"My son," said the gray-haired man, looking Randy over. "We finally meet face-to-face. Sorry it wasn't sooner. This feels good. I was a fool to put it off. I was sorry to hear about your mother, she was gone before I got a chance to talk this over with her. Quite a woman. So you're getting married, eh? Marriage is the part I never did. I'm such a geek that I only managed one single squirt inside a woman my whole entire life. And you seized that unique opportunity to get born, Randy. My very best sperm cell. Good boy!"
"Thanks," said Randy, quite overwhelmed. "So you really my pa?"
"He's my grandson and you're my great-grandson," exulted Cobb. "High time you two met! For God's sake give him a hug, Willy. You won't catch anything." So Randy and his father hugged. It felt good. Willy beamed at him, then turned to the others, talking a mile a minute, like a man who's been alone too long. Randy knew the feeling.
"Hello, Yoke, it's great to see you again," said Willy. "That's so wonderful that you got us the allas! What a change those things are making on the Moon! So far we loonies have been too smart to get into any wars with each other. Not like the stupid mudders."
"We were just over in Oakland givin' people healer machines," put in Randy.
"Things was might}' screwed up."
"Up on the Moon, everyone's been busy making sublunar parks and ponds," said Willy. "You wouldn't recognize the place anymore. And the moldies are happily stockpiling megatons of imipolex. Your parents send their best, Yoke, and believe it or not, they're getting along fine. I think almost losing Darla shocked some sense into Whitey. Joke's flying down in a few days, and Corey Rhizome is coming with her. And this must be Phil Gottner?" Willy smiled and shook Phil's hand. "Randy told me a little about you on the uvvy." Willy turned his attention to the two others. "And these other two must be Sta-Hi's kids --I think it's Babs and Saint? I mean 'Stahn,' not 'Sta-Hi.' He's still clean and sober, right? Wavy. You wouldn't want to be at a wedding with the old Sta-Hi. Isn't this something? You're such beautiful young people, all of you. Especially Randy! And Babs! Imagine having Babs for my daughter-in-law! I have to admit that I'm thrilled."
"Hi, Willy," said Saint. "I'm glad to meet you. Phil and me were hoping you'd help us with some limpware engineering."
"Don't start pickin' his brain just yet," said Randy. "Let him go inside and get some food. He's been cooped up inside Cobb for a week."
"My son!" exclaimed Willy, hugging Randy again. "You look wonderful. This is more than I deserve! Yes, I'm going inside to rest."
"I'll be there in a minute," said Randy, looking down at Cobb, who'd let himself slump to the ground. "How you feelin', Great-grandfather Cobb?"
"I'm tired," said Cobb, puddled on the ground. "And I heard some really bad news just while I was landing. I think I'll lie out here in the sun for a while. If I alla up a bottle of quantum dots, will you pour them into me?"
"Shore."
Like most moldies now, Cobb had his alla embedded inside his flesh. Without moving a muscle, he projected out a mesh and alla-made a shiny gray magnetic bottle of quantum dots. Randy held up the little bottle to the light, checking the meter.
"You want the full terawatt, Cobb?"
"You know it," said Cobb, growing a funnel up out of his chest. Randy poured the glittering dust of the quantum dots into the old man moldie. "Thanks," said Cobb. "That helps; but I've just about had it with this planet. People are so --Did my stink-eater bug catch on at least?"
"It did," said Randy. "Big-time. People and moldies are get-tin' along better all the taahm. It's just the men fighting each other that's ruining things. As for me personally --I got such a good thing goin' with Babs I can't hardly remember what I used to see in bein' a cheeseball. Leave Cobb alone, Willa Jean, run on inside." Randy pushed Willa Jean away from Cobb and toward the warehouse door. "Everyone's grateful to you, Cobb. But what's this about you bein' tired? We was expectin' you to run for mayor."
"No," said Cobb. "I'm ready to move further on. Politics should die. Politics used to be about dividing up scarce resources--and nothing's scarce anymore. With the allas here, politics is just about hatred and war. Want to know why I'm so bummed all of a sudden? Guess what I heard on my uvvy just as I touched down? People have started throwing kiloton bombs."
"Nukes?" asked Randy. "I thought--"
"Conventional explosives," said Cobb. "If you ask it to, an alla can make you a thousand ton cube of TNT. Some people just realized. Most of downtown Jerusalem's gone. And now I'm hearing" --Cobb sighed. "Baghdad too."
"We should block the allas from making weapons," said Randy.
"But what's a weapon?" said Cobb. "Gasoline is a weapon. Oxygen and hydrogen. Acid. Even a rock is a weapon if you drop it from high in the sky. I think we should tell the Metamartians to tell Om to take away the allas."
"I saw their saucer in the sky over Oakland earlier today," said Randy. "And then they darted away. I bet they were going to the Mideast. Jerusalem and Baghdad got flattened?"
"Yes," said Cobb.
"What should I do?"
"Live your life, however much of it's left for you. Marry Babs." Yoke. June 1
"Hold still," said Joke, leaning forward to touch up Yoke's eye makeup. The twin sisters had always preferred using each other to using mirrors. "There," said Joke. "Perfect." She leaned back and smiled. The two of them were in a bridal dressing room off the Fairmont Hotel's top-floor ballroom. It was almost time for the wedding. Yoke could hear music; Saint and some of his friends were brain-playing ancient flute motets on sheets of imipolex--with hints of heavy metal. "I'm glad we're doing this on Earth," said Joke. "It's so pretty down here. If only things don't keep getting worse. The heavy gravity is good for a ceremony. It makes everything seem solemn." Joke moved her arms in slow, marching motions. "Are you stoked?"
"You like Phil, don't you, Joke?"
"He's great. That blond hair and dark chin--yummy. And he looks at you like he's so in love. Emul and Berenice approve too." Thanks to some unfortunate wetware meddling, Joke had been born with two pushy robots' minds coded into the right hemisphere of her brain. It made her very knowledgeable, but her spatial perception was lousy. "They, um, did some research on him."
"Do I want to know?" asked Yoke.
"It's all good," said Joke. "Emul says Phil has a clean criminal record and he's exactly who he says he is. And Berenice says Phil's genome is not only mutation-free, but a very good fit for ours. I mean yours. So I wanted to tell you. Sorry."
"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Yoke. "I've abandoned any hope of privacy--at least for today. What a circus."
"And here comes the clown!" said Yoke. A hard-looking man was peeking in the dressing room door. Their father, Whitey Mydol. He had a Mohawk strip of hair that went down the back of his head and continued on into his shirt collar. And over the shirt he was wearing a tuxedo. "I'll go check on Ma," said Joke, and moved out of the way; the tiny dressing room was only big enough for two people.
"Clown is right," said Whitey, his rough face splitting in a surprisingly pleasant smile. "I'm walking funny. How many days did it take you to get used to this gravity, Yoke?"
"Three, four weeks. Hi, Pop. How do I look?"
"You look -- oh, Yoke, you look like an angel. You remind me of Darla --back when. She says our twenty-fifth anniversary is coming up this month."