"Gordon Gross - Little House on the Accretion Disk" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gross Gordon)

Little House on the Accretion Disk by Gordon Gross

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HE WATCHED AS THE LAST of Utit slowly elongated and was consumed by the
infinite depths of what had been their (and was now his) pond. It was the part of her
she had fashioned into a hand reaching out to him, waiting for his touch but knowing
it might not arrive. Despite the time effect, he was sure it had wiggled a good-bye
just before it vanished. He may even have remembered what happiness was before
he recognized she was gone. Utit was gone. He focused on the center of the pond
unable and unwilling to dive in, the accompanying light show above and below the
pond, twin geysers of energy, warmed him. 20,000,000,000 pulses of the time-spot
passed before he was ready to move again.

Sirtot recalled when, so many pulses ago, he had contemplated going male.
The thoughts formed solid in front of him as he watched.

тАЬA nod to the ancient beginnings of the species,тАЭ he had explained to her.

Entertained, Utit discussed going female. тАЬTo maintain eternal balance,тАЭ she
had returned to him, spinning with laughter.

Sirtot and Utit had tangled themselves up in the fantasy and considered the
possibility of adding life to the void. It was a heartless and cynical joke after so
many years of watching the stars around them wink into death. They had known with
certainty that there were no longer any others, no new stars being born, no new
others to speak with. Who would have rebuked them?

The discussion had continued to the pulse of the time-spot. What hurry? They
had eventually concluded that any life they brought forth would be short lived and
miserable. Realistically they were too absorbed with their own existence to
concentrate on any solid-matter forms they could construct.

In the end they had allowed the idea to dissipate, just as the rest of the
universe was. In an ironic comment, they assumed their diametric genders anyway
(by no means the only possible genders, but culled from racial memory) in an effort
to give a mythic symmetry to the death all around them.

Sirtot focused on the time-spot. It winked at him as it pulsed. A great number
of pulses passed, the interval between them diminishing; he instinctively drifted near
the blue shore of the pond, his consciousness following his focus. His energy
stretched toward it, but he held himself backтАФhesitant and unsure.

Another memory drifted into his perception.

Utit had guided the small rock into the pond and had entwined her thoughts
and energy around Sirtot as they watched it. As it fell toward infinity its movement
slowed, its form stretched, and was eventually consumedтАФsucked into the edge of
the shore. Close enough to suckle but too close to escape. A delicate balance.