Stephen Berry - The Biofab War

When the tumult died, John continued. "Two. Captain, Miss Tal and I are getting married next weekend by a compliant rabbi. You're all invited." Zahava's anguished "I don't have a dress!" was drowned by boisterous best wishes.

"And I also have an announcement," she said as Harrison refilled the glasses. "Admiral L'Guan's accepted John's and my application to join the Trel Expedition."

"What application?"

"The one I submitted last week through Bill."

John put down his glass. "Mindslaves. Matter transport. Biofabs. Machiavellian cyborgs. Hostile space. The 'Enemy.' And worst of all, gallant allies." He tossed down the wine. ''I can hardly wait."

Bill reached over, touching his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, John," he said solemnly. "I'll be with you."

"And you, Bob?" asked Zahava hopefully.

"Thank you, no," the philosopher said firmly, topping his glass. "I'm going to spend my dotage with the grandchildren.

"Besides," he added cheerfully, "one of us should stay and see to the spending of the royalties. But I'll think of you while I'm on Capri."

"My friends," said John, slightly tipsy, "my dear friends, a great writer once said mankind would not just endure, but prevail, so long as we realized always that the basest of all things was to be afraid.

"A final toast, then," he offered, golden glass held high.

"To humanity and its future, bright and unafraid!"

"To the future!"