The village has a culture that states that the blood of their child does not stay outside so they protect it with their last blood, a child born through artificial insemination which led to the drag of who owns the baby. Having a child has become a prodigiously artificial thing. It no longer has anything of the passionately accidental event about it; it has become the parthenogenetic fruit of a calculation of biological, dietary, and psychosocial data and you wonder to what extent dream, desire, or fatality are still involved. But perhaps the race is losing its interest in sexuality, preferring instead a sort of protozoan transplantation.