by Nancy Kress
Salah had trouble picturing that: Owen Lamont as kindergarten hall monitor. Before he could say anything, Leo Brodie came through the door from the walkway to the clinic. Salah caught the flicker in the soldier’s eyes as he saw Isabelle’s hand in Salah’s. Another reason to distrust Brodie.
He said in passable Kindese, “I greet you, Isabelle.”
“I greet you, Leo.”
They each used the inflection for close friends? When had that happened?
Brodie would have continued on his pointless patrol, but Isabelle said, “Leo, I need to ask a favor.”
“What?”
“Austin is still missing. I want to go up the hill to the lahk and see if he’s there, plus bring Kayla here. Noah didn’t go by the house like I thought he would when he arrived this morning, he just came straight here. Steve and Josh radioed that they can’t leave their mining operation and aren’t coming here. Ree^ka-mak says I may leave the compound only if I am escorted by one of the unit. Are you on duty? Will you walk me up there?”
Salah couldn’t control his face. He felt it stiffen, felt his eyes narrow, and knew that Brodie saw it. Salah didn’t want Isabelle to go outside, didn’t want her to go with Brodie, didn’t like that she had asked him. Probably she would have gone alone if the Mother of Mothers hadn’t said otherwise. But Isabelle had asked Brodie.
Salah had a sudden picture of how they must look: a beautiful woman standing between a forty-five-year-old, slightly overweight doctor and a twenty-four-year-old, handsome soldier in superb physical condition. What a dreary cliché they were. Isabelle had slept with Salah, but was she regretting her choice? Did she believe in polyandry? He hardly knew her at all, only that she was the first woman in a long time that he’d wanted to know.
Brodie flashed a grin. “Sure, I’ll take you, Isabelle. I’m just coming off duty. Let’s go.”
“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and let go of Salah’s hand.
The smile had been distracted; she was genuinely worried about Austin and Kayla. But it had still been a smile. Salah watched her walk by Brodie’s side to the door.
* * *
He couldn’t believe his luck. Isabelle had asked her favor just as Leo was coming off duty. Sleep-deprived weariness vanished in an instant. His mind raced, half on the safest way to protect her, half on the fact that he didn’t actually have Owen’s permission to leave the area. The CO hadn’t said the unit couldn’t leave while off duty, although the expectation was that all four of them would be immediately available for emergencies. Well, Isabelle’s house was only half a klick away, and Leo was really fast, even in full kit. Also, it was up on the hill and Leo could surveil from there, see the whole area. Also, he would leave word with Zoe where he was going.
Owen wouldn’t like it.
Owen didn’t like anything these days. Sour as a croc with toothache, Kandiss had said, which was the first time Leo learned that Kandiss came from Florida. Something was eating Owen, that was for sure—something more, that is, than the spore cloud and being marooned on Kindred and the constant tense state of jacked-up inaction. Something that Leo couldn’t put his finger on. But what was Owen going to do—court-martial Leo? But, still …
Then Isabelle smiled at him.
The smile, sad and anxious, went straight to Leo’s heart. She loved her whiny sister and that wild kid, Austin. Leo liked Austin, too, having been pretty wild himself at that age. So he said, “Sure.” He visualized the route alongside the compound: skirt the camp, avoid the orchard and anyplace else easy to plant insurgents. Leo’s action in Brazil had all been urban, but the principles were no different.
He radioed on the unit frequency, “Leaving the area for fifteen minutes, will report to you then.”
“What the fuck?” Zoe said.
“Out, Zo!”
Isabelle said, “Who was that? Zoe Berman?”
“Yeah. She’s all right.”
“I appreciate you doing this, Leo.”
“No problem.” They were passing the edge of the camp now. No activity visible except a woman and an older man at a cook fire, some people sewing, a circle of older kids crouched over small stones … “What are those kids playing?”
“A gambling game. Sort of like Go.”
He didn’t know what Go was. “I didn’t think Kindred gambled.”
