everything, Grego? Because someday you will die. Why should anyone ever have children? Someday they will die, their children will die, all children will die. Someday stars will wind down or blow up. Someday death will cover us all like the water of a lake and perhaps nothing will ever come to the surface to show that we were ever there. But we were there, and during the time we lived, we were alive. That’s the truth — what is, what was, what will be — not what could be, what should have been, what never can be. If we die, then our death has meaning to the rest of the universe. Even if our lives are unknown, the fact that someone lived here, and died, that will have repercussions, that will shape the universe.”
“So that’s meaning enough for you?” said Grego. “To die as an object lesson? To die so that people can feel awful about having killed you?”
“There are worse meanings for a life to have.”
Waterjumper interrupted them. “The last of the ansibles we expected is online. We have them all connected now.”
They stopped talking. It was time for Jane to find her way back into herself, if she could.
They waited.
Through one of her workers, the Hive Queen saw and heard the news of the restoration of the ansible links.
said the Hive Queen.
said the Hive Queen.
At his terminal on the stranded starship, the Hive Queen’s worker suddenly looked up, then arose from her seat and walked to Jane.
Jane looked up from her work. “What is it?” she asked distractedly. And then, remembering the signal she was waiting for, she looked over at Miro, who had turned to see what was happening. “I’ve got to go now,” she said.
Then she flopped back in her seat as if she had fainted.
At once Miro was out of his chair; Ela wasn’t far behind. The worker had already unfastened Jane from the chair and was lifting her off. Miro helped her draw Jane’s body through the corridors of weightless space to the beds in the back of the ship. There they laid her down and secured her to a bed. Ela checked her vital signs.
“She’s sleeping deeply,” said Ela. “Breathing very slowly.”
“A coma?” asked Miro.
“She’s doing the minimum to stay alive,” said Ela. “Other than that, there’s nothing.”