*
/// It is not
that I remember nothing. ///
the quarx said, rather severely it seemed, as the air whispered out of the airlock.
/// But rather that I need
to consolidate
pieces of my memory. ///
Bandicut had noticed that this version of Charlie seemed to have a starchier disposition than the first Charlie’s. /Pieces of your memory? Is that going to take a long time? I wish you’d explain to me how you appeared out of the little pieces that Charlie left behind./
The quarx seemed to be groping for words.
/// How?
I don’t know.
I didn’t . . . exactly appear out of his pieces.
I am him—
just not entirely.
There is an oblique recurrency
in our . . . life cycle. ///
Bandicut was watching the pressure readout in irritation. /What are you saying, you don’t really die?/
/// We certainly do die.
Perhaps, though, the term “death” is misleading,
in your language.
There is a continuation, and an alteration
in our— ///
His voice dropped to a wordless, gravelly moan, which pitched up and down like waves on an ocean. He paused, apparently deciding that he could not find the right word.
/// I’m afraid
your language doesn’t quite suffice— ///
/Hey!/ Bandicut snapped. /I’m so mokin’ sorry our language can’t handle the reproductive cycle of mokin’ quarxes!/ He checked the last settings on his life support and savagely punched the airlock exit button.
/// I didn’t mean . . .
actually I think you mean “quarx,”
rather than “quarxes”;
I believe that’s truer to the spirit of both
singular and plural . . . ///
Bandicut ignored him and bounded with shallow, jogging leaps toward the crawler bay.