“Yeah, you guys either think we’re all saints or else, like your lieutenant, all devils in disguise. Not true. We’re human, just made nicer by a really good political and economic system.”
We. Isabelle considered herself one of them. He said in Kindese, “I want know more by those things. Will you teach me?”
She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Would you like to learn?”
“Yeah,” in English. “Keep moving, Isabelle. No, not that way, over there. Longer but clearer.”
She resumed walking. There was a little silence. Then she said, “Yes, I’d be glad to teach you. I’m amazed at how much Worldese you picked up already. Neither of us has much time, but we can fit in something. Now and … afterward. When we’re not both busy for a while burying the dead.”
Her honesty startled him. Leo had been trying not to think about after the spore cloud. That was how he’d gotten through Brazil: Think only about the day happening right now, the objective, the orders, the target. That had always worked for him before.
“Leo,” she said as they approached the crest of the hill, “how many people have you killed?”
He hated that question, especially from civilians, who never understood. But Isabelle was different. “Eleven, mostly in Brazil. And every single kill was in defense of the Marine unit I was attached to.”
“I get that,” she said. “I’m not judging you.”
“The others are,” Leo said, again surprising himself. “Your friend Salah, for instance.”
“He’s a doctor. His job is saving lives, not taking them. But your unit is saving lives, too, by preventing even more violence.”
“Yeah,” he said, and they reached the lahk, which was a good thing because Leo’s throat felt tight and he needed a moment before he spoke again. The bar girls and friends-of-friends he’d gone out with hadn’t been like Isabelle. Nobody was like Isabelle.
“Stay here,” he said, “while I check out the house. No, not there—stand behind that. I’ll call you when it’s clear.”
“Okay.”
The house was as beautiful as he remembered: swooping karthwood—he knew the name now—curves, mellow gold in the orange light, surrounded by the sweet-smelling dark foliage that would provide a fucking good cover for insurgents. And shouldn’t the terrace above him be open to the air at this time of day? The sliding panels were all closed. Not good.
Leo circled the house. The north side stood flush to the ground, with less cover. The door here was locked—if you could call that lightweight contraption a lock. By now, he knew enough about Kindred to guess that the lock wasn’t supposed to keep anyone out, just announce to visitors that nobody was here. If anybody did break in, the lahks would cooperate to figure out who and go from there. Or things stolen might just be given away in the next illathil. Crazy system!
He easily smashed the lock with the butt of his rifle and cleared the rooms, which was easy because there was nobody in them. On one of the low tables, handmade like nearly everything here, was a folded piece of paper addressed to Isabelle. Leo picked it up and jogged back.
“Nobody there, just this note.”
* * *
She read it and handed it back to Leo.
Izzy—
Austin and I going away to Steve and Josh. It’s too dangerous here. Come get us after everything is over. At the mine.
Love,
Kayla
Leo said, “Who are Steve and Josh?”
“The other first-expedition Terrans in our lahk. They have a copper mine in the central mountains and they’re there a lot, but of course they would have come back for illathil. Only—”
“Only what? Is something suspicious about that note?”
“No. Not really. Just that Kayla doesn’t get along well with Steve and Josh. Nor does Austin. Still, if she’s afraid, and she would be afraid here, with all the refugees and your unit … I wish she’d stayed here.”
Leo didn’t. If the mine was safer, then it was a better place for the kid to be. And he could do without Kayla, not that he’d seen that much of her. But she’d be around Isabelle all the time, after the spore cloud.
Don’t think about that until the time comes.
“We have to go back, Isabelle.”
“Yes, of course. The Mother of Mothers wants to see me. Alone.”
“She does? What about?”
“I don’t know. She’s dying, Leo. Salah says probably tonight.”
She let out a little gasp then, looking like she hadn’t expected to. Tears filled her eyes. Leo, after a quick glance around for insurgents, shifted his rifle to one hand and put his arms around her. For one glorious moment, before she broke free and became herself again, he held her in his arms.
“Come on,” she said, tears gone, “let’s go.”
