Still Forms On Foxfield

by Joan Slonczewski

  “I want a child, our child. A daughter, since you have a son.”

  “How long have you felt this?”

  “Too long.”

  “But why didn’t you say something?”

  “I tried, that day the frog-suits came. You’re always too busy to listen. You don’t need me any more.”

  “Seth, what are you saying?” She put her arms around him and looked into his pale face. “I always need you; I can’t bear it when you’re gone. But you never stay long enough to give me a chance.”

  “I’m always afraid you’ll say no. Then I would have to face the end. I need a commitment, a family of my own, of us. Nothing else matters to people who must grow old.”

  She tried to keep her voice steady. “Seth, I want to be with you always, more than anything; do you understand?”

  “Do you really mean that, Sonnie?” His face brightened as if the sun had dawned.

  “Of course I do. And I want a daughter, too, but…that part’s hard, at my age.”

  “I know.” He sighed. “And there’s the Center, and now the System to watch out for—if you don’t keep an eye on it, no one else will.”

  “There is another way,” she began carefully. “If we use the incubator, as citizens do—”

  “The what?”

  “Then she could have your genes, too,” Allison went on. “UNI doesn’t worry about genetic drift.”

  A soft look came into his eyes. “She will really be part of us then, just like the One.”

  They embraced tightly, and Allison fought back tears as she felt that the two of them would never be alone again. And she realized, with mingled sadness and relief, that now even Seth had joined the new age.

  “Lanesbridge Meeting is pleased to report that the mine quintupled its cobaltite output over the last four months, thanks to the modern laser rig installations. Further increases projected…”

  Allison yawned as Christine droned on in the packed Meeting House. Friends from all over Foxfield, plus a sprinkling of off-world citizens and commensals, were gathered for three days of Yearly Meeting, held as always after the close of Month Fifteen.

  The first two days’ business sessions had already covered guidelines for development of natural resources and the establishment of a Yearly Meeting Committee for Extraplanetary Concerns. Social issues had received varying dispositions. For example, the UNI statute on organ donation was accepted after someone had pointed out that Foxfielders recycled all of their bodily nutrients in any case. Homosexual marriage, on the other hand, had been referred to the Yearly Meeting Committee for Ministry and Counsel, for further study.

  Today was the final session. The room was stuffy despite the autumn breeze which wafted in through open windows. Allison shifted her legs and loosened the jacket of her beige suit. She glanced sideways at Seth, who was busy interpreting Christine’s report to Rashernu in the aisle. Discreetly she rested her head on her hand, and the credometer squeaked in her ear.

  “…present commentary on this unprecedented anthropological spectacle, a genuine human ritual as it unfolds before our very eyes. It still amazes us that these people can’t seem to make any decision, no matter how elementary, without a ’sponential crowd of bodies in physical proximity.

  “Well, not much action now; let’s turn to our studio guest Hiroko Shimuri, genius of our day, for comment on this immense alien Foxfield creature known as the One. Hiroko, how do you explain the behavior of this extraordinary creature?”

  “I would say that this ‘One’ behaves just like a good scientist. She has been studying her isolated population of humans, and has sought to remove possible contaminants.”

  “Why then, Hiroko, has this creature apparently withdrawn its threat to the UNI SLIT station at Foxfield?”

  “I can only speculate. One: the threat was only a bluff. Two: She decided that UNI citizens make more interesting subjects than do Foxfielders. Three: She’s just an eccentric old professor, like people say I am, so She doesn’t give reasons for changing Her mind.”

  “Ha, ha, that’s very clever. Tell us, Hiroko, is it your professional opinion that this creature contains a gigantic biological magnet—”

  Allison sat up straight as Seth stood to begin his report on human/commensal relations. Silva Maio pointed out that a special UNI agency was being set up for communication with the commensal race.

  “You’ve reinvented the ‘embassy’ concept,” observed Clifford.

  “In a sense, yes,” said Silva. “For nonhumans, the concept seems entirely appropriate at this stage.”

  That line, thought Allison, was directed at the System audience.

