Josepha tensed at the sound. “Why can’t you respond?” Edwin was shouting. “I’m sick to death of it, you’re as bad as a robot, not the slightest human feeling—”
Gurit again seized Edwin, holding him tightly, and this time he was unable to break away from her strong arms. He crumpled against her. Linsay sat calmly, blond head tilted to one side.
Josepha got up. “I think we should go,” she murmured to Chane. Teno and Ramli had stopped playing and were staring at Edwin, fascinated. Josepha thought wearily of all the questions she and Chane would have to answer later.
“We’re going home,” she said to the children.
III
A small death had entered their lives. Josepha and the children were burying the cat.
They had walked to the woods north of the village and stopped at a weedy clearing. Josepha wore a silvery lifesuit under her gray tunic; she always wore the protective garment when in the forest. She stood under a maple tree, shaded from the summer heat, while Teno and Ramli placed the small furry body in the grave they had dug. The children were dressed only in sleeveless yellow shirts and green shorts. Their stronger bones and muscles did not need lifesuit protection.
The children were seven now. Their rapid growth and the cat’s death made Josepha feel she was aging. Her child had been a toddler so recently. Now Teno was a student, learning to read and calculate or going off with Kelii and a few parents to the lake for a day or two to learn about the outdoors.
Teno was more of a companion to her as well. The child would ask questions about the desk computer, a sandwich, the lilac tree outside, about Ramli and Chane, about what parents were, and after Josepha had explained about Krol, questions about death. The child never smiled, never frowned. Josepha would see only expressions of thoughtfulness, concentration, curiosity, puzzlement.
Ramli and Teno began to cover the cat with dirt and leaves. They had kept the animal for three years; Chane felt that having pets was good for children. They had named the orange and white cat Pericles. Josepha loved animals but had never kept a dog or cat before, knowing that eventually the creature would die. It had been easier, when she lived alone, to watch the robins return to the trees, or the geese fly back to her pond after their migration. She could imagine that the same birds were returning.
The children had got along with Pericles in their solemn way. They had learned that tweaking his tail caused him pain and that he would repay any affront to his feline dignity with a baleful stare and the swipe of a paw. They had cleaned out his box, scratched him behind the ears so he would purr, and protected him from the forays of Kaveri Dananda’s cocker spaniel, Kali, although Josepha had always felt that Kali, despite the ferocity of her name, was frightened of the cat.
But they had also learned that Pericles would kill. Josepha had not always been able to hide the dead birds from the children. It had been hard for her to explain the cruelties of nature and the instincts of animals that even humankind still retained. The children had listened and absorbed the information, but she did not know if they were reconciled to it.
Now Pericles was dead. He had disappeared for a few days, to be discovered by Chane near the woods outside the village that morning. The small furry body he had carried home had been unmarked. Josepha, seeing it, had wanted to cry. The children did not cry. Heartlessly, it seemed, they had the computer link sensor scan the body to determine the cause of death, which had been, oddly enough, kidney failure. Then Ramli had kindly suggested that they bury the creature in the woods he had loved.
The children had finished. Josepha went to them and they stood by the grave silently for a few minutes, then began to walk slowly back toward the village.
“Do cats always die?” Teno asked.
“All animals do sooner or later.”
“From accidents?”
“Sometimes. Other times it’s disease, or getting old.”
“Some people die from accidents, too,” Teno said emphatically.
“They don’t have to,” she replied quickly. “If the medical robots and rescue teams get to them in time they don’t, and usually they reach them in time because of the Bond; that’s why we all wear them.”
“Some people want to die,” Ramli said loftily. Josepha was too startled to reply. “I saw about it. They kill themselves or sometimes they kill somebody else or ask somebody to do it and they fix their Bonds so they don’t find them in time.”
“I know that,” Teno replied. “I saw a dead guy on the holo. He shot himself and there was blood all over; he put a bullet right in his head and they couldn’t bring him back.”
Josepha felt sick. She wanted to tell them not to use words like kill, but that would only turn it into a potent obscenity for them. She wished Chane were here instead of home getting dinner ready. “Where did you see such a thing?” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “You couldn’t have seen it at home or at school.”
“Over at Nenum’s,” Teno said.
“Don’t lie to me,” she answered harshly, stopping along the narrow path and turning to confront them. “Warner and Vladislav wouldn’t allow it. They lock their holo.”
“Nenum knows how to override.”
She could read no expression in Teno’s gray eyes or Ramli’s black ones. She wanted to get angry, be firm, forbid them to look at such things again, but knew it would do no good. It would only make them more curious.
“Why do they want to die?” Ramli asked.
Josepha shook her head. “It’s hard to explain. Sometimes they’re unhappy or just tired of everything or … people like us used to die, you know that. Many of us still don’t know how to handle long lives.”
“That’s dumb,” Ramli said tonelessly. “I want to find out everything and it’ll take forever. I don’t want to die.”
She smiled at them. “Of course you don’t.” She motioned to them and they resumed walking.
