As soon as Viktor stood up his bad leg told him he wasn't in habitat minigravity any more. It hurt when he put his weight on it. He winced.

But this was more like it! It wasn't a habitat, it was practically a planet. planet. The buildings stuck up on the surface, as they ought to; and there was a real The buildings stuck up on the surface, as they ought to; and there was a real sky. sky.

Actually the sky wasn't real at all, for if you had subtracted the force s.h.i.+eld what remained would have been terrible. The s.h.i.+eld diminished the intensity of the ruddy glow of Nergal. It might also, Viktor thought critically at first, have diminished their capacity to extract "solar" energy from Nergal, but it turned out they didn't need that. Moon Mary was packed with geothermal energy, easily extracted through steam wells. The satellite was so close to its primary, immense Nergal, that it was under constant gravitational flexing and stress from Nergal's great ma.s.s, and so its interior was constantly being heated by friction, compression, and strain.

Of course, experience had taught Viktor that there was a black lining to every silver cloud. He found what the bad side of Moon Mary's geothermal activity was very quickly. They were hardly out of the s.p.a.ceport when Viktor felt the ground shudder beneath him. Balit giggled. Forta smiled tolerantly, and Frit explained, "Just an earthquake, Viktor. We have them all the time."

"But we're used to them," Forta added. "Truly, there's no danger."

When Viktor saw that his hosts lived in a pencil-thin tower thirty stories high, he swallowed. They took a gla.s.s-walled elevator, which slid rapidly up the outside of the tower, letting him see just how far they were soaring above the hard ground. In the elevator he swallowed again, and was glad when it slowed gently to their floor and Forta politely opened the door for him. Once inside their apartment everything was rea.s.suringly stable. They seemed to have the whole floor to themselves. All the rooms except the sanitary facilities were outside rooms-which meant they had curved walls and large windows looking out on the parklike gardens outside, with red Nergal hanging huge over half the sky. He allowed them to point out the room that would be his, and he kept Forta and Balit company as they pulled meals out of their freezer and set the table-until another sudden s.h.i.+ver of the whole structure made him grab for the back of a chair.

"You'll get used to it, Viktor," Balit said, trying not to show amus.e.m.e.nt. "We're quite safe here."

"All our buildings are designed for this sort of thing," Forta added.

It took a while for Viktor to believe it, but it was true enough. Of course, he knew that the problem of earthquakes had even been solved back on Earth itself, in the pre-Toyota j.a.pan of the nineteenth century and earlier. Since earthquakes could knock buildings down, you didn't want any building that might fall on you and crush you to death. Those early j.a.panese found a satisfactory solution for their time: Build everything out of the flimsiest material you can find-and don't smoke in bed.

But when the twentieth century came along those lessons didn't apply anymore. Technological man had possessions. A home needed to be a place to store the possessions, as well as a place to sleep and eat. Preindustrial j.a.pan had handled that by having as few possessions as possible, and those light and st.u.r.dy. Their grandchildren, however, lived in Toyota-, Sony-, Nissan-j.a.pan, and they wanted more. They wanted to own a large number of tangible things, even if they were large and heavy. They wanted homes that could house their washer-dryers, stereos, Jacuzzis, king-sized beds with innerspring mattresses, radar ovens, food processors, and VCRs. They wanted flush toilets. They wanted built-in garages and electronic stoves.

All those new wants made hard work for the architects. Plumbing? Well, yes, but water intakes and sewage outlets meant underground networks of pipes and conduits that could rupture in even a moderate quake. They wanted high rises, which meant elevators and some very heavy structural members that could fall on the inhabitants unless built with sophisticated skill and attention to the harmonics of the natural frequencies of earthquake shocks. Paper and bamboo went out. Sprung, flexible steel, prestressed concrete, and curtain walls came in.

By the time the people on Moon Mary began to build in earnest, all those old lessons were learned over again.

To be sure, those latter-day architects were helped a great deal by Mary's light gravity. There simply didn't have to be that much ma.s.s involved in support columns. They were helped even more by high technology. Chips replaced tangles of wire. Transformable walls served as windows or temperature control devices. Water recycling saved a lot of plumbing, and what couldn't be avoided was flexible and tough. When, during Viktor's first night on Moon Mary, he woke to find the whole building swaying, he was the only one in it who jumped out of bed. Everyone else slept right through, even young Balit, and the next morning they laughed at him for his fears.

