no siblings, despite powerful societal pressure toward large families at the time of my birth. Once was apparently enough.
Paradoxically, I know I didn’t spend any time in a petri dish, though it would have made the whole process much easier for her if she’d availed herself of any of the medical advances that could, today, make procreation, gestation, and parturition about as personally involving as a wrong number on the telephone. Callie had conceived me the old-fashioned way: a random spermatozoan hitting the jackpot at the right time of the month. She had carried me to full term, and had borne me in pain, just like God promised Eve. And she had hated every minute of it. How do I know that? She told me, and anyone else who would listen. She told me an average of three times a day throughout my childhood.
It wasn’t so much the pain that had bothered her. For a woman who could shoulder a reproductive organ almost as big as she was and guide it into a cloaca of a filthiness that had to be seen to be disbelieved, while standing knee deep in dinosaur droppings, Callie had an amazing streak of prissiness. She had hated the bloodiness of childbirth, the smells and sensations of it.
Callie’s office was cool. That’s what I’d had in mind when I went up there, simply to cool off. But it wasn’t working. All that had happened was that the sweat on my body had turned clammy. I was breathing hard, and my hands weren’t steady. I felt on the edge of an anxiety attack, and I didn’t know why. On top of all that, my neck was hurting again.
And why hadn’t I mentioned the purpose of our visit? I’d told myself it was because she was too busy, but there had been plenty of time while the three of us stood on the gate. Instead, I’d let her prattle on about the good old days. It would have been a perfect opportunity to brace her about taking the job as the Earth-born member of our little team of time-travelers. After holding forth about the generational gap she would have looked silly turning us down. And I knew Callie. She would love the job, would never admit loving it, and would only accept it if she could be tricked into making it look as if she had come up with the idea herself, as a favor to me and Brenda.
I got up and moved to the windows. That didn’t help, so I walked to the opposite wall. No improvement. After I’d done that three or four times I realized I was pacing. I rubbed the back of my neck, drifted over to the windows again, and looked out and down.
Callie’s office windows overlook the barn interior from just beneath the roof. There’s a stairway leading to a verandah “outside”—actually, within the small disneyland that is her ranch. I was looking out over the breeding pens I had just left. Callie was there, pointing something out to Brenda, who stood beside her watching the spectacle of two mating brontosaurs. Standing just behind them was someone who looked familiar. I squinted, but it didn’t help, so I grabbed the pair of binoculars on a hook beside the window.
I focused in on the tall, red-headed figure of Andrew MacDonald.
Chapter 06
EXCLUSIVE!
SECRET CELEB SEX & DOPE HIDEAWAY LAID BARE!
I remembered leaving Callie’s ranch. I recalled wandering for a while, taking endless downscalators until there were no more; I had reached the bottom level. That struck me as entirely too metaphorical, so I took an infinite number of upscalators and found my way to the Blind Pig. I don’t recall what I was thinking all those hours, but in retrospect, it couldn’t have been pretty.
You might say the next thing I recall is waking up, or coming to, but that wouldn’t be strictly accurate. It wouldn’t convey the nature of the experience. It felt more like I reconstructed myself from far-flung bits—no, that implies some effort on my part. The bits reconstructed themselves, and I became self-aware in quantum stages. There was no dividing line, but eventually I knew I was in a back room of
Paradoxically, I know I didn’t spend any time in a petri dish, though it would have made the whole process much easier for her if she’d availed herself of any of the medical advances that could, today, make procreation, gestation, and parturition about as personally involving as a wrong number on the telephone. Callie had conceived me the old-fashioned way: a random spermatozoan hitting the jackpot at the right time of the month. She had carried me to full term, and had borne me in pain, just like God promised Eve. And she had hated every minute of it. How do I know that? She told me, and anyone else who would listen. She told me an average of three times a day throughout my childhood.
It wasn’t so much the pain that had bothered her. For a woman who could shoulder a reproductive organ almost as big as she was and guide it into a cloaca of a filthiness that had to be seen to be disbelieved, while standing knee deep in dinosaur droppings, Callie had an amazing streak of prissiness. She had hated the bloodiness of childbirth, the smells and sensations of it.
Callie’s office was cool. That’s what I’d had in mind when I went up there, simply to cool off. But it wasn’t working. All that had happened was that the sweat on my body had turned clammy. I was breathing hard, and my hands weren’t steady. I felt on the edge of an anxiety attack, and I didn’t know why. On top of all that, my neck was hurting again.
And why hadn’t I mentioned the purpose of our visit? I’d told myself it was because she was too busy, but there had been plenty of time while the three of us stood on the gate. Instead, I’d let her prattle on about the good old days. It would have been a perfect opportunity to brace her about taking the job as the Earth-born member of our little team of time-travelers. After holding forth about the generational gap she would have looked silly turning us down. And I knew Callie. She would love the job, would never admit loving it, and would only accept it if she could be tricked into making it look as if she had come up with the idea herself, as a favor to me and Brenda.
I got up and moved to the windows. That didn’t help, so I walked to the opposite wall. No improvement. After I’d done that three or four times I realized I was pacing. I rubbed the back of my neck, drifted over to the windows again, and looked out and down.
Callie’s office windows overlook the barn interior from just beneath the roof. There’s a stairway leading to a verandah “outside”—actually, within the small disneyland that is her ranch. I was looking out over the breeding pens I had just left. Callie was there, pointing something out to Brenda, who stood beside her watching the spectacle of two mating brontosaurs. Standing just behind them was someone who looked familiar. I squinted, but it didn’t help, so I grabbed the pair of binoculars on a hook beside the window.
I focused in on the tall, red-headed figure of Andrew MacDonald.
Chapter 06
EXCLUSIVE!
SECRET CELEB SEX & DOPE HIDEAWAY LAID BARE!
I remembered leaving Callie’s ranch. I recalled wandering for a while, taking endless downscalators until there were no more; I had reached the bottom level. That struck me as entirely too metaphorical, so I took an infinite number of upscalators and found my way to the Blind Pig. I don’t recall what I was thinking all those hours, but in retrospect, it couldn’t have been pretty.
You might say the next thing I recall is waking up, or coming to, but that wouldn’t be strictly accurate. It wouldn’t convey the nature of the experience. It felt more like I reconstructed myself from far-flung bits—no, that implies some effort on my part. The bits reconstructed themselves, and I became self-aware in quantum stages. There was no dividing line, but eventually I knew I was in a back room of
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