“Is Pericles a ghost?” Teno inquired.
“Where did you hear about ghosts?”
“Kelii told us stories about them. They’re dead people except they’re ghosts, and you can’t see them except sometimes.”
She recalled the voice that had spoken to her years ago and was silent. “Are there ghosts, Josepha?” her child said.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t think there are any.”
“Kelii says it’s made-up stuff,” Ramli said. “He says people made it up because they didn’t know anything. I said if I didn’t know I’d find out. I wouldn’t make it up.”
“Did you ever see a ghost, Josepha?” Teno asked.
“How can she see one if there aren’t any?” Ramli muttered.
“She can think she did.”
“No,” she responded, feeling that she was being honest only technically. She could not explain her own experience and conviction until they were older, though she doubted they would understand her even then.
She thought of all the deaths she had seen and suddenly felt very old, too old to be raising children. The responsibility weighed heavily on her. The decisions were too difficult, the mistakes too frequent. She remembered her own father and mother and the problems they had encountered with her and her brother Charles. Her parents had died in an auto accident a few years after she had married Gene Kolodny. But she had been estranged from them long before, deeply resenting them for reasons never fully understood, knowing she had failed them in some undefined manner but afraid to find out how. After their deaths, filled with guilt and regrets about things left unsaid and undone, she had been forced to put them out of her mind.
They reached the edge of the forest and looked out at the village. The paths were filled with strollers; others sat on front porches sipping cool drinks. Josepha looked down at Teno and realized that now she could think about her mother and father without the old feelings. It was as if she had a bond with them through the child, as if she were no longer cut off from them even by death.
“It’s fair,” Teno s
aid suddenly, interrupting her reverie.
“What’s fair?”
“Pericles’ dying. He killed things and now he’s dead.”
More visitors now came to the village. They had been arriving ever since the children’s birth.
There had once been talk of raising the young ones with other, “normal” children, but nothing had come of it. The visiting children, however curious they might be at first, soon learned that the children here were uninterested in their games, pranks, emotional displays, and rivalries. The visits ended with each group of children keeping to itself.
A few biologists and psychologists came, but most of the visitors were simply curious. Now that the children were older and the differences between them and the rest of humankind were more obvious, more outsiders arrived. They peered into the recreation hall at Kelii and the children. They went down to the lake where the young ones were being taught to swim. The children bore up well under this inquisitiveness, being even more courteous and well behaved while under observation. Josepha sensed, however, that the visitors might have preferred seeing the children scream or yell or laugh or cry or gang up on someone.
She saw Chane standing with Edwin Joreme and a group of visitors, ten tall Tartars who had congregated in front of Merripen’s small cottage. They had just arrived; Chane had accompanied them to the village.
He had been visiting old friends. She had urged him to get away for a few weeks, remembering how refreshed she had felt after a solitary sojourn at her old home. But he looked weary to her. She waved at him and bowed to the Tartars, who bowed back.
Chane seemed surprised to see her. He made his farewells to the visitors and came toward her, greeting her with a light kiss on her forehead. “I didn’t expect you to meet me,” he said.
“We missed you.” She took his arm and they walked through the park toward their house. The dark gray sky seemed to hang over them and the brown grass, scattered with red and yellow leaves, was desolate. Chane shivered slightly in his long gray coat. Edwin had taken charge of the visitors, leading them over toward the recreation hall. Josepha recalled the day he had struck Linsay; since then, he had become one of the gentlest and most patient parents here. She could only wonder at what it cost him. His hazel eyes were often doubt-filled and distant.
“Were there many visitors here while I was away?” Chane asked.
“Indeed there were. Didn’t I mention it to you when you called? Maybe I didn’t.”
“I don’t think you did.”
“Well, don’t worry about them, Chane. Everyone pretty much ignores them now.”
“I have good reason for worrying. I’m even more concerned after being outside. Before, when I called my friends, I was sure they were exaggerating the suspicion and hostility of others toward this community. Now I know they weren’t.”
She felt a slight prickle of fear. “What are they upset about? What can possibly happen here?”
“They’re afraid of the children, of what they might become.”
“But that’s so silly. What could they do? If anything, the kids should be afraid of us. That is, if they could feel fear. I don’t know if they can.”
“Granted, it’s foolish,” Chane replied. “But you’ve seen the visitors here. They all act a bit apprehensive. The group I came back here with did. I don’t understand Russian or Tartar, but I saw that much. And that’s nothing compared to what I’ve seen elsewhere. Those who come here at least give us the benefit of a doubt.” He sighed. “People don’t want things to change,” he murmured, as if speaking to himself.
She was silent. They approached the house and stopped at the gate. “Are Teno and Ramli home?” Chane asked apprehensively.
“They’re over at the hall.”
They entered the house, hanging their coats in the hallway. Chane went to the living room and sat on the sofa; he sprawled, head forward, feet out. “I heard one rather interesting proposal,” he said as she came into the room and sat next to him. “Some believe that the children should be taken away from here.”