  Anne Crain, clerk for Yearly Meeting this year, recognized a Friend from Mawrford.

  “I’m still not clear yet,” said the woman, “on the One’s intent toward the SLIT station. Is She satisfied or not?”

  Anne said, “I don’t think that can be determined with absolute certainty. Martha?”

  “We’ve tried to find out,” Martha replied, “but the One has refused all further comment since the visit of the first off-world citizen to the Dwelling, last Month Ten. The probability of action must be low, since nothing has happened to the SLIT station. In any case, backup stations have now been brought to other planets.”

  Anne nodded. “We are all grateful to Friend Kyoko Aseda for her courageous action, and I move that the Meeting approve a minute to that effect.”

  “Approved,” murmured voices in a low rumble which filled the room.

  “Bill Daniels?” said Anne.

  “Well,” said Bill, “it seems to me that we can take the One’s last statement at face value. I mean, what She said was there’s more chance of us destroying ourselves than of a destructive act on Her part, right? And that chance is pretty small, isn’t it? So I think we have little to worry about.”

  This observation fell rather flat, to say the least. Frances clucked her tongue and leaned back over the bench in front of Allison. “My dear, someone really must take that boy in hand, don’t you think?” Her face was startlingly free of eyeglasses.

  Allison glanced at Dave, who was trying to contain the squirming wurraburra which he had insisted on bringing along. “Not me,” she said. “One son is enough.”

  “Now, now. I’ve raised four daughters, and they’re no easier, as you’ll see.”

  Later, Silva read out the proposal of the Board of Adjustors for a twenty-year transition to Standard Status on Foxfield. Allison was well aware of the hours of consultation behind it; nevertheless, she now wondered uneasily whether they expected to “tame” the Friends within that interim period.

  Noah had a question. “This agreement mentions ‘provision of emergency services’ on our part. Could that include armed conscription?”

  “Certainly not.” The Adjustor permitted herself a slightly scandalized tone. “UNI forbids warfare and maintenance of armies and armaments of any sort.”

  “What about SLIT thermolyzers? Aren’t they weapons, of a sort?”

  “Thermolysis of inhabited planets is not allowed. The chance of such an accident is infinitesimal; all SLIT stations are operated by highly qualified, psychosynchronically registered personnel.”

  Anne added, “We will always offer whatever human aid we can to other Sectors. Rennie Fuller?”

  Rennie rose with the child she had been nursing. “Are you sure we can still wear credos when we are pregnant?”

  “Yes, that is clear. Rissa Nduni, would you like to speak to this?”

  The ship doctor’s voice carried well across the room. “We have determined that in vivo pregnancy fills a psychosynchronic need for some Foxfielders which cannot be met by alternative therapy at this time. Therefore, the in vivo procedure will be permitted, where justified, although we expect that within a few generations…”

  Frances sniffed. “Pregnancy as ‘therapy’? And they call me a witch doctor.”

  Allison chuckled. She couldn’t imagine anyone getting away with calling Frances a w
itch doctor, except Frances herself.

  Lowell rose to ask, “Is it also clear that Friends may exercise their individual consciences with respect to System voting?”

  Heads nodded in approval; this issue, too, had received thorough scrutiny over the past two days, but for consensus, it never hurt to check once more.

  “Are we clear on our freedom of religious expression as well?”

  Silva pointed out, as she had on the first day the citizens had arrived, that freedom of communication was the first principle of UNI.

  “Does that mean,” he persisted, “that Friends may spread their beliefs without hindrance wherever they travel?”

  “Yes,” said Silva, “so long as the rights of others are respected.”

  “Friends, I’d like to speak to that.” A strong, throaty voice called out from Allison’s right. There stood Celia Blyden, firm as iron; she almost seemed to have grown a few centimeters over the past six months. “Ever since that day when our long-lost brethren first stepped down from the stars and broke bread with us at Anne’s farm, I’ve been thinking of my dear granddaughter’s words on that occasion. ‘Ours is to follow where the Lord draws on…for wherever His work is wrought shall be your Holy Land.’ Now there’s a whole universe out there, full of sufferers in need of Friends’ service. I feel called upon to go out to minister to them and to witness their measure of the Light; and I ask leave of Meeting to do so.”

