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“So you, Mister Pristine Sperm, will go where you think your seed will be most needed,” said Deborah.
“Not quite,” said Noxon. “Chances are that both of us will be able to reproduce successfully. But we want to invest my superior odds in a particular way.”
“I’m not sure why this is a matter for discussion with us,” said Wheaton.
“Excuse me, sir, but I’m discussing the possibility of marriage to your daughter,” said Noxon. “And explaining to you both why my twin and I have decided that where she goes, there go I. Not because we expect anything, or require anything. We’re both quite smitten with your daughter. In fact, we’re both very much in love with her. So on the chance that she might at some future point reciprocate . . .”
“Passage through the Wall apparently makes you awkward and stuffy in any language,” said Wheaton.
“We want to offer her the best chance of creating a family with healthy, whole, unmutated children.”
“Apart from that little genetic twist about being able to fiddle with time,” said Wheaton.
“We’re not sure whether that’s a plus or not,” said Noxon. “We do know that while pathfinding emerged at an early age, time manipulation came along much later. I don’t think that she would find a nursing baby suddenly disappearing and then reappearing at another time.”
“So you look at my breasts and think of attaching a baby to them?” asked Deborah.
Noxon looked at her steadily, trying to conceal his consternation. “I assure you that I’m a normal human male in most respects. But I’m an uxorious male, I believe the professor would say, and so I don’t have the alpha male’s assumption that all women are faunching to mate with me.”
“Only to nurse your babies.”
“Only to wish the babies they nurse to be healthy and not particularly weird.”
“What if I like your twin better than you?” asked Deborah. “Pretty cheeky, to take the decision out of my hands.”
“We’re quite sure that you can’t tell the difference between us at this point,” said Noxon. “And also sure that our feelings toward you are identical, because we were in love with you long before we duplicated.”
“When, exactly, did this overpowering passion first . . . overpower you?” asked Deborah.
“I first noticed it when you inconveniently got yourself killed by an Erectid stone.”
“Clumsy of me,” said Deborah.
“You didn’t follow instructions,” said Noxon. “And I knew, rationally, that I should consider the option of leaving that unfortunate event alone. But I did not consider it. I didn’t actually give a rat’s ass what else happened. Even if it would make saving Garden more difficult, I was not going to leave you dead.”
“How gallant,” said Deborah.
“I thought of going on without you and I found that unbearable,” said Noxon.
“Yet because one of you is going to Garden and the other to the planet Hell, or whatever we’re calling it, one of you must go on without me.”
“Yes,” said Noxon. “And so we decided, rationally, that we would offer you ourself at our best. My best. And the other would go about his tragic, meaningless existence without you.”
“And now you’re being ironic.”
“I’m being quite sincere,” said Noxon. “My twin is quite broken up about it. But he was the one who insisted that we make the decision on this basis—this rational basis—rather than drawing straws. Or making you choose, which would have been arbitrary and cruel to you.”
“Which of you farts in his sleep the most?” asked Deborah.
“We’ve never measured,” said Noxon. “But if you prefer that as a basis for the decision . . .”
“I believe you’d do it,” said Deborah.
“You’re the one who brought relative nocturnal flatulence into the discussion,” said Noxon.
“I had a condition once,” said Wheaton. “I tried eating an Erectid diet, back when we still had some unfortunate and inaccurate ideas about what they ate. Deborah may have an exaggerated idea of the importance of avoiding flatus in her pursuit of happiness. It only lasted a few weeks, but—”
“It lasted nearly a year, despite my begging,” said Deborah. “Noxon, I’m touched, you must understand, but . . .”
