"You keep breaking your heart with the people you love," said Petra. "You just can't ever admit it until they're dead."
Bean thought of Poke. Of Sister Carlotta.
He thought of the children he never meant to have. The children that he would make with Petra, this girl who had been such a wise and loyal friend to him, this woman whom, when he thought he might lose her to Achilles, he realized that he loved more than anyone else on Earth. The children he kept denying, refusing to let them exist because...
Because he loved them too much, even now, when they did not exist, he loved them too much to cause them the pain of losing their father, to risk them suffering the pain of dying young when there was no one who could save them.
The pain he could bear himself, he refused to let them bear, he loved them so much.
And now he had to stare the truth in the face: What good would it do to love his children as much as he already did, if he never had those children?
He was crying, and for a moment he let himself go, shedding tears for the dead women he had loved so much, and for his own death, so that he would never see his children grow up, so he would never see Petra grow old beside him, as women and men were meant to do.
Then he got control of himself, and said what he had decided, not with his mind, but with his heart. "If there's some way to be sure that they don't have--that they won't have Anton's Key." Then I'll have children. Then I'll marry Petra.
She felt her hand tighten in his. She understood. She had won.
"Easy," said Anton. "Still just the tiniest bit illegal, but it can be done."
Petra had won, but Bean understood that he had not lost. No, her victory was his as well.
"It will hurt," said Petra. "But let's make the most of what we have, and not let future pain ruin present happiness."
"You're such a poet," murmured Bean. But then he flung one arm over Anton's shoulders, and another around Petra's back, and held to both of them as his blurring eyes looked out over the sparkling sea.
Hours later, after dinner in a little Italian restaurant with an ancient garden, after a walk along the rambla in the noisy frolicking crowds of townspeople enjoying their membership in the human race and celebrating or searching for their mates, Bean and Petra sat in the parlor of Anton's old-fashioned home, his fiancee shyly sitting beside him, her children asleep in the back bedrooms.
"You said it would be easy," said Bean. "To be sure my children wouldn't be like me."
Anton looked at him thoughtfully. "Yes," he finally said. "There is one man who not only knows the theory, but has done the work. Nondestructive tests in newly formed embryos. It would mean fertilization in vitro."
"Oh good," said Petra. "A virgin birth."
"It would mean embryos that could be implanted even after the father is dead," said Anton.
"You thought of everything, how sweet," said Bean.
"I'm not sure you want to meet him," said Anton.
"We do," said Petra. "Soon."
"You have a bit of history with him, Julian Delphiki," said Anton.
"I do?" asked Bean.
"He kidnapped you once," said Anton. "Along with nearly two dozen of your twins. He's the one who turned that little genetic key they named for me. He's the one who would have killed you if you hadn't hid in a toilet."
"Volescu," said Petra, as if the name were a bullet to be pried out of her body.
Bean laughed grimly. "He's still alive?"
"Just released from prison," said Anton. "The laws have changed. Genetic alteration is no longer a crime against humanity."
"Infanticide still is," said Bean. "Isn't it?"
"Technically," said Anton, "under the law it can't be murder when the victims had no legal right to exist. I believe the charge was 'tampering with evidence.' Because the bodies were burned."
"Please tell me," said Petra, "that it isn't perfectly legal to murder Bean."