Ivan knows perfectly well the difference between being needed and having an obligation. No one asked--and there are doctors and nurses and liegepeople and Nikki and Ma Kosti--but still, he goes nearly every night. He sits in the dim nursery, between the machines, and he thinks about being Uncle Aral's nephew Ivan, and about being Uncle Ivan to his nephew Aral.
He puts one hand on each lid, there between his nephew and niece, small enough inside their replicators to fit together in the palm of his hand, and thinks, Don't die out there, coz. I can't fill these boots.