A Fisherman of the Inland Sea: Stories by Ursula K. Le Guin

one warning a companion about dog-shit on the path.
    “Surely there’s nothing
beyond
understanding in this process,” Oreth said, somewhat tentatively. “Nothing that can’t be understood, and reproduced.”
    “And quantified,” Gveter said stoutly.
    “But, even if people understand the process, nobody knows the human response to it—the
experience
of it. Right? So we are to report on that.”
    “Why shouldn’t it be just like NAFAL flight, only even faster?” Betton asked.
    “Because it is totally different,” said Gveter.
    “What could happen to us?”
    Some of the adults had discussed possibilities, all of them had considered them; Karth and Oreth hadtalked it over in appropriate terms with their children; but evidently Betton had not been included in such discussions.
    “We don’t know,” Tai said sharply. “I told you that at the start, Betton.”
    “Most likely it will be like NAFAL flight,” said Shan, “but the first people who flew NAFAL didn’t know what it would be like,
     and had to find out the physical and psychic effects—”
    “The worst thing,” said Sweet Today in her slow, comfortable voice, “would be that we would die. Other living beings have
     been on some of the test flights. Crickets. And intelligent ritual animals on the last two
Shoby
tests. They were all right.” It was a very long statement for Sweet Today, and carried proportional weight.
    “We are almost certain,” said Gveter, “that no temporal rearrangement is involved in churten, as it is in NAFAL. And mass
     is involved only in terms of needing a certain core mass, just as for ansible transmission, but not in itself. So maybe even
     a pregnant person could be a transilient.”
    “They can’t go on ships,” Asten said. “The unborn dies if they do.”
    Asten was half lying across Oreth’s lap; Rig, thumb in mouth, was asleep on Karth’s lap.
    “When we were Oneblins,” Asten went on, sitting up, “there were ritual animals with our crew. Some fish and some Terran cats
     and a whole lot of Hainish gholes. We got to play with them. And we helped thank the ghole that they tested for lithovirus.
     But it didn’t die. It bit Shapi. The cats slept with us. But one of them went into kemmer and got pregnant, and then the
Oneblin
had to go to Hain, and she had to have an abortion, or all her unborns would have died inside her and killed her too. Nobody
     knew a ritual for her, to explain to her. But I fed her some extra food. And Rig cried.”
    “Other people I know cried too,” Karth said, stroking the child’s hair.
    “You tell good stories, Asten,” Sweet Today observed.
    “So we’re sort of ritual humans,” said Betton.
    “Volunteers,” Tai said.
    “Experimenters,” said Lidi.
    “Experiencers,” said Shan.
    “Explorers,” Oreth said.
    “Gamblers,” said Karth.
    The boy looked from one face to the next.
    “You know,” Shan said, “back in the time of the League, early in NAFAL flight, they were sending out ships to really distant
     systems—trying to explore everything—crews that wouldn’t come back for centuries. Maybe some of them are still out there.
     But some of them came back after four, five, six hundred years, and they were all mad. Crazy!” He paused dramatically. “But
     they were all crazy when they started. Unstable people. They had to be crazy to volunteer for a time dilation like that. What
     a way to pick a crew, eh?” He laughed.
    “Are we stable?” said Oreth. “I like instability. I like this job. I like the risk, taking the risk together. High stakes!
     That’s the edge of it, the sweetness of it.”
    Karth looked down at their children, and smiled.
    “Yes. Together,” Gveter said. “You aren’t crazy. You are good. I love you. We are ammari.”
    “Ammar,” the others said to him, confirming this unexpected declaration. The young man scowled with pleasure, jumped up, and
     pulled off his shirt. “I want to swim. Come on, Betton. Come on swimming!”