“I notice,” said Ela dryly, “that you’re already calling the descoladores ‘people.'”
“Shouldn’t I? Do we even know what they look like?” Quara seemed confused. “I mean, they have a language, they –”
“That’s what we’re here to decide, isn’t it?” said Firequencher. “Whether the descoladores are raman or varelse. The translation problem is just a little step along that road.”
“Big step,” corrected Ela. “And we don’t have time enough to do it.”
“Since we don’t know how long it’s going to take,” said Quara, “I don’t see how you can be so sure of that.”
“I can be dead sure,” said Ela. “Because all we’re doing is sitting around talking and watching Miro and Val make soulful faces at each other. It doesn’t take a genius to know that at this rate, our progress before running out of oxygen will be exactly zero.”
“In other words,” said Quara, “we should stop wasting time.” She turned back to the notes and printouts she was working on.
“But we’re not wasting time,” said Val softly.
“No?” asked Ela.
“I’m waiting for Miro to tell me how easily Jane could be brought back into communication with the real world. A body waiting to receive her. Starflight restored. His old and loyal friend, suddenly a real girl. I’m waiting for that.”
Miro shook his head. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said.
“That’s not helping,” said Val.
“But it’s true,” said Miro. “The theory, that was easy. Thinking deep thoughts while riding on a hovercar back on Lusitania, sure, I could reason out that Jane in Val would be Jane and Val. But when you come right down to it, I can’t say that –”
“Shut up,” said Val.
It wasn’t like her to talk like that. Miro shut up.
“No more words like that,” she said. “What I need from you is the words that will let me give up this body.”
Miro shook his head.
“Put your money where your mouth is,” she said. “Walk the walk. Talk the talk. Put up or shut up. Fish or cut bait.”
He knew what she wanted. He knew that she was saying that the only thing holding her to this body, to this life, was him. Was her love for him. Was their friendship and companionship. There were others here now to do the work of translation — Miro could see now that this was the plan, really, all along. To bring Ela and Quara so that Val could not possibly consider her life as indispensable. But Miro, she couldn’t let go of him that easily. And she had to, had to let go.
“Whatever aiъa is in that body,” Miro said, “you’ll remember everything I say.”
“And you have to mean it, too,” said Val. “It has to be the truth.”
“Well it can’t be,” said Miro. “Because the truth is that I –”
“Shut up!” demanded Val. “Don’t say that again. It’s a lie!”
“It’s not a lie.”
“It’s complete self-deception on your part, and you have to wake up and see the truth, Miro! You already made the choice between me and Jane. You’re only backing out now because you don’t like being the kind of man who makes that sort of ruthless choice. But you never loved me, Miro. You never loved me. You loved the companionship, yes — the only woman you were around, of course; there’s a biological imperative playing a role here with a desperately lonely young man. But me? I think what you loved was your memory of your friendship with the real Valentine when she came back with you from space. And you loved how noble it made you feel to declare your love for me in the effort to save my life, back when Ender was ignoring me. But all of that was about you, not me. You never knew me, you never loved me. It was Jane you loved, and Valentine, and Ender himself, the real Ender, not this plastic container that he created in order to compartmentalize all the virtues he wishes he had more of.”
The nastiness, the rage in her was palpable. This wasn’t like her at all. Miro could see that the others were also stunned. And yet he also understood. This was exactly like her — for she was being hateful and angry in order to persuade herself to let go of this life. And she was doing that for the sake of others. It was perfect altruism. Only she would die, and, in exchange, perhaps the others in this ship would not die, they’d go back home when their work here was done. Jane would live, clothed in this new flesh, inheriting her memories. Val had to persuade herself that the life that she was living now was worthless, to her and everyone else; that the only value to her life would be to leave it.