All the short way to the camp, she talked to him about Kindred, a kind of crash course in how the place worked. Lahks, money, responsibility, Council of Mothers, mining, manufacturing restrictions, kids. Some of it Leo already knew and some of it he didn’t but he listened hard to all of it, even as he kept a sharp lookout. He was a quick study when he wanted to be, and this time he wanted to be. The setup of her doomed society mattered to Isabelle.
At the camp, a teenage boy darted forward and threw a rock.
Instantly Leo had Isabelle behind him and his rifle pointed. The rock had bounced off his helmet; it had been aimed at him, not her. The boy, all thin coppery arms, brown knee-length dress too tight to conceal other weapons, arms out at his side, stared at Leo. The kid wanted Leo to shoot him. He wanted to be a martyr, a victim that insurgents could rally around. He was romanticizing his own death.
“Get lost,” Leo said in Kindese. Then, in English, “Isabelle, move to the compound staying between me and the camp.”
She did. Leo backed away, weapon at the ready, knowing without looking that Zoe was covering him from the roof. The boy shouted something and Isabelle started to shout back but Leo said, “No. Be quiet,” and she was.
Inside the compound, he said, “What did the kid say?”
“He called me a filthy Terran turd.”
Leo nodded, headed to the ready room, and waited to see if Zoe had reported Leo’s unauthorized expedition to Owen, if Owen wanted to see him, what might happen next.
* * *
Isabelle crept quietly into Ree^ka-mak’s room, prepared to leave if the Mother of Mothers was asleep. She was not.
“Come here, child.”
Isabelle knelt by the bed and took Ree^ka’s hand in hers. The bones and veins rose under the skin like karthwood twigs. Ree^ka’s fingers felt icy.
“Tell … you two great things.”
“Yes, Mother of Mothers.”
“Afterward … heal the Kindred wound with the soldiers. Marry one.”
It was the traditional way of forestalling conflict between lahks—and, once, monarchies on Earth. Married women remained with their own birth lahks; their brothers and male cousins were there to help raise children; marriage contracts were renewable or not every five years. In such a culture, closeness and fidelity between partners were mostly a matter of choice and good manners. Blood was what mattered, not pair-bonding. Marriage was easy, and easily changed. Children were not. Children bound lahks together for good.
“Mother of Mothers … I cannot do that.”
“You can. One … contract.”
“I’m sorry. Terrans do not—”
“You are no longer Terran.”
It was the greatest compliment Isabelle could have been paid. She bowed her head. But she did not promise to marry anyone. Ree^ka had not spent much time around Terrans. Intelligent as she was, she apparently did not realize that marrying a Ranger would not create an alliance. Not even if Owen Lamont married sixteen Kindred women in rapid succession and fathered thirty-two children. The US Army did not work that way.
Ree^ka did not press her. Instead, she told her the second great thing. Isabelle’s eyes widened. She half rose, dropping Ree^ka’s hand. “What?”
But the Mother of Mothers had exhausted her strength. Her eyes closed.
CHAPTER 13
Marianne rubbed the small of her back with her left hand. She’d been standing at her improvised “lab bench” for hours. I’m too old for this, she thought for the hundredth time. Although weariness sagged the faces of even the younger people.
She had lost track of how many doses of vaccine they had made, or could make before they had to begin administering it. All the data was fuzzy because it was built on still fuzzier data. Would the vaccine protect humans at all? If it did, how long did it take to become effective? How would they give it to just children without a riot from the childless adults in the camp? How much would the Rangers cooperate in keeping the process orderly instead of protecting the Terrans by keeping them prisoner in the compound? What would everyone do after the spore cloud hit and they had hundreds of dead bodies to—
Don’t think that far ahead.
Ka^graa said from his workstation, “You to go sleep, Marianne-mak.”
She shook her head, forcing a smile. Ka^graa was learning English, even though chances were strong that he would be dead soon and all language with him.
It wasn’t like her to dwell on tragedy. Always—well, almost always—work had been her distraction, her solace, her purpose. All at once, however, she wanted not to work but to see her family. She went to the closet where Noah, Llaa^moh¡, and Lily all slept on a single pallet. Llaa^moh¡ was working in the lab; Noah wasn’t in the room; Lily lay asleep, dark curls tangled on her coppery cheek, clutching a stuffed toy of no species known to her grandmother.
As Marianne continued toward the leelee lab, which she could smell through the closed door, Isabelle came out of what had once been Marianne’s room and grabbed Marianne’s arm.
“I have to tell you something.”
This wasn’t like Isabelle. Marianne removed Isabelle’s hand, which had clutched so hard it left dents in Marianne’s skin, and said, “Ree^ka is gone?”
“No, not yet. But she told me something. Come here, into my room. Close the door.”
Marianne did, her heart speeding up. What fresh hell now?
Isabelle said, “The Mother of Mothers says there is a way to call back the second Kindred ship.”
“What?”
“The second ship. They built two, you know, from the alien plans. The first one was the colony ship that encountered the spore cloud first, after it jumped to wherever it was preset to go. It—”
“I know. Branch has been trying to decode that weird pinging still coming from the ship. But Ree^ka-mak says there’s a way to call it back here?”
“Yes. They never did, because—”
“Because there was no point, with the ship infected with spores and everyone dead. And there still isn’t, Isabelle. That ship is contaminated. If it came here, all it would do is bring the spore cloud earlier.”
“Yes, I know that. But afterward—”
Then Marianne saw it. How had she been so stupid, so exhausted, so myopic? If they could call back the ship, then maybe they could go back to Earth. But—
“Did you say it was preset to go to this other planet? How could it go to Earth?”
“I don’t know. But maybe there are scientists who have made progress on figuring out the drive—”
“Isabelle,” Marianne said sternly, hearing too late that this was her tone for correcting graduate students who had just contaminated a lab sample with their own DNA, “if Terran scientists hadn’t figured out the drive, why do you think Kindred scientists could? And where is this … this call-back device, anyway?”
<
br /> “Well, that’s part of the problem. It was on the ship that the Stremlenie destroyed. But apparently there exists somewhere another device that can call it back, only Ree^ka didn’t know where it is.”
“Ree^ka-mak didn’t know? You told me there’s no information on Kindred that the Mother of Mothers doesn’t have access to.”
“That’s true. But this … device is only indicated on the titanium tablets with the plans for building both ships. It wasn’t with the parts to build it. No one knows why.”
“I see. Look, I don’t think we should tell anyone about this. It’s a ship we can’t contact, can’t recall, and so can’t go travel to Earth in. But there are Terrans desperate to go back, and this will only just agitate them more.”
“Lieutenant Lamont,” Isabelle said. “Kayla. Branch. Maybe Steve. Yes, you’re right. There’s no point in agitating them more.”
“Especially the Rangers.”
It was the wrong thing to say; Isabelle had a far different view of the military than Marianne did. Marianne forced a smile and said, “Then we’re agreed? We keep this quiet?”
“Yes. For now, anyway.”
The two women stared at each other. Marianne had a sudden, surprising thought: I wish this girl and not Elizabeth were my daughter.
Disloyal, futile, disloyal. But it wasn’t the first time that Marianne had realized how much more she had in common with—and how much closer she felt to—Isabelle and Branch and Claire than to her own three children. Parenthood did not guarantee affinity, and that was a sorrow that too easily turned to reproach. But she was tired of heaping abuse on herself. She unlocked the leelee lab. Branch looked up from the equipment on the floor, beside which he knelt like some sort of pagan worshipper.
Branch said, “Do they need me? I’m sorry, I just wanted to—”
“Why don’t you find a bench for that thing so you don’t have to kneel on the floor?”
Branch stared at her blankly; his knees and back were all young.
Marianne said, more gently, “How is it going? Actually, I don’t even really know what you’re doing here. Fill me in. The colony ship is sending pings…”