  The room buzzed with voices. Allison was not caught entirely unawares—word spread about such things—but a few folks from out of town clearly were. Wilbur Blyden rose to ask, “Grandma Celia, are you sure your health’s up to this?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Celia assured him, “thanks to the medical miracles of our new friends.”

  The UNI doctor qualified this. “We don’t promise miracles,” Rissa said, “although I can’t deny feeling proud of our success in this case, considering Friend Celia’s already advanced age. With booster treatments, I expect her to last another fifty years at least.”

  Fifty years? Allison wondered whether she’d heard correctly.

  “That sounds mighty fine,” said Wilbur. “But I personally would like to hear doctor Poyser’s opinion, as well. What do you say, Doc?”

  “Well, Wilbur,” said Frances, “I wouldn’t have believed it possible, but after full examination I support Rissa’s prognosis. As for Celia, now, my opinion is she’s always done what she wanted to do and probably always will.”

  The room resounded with laughter and applause.

  Allison thought that if she herself would have another century or so, she could even leave the Tech Center and…she wouldn’t be one to opt for ‘senior suicide,’ that was certain.

  Martha was saying, “I understand, Celia, that you’ve planned your mission with care.”

  “That I have. I’ll stop first at my birthplace, wasteland though it is today. Then I’ll go on to serve the folks who need me most: the sick, the floaters, the faint of heart. And I won’t be alone in this effort.”

  Allison stretched her neck to get a look at the dark-clad woman who rose next to Celia.

  “I am Aelfrida Tillyard,” the woman said. “My fellow Friends and I enjoyed your warm hospitality some months past. We of the Quaker Preservation Society now extend Celia our welcome, and we offer her aid in all her travels. Although we on Terra have preserved the outward forms, we believe that she will do more than any of us to keep alive the authentic spirit of Quakerism.”

  This was a new twist. Was the Preservation Society intended to legitimize Celia’s mission in the eyes of UNI? Allison frowned at herself; she had grown distressingly cynical of late. It was part of the price she paid to live in a wider world.

  Anne said, “The Meeting thanks you, Aelfrida. Do Friends agree to release Celia for her calling?”

  “Approved,” stated many voices.

  “Thank you, Friends,” Celia responded with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I hope to see many of you called to join me during my remaining half-century in this world.”

  When all the year’s proceedings were complete, the final silence fell on nine hundred-odd still forms in the Meeting House. Then everyone was talking and shaking hands; the doors opened wide as people streamed out into the fresh air. Allison met Seth’s gaze and they shared a look of tranquil joy.

  “Allison?”

  She turned and jumped up with an exclamation. “Casimir—that is you, isn’t it?”

  The sanguine citizen glittered in red and gold; medallions and tassels bedecked his chest.

  “Don’t look so shocked,” he said, with a flourish of the flat-topped cap in his gloved hand. “This is what Martians wear for special occasions, usually ‘parades,’ the national pastime. I’m even a ‘major general’ back in my home town.”

  “A modern major general?” said Allison.

  “Hey, Friend Casimir,” called Dave. “I’ve got something for you.” He pulled the four-eyed wurraburra from his bag and held it out squealing.

  “Mind’s eye, Rufus,” Casimir exclaimed. “You’ve lost weight, I see, and eyes.”

  “Not Rufus—Jones,” said Dave. “We keep Rufus; you get Jones.”

  “Ah, I see,” The citizen smiled gamely as he accepted the lively creature. “Perhaps I’ll unload him on my grandson. If he’ll survive Mars, that is.”

  “No problem,” said Allison. “World’s most omnivorous garbage recycler.”

  He nodded. “I look forward to seeing lots more of you folks, once the embassy’s set up. We still have to figure out what makes those ’mensals tick, and why they need your minerals when they can do all these other high-powered things—and don’t tell me it’s just taste, either.”

  “At least they’re not cows, eh?” needled Allison.

