Coming, Papa! I shouted.
Only not just me shouted. All of a sudden, I heard her say Papa’s name, too.
I was pretty surprised, and when I turned around, I could tell I wasn’t the only one. The way her face had changed, you could tell she was all mixed up, like the way water crashes into the beach when all the Heronian moons are in conjunction: crash, whoosh, bam, and everything is just a total mess.
That was also the first time I had this idea that maybe she wasn’t there by accident. That she hadn’t just been passing by, ho-hum, in a ship and thought, gee, Heronius looked like a great place, which it isn’t. That maybe she was there because of us.
Oh. I felt small and scared, and I wanted Mama. I couldn’t help it; I kind of fell backward. I would have cut myself up real good, except she grabbed my arm. But when she saw my mouth all twisted up, she let me go. I will not hurt you, she said.
I know. Except I didn’t, and I couldn’t get my mouth to work right, and my teeth went click-click-click, like I was freezing. That was Papa. I have to go.
Yes, she said, real quiet and low.
Then, just as fast as I’d felt afraid, I felt bad. I was going home where everyone loved me, and she’d be all alone out here in the dark. And the more I thought about it, the more I [279] knew she’d been looking for us. I just knew. Maybe it was the way she touched our ship or held Rosie, or maybe I knew she was deep-down sad—so sad and lonely she probably thought she’d never feel better.
I grabbed her hand, the one with the glove. She jerked a little, and then her fingers curled around mine, and it was okay.
Come home with me. You can meet Mama and Papa.
She shook her head.
But why not? We have enough to eat. You can sleep in my room.
I cannot. It is not ... I must think what to do.
What do you mean? Are you going away? Is your ship leaving?
My vessel is far away. And I must go.
No, I thought, she couldn’t. Maybe she wouldn’t ever come back.
No, I said out loud. I tugged harder. No.
It was then that I saw she was wearing a kind of bracelet on her left wrist. The bracelet had a bunch of lights and numbers winking on and off. She saw that I saw, and said, The device correlates to specific resonance frequencies.
What? I asked. The bracelet was pretty, and I was kind of hypnotized by it. I don’t get it, I said.
You do not have to—and she almost, almost smiled—get it. But I will find you again. Now that I know that this is the correct place, the correct time. ...
What?
She dropped my hand then and took a couple steps back toward Papa’s ship. It is the ship. It will take too long to explain, and I cannot see your parents. I am not ready.
[280] Papa called my name again, and his voice was closer, like he’d come out of the house. She backed up real fast then.
Wait! I started to climb after her. Promise you’ll come back!
I promise.
Promise? Cross your heart and hope to die?
She was so close to the ship then, and the moons had crossed so that there was a lot of shadow, and I couldn’t see her.
But I heard her. No, and her voice sounded as hard as the rocks, no one will die.
My chest got tight, and I couldn’t breathe. Where was Papa, where was Papa?
I don’t understand!
It is not essential—
I think she was going to say something else, but Papa called me again, and then there he was, and I was never so glad, and it was too late because she’d have to see him and Mama too, and none of us would be alone anymore. So I turned back to the ship to tell her, because she’d been sent special to find me, and I liked her, and I wanted her to like me.
But the shadows were as black as spilled ink, and she had gone away.
I didn’t tell. I walked home with Papa, and he shoo’ed me to bed. Mama was already in their room.
I had lots of bad dreams that night for the first time in a long, long time. But I couldn’t remember any of them when I woke up.
* * *
[281] At breakfast, Papa said that Mama had gone with her team to study the magnetic phase shift of a bunch of di-isotonic rocks. The phase shift didn’t come on Heronius but once every twenty-seven standard years, and then only for three days. Mama’s a planetary geomagnetologist. That means she studies changes in the gravimagnetic matrix of rocks. Just because I can say all that junk doesn’t mean I understand. Mama’s explained it to Grandpa about a hundred million times.
Way back, Mama went to study Hortas on Janus VI. Hortas live in rock. Heck, they are rocks. At first no one knew how Hortas found their way around, but Mama figured that Hortas sensed magnetic resonance variances in rocks.
Now, Papa was on Janus VI, too. He thought he could do what Hortas did, but in space, by mixing gravity and magnetic resonance to bend space-time in a way that’s different from warp, to travel in time.
So Mama and Papa fell in love and all that stuff. Then there was me, but that didn’t stop anybody. Mama’s always chasing rocks, and Papa’s always running after time.
But breakfast was quiet. Papa pushed his food around. The longer Papa didn’t talk, the more afraid I got. Maybe it was because of her, or because I hadn’t slept very well, and it wasn’t right for Mama to leave without kissing me goodbye.
Then Papa cleared his throat, and I saw his face, and my breakfast tasted like sand.
Papa said, We’re leaving day after tomorrow.
Why? I asked, except I had to say it twice because there was this big, dry lump in my throat.
Papa got this tired look, like he’d been up for about five [282] months. Because the Federation won’t let me conduct my experiments in their space.
You don’t work for them.
It’s their law. All work involving new warp technologies has to pass review.
How come?
As long as we’re in Federation space, they don’t want anyone mucking up the works, especially space-time.
Space seemed like an awfully big place to me. I told Papa so.
Not big enough for the Federation, he said.
I was holding my spoon so hard, my ringers hurt. There wasn’t any point in arguing, and it was really okay, because I hadn’t made any friends. But still.
Where will we go?
Then Papa smiled, like he was going to play a trick on someone. The Delta Quadrant.
Now I knew we were in the Alpha Quadrant, but I didn’t know there was a Delta Quadrant. The Federation doesn’t own the Delta Quadrant? I asked.
The Federation doesn’t know what’s in the Delta Quadrant.
Why not?
Because it’s very far away.
How far?
Papa told me.
I just sat there, with my mouth hanging open, like a cartoon: a big WUH? in the bubble, and hundreds of question marks.
Boy, I thought, I have trouble making friends now. I’ll never make any out there. There aren’t even any people.
[283] Papa could tell what I was thinking. Trust me, dear, he said, there will be plenty of people: new races, new worlds. And space to work, to breathe! More free space than you can imagine. Space enough to work without interference or oversight from the Federation. Space enough and time.
My stomach squiggled, like I’d swallowed a bird. But ... but there won’t be any people, any human beings. …
Papa winked. We’ll be the first.
My face got all hot. I wanted to cry, and then I thought about her and what it felt like when she went away, and I felt even worse, as if there was this big, heavy, black space ahead in time. Only it was a thing, and if we got there, I’d get lost and be all by myself, without Mama or Papa or anybody.
Papa was watching me. I knew I ought to smile. I knew he wanted me to be real brave. But we were going just about as far away as we could get from other people and still be in the same galaxy. I might not ever see another human being or any other kids or
their parents ever, ever again, and I got all sick-scared inside, like maybe I was going to die or maybe never be the same, not ever again. Here Papa was saying all this junk about needing room to breathe, but no one bothered asking me if I was breathing okay.
It wasn’t the kind of thing you said, though.
And Papa was still watching me, and I loved him and hated him all at once, and so much I wanted to scream.
But I just dipped my spoon into my breakfast