Hugo Awards: The Short Stories (Volume 2)

by Anthology

  Sometimes he stopped himself with just one hand although it was harder to hold steady that way. His mother had stopped worrying out loud about him so he decided to try something new.

  If he was forbidden to jump up to the middle like the others, maybe he could try jumping from the padded side of a cabinet to another one near by and stay close to the netting on the way over, like his mother had told him to do.

  The first few times he tried it the netting kept sloping up to meet him before he reached the other cabinet, until he remembered that the Center was a hollow sphere with curving sides and he should aim higher. He looked all around and discovered that his mother was almost hidden from sight by a projecting cabinet, and any way, all of her attention was on the others who were shouting at her to watch them. He watched, too.

  They were drawing up their legs and folding their arms tightly around their knees, and for some reason this made them spin faster. When he tried to do the same behind the shelter of the cabinet, he could not roll himself up as tightly as they could but it worked anyway. It was great fun even though it made him dizzy. He went back to trying to jump between cabinets.

  He must still have been dizzy from the spinning, because as soon as he jumped he knew that he had pushed too hard with his feet and that his aim had been bad. He was going to pass right over the thing instead of landing low down on its side. He was high enough for his mother to see him, but she was still watching the others.

  He grabbed at the padded upper edge of the cabinet as it floated past below him, but could not hold onto it, and all that happened was that he started himself turning end over end again. The netting was farther below him than it had been during the earlier jumps he had tried, and he was traveling farther across it before it began curving up to meet him. But then he saw that instead of landing on the netting he was going to come down on a flat, white box that was projecting above it.

  He hit the top and one side with his feet, the impact making the box explode slowly into flat, white fragments. He saw then that it was made from thick layers of light, stiff plastic, bigger sheets of the same stuff that was used as packing for the other children's games. The sheets had been held together with strips of white tape to cover a panel that had a vision screen and colored buttons on it.

  Most of the plastic sheets were being held together by the tape but a few of them had been knocked loose and were drifting away.

  His mother chose that moment to look in his direction again.

  "I told you to play close to me," she called, "What are you doing?"

  "N-Nothing," he said loudly "Wana," she went on. "Be a good girl and jump over there and see what he's doing, then bring him back here.

  It's time for the picnic."

  The loosened sheets of white plastic were drifting away from the vision screen. He would have to replace them before Wana arrived because she might ask questions about them loudly enough for their mother to overhear and begin scolding him. He grabbed the edge of the nearest sheet in both hands and brought it down quickly toward the screen, but some thing funny happened. The plastic sheet seemed to be pushing against something invisible that could only be the air. The pressure rolled him back ward slowly until he bounced into the netting and had to grab it with one hand to keep from floating away.

  Laughing, and with all thought of tidying up the area leaving his mind, he tried it again.

  This time he slid one foot under the net and pressed the sole of the other one down on top of it so that a thick strand was held between them to keep him from drifting away, then he began flapping his sheet up and down. He discovered that whenever he moved the sheet downward in front of him he was pushed back wards and he could feel his lower foot pulling against the netting, and when he lifted it upward his upper foot was pressed gently against the netting instead of trying to leave it. Feeling con fused, he looked at his brothers playing above him and the memory of Danal's words to him when he had been flapping his arms up and down like the big bird came back to him.

  You can't fly, he had said, because your hands aren't wide enough.

  But if he tried it with a sheet of plastic in each hand he felt sure that they would be plenty wide enough.

  "What are you doing?" said Wana, who had arrived unnoticed behind him.

  "Shush, don't let mother hear you," he said without looking around at her.

  "I'm trying to fly like a bird, but it isn't working right."

  "Birds are supposed to fly straight," she said in a very loud whisper, "not go up and down like that. Can I play, too?"

  "Yes," he said. "The bits of plastic are over there. But what am I doing wrong?"

  When he tried to fly straight and level, pushing down with the plastic wings the way the big bird in the education game had done, it made his head and shoulders come up while his legs stayed where they were; and when he lifted the wings, that made him nose-dive into the netting. He tried to fly straight upward by putting his wings together above his head and sweeping them outward and down to the sides of his knees. That caused him to rise quickly but when he swept his wings up again he moved back against the net again.

  Then by accident, but mostly be cause he was losing patience with the whole stupid business, he twisted his wrists sideways during the up sweep and found that he kept on moving upward. He tried other things, and found that when he stretched the wings out flat from his sides without flapping them, he slowed almost to a stop. Holding only one wing steady when he was moving made him turn slowly in that direction.

  "Wana, look!" he said, forgetting to whisper in his excitement. "When you push down against the air you go up, and if you turn the sheets side ways so they slide through the air edge-on, you don't move back at all and you're ready for another push down..."

  "Like this?" said Wana, who had been watching him closely. She laughed and called, "Danal, Cawn.

  Look, I'm flying like a bird. Wheeee!"