  “Nor priests; just good scientists. They study us like I’d study this little fellow; what do you think of that, Jones?”

  “Eek—eek—eek,” said the wurraburra.

  “But why do they study us?” Allison asked. “She, I mean; what makes us so interesting to Her?”

  “Don’t ask me, I’ve barely scratched the surface. At this point I couldn’t even swear the Dwelling doesn’t hide some sort of particle accelerator in that—now, Jones, watch it there…” The creature had tangled an eyefoot in his tassels.

  “Let’s get outside,” said Allison as people pressed by. With Seth and Dave, she headed for the door. Outside, she blinked and squinted as her eyes adjusted to the sun, now well overhead; she would soon have to return to the shade. At least it was autumn, now, when the sun’s hours were more critical for commensals than for humans. Already she saw shiny young Splints here and there, recently uprooted with the waning daylight. There were human children, too, of course, dozens of them racing up and down Georgeville Road.

  Seth tried to contact one of the Splints. “Enjoy warm sunlight,” he signaled, while the credometer glistened on his wrist.

  “Warm-sun-warm,” the creature mimicked, shaping awkward Transac symbols with her damp tendrils.

  “Noreen!” called Allison. “Listen, I’ve got a proposition for you…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at the citizen who conversed with Noreen resplendent in a silken kimono. A multitude of white cranes were embroidered throughout the material.

  “Kyoko,” said Allison, “I’m so glad to see you. You’re all better now, aren’t you?”

  Kyoko’s dark coif inclined slightly. “A few months back in Hokkaido restored my equilibrium. But I couldn’t miss this, now, could I?”

  Her daughters stood by her, in kimonos of geometric design. Dave and Michiko began to make faces at one another.

  “You’re all cured, then?” Seth demanded. “Did they wipe your brain clean?”

  “Whatever for?” she countered. “I am a ‘human wave-form, to a first approximation indistinguishable’ from yourself.”

  A faint smile played on his lips. “You remember.”

  Dave tagged Michiko and called out, “Got you last.” He ran of
f, and she chased after him, her kimono flapping like a fluorescent copterfly.

  Laughing, Allison hugged Seth. “Did you hear we are getting married?” she asked Kyoko. “I hope you will come; that’s another ‘genuine religious ritual’ for you,” she teased.

  “Yes,” she smiled, “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Don’t you have any sort of rituals in UNI?”

  “Ritual murder?” Seth suggested.

  “Seth, be civil now.” Allison shuddered as the sea of fear swept back to her. The whale got Jonah, someone had said, and what will become of us? But the tide ebbed for now.

  Noreen was shifting her feet impatiently. “Allison, I’m waiting to hear your proposition.”

  “All right, here goes. You can take over the Tech Center, Babel towers and all, while I go off to study at the Shimuri Institute.”

  “Go on, now. Why can’t you do both? Commute to Japan.”

  Allison groaned. “We’ll have enough commuting as it is, between here and the Dwelling, what with the ‘embassy’ and all.”

  But Kyoko had a suggestion. “You can always use the transcomm. I myself will use it to conduct my lectures from now on.”

  “Does that mean…you’re staying here?”

  Keiko bounced up and down, and announced in Japanese, “Mama says we’ll stay here forever and ever, and catch all the stickworts we want!”

  “Well, now,” her mother replied in the same tongue, “forever is a long time.”

  But Allison was delighted. “Hai, you are staying! You’re a Foxfielder now, you can’t deny it.”

  “I wouldn’t try, dear citizen.”

  JOAN SLONCZEWSKI was born in New York, studied biology and chemistry at Bryn Mawr and Haverford colleges, and earned her Ph.D in molecular biophysics from Yale. She is now a professor of biology at Kenyon College in Gambier, Ohio, where she lives with her husband and their two children.

  STILL FORMS ON FOXFIELD, Ms. Slonczewski’s first novel, was written after she graduated from Bryn Mawr in 1977. Her second novel, A Door into Ocean, available from Avon Books, won the 1987 John W. Campbell Memorial Award, the first book by a woman ever to receive that honor.