dye
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"Yes. My pen can't take a complete sample with just its identity-checking measures, but if I had a copy of your genotype to feed the problem I could. Do you want me to?"
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"I... am considering that very question, and I'm not sure yet."

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"Well, if you want me to, I can. There's no expiration date on my slightly illicit software."

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"All right. I'll continue dithering, then, I suppose." He kisses her hand. "And I suspect I won't know if I want to look at my children's phenotype projections until I know if I want to look at mine."

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"Dither away." She kisses his head. "More adorable small-Linya pictures?"

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"Sure."

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She produces more adorable small-Linya pictures. They don't ever contain people other than her clearly visible in frame; either she's omitting those out of concern for the privacy of her fellow haut or for some reason group shots were not customary. There is some incidental imagery of the interior of her apartment, especially from after the invention of her pen when she could easily begin to take her own pictures; it was prettily decorated and spacious and had a gorgeous black grand piano in it. She is shown playing the piano and singing, walking from place to place, just smiling for the camera, and, in one particularly precious image, sitting in her float-chair for the very first time when she is three.

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Miles perches in her lap and giggles and hugs her a lot.

"If you want to see similar pictures of littler-Miles, you can ask Mother."
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"I believe I shall."

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He stretches up to kiss her on the cheek.

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Ooh, kisses. Linya approves. And kisses him right back. It's only fair.

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