Chapter 15When Sartre finished talking about how they wound up on Neso, Alex edged closer to the cot. It squeaked. Owen had fallen asleep, curled up on the sleeping bag. He wasn’t sure if Madsen was awake but when slight snoring came from Madsen, Sartre stretched his legs out. Alex stood from where he had been cross-legged and sat on the cot.
“How old are your sons now?”
“In Terran years, two hundred eighty. But they barely look twenty-eight.”
“How old were you when they were born?”
“Very young. I was around twenty. I was a young father. Jón probably was the better father. He was there all the time with them. He was older. He always wanted to have children.” Sartre smiled a little. “You remind me of my youngest.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yes. He’s a beautiful boy, I should say, man.
