Mr. Jones has been able to accomplish his office work only with the greatest of difficulty this February 21, 2044. He'd agreed with Martha, the previous evening, that it was time to tell their three sons the "facts of life," a task for which he would gladly trade all his stock in Solar MicroEnergy Systems. He'd agreed to do it this evening.

Considering the momentous changes of the past couple of generations, Mr. Jones was not too sure of the "facts" himself, let alone a method of conveying them to others. Communication with a preadolescent can be precarious at the best of times, even about mundane topics like the weather, the series, the war on Mars. The subject of girls is something else entirely. But a man has his duties. And he had promised Martha.

Driving home after work, he racks his brain for some rational way to approach the subject. They are good boys and would listen attentively to whatever he has to say, which makes it all the more important that he convey accurate information. Some kids, he knows, seldom listen to adults. Most of them would not live long lives.

As he ponders the problem, he almost has an accident on the off-ramp as another scooter cuts across his lane. "Damn," he swears quietly as he swings the steering rod back and hits the brakes. That was a close one.

He finds himself gripping the steering knob too tightly as he glides back into the flow of traffic. Should he just play it by ear? A rehearsed speech would be too stilted. Perhaps a question-and-answer session. He considers telling them a joke or two. Like the one he'd heard last week about the girl who had cloned a penis.

As he nears his home, Mr. Jones unconsciously drives slower. When he, eventually, does arrive and carries his briefcase from the scooter into his condo, he finds Martha has his dinner already prepared and on the table. He notices she has fixed his favorite salad, and there is even a small piece of meat for dessert. During the meal, he informs the boys he would like to have a little man-to-man talk with them after dinner.

"How long will it take?" asks Ronny. He is the oldest, by some three minutes. "We have some homework on the Comnet, and there is some good TV at nine."

"It won't take more than an hour," Mr. Jones replies. They finish dinner in silence. He notices Martha smiling at him. He eats slowly.

Finally the three boys finish and file into the living room. Mr. Jones follows, leaving Martha to the dining room and kitchen.

As she cleans the table and sets the dishwasher, she thinks about eavesdropping on the intercom, but decides this would constitute an invasion of privacy. He would tell her about it later, in any case. She busies herself making tea and drinks for the four of them instead.

"Well, boys," Mr. Jones begins. "Harrumph. It is time we had a little talk about reproduction. You boys are aware that your bodies are starting to go through some changes known as puberty."

"Yes sir," they answer in unison. They had, as he knows, received high grades in life sciences and biology in school. The mechanics of reproduction were quite familiar to each of them, and the textbooks had explained, in detail, the differences between their bodies and that of the human female.

Mr. Jones turns to speak into the intercom on the shelf beside his desk. "Martha, would you please send out a bottle of synthola for the boys and a cup of tea for me?"

"Coming right up," she replies from the kitchen. The automaton enters with the drinks only a few seconds later, indicating that she had anticipated his request.

"Thank you, dear," he speaks quietly into the intercom. "Now, as I was saying, these changes you have been noticing in yourselves, the uh, hair starting to grow on your faces, and uh, crotches, and uh, the deeper voices and so forth, they indicate you are reaching the age of sexual maturity."

He paused to sip the hot drink, noted with satisfaction she had sprinkled it lightly with cocainol. How does one explain to three twelve-year-old boys those powerful drives that are soon to enter their lives, endowing them with an almost overpowering desire to touch a woman? How does one make them aware of the real dangers, without making them fearful of what should be a natural and beautiful experience?

He hurries on. "These feelings you will be having are natural and good and signify that you are becoming adults. They are not wrong. However these dreams and things, er, fantasies, and desires, things you might think you want to do with girls, we must be very careful not to do them in fact. The penalty is death, and a most horrible death at that."

He pauses, looks at each boy in turn. "I'm quite serious about this," he emphasizes.

They each nod, obviously concerned. They had, after all, studied the virus diseases in school, had learned of the many mutations that had occurred among microorganisms since the diminution of the ozone layer. They had learned what little is known of the interaction between these organisms and those artificial diseases that had been developed by the military in the previous century.

Mr. Jones reflected briefly that fathers used to tell their kids about the "birds and the bees." The insecticides and the herbicides of the previous century had eliminated most of those species, in the wild at least.

He continued. "You may have heard rumors or dirty stories from some of the other kids, that some people do still have actual physical uh, relations with members of the opposite sex. Those stories are not true, as such people would have died out long ago."

Again the three boys nod. He couldn't help smiling at the sight. They were identical triplets, of course. The doctor had told Martha and him that they could go as high as quints, but they had decided on three as a nice size for a family, and they had opted for boys after discussing the difficulties of raising either sex and consulting the local demographic tables. The waiting period had been a little longer, but boys required less attention, they had thought.

"So that's about all I have to say on the subject. Don't be ashamed of the changes you are experiencing and exercise all care that you do not come in physical contact with any member of the opposite sex." He considers briefly whether to tell them of their responsibility to contribute to the local sperm bank, where their semen would be analyzed for contaminants. He decides that could wait for another time. "Are there any questions about what I just told you?" he asks.

The three boys look back and forth at each other. After a moment, Robbie, the youngest, says, "What about, uh, I mean one of the kids had a book with some pictures of naked girls . . ."

Mr. Jones looked sternly at Robbie. "You are better off to avoid anyone like that. Looking at those kind of pictures isn't bad in itself, but it could lead to a desire to actually touch a woman. Then you would be in trouble for sure."

He waits a minute, quietly sipping his tea, then says, "OK, if there are no more questions, hit the books, and TV off by eleven."

The three boys troop out, and he can hear them tromping up the stairs to their room. He finishes his tea alone, quietly reading.

Later that night, in bed, Mr. Jones relates the highlights of his talk with the boys for Martha's benefit.

"Do you think they understood?" she asks. "They are still so young."

"I think they got the point," he replies sleepily. It has been a long day, and he is exhausted. As his eyes began to close of their own accord, he hears her whisper, "Good night, darling."

He comes drowsily awake again, remembering that they have shared a good night kiss every night for the past eighteen years. He rolls on his side and looks into her eyes for a moment. She is so very beautiful in the moonlight, even after over twenty years since they had applied for reproduction rights and received the computer printout.

He leans forward as her smiling face turns to meet him. The Plexiglas feels cool against his lips.