They laughed quite politely, though. They were always polite. "Helpful" was another thing-they did their best, but to Viktor's crushed surprise they had little help to give.

These people, whom Nrina had touted to him as the most knowledgeable alive, didn't even know the vocabulary vocabulary of astrophysical research! "Spectroscopy," Frit said, sounding the word out. "Spec- of astrophysical research! "Spectroscopy," Frit said, sounding the word out. "Spec-tross-k'pee. That's a really pretty word, Viktor! I must use it in a poem. And it means something about finding out what a star is like?"

"It means measuring the bands of light and dark in a spectrum from a star, so that you can identify all the elements and ions present," Viktor said darkly, gazing at the man who had been advertised to know all these things.

"Ions! Spectrum! Oh, Viktor," Frit said with delight, "you're just full full of wonderful words I can use. Forta? Come in here, please. We're going to find some 'spectroscopy' in our files for dear Viktor!" of wonderful words I can use. Forta? Come in here, please. We're going to find some 'spectroscopy' in our files for dear Viktor!"

But, as it turned out, they didn't.

They couldn't, or not in any easy way, at least. Between the two of them, Frit and Forta managed to get their data-retrieval desks to turn up several hundred references to one astronomical term or another. But "spectroscope" was not among them. Neither was "spectroscopy," nor even the field terms "cosmology" or "astrophysics." True, there were long lists of citations under such promising words as "nova" and "supernova" and "black hole" and even "Hertzsprung-Russell diagram." But, when tracked down, all the references were to plays, paintings, musical compositions, poems (some by Frit himself), and dances, frequently by Forta.

"It's only programmed for the things we're really interested in," Forta apologized.

Viktor couldn't believe their failure. He was the only disappointed person, though. Frit and Forta were enthralled.

"Great Transporter!" Forta cried in delight. "I didn't know we had this sort of material here! Perhaps it's from Balit's school files-but see here, Frit! Isn't this beautiful?" beautiful?" He was looking at a five-hundred-year-old painting of the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram. "I can't think why people have let this be forgotten! What do you think, Frit? All these star colors! For a new dance! Don't you think they'd look marvelous in my costume?" He was looking at a five-hundred-year-old painting of the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram. "I can't think why people have let this be forgotten! What do you think, Frit? All these star colors! For a new dance! Don't you think they'd look marvelous in my costume?"

Frit patted his mate's arm fondly, but he was peering at the diagram on the desk. "I don't think I know what it means," he admitted.

"It shows the slope of the ma.s.s-luminosity relation," Viktor explained. "You can see how stars develop, and their color depends on the temperature of the photosphere, anywhere from red through yellow and white to blue."

"Exactly!" Forta cried, hardly listening. "I will dance the aging of a star. See, I'll start out big-" big-" He mimicked being He mimicked being big, big, lifting his shoulder, puffing his cheeks, arcing his arms up and before him. "And then the lighting will be blue, then greenish, then yellow and smaller, for a long time-is that right, Viktor?-then lifting his shoulder, puffing his cheeks, arcing his arms up and before him. "And then the lighting will be blue, then greenish, then yellow and smaller, for a long time-is that right, Viktor?-then big big again, and red!" again, and red!"

"You'll be lovely," Frit said with pride. He smiled at their son, politely silent as the grown-ups talked. "Don't you think Forta could make a lovely star dance?"

"He always does," Balit said loyally, but keeping his eyes on Viktor.

Forta sighed. "But I'm afraid we're not giving our friend Viktor what he wants. There just isn't much of that sort of thing in the current files."

Viktor p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. "Are there others?"

"Of course there's always the old data banks on Newmanhome," Frit said, looking surprised. "Only they aren't very convenient, you know. Because they're old. old. And they aren't And they aren't here." here."

"Can I access them?" Viktor demanded.

Frit looked at him with the expression of a host whose guest has just requested a bigger bedroom, or a rare brand of tea. "I'm not sure if I know how you could do that," he said, thoughtfully. "Forta?"

"I suppose it's possible, possible, Viktor," Forta said doubtfully. "They go back a long time, though, all the way back to when everybody still lived on Newmanhome. When we built the habitats, thousands of years ago, everything was s.h.i.+ny new, you know, and the data-retrieval systems were all redesigned. The ones we use now aren't really compatible with the ones on Newmanhome, and besides, there's hardly anyone there." Viktor," Forta said doubtfully. "They go back a long time, though, all the way back to when everybody still lived on Newmanhome. When we built the habitats, thousands of years ago, everything was s.h.i.+ny new, you know, and the data-retrieval systems were all redesigned. The ones we use now aren't really compatible with the ones on Newmanhome, and besides, there's hardly anyone there."