  The two big sheets of plastic were making her tiny body look even smaller, and the quick, excited movements of her shorter arms were pushing her along faster than he was able to go. In her eagerness she was sometimes for getting to turn the sheets completely edge-on during the up-sweeps so that she was wobbling all over the place, but already she was nearly halfway up to where the boys were playing.

  "Yes," he said. "But don't move your arms so fast. You look like the pictures of the little fat birds. Try to fly like the big, slow one.

  "Like this," he added, flying after her.

  His mother began scolding him as soon as she saw them moving away from the netting, but by that time Danal and Cawn were shouting questions at Wana and himself so loudly that he was able to pretend not to hear her. The boys wanted to know where they had found the plastic sheets and how they were able to fly like that? Wana reached them first, but flew helplessly past and fluttered all over the place as she tried to slow down and go back to them. He watched her for a moment, trying to understand the things she was doing wrong, then he used his wings to raise his head and chest so that his legs swung around until he was moving backward. When he started flying in the new direction it surprised him how easy it was to slow to a stop close to where the boys were hanging motionless and watching him without speaking.

  "That, that was neat..." Danal began. But the few minutes of silence had allowed their mother's voice to be heard and they had no excuse for ignoring her.

  "Mom, there's no problem," Danal went on. "He won't hurt himself, or us. Honestly, he's doing just fine. Cawn, grab my other hand and bend your knees until your feet are flat against mine, then let go and push hard. We have to get back to the net and get some wings of our own..."

  "Wait," he said, hoping that he wasn't going to do something stupid again. "It would take a longer time for both of you to get down to the net and crawl over to the plastic sheets. Maybe, maybe if you held onto my legs I could fly you down faster."

  "Right," said Danal without hesitation. "Cawn, grab his other leg."

  He felt his body begin a slo
w, twisting spin as their hard fingers tightened in a double grip around his ankles and he was afraid that he would not be able to control himself. But when he started flying again, sweeping the wings from high above his head and sideways to his knees, the weight of the boys dragging behind seemed to stabilize him. By spilling the air from one wing or the other, he was able to turn until he was heading toward the area of netting containing the plastic sheets.

  "That's very good," said Danal.

  "No it isn't," said Cawn. "We're not moving."

  "We're moving, but slowly," said Danal. In the show-offy words he used when he was trying to sound grown-up like their father, he went on, "He has the inertia of three bodies instead of one to overcome. Watch the way he twists his wrists before the up-sweep, and remember how he does it. We're moving faster now..."

  They let go of his legs just before he reached the netting, and within a few minutes they had wings, too. At first they were very clumsy, flying into the netting or projecting cabinets while they laughed and shouted at each other. But very soon they were flying close to the netting without touching it, and playing follow-my-leader around and over the padded equipment. Their mother had stopped calling to them to come back for their picnic, but that was because they were making too much noise to hear her and having too much fun to want to stop for anything as boring as food.

  He thought that she might be angry and would scold them when they got home, but when he looked across at her she was smiling.

  "Let's try to do something difficult," said Danal, using his adult's voice again, "like flying close together in line abreast formation right across the Center. Theoretically, in the weight less condition, the wings should en able us to control movement in three dimensions, right? So line up on the net, let go at the same time, and fly" On the first attempt their line was anything but straight, mostly because Wana got excited and flew too far ahead of everyone else. The second and third attempts were better al though their line was still a bit crooked. During the fourth attempt when they were holding a tight, neat formation and moving toward the middle, Cawn kicked his right wing, breaking the sheet of plastic in two.

  With only a wing and a half to fly on, he kept turning sideways even when he tried to move the half wing twice as fast as the good one.

  Cawn turned away quickly and flew down to the net, returning a few minutes later with another sheet of plastic held between his knees.

  "I'm sorry," he said, handing him the new wing. "It was an accident."

  It was the first time that Cawn had said anything to him that had not had words like "Big" or "Stupid" in it somewhere.

  "Right," said Danal, flying closer and looking straight at him. "I've been thinking. Flying in formation isn't very hard to do. We should do something with our wings that is fun but more difficult, don't you think?"

  Before he could reply, Wana shouted, "Oh, yes," and Cawn said "Like what?"

  The game they devised wasn't all his idea because Danal and Cawn and even Wana suggested changes that made it more complicated and much more fun. They played it right in the middle of the Center, flying around and over and under each other as close as they could without touching - like a slow, ungainly swarm of giant insects. Their mother had stopped telling them to be careful and was just watching and smiling up at them.

  They had all become very good at the game, there were no more collisions or broken wings, and even though it was exciting and hard work he was having fun, much more fun than he could have believed possible. That was because the others were not treating him like he was stupid any more. But it was a quiet game because they were all concentrating so hard on what they were doing that there was no time to waste on shouting or even laughing.

  Their busy silence was broken by the voice of his father who had joined his mother on the net.

  "Weightless flying," he said quietly "Whose bright idea was that?"

  "When I tell you," his mother replied, "you won't believe me."

