[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
had eaten almost nothing himself while relating the story. Now he stared at his still full plate, hesitating to
look at them. Finally he forced his head up. He had left out nothing, not even the fate of the sixth clone.
Zuñi was sipping her wine. She put the glass down. Raising her head, she looked across the round oak
table at him. "It sounds," she said, "as though you want us to take care of identical quintuplets. It's about
the same thing, isn't it?"
"And they'll be like you," Bill said.
"There's no doubt about that. I'm the only parent, after all."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Bill said. "You're a nice fellow, Paul. I imagine the kids will be asking
questions all the time when they're not being quiet and thoughtful, and doing quadratic equations by the
time they're four. And they'll be good cooks too. That was a great supper." He patted his stomach.
"And you'll want us to treat them as individuals, not just as a group," Zuñi said. She brushed a few
crumbs across the white tablecloth into her napkin. "I had two friends once who were twins. In fact,
that's what people called them, the O'Hara twins, never Mary and Molly. Their mother used to dress
them in identical outfits, the whole business. They got to resent it after a while, but they were very
dependent on each other too. It'll be a thousand times worse with your kids. They'll be just like you as
well as each other, and people are bound to make comparisons. They won't even be mirror images of
each other, the way twins are. They'll be completely identical." She smiled slightly. "You want to be sure
that each one has a sense of being a person in his own right."
"You sound," Paul said carefully, "as if you've already taken the job."
"Of course," Bill replied. "We're looking forward to it, and to meeting the kids as well."
Paul felt relieved. Maybe things were not going to be as bad as he thought. Zuñi and Bill hadn't found
anything to fear in the idea of clones. But how many people were like the Hathaways? He had been lucky
to find them at all.
"By the way," Zuñi said, "when do we meet them?"
"In the middle of September," Paul answered, "if everything goes as planned."
"No reason to think it won't," Bill said. "An artificial womb isn't going to have labor pains in the middle of
the night."
Paul stood on his front porch, surveying the lawn. His house stood on the top of a small hill and at the
end of the road leading past his neighbors' houses. The small suburban neighborhood was beginning to
look a bit rundown. Overgrown and untrimmed yards blossomed with weeds. The porch in front of one
gray house had been propped up with stones. The white paint on a nearby Colonial home had begun to
peel away, exposing the wood underneath; flakes of whiteness littered the garden around it.
Many people were moving into arcologies such as Alasand, where they could live in homes on the
various levels and yet be within walking distance of whatever they needed. Some had moved back to the
city, which was almost pleasant without cars roaring through the streets. But Paul had grown used to his
house. It was surrounded on three sides by wooded land; since suburbs were becoming unprofitable, a
lot of land that would have been developed was reverting to nature.
Bill and Zuñi had decided to move into Paul's house at the beginning of June. It would give them time to
feel at home in the house and, more important, feel at home with him. The Hathaways still worked at
Alasand on weekends but would quit their jobs there in August, take a vacation, and then begin their new
job.
They had brought surprisingly little with them when they moved in. They owned few books. The
Hathaways, as did many people, purchased microfiche copies of those they wanted to keep, obtaining
copies of others through the computer linkups almost every home had. Paul had about three thousand
books of his own in paperback and hard covers. He still found pleasure in holding a book in his hands
and enjoyed the smell of paper and old print.
Zuñi and Bill had quickly settled in one of the upstairs bedrooms down the hall from Paul's room. Almost [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl wyciskamy.pev.pl
had eaten almost nothing himself while relating the story. Now he stared at his still full plate, hesitating to
look at them. Finally he forced his head up. He had left out nothing, not even the fate of the sixth clone.
Zuñi was sipping her wine. She put the glass down. Raising her head, she looked across the round oak
table at him. "It sounds," she said, "as though you want us to take care of identical quintuplets. It's about
the same thing, isn't it?"
"And they'll be like you," Bill said.
"There's no doubt about that. I'm the only parent, after all."
"That doesn't sound so bad," Bill said. "You're a nice fellow, Paul. I imagine the kids will be asking
questions all the time when they're not being quiet and thoughtful, and doing quadratic equations by the
time they're four. And they'll be good cooks too. That was a great supper." He patted his stomach.
"And you'll want us to treat them as individuals, not just as a group," Zuñi said. She brushed a few
crumbs across the white tablecloth into her napkin. "I had two friends once who were twins. In fact,
that's what people called them, the O'Hara twins, never Mary and Molly. Their mother used to dress
them in identical outfits, the whole business. They got to resent it after a while, but they were very
dependent on each other too. It'll be a thousand times worse with your kids. They'll be just like you as
well as each other, and people are bound to make comparisons. They won't even be mirror images of
each other, the way twins are. They'll be completely identical." She smiled slightly. "You want to be sure
that each one has a sense of being a person in his own right."
"You sound," Paul said carefully, "as if you've already taken the job."
"Of course," Bill replied. "We're looking forward to it, and to meeting the kids as well."
Paul felt relieved. Maybe things were not going to be as bad as he thought. Zuñi and Bill hadn't found
anything to fear in the idea of clones. But how many people were like the Hathaways? He had been lucky
to find them at all.
"By the way," Zuñi said, "when do we meet them?"
"In the middle of September," Paul answered, "if everything goes as planned."
"No reason to think it won't," Bill said. "An artificial womb isn't going to have labor pains in the middle of
the night."
Paul stood on his front porch, surveying the lawn. His house stood on the top of a small hill and at the
end of the road leading past his neighbors' houses. The small suburban neighborhood was beginning to
look a bit rundown. Overgrown and untrimmed yards blossomed with weeds. The porch in front of one
gray house had been propped up with stones. The white paint on a nearby Colonial home had begun to
peel away, exposing the wood underneath; flakes of whiteness littered the garden around it.
Many people were moving into arcologies such as Alasand, where they could live in homes on the
various levels and yet be within walking distance of whatever they needed. Some had moved back to the
city, which was almost pleasant without cars roaring through the streets. But Paul had grown used to his
house. It was surrounded on three sides by wooded land; since suburbs were becoming unprofitable, a
lot of land that would have been developed was reverting to nature.
Bill and Zuñi had decided to move into Paul's house at the beginning of June. It would give them time to
feel at home in the house and, more important, feel at home with him. The Hathaways still worked at
Alasand on weekends but would quit their jobs there in August, take a vacation, and then begin their new
job.
They had brought surprisingly little with them when they moved in. They owned few books. The
Hathaways, as did many people, purchased microfiche copies of those they wanted to keep, obtaining
copies of others through the computer linkups almost every home had. Paul had about three thousand
books of his own in paperback and hard covers. He still found pleasure in holding a book in his hands
and enjoyed the smell of paper and old print.
Zuñi and Bill had quickly settled in one of the upstairs bedrooms down the hall from Paul's room. Almost [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]