"On Newmanhome?" Viktor repeated.

Forta nodded. "It's a nasty place to live, with everything weighing so much. People don't like to go there-except funny ones like Pelly," he added laughingly. "So the old records might as well not exist, don't you see?"

Balit, watching their guest with concern, squirmed away from his parent's fondly patting hand. "We do have the paintings, Viktor," the boy piped up.

And when Viktor looked inquiringly at Balit's parents, Forta said with pride, "Yes, of course. There are some wonderful paintings of the star burst, for instance. It was still in the sky, oh, up to six or eight hundred years ago. Then it just gradually began to fade, and then the sun came back."

"That must have been an exciting time," Frit said wistfully. "Of course, we weren't born then."

Forta thought that over. "I don't know if I'd say 'exciting,' exactly. I know people did talk about it, quite a lot, once they noticed it. And there was the art. I remember my mother taking me to-whose performance was it? I think it was Danglord's-yes, that's what it was. It was a dance play about the sun returning. I was just a child, hadn't even had my coming-of-age party yet, but-" He smiled bashfully at Viktor. "It was certainly important to me. me. I think Danglord's play was what made up my mind to be a dancer myself." I think Danglord's play was what made up my mind to be a dancer myself."

As the family's guest expert on the care and feeding of primitive organisms, it was Viktor who had to show them how to thaw out a little of the frozen cat-milk subst.i.tute Nrina had made for them, and how to hold a bottle so the kitten could drink out of it. "She'll be eating solid food soon," he promised. "Then she won't be so much trouble. Meanwhile, what have you done about a cat box?"

Then he had to explain what a cat box was for, and help them improvise one out of a tray from the cooking room, and fill it with soil from the garden, and show them how to put the little animal in it and stroke her and encourage her until she finally did what she was put there to do.

At least he was useful for something, Viktor thought.

After a final gla.s.s of wine Frit escorted him to their guest room. "It's not actually a guest guest room," Frit explained, showing Viktor where the sanitary facilities were and the drawers to store his clothes. "It's going to be Balit's room, now that he's liberated-but of course he's happy to have you use it for your stay," Frit added hastily. room," Frit explained, showing Viktor where the sanitary facilities were and the drawers to store his clothes. "It's going to be Balit's room, now that he's liberated-but of course he's happy to have you use it for your stay," Frit added hastily.

"I don't like to put him out," Viktor said politely.

"You aren't putting anyone out! No, we want want you here, dear Viktor. In fact, it was Balit's idea. He'll stay in his own old room, where he's quite content. But this one, you see," Frit added with pride, "is an you here, dear Viktor. In fact, it was Balit's idea. He'll stay in his own old room, where he's quite content. But this one, you see," Frit added with pride, "is an adult adult room. You'll have your own desk-you can use it as much as you like, of course. I think you'll be quite comfortable," he finished, looking around like any hostess. Then he grinned, a little embarra.s.sed. "Well, I don't see any harm in telling you. We're going to be redecorating Balit's old room. We've ordered another baby from Nrina. She'll be a little girl-we're going to call her Ginga-and of course she won't be born for a long time yet, so Balit will be quite all right in that room." room. You'll have your own desk-you can use it as much as you like, of course. I think you'll be quite comfortable," he finished, looking around like any hostess. Then he grinned, a little embarra.s.sed. "Well, I don't see any harm in telling you. We're going to be redecorating Balit's old room. We've ordered another baby from Nrina. She'll be a little girl-we're going to call her Ginga-and of course she won't be born for a long time yet, so Balit will be quite all right in that room."

It wasn't until Frit was long gone and Viktor had undressed and climbed into the soft, warm bed that it occurred to him that he should have said "Congratulations."

The ground shook again that night. Viktor woke, startled, to find something warm and soft near his toes. It mewed in protest when he moved.

He got up, grinning, and stroked the kitten back to sleep as he sat on the edge of his bed, thinking. Alone in the bedroom, Viktor admitted to himself that he was a little uncomfortable. He knew why.