“Taken away!” She clasped his hand tightly.
“There was talk of exile, putting them on a colony out by Saturn or some such place.”
Josepha was stunned. Recently various groups had started to send murderers and other very disturbed people out to small space colonies under robotic guards. Eventually, it was hoped, they would be aided by new biological or psychological techniques. In reality, they were usually forgotten. Josepha doubted that anything much would ever be done for them. It was small wonder so many murderers attempted suicide rather than risking such an exile.
“But the children aren’t criminals,” she said. “They’ve done nothing. Sending them away would only guarantee their bitterness. How are they going to feel about people who would do that to them? They might, in their reasonable way, decide that they have to defend themselves.”
“I said that. If they’re exiled now, though, so the idea goes, there’s not much they can do; they’re only children. And once they’re gone, there’s nothing they can do anyway if they’re guarded. I argued with a lot of people, Josepha. I didn’t get far.” He withdrew his hand and looked away.
She suddenly wanted to hurry to the hall and make sure Teno and Ramli were safe. Instead, she leaned back and closed her eyes. The village had become a fortress, a settlement surrounded by danger, uncertainty, hostility. The visitors were members of reconnaissance missions, spies, enemies.
Teno sat on the floor, placing furniture inside a small dollhouse. Josepha sprawled on Teno’s bed, watching the solemn eight-year-old arrange the tiny sofa and chairs Chane had carved. Little figurines lay next to the child—a small mahogany Chane in a red robe, a tiny Josepha with waist- length black hair, and two smaller dolls.
“Two kids from outside were at the hall today,” Teno said. “I don’t think they liked me.” The child’s tones were quiet and measured.
“Why do you say that?”
“I could tell when I talked to them.”
Josepha peered at Teno. The child’s eyes were hidden by long dark lashes. “Did you like them?”
Teno shrugged. “I don’t know. Kelii told me I could show them the garden so we went outside, but then the boy said to go around the side of the hall, so I did, and then the girl said for me to take down my pants.”
“She said what?”
“Take down my pants. She said they wanted to see me there and I said I would if they would, so they showed me theirs and I showed them mine and they said I was a freak.”
She wanted to reach over and hug the child, but Teno seemed calm and undisturbed. “What happened then, dear?” she managed to ask.
“I said I wasn’t and I liked having a penis and vagina and they only had half of what I had and I don’t think they liked that. Then the boy said a lot of people didn’t like us because we were different from them and I said that was stupid because everybody’s a little different from everybody else. I think he was going to hit me but he didn’t and we went back inside.”
Josepha sat up on the bed, folding her legs under her. “Do things like that bother you, Teno?”
“No, it’s just dumb.” The child picked up the Chane doll and put it inside the house.
“Listen,” she said quickly, “maybe all of us can go down to the lake this weekend and take out the sailboat. Would you like that?”
“You forgot, we have a camping test then.” The children were going to be set loose in the forests beneath the nearby mountains for three days, with only a knife, compass, and poncho each. The young ones were well prepared; they were all skilled campers, and robots in the area would be alert to any danger. But Josepha found herself worrying anyway.
“Tell me,” she murmured, “why are you so interested in campcraft?”
“We all are.”
“I know that.” It was one of their peculiarities. Although the children varied in their interests and aptitudes—Teno enjoyed mathematics while Ramli preferred botany—th
ey always remained interested in what all the others were doing. It was as if they thought that if one was interested in something, it might be worthwhile for all of them. “I didn’t ask that,” Josepha went on. “I asked why you are interested.”
“It’s fun. I like to go and watch the deer, but you have to sneak up on them or they run away. I like to watch the campfire when we sit around. Anyway, we need to know that stuff.”
“Why?”
“I might have to live in the woods. Luckily we don’t need as much food as you, so we wouldn’t have to hunt anything. We could stay a long time.”
“Why would you have to live in the woods that way?”
“Maybe they won’t let us live anywhere else and we’ll have to hide.”
“Who won’t?”
“The people that don’t like us.” Teno picked up the Josepha doll and held it.
“Teno,” Josepha said quietly, “do you mind it, being different?”
The gray eyes gazed steadily at her. “No. I’m the way I am. I’m me.”
Josepha saw the woman before Alf Heldstrom did.
She and Alf were designing a history course for the children. Even with the computer’s aid, the project was more difficult than they had expected. They were arguing over how to present the history of the Transition when Josepha noticed that a woman, an outsider, was watching them.
The visitor was standing under a nearby weeping willow. She was thin, almost emaciated. Her pale platinum hair was clipped short.
“Have you seen that woman before?” Josepha whispered to Alf.
“Never.” Alf brushed a wavy lock of long golden hair off his delicate face. “She seems to be alone. Usually visitors come in groups.”
“I don’t like the way she’s looking at us.”
The woman walked toward them. Josepha nodded and the blond woman nodded back. She stood in front of them, nervously pulling at the sleeve of her blue jacket.
The Golden Space Page 5
