“It’s become important." She looked away, then back again, smiling uncertainly. “Hell, I’d come along anyway—just to try and

keep you out

of trouble."

“I thought maybe you’d gone off me a little lately," he said.

“Yeah," Yalson said. “Well, I haven’t been… ah…" she sighed heavily. “What the hell."

“What." Horza said. He saw her shrug. The small, shaved head dropped again, silhouetted against the distant light.

She shook her head. “Oh, Horza," she said, and gave a small, grunting laugh. “You’re not going to believe this."

“Believe what."

“I don’t know that I should tell."

“Tell me," he said.

“I don’t expect you to believe me; and if you do, I don’t expect you to like it. Not all of it. I’m serious. Maybe I just

shouldn’t…" She sounded

genuinely troubled. He laughed lightly.

“Come on, Yalson," he said. “You’ve said too much to stop now; you just said you weren’t one for turning back. What is it."

“I’m pregnant."

He thought he’d misheard at first, and was going to make a joke about what he thought he’d just heard, but some part of his

brain played

the sounds her voice had made back, double-checking, and he knew that that was exactly what she’d said. She was

right. He didn’t believe it.

He couldn’t.

“Don’t ask me if I’m sure," Yalson said. She was looking down again, fiddling with her fingers and staring at them or the

floor beyond in the

darkness, her ungloved hands protruding nakedly from the suit arms and pressing against each other. “I’m

sure." She looked at him, though he

couldn’t see her eyes, and she wouldn’t be able to see his. “I was right, wasn’t I. You

don’t believe me, do you. I mean, it is by you. That’s why

I’m telling you. I wouldn’t say anything if it… if you weren’t…

if I just happened to be." She shrugged. “… I thought maybe you’d guess when I

asked about how much radiation we’d all absorbed….

But now you’re wondering how, aren’t you."

“Well," Horza said, clearing his throat and shaking his head, “it certainly shouldn’t be possible. We’re both… but we’re from

different

species; it ought not to be possible."

“Well, there is an explanation," Yalson sighed, still looking at her fingers as they picked and kneaded at each other, “but

I don’t think you’ll

like that, either."

“Try me."

“It’s… it’s like this. My mother… my mother lived on a Rock. A traveling Rock, just one of the many, you know. One of the

oldest; it had

been… just tramping around the galaxy for maybe eight or nine thousand years, and—"

“Wait a minute," Horza said, “one of

whose

oldest."

“… My dad was some… some man from a place, a planet the Rock stopped off at one time. My mother said she’d be back some time,

but

she never did go back. I told her I’d go back some time just to see him, if he’s still alive…. Pure sentimentalism, I

guess, but I said I would and I

will some time; if I live through this lot." She gave that same small half-laugh, half-grunt,

and turned away from her picking fingers for a second to

glance round the dark spaces of the station. Then her face again

turned to the Changer, and her voice was suddenly urgent, almost pleading.

“I’m only half Culture, by birth, Horza. I left

the Rock soon as I was old enough to aim a gun properly; I knew the Culture wasn’t the place for me.

That’s how I inherited

the genofixing for trans-species mating. I never thought about it before. It’s supposed to be deliberate, or at least you’ve

got to stop thinking yourself into

not

getting pregnant, but it didn’t work this time. Maybe I let my guard slip somehow. It wasn’t deliberate, Horza,

it really

wasn’t; it never occurred to me. It just happened. I—"

“How long have you known." Horza asked quietly.

“Since on the

CAT.

We were still a few days out from this place. I can’t remember exactly. I didn’t believe it at first. I know it’s true, though.

Look"—she leaned closer to him, and the note of pleading was in her voice again—“I can abort it. Just by thinking about it

I can get rid of it, if

you want. Maybe I’d have done that already, but I know you’ve told me about not having any family,

nobody to carry on your name, and I

thought… well, I don’t care about

my

name… I just thought you—" She broke off and suddenly put her head back and ran her fingers through her

short hair.

“It’s a nice thought, Yalson," he said. Yalson nodded silently and went back to picking her fingers again.

“Well, I’m giving you the choice, Horza," she said without looking at him. “I can keep it. I can let it grow. I can keep it

at the stage it’s at

now…. It’s up to you. Maybe I just don’t want to have to make the decision; I mean, maybe I’m not being

all noble and self-sacrificing, but there it

is. You decide. Fuck knows what sort of weird cross-breed I might have inside

me, but I thought you ought to know. Because I like you, and…

because… I don’t know—because it was about time I did something

for somebody else for a change." She shook her head again, and her

voice was confused, apologetic, resigned, all at once.

“Or maybe because I want to do something to please myself, as usual. Oh…"

He had started to put his arms out to her and edge closer. She suddenly came toward him, wrapping her arms tight round him.

Their suits

made the embrace cumbersome, and his back felt tight and strained, but he held her to him, and rocked her gently

backward and forward.

“It would only be a quarter Culture, Horza, if you want. I’m sorry to leave it to you. But if you don’t want to know, OK;

I’ll think again and make

my own decision. It’s still part of me, so maybe I don’t have any right to ask you. I don’t really

want to…" She sighed mightily. “Oh God, I don’t

know, Horza, I really don’t."

“Yalson," he said, having thought about what he was going to say, “I don’t give a damn your mother was from the Culture. I

don’t give a damn

why what has happened has happened. If you want to go through with it, that’s fine by me. I don’t give a

damn about any crossbreeding either."

He pushed her away slightly and looked into the darkness that was her face. “I’m flattered,

Yalson, and I’m grateful, too. It’s a good idea; like you

would say: what the hell."

He laughed then, and she laughed with him, and they hugged each other tightly. He felt tears in his eyes, though he wanted

to laugh at the

incongruity of it all. Yalson’s face was on the hard surface of his suit shoulder, near a laser burn. Her

body shook gently inside her own suit.

Behind them, in the station, the dying man stirred slightly and moaned in the cold and darkness, without an echo.

He held her for a little while. Then she pushed away, to look into his eyes again. “Don’t tell the others."

“Of course not, if that’s what you want."

“Please," she said. In the dimmed glow of their suit lights, the down on her face and the hair on her head seemed to shine,

like a hazy

atmosphere round a planet seen from space. He hugged her again, unsure what to say. Surprise, partly, no doubt…

but in addition there was

the fact that this revelation made whatever existed between them that much more important, and so

he was more anxious than ever not to say

the wrong thing, not to make a mistake. He could not let it mean too much, not yet.

She had paid him perhaps the greatest compliment he had

ever had, but the very value of it frightened him, distracted him.

He felt that whatever continuity of his name or clan the woman was offering him,

he could not yet build his hopes upon it;

the glimmer of that potential succession seemed too weak, and somehow also too temptingly

defenseless, to face the continuous

frozen midnight of the tunnels.

“Thanks, Yalson. Let’s get this over with, down here, then we’ll have a better idea what we want to do. But even if you change

your mind

later, thank you."

It was all he could say.