He wasn't really easy in his mind to be moving into a house of gays.

Viktor was quite certain that he was not at all prejudiced against h.o.m.os.e.xuals. He'd known plenty of them, one time or another. He'd worked with them, s.h.i.+pped with them-they weren't any different than anybody else, he considered, except in that one particular way. But that way wasn't anyone's business but their own, and certainly it didn't matter in any real sense as long as you didn't get involved involved with them. with them.

The trouble was, living living with them seemed to be getting pretty involved. with them seemed to be getting pretty involved.

It rea.s.sured Viktor that the household didn't seem much different than any other. Forta and Frit had their own bedroom. Balit had his; Viktor had the one Balit would graduate into. Nothing was, well, bizarre bizarre about the household. Not really. If Forta would sometimes kiss the back of Frit's neck as he pa.s.sed behind his chair, and if Frit would slip an arm around Forta's waist while they stood together-well, they did love each other, didn't they? about the household. Not really. If Forta would sometimes kiss the back of Frit's neck as he pa.s.sed behind his chair, and if Frit would slip an arm around Forta's waist while they stood together-well, they did love each other, didn't they?

What was most important, neither of them showed any indication at all of loving Viktor. Not that way, anyway.

The boy, Balit, almost did. He certainly acted loving, but there wasn't anything s.e.xual about it. Balit sat next to Viktor when they ate their meals, and kept Viktor company while he fruitlessly hunted for what he never found on the information machines. It was Balit who marked which foods and drinks Viktor seemed to enjoy and made sure there were more of them at the next meal. He always seemed to be there, watching Viktor, whenever he was not asleep or at school.

"It's a kind of hero wors.h.i.+p," Forta explained. The dancer was working at his bar, stretching those long, slim legs even longer, with one eye on the kitten waking on the floor between them. Viktor realized with surprise that Forta was being being a cat. "This will work, I think," Forta said with pleasure, giving it up as the kitten curled up to drowse again. "What were we saying? Oh, yes. Please don't let Balit bother you. But the thing is that you were the one who actually carried him away for his freeing ceremony; that's a big thing for a young boy." a cat. "This will work, I think," Forta said with pleasure, giving it up as the kitten curled up to drowse again. "What were we saying? Oh, yes. Please don't let Balit bother you. But the thing is that you were the one who actually carried him away for his freeing ceremony; that's a big thing for a young boy."

"He's no trouble at all," Viktor protested. "I like having him around."

"Well, it's obvious he likes you." Forta sighed. "I mean, he likes you as a person, not just because of what you did. As a matter of fact-" Forta hesitated, then smiled. "Actually, Balit wondered if he could ask you to come to his school. If you wouldn't mind. He'd like to show you off. I know it wouldn't be much fun for you, spending an hour or two with a bunch of little kids staring and asking you all kinds of questions-but you can't blame them, Viktor. You were were born on Old Earth. They aren't likely to see anybody like you again." born on Old Earth. They aren't likely to see anybody like you again."

"I'd be glad to," Viktor promised.

The school was no more than a hundred yards from Balit's home, in the middle of a grove of broad-leafed trees that hung with fruit and blossoms interchangeably. (There weren't any seasons on Moon Mary. Plants grew and bloomed when they felt like it, not when the weather changed. The weather never changed.) Red Nergal hung in the eastern sky, where it always hung in their position on Moon Mary's surface. At their distance it loomed no larger than Earth's moon, but Viktor could feel the heat from it. And in the west was one bright star. "There used to be thousands and thousands of stars," Viktor told the boy, who nodded in solemn appreciation.

"Things must have been so much nicer then," he sighed. "We go in there, Viktor. That's the door to my cla.s.s."

It wasn't much of a door-Moon Mary's buildings did not have very strong walls, since they didn't need them to keep out cold or heat; it was light, pierced wood, as might have been in Earth's old tropics, and it opened to Balit's touch.

It wasn't much of a cla.s.s, either-eight kids, mostly girls-and it didn't seem to be exactly a cla.s.sroom. It looked rather like the guest lounge of a small motel at first, a bedroom-sized chamber with ha.s.socks and couches strewn before a collection of child-sized teaching desks, but as Balit led Viktor in the room darkened.

"We'll have to wait a minute," Balit apologized. "They're starting a viewing. I don't know what it is, though-" And then, all around the children, a scene sprang into life, three-dimensional, seeming natural size, full color. "Oh, look, Viktor! They're doing it specially for you! They're showing Old Earth!"

