Little Crichton, who was becoming more and more to Isak the last perfect symbol of loyalty, had not only outlived a marriage but most of the human species. Seventeen years ago, in what seemed to Isak another lifeime, Steven was bom to him, and he was in love, and he had thought himself the happiest man in all the world. That he lived alone now, taking care of Steven’s pet, would have seemed to any outside observer part of the natural order of the human life cycle; but it only seemed so. Seventeen-year-old Steven had developed an interest in stellar atmospheres, which had taken him to Miranda Station, where he had been studying under Professor Donald Peterson when the end came.

“I’ve always been a little curious about one little detail,” Sargenti said, “if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Go ahead,” said Isak, trying to fit an uncooperative phone jack into his pad. He needed more light. Beyond his balcony, beyond the glow of his fireplace, was total darkness. He thought he felt the ghost of a breeze coming from the direction of the forest. It brushed his cheek and sent a powerful chill down his spine; but it did not trouble Crichton, who was sleeping peacefully by the fire.

“You say you remained friends with your wife?” “As much as two people could stay friendly under those circumstances.”

“So—did you ever find out?”

Isak grinned in spite of himself. After the breakup, Yeon had taken advantage of medical advances that had rendered sex changes so easy and so perfect as to be considered almost natural. In a span of only two years, Isak had watched her transform from a woman to a man and back to a beautiful woman again. After the second change, they fell briefly in love all over again, and even considered having a second child, until Yeon decided that she wanted to be a man after all and announced her wish that Isak become the mother of her child, a request he had refused. And through it all, the obvious and burning question had nagged him, as it now nagged Sargenti, a question that could only be answered by someone who had lived as both sexes.

“So,” Sargenti prodded, “which sex has more fun?”

“Well, how’s this for an answer—” Isak began to say, but was interrupted by a ringing sound from his pad.

“Hello?” Isak asked, and the pad automatically went into phone mode.

“Everything working all right?” a voice asked back.

“Not really. The ringer is irritating and your picture is very blurry.”

“The bell ringer is just a little authentic touch I added. As for the picture—” the figure on the screen made a quick, forward motion “how’s this?”

The resolution improved enormously, shifting from blurry black and white to an easily identifiable picture of Ed Bishop, the station’s stocky robotics expert, now doubling as telephone lineman.

“Much better,” said Isak, “but the colors are a tad off and there’s no 3-D. Can you do something about that?”