"You do?" The old man stared at him blindly. He sighed and slapped the
child's thigh, gently. "Yes, of course, you do. It's too much to expect
anyone to understand, any more. You're rare."
The others moved in around Sim and the old man.
"I am Dienc. Tomorrow night Cort here will be in my place. I'll be dead
by then. And the night after that someone else will be in Cort's place,
and then you, if you work and believe--but first, I give you a chance.
Return to your playmates if you want. There is someone you love? Return
to her. Life is short. Why should you care for the unborn to come? You
have a right to youth. Go now, if you want. Because if you stay you'll
have no time for anything but working and growing old and dying at your
work. But it is good work. Well?"
Sim looked at the tunnel. From a distance the wind roared and blew,
the smells of cooking and the patter of naked feet sounded, and the
laughter of lovers was an increasingly good thing to hear. He shook
his head, impatiently, and his eyes were wet.
"I will stay," he said.