If it was really Earth, it was not an Earth Viktor recognized. He seemed to be standing on a sort of traffic island in the middle of a large street, and it was by no means empty. Thousands, literally thousands, thousands, of people were riding bicycles toward him in a dense swarm that spilt in two just before they reached him, and came together again on the other side. They wore almost uniform costumes-white s.h.i.+rts, dark blue trousers-and they were almost all male. And of people were riding bicycles toward him in a dense swarm that spilt in two just before they reached him, and came together again on the other side. They wore almost uniform costumes-white s.h.i.+rts, dark blue trousers-and they were almost all male. And Oriental. Oriental. There was no sound, but to one side was a huge marble building set in a sort of park, and on the other what looked like a hotel and office buildings. There was no sound, but to one side was a huge marble building set in a sort of park, and on the other what looked like a hotel and office buildings.

"I don't know where this is supposed to be," Viktor apologized.

Balit looked embarra.s.sed. "But they said said it was Earth," he complained. "Wait a minute." He bent to whisper to the little girl nearest him. "Yes, this is Earth, all right. It is a place called Beijing, around the year one thousand nine hundred sixty, old style." it was Earth," he complained. "Wait a minute." He bent to whisper to the little girl nearest him. "Yes, this is Earth, all right. It is a place called Beijing, around the year one thousand nine hundred sixty, old style."

"I was never in Beijing," Viktor said. "And anyway-" He stopped there. What was the use of telling these children that they were not off by a mere few thousand miles, but by several centuries? He settled for, "It's very nice, though. But can we turn it off?"

Then Viktor had the floor. The teacher sat there smiling, leaving it all to the children to ask questions, and that they did. About Old Earth. (People rode horses? horses? If they made love did they really have babies out of their If they made love did they really have babies out of their bodies? bodies? And what, for heaven's sake, was a "storm"?) About the Sorricaine-Mtiga objects (Oh, they must have been exciting to see!), and about his near-death in orbit around Nebo (Something tried to And what, for heaven's sake, was a "storm"?) About the Sorricaine-Mtiga objects (Oh, they must have been exciting to see!), and about his near-death in orbit around Nebo (Something tried to kill kill you? Really take away your you? Really take away your life?), life?), and about Newmanhome and the Big Bang and the reasons why there were so few stars anymore anywhere in the sky. and about Newmanhome and the Big Bang and the reasons why there were so few stars anymore anywhere in the sky.

That was where Viktor began to wax really eloquent, until Balit, speaking for all of them, said gravely, "Yes, we see, Viktor. The stars that blew up, the sun going dim, the changes on Nebo, the disappearance of all the other stars-we see that as they all happened at the same time, or close enough, they must be connected. But how?"

And all Viktor could say was, "I wish I knew."

That night Balit was telling his parents excitedly about the hit Viktor had made with his cla.s.smates. "Viktor was almost killed killed by those things on Nebo," the boy said, thrilled. "Frit? Can I go to Nebo sometime?" by those things on Nebo," the boy said, thrilled. "Frit? Can I go to Nebo sometime?"

"What, and get killed?" Frit teased.

Forta was stretching and bending at his bar, but he panted, "No one goes to Nebo, Balit, dear. It's worse than Newmanhome! You couldn't even stand up there."

"Pelly can," the boy objected. "He gets injections, and then he's almost as strong as Viktor."

Frit looked shocked. "Balit! No. No. Those injections Those injections destroy destroy your figure. Do you want to bloat those pretty legs so they look like your figure. Do you want to bloat those pretty legs so they look like balloons? balloons? No offense," he added hastily, catching Viktor's eye. "But, Balit, you couldn't ever really dance that way, you know." No offense," he added hastily, catching Viktor's eye. "But, Balit, you couldn't ever really dance that way, you know."

"I might not want to be a dancer, Frit," his son told him.

Forta straightened up abruptly in the middle of a long stretch. He blinked worriedly at his son. "Well, of course," he began, "what you do in your adult life is entirely up to you. Neither Frit nor I would think of trying to prevent you from anything you really wanted to do, once you were grown-"

"But I am grown," Balit told him seriously. "It's almost time for me to have the mark off my forehead. Then I could even marry if I wanted to."

