Dagny didn’t inquire about those rites, or whatever they were. The younger generations weren’t exactly secretive; they just didn’t share their customs with outsiders, in word or deed. Recalling the frustration of several anthropologists, she felt a smile skim her lips, the first since she got the news,
Etana went on: “In the end, Brandir and I did what we judged was due his honor and ours.”
Dagny nodded. “I know.” The brother had told her. When the velocity of the homebound ship was optimal for it, Kaino departed, lashed to a courier rocket, on a trajectory that would end in the sun.
Etana struggled further before she could get out: “I feared Brandir might not have made clear how—/ felt—and therefore I have come to you.”
“Thank you,” Dagny said, genuinely moved. They weren’t heartless, the Lunarians, her children, their children. They weren’t, not really. But wisest to steer clear of anything this personal. “How is Ilitu?”
She had been too busy to inquire, after learning that he returned alive but in need of spinal cord regrowth and lesser biorepair. Too busy with grief, and handling condolences, and blessed, blessed work.
Etana brightened. “He fares well, should soon be hale. Thus he becomes a memorial unto Kaino.”
That sounded rehearsed. However, the girl’s happiness about the fact appeared sincere, so probably her gratitude was also. “You care for him, then?”
Etana went masklike.
Dagny made haste to change the subject. “That world my son helped explore, I’d like to think he’ll be remembered there as well. If only—“ No, better not pursue this either.
Etana did, turning sympathetic while remaining firm. “Nay, you realize it must wait in the knowledge of a chosen small few. Else would Earth close it to us.”
Paranoia? Maybe, maybe not. Temerir’s discovery did have the potential of a colony—for Lunarians. The gravity was right; the minerals were abundant and easily available, not buried under many kilometers of ice as in comets; water, ammonia, and organ ics were present, with more to be had in the same general region of space.
Who, though, would want to dwell that far from the sun, in a cold close to absolute zero?
Dagny supposed Brandir and his confederates were being cagey. After all, today Lunarians weren’t forbidden, but neither were they encouraged to prospect and develop the asteroids of the Belt and the lesser moons of the outer planets. And that was in spite of their being far better suited for the conditions than Earth-type humans, in some respects possibly superior to robots.
She couldn’t resist probing a bit: “When will you open it to yourselves?”
“When the time is befitting. That may well be long after we today are dead.”
It was inhuman to think so far ahead, and to feel assured the secret would stay inviolate. Dagny sighed. “Yes, Brandir,.Temerir, Fia, they’ve discussed it with me. Never fear, I’ll keep my promise, I won’t betray you.”
“Honor shall be yours,” said Etana with rare warmth.
She clearly didn’t want to talk about Kaino, she who had shared him. What now was in the breasts of his other mates? It had been good of this one to come speak, however briefly, with his mother. Dagny wouldn’t risk pushing her any further. Just the same, here was a chance to set forth something that could be … his invisible cenotaph.
“I do have a suggestion,” Dagny began. “Have you decided on a name for your little planet?”
Etana showed surprise, which was gratifying. “Nay. Brandir and I touched on it once during the voyage, but reached no idea. Nor have others considered it since, to my knowledge.” And that wasn’t quite human either. The young woman sat still for a bit. “A name will be useful, yes.”
“Proserpina,” Dagny said.
“Hai?”
“As distant and lonely as it is, out beyond Pluto, who was the god of the underworld and the dead—his queen sounds right to me.”
“Have we not already a Proserpina?”
Dagny shrugged. “Probably. An asteroid? I haven’t checked. Never mind. Duplications exist, you know.”
“What suppose your children of this?”
“I haven’t asked them yet. It only occurred to me yesterday. What do you think?”