Free Where Late the Sweet Birds Sang by Kate Wilhelm Page B

to deserve this."
           "He is trying to last until the girls have their babies," David said. "He wants to know."
           "But it doesn't matter any longer," W-l said patiently. "And meanwhile he suffers."
           David stared at him with hatred and knew that he couldn't make that choice.
           W-l continued to watch him for several more moments, then said, "We will decide." The next morning Walt was found to have died in his sleep.

Chapter 9

    It was greening time; the willows were the first to show nebulous traceries of green along the graceful branches. Forsythias and flaming bushes were in bloom, brilliant yellows and scarlets against the gray background. The river was high with spring runoffs up north and heavy March rains, but it was an expected high, not dangerous, not threatening this year. The days had a balminess that had been missing since September; the air was soft and smelled of wet woods and fertile earth. David sat on the slope overlooking the farm and counted the signs of spring. There were calves in the field, and they looked the way spring calves always had looked: thin legs, awkward, slightly stupid. No fields had been worked yet, but the garden was green: pale lettuce, blue-green kale, green spears of onions, dark green cabbage. The newest wing of the hospital, not yet painted, crude compared to the finished brick buildings, was being used already, and he could even see some of the young people at the windows studying. They had the best teachers, themselves, and the best students. They learned amazingly well from one another, better than they had in the early days.
           They came out of the school in matched sets: four of this, three of that, two of another. He sought and found three Celias. He could no longer tell them apart; they were all grown-up Celias now and indistinguishable. He watched them with no feeling of desire; no hatred moved him; no love. They vanished into the barn and he looked up over the farm, into the hills on the other side of the valley. The ridges were hazy and had no sharp edges anywhere. They looked soft and welcoming. Soon, he thought. Soon. Before the dogwoods bloomed.
           The night the first baby was born, there was another celebration. The elders talked among themselves, laughed at their own jokes, drank wine; the clones left them alone and partied at the other end of the room. When Vernon began to play his guitar and dancing started, David slipped away. He wandered on the hospital grounds for a few minutes, as though aimlessly, and then, when he was certain no one had followed him out, he began to trot toward the mill and the generator. Six hours, he thought. Six hours without electricity would destroy everything in the lab.
           David approached the mill cautiously, hoping the rushing water of the creek would mask any sound he might make. The building was three stories high, very large, with windows ten feet above the ground, on the level where the offices were. The ground floor was filled with machinery. In the back the hill rose sharply, and David could reach the windows by bracing himself on the steep incline and steadying himself with one hand on the building, leaving the other free to test the windows. He found a window that went up easily when he pushed it, and in a moment he was inside a dark office. He closed the window, and then, moving slowly with his hands outstretched to avoid any obstacle, he crossed the room to the door and opened it a crack. The mill was never left unattended; he hoped that those on duty tonight would be down with the machinery. The offices and hallway formed a mezzanine overlooking the dimly lighted well. Grotesque shadows made the hallway strange, with deep pools of darkness and places where he would be clearly visible should any one happen to look up at the right moment. Suddenly David stiffened. Voices.
           He slipped his shoes off and opened the door wider. The