Frit cleared his throat. "Yes, of course," he said, tugging at one of his mustaches. "However-"

He paused there, looking at Viktor in a way Viktor understood at once. A guest must not involve himself in family affairs.

"I think I'll go back to my desk," he said.

But what he wanted was not there. Viktor began to think that nothing he found was going to scratch his itch of curiosity. The more he found, the more he realized there was not much to find on the subjects he cared about.

There was plenty in the files on the history of the human race after the Reforms had put him back in the freezer. They had had a war about the destruction of Ark, Ark, of course-each sect blaming the other. They had (as Viktor counted them up) a war every two or three years anyway, on one pretext or another. It was easy enough to see why they were so combative. Viktor could imagine the lives of the bare few thousand of them, near starving in their icy caves, wounded by events that they had never expected and that they could not explain-there was no future for them. Of all the things they lacked, the one in shortest supply was hope. of course-each sect blaming the other. They had (as Viktor counted them up) a war every two or three years anyway, on one pretext or another. It was easy enough to see why they were so combative. Viktor could imagine the lives of the bare few thousand of them, near starving in their icy caves, wounded by events that they had never expected and that they could not explain-there was no future for them. Of all the things they lacked, the one in shortest supply was hope.

It was astonis.h.i.+ng to Viktor that they had somehow found the resources and the will to dispatch a handful of rickety, improvised s.h.i.+ps to Nergal. That was heroic. It was very nearly superhuman; it meant long years of savage discipline, starving themselves and denying themselves for that one last, supreme effort. He marveled at their progress since then-now so many teeming millions, living in such luxury! It wasn't the numbers that made him wonder, of course. The increase was not surprising, since they'd had several thousand years to do it in. You only have to double a population ten times-ten generations will do it easily, if there's plenty of food and no saber-toothed tigers to keep the surplus down-to multiply it by a thousand.

Nor was it surprising that in the course of that mighty effort they threw some unneeded junk overboard-junk with names like astronomy and astrophyics and cosmology.

And their descendants, the soft, pretty Nrinas and Fortas and Frits, had never seen any reason to revive them.

Except for little Balit. Balit wanted to hear everything Viktor had to say-about the universe itself (especially about the way it had been, in the old days, when there really was a whole universe outside their own little group), about Old Earth, about Newmanhome in the days of its burgeoning glory. It was Balit who came to Viktor with the news that Pelly had landed on Newmanhome. "Maybe he can help you access the old files, Viktor," Balit said helpfully, glancing at his fathers-who, for some reason, were politely saying nothing at all.

"Could he really do that?"

"We can call him to ask," Balit said, now not looking at his fathers at all. "I know how much you want to get that data."

Forta cleared his throat. "Yes, we all know that," he observed.

"But it would be interesting to me, too," Balit protested. "I like it when Viktor talks about those old things."

Forta said, loving but firm, "It's your bedtime, Balit."

"Then Viktor could tell me a bedtime bedtime story," Balit pleaded. Viktor surrendered. He followed the boy to his bath and sat with him as, damply clean, Balit rolled himself into the soft, gauzy bedclothes and looked up at him expectantly. story," Balit pleaded. Viktor surrendered. He followed the boy to his bath and sat with him as, damply clean, Balit rolled himself into the soft, gauzy bedclothes and looked up at him expectantly.

Viktor found himself moved by the situation, so familiar, so different. It made him think of telling stories to his own children long ago on Newmanhome, and before that hearing his father tell them to him ages past on the s.h.i.+p. He reached out to stroke Balit's warm, fuzzy head.

"Shall I tell you about the beginning of the universe?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, Viktor! Please!"

Obediently Viktor began. "Once upon a time there was nothing, not anything anywhere, except for one little point of matter and energy and s.p.a.ce. There weren't any stars. There weren't any galaxies. There wasn't even any s.p.a.ce yet, really, because s.p.a.ce hadn't been invented."

"What did that point look like, Viktor?" the boy asked drowsily.

"I don't know. n.o.body knows, Balit. It was just a-an egg, egg, sort of, that held inside itself the possibility of everything that now exists, or ever did exist, or ever will exist. And then that egg hatched. It exploded. Do you know what that explosion was called, Balit?" sort of, that held inside itself the possibility of everything that now exists, or ever did exist, or ever will exist. And then that egg hatched. It exploded. Do you know what that explosion was called, Balit?"

The boy searched his memory. "What you called the Big Bang?" he guessed.