"That's just the control they got on you. It's like that with me, too, only I know what it is and you don't."
"But the big thing is the project. Why, we're footnotes in history! Stay here, hon. I'd feel so much better knowing you were here, making your contribution like they say."
He kissed her lips. They were soft and warm and clinging, and so were her arms around his neck. This was more like the Zelda he had been missing.
"They gave you a hypo, sweetheart," he told her. "You're hooked; I'm not. Maybe being a footnote is more important than doing something to save our skin, but I don't think so. If I can do anything about it, I want to do it."
"Like what?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm hoping I get an idea when I'm paroled."
She nuzzled under his chin. "Hon, I want you and me to be footnotes. I want it awful bad."
"That's not what really counts, baby. Don't you see that? It's having you and stopping us humans from being just a bunch of old footnotes. Once we do that, we can always come back here and make the record, if it means that much to you."
"Oh, it does!"
He stood and drew her up so he could hold her more tightly. "You do want to go on being my wife, don't you, baby?"