  "You mean ... him?"

  "Yes," she said, "the un-birthday boy" His father was silent for so long that he felt sure that he was going to be scolded, but instead said, "They're very good at it, especially him. But let's face it, even with the best will in the world we never were qualified to handle this kind of situation. He is not a normal child."

  "No," said his mother

  "Do you think this sudden aptitude for weightless maneuvering," his father went on very quietly, "means that he's beginning to mature mentally as well as physically, or is that just wishful thinking on my part? It's a pity we won't get the chance to find out."

  "Why not?" said his mother sharply.

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Keep your voice down," he whispered, "I don't want him to hear us, at least not until we decide how and what to tell him. We notified the childcare authorities when we found him, remember, but in the circumstances I wasn't sure if they would be able to do anything about him. They have.

  He'll be leaving us very soon.

  "Children," he went on, raising his voice, "I'm sorry for cutting short your fun, but you'll have to come home right away. There is a ship expected soon, an unscheduled visitor, and the Center must be readied for its arrival. But don't worry, I'll make sure there are more plastic wings available the next time you play here. Quickly, please."

  The others were protesting loudly, but he kept quiet because he was remembering the things his father had been saying about him that he was not supposed to overhear, and wondering what they meant. Suddenly the nice, warm feeling of belonging that s he had felt since the flying game had started was leaving him, and he was I feeling afraid.

  They were returning to the net, and showing off by flying in the tightest formation they had ever tried, when he said, "Danal, can I fly with you like this next time? This is the best birthday there has ever been. Thank you." Cawn laughed. "But it isn't even I your birthday."

  "Stop teasing him, Cawn," said Danal. Keeping one eye on his place in the formation he went on, "It isn't your birthday, so far as we know, be cause nobody here knows when you were born. We don't even know your name, but after today we'll have to stop calling you stupid. You found the SB plastic sheets and were smart enough to see how we could fly with them. If we had found them we would probably have done the same, but you did it first, and as a result we had more fun than we ever have before. So don't worry, we will not fly again without our instructor. It is we who should thank you.

  "If you want to," he went on, "you can make this your birthday, too, and from now on we'll have parties on the same day. Why are your eyes wet?"

  "I don't know," he said.

  By the time they reached their waiting parents, there were adults crawling all over the Center, removing the padding from the machines and detaching and stowing the netting. His parents said that they could have their picnic at home, and after that they did not speak, which was not the way they usually behaved on a birthday.

  He had no interest in the picnic be cause, no matter what the others got, he would be given the usual soft, tasteless mush. On other birthdays this made him angry, but today they all told him that he could play with their games if he was very careful. He had just finished a long, complicated game without either winning or breaking anything when he heard the distant sound of the docking siren.

  His father left quickly and his mother sat down beside him. She put a thin hand on the back of his neck.

  "Please," he said, "I don't want to leave you. I like it here, now."

  She began pushing her fingers through his hair, the way he liked her to do, without speaking.

  "I-I know you don't like me," he said, "because I'm big and stupid and sometimes I break things and make you angry. And because you don't give me nice food to eat and father does nasty things when I am alone in my room-" "But he had to do those things to you," she broke in, "to find out why ordinary food made you sick and the reasons for the other things wrong with you. We explained it to you, but you didn't understand. He didn't
mean to hurt you, or risk frightening the other children.

  "Don't worry," she went on, tightening her fingers in his hair and shaking his head gently, "he will never do those things to you again."

  "It's all right," he said quickly. "He can do it again if he wants to. The food you give me is all right, too, and I don't mind getting other people's old presents. But I'm not as stupid and clumsy as I was, you saw me flying in the Center and, and I'll try to be better and not break things and speak my words properly and-" Suddenly he turned and wrapped his arms so tightly around her that she moaned and her breath puffed into his face. He had forgotten that he was not supposed to hug the other members of the family like that.

  "I'm sorry" he said, letting his arms fall loose again. "It's just that today was nice, the nicest day I ever had.

  Even Danal and Cawn like me now and, and I'm getting smarter. Please, I don't want to be sent away."

  The others had stopped eating and playing their games to look at their mother. Danal said, "Why should he be sent away?"

  When she replied she was looking only at him but seemed to be answering everybody.

  "I'm sorry" she said, "but you don't belong here. You already know or suspect some of this, because sometimes the boys say things they shouldn't. But this may be the last chance I have to tell you how you came to be here and why you have to go away. I believe that you have become intelligent enough to understand what I'm saying."

  He had been found as a very young infant who was close to death in a survival pod that was thought to have come from a small ship which had detonated nearby, scattering its wreckage so finely that they had been unable to discover anything about the number or identity of the occupants. The incident had been reported to the childcare authorities on the home world, but that was very far away and the response time was expected to be in proportion to the distance. As a temporary mea sure, because of his father's profession plus the fact that they were the only couple with children on the station, they had offered themselves as temporary foster-parents.