Emma became pregnant at sixty-five.
Not naturally. Not possible. Medical intervention. Genetic engineering. Desperate preservation attempt. The Preservation Network was hemorrhaging members. Down to eleven thousand now. Declining fifty percent every five years. Extinction mathematics were clear. Inevitable. Approaching.
Unless humans who'd aged past fertility chose to reproduce again. Chose to extend biological continuity beyond natural limits. Chose survival over comfort. Chose life over personal preference.
Emma chose life.
"You don't have to do this," Luna said. She'd also chosen pregnancy. Was three months along. Sixty-eight years old and gestating child she'd never planned. Never wanted. Never imagined carrying. "You can preserve without personally reproducing. Can support others' children. Can contribute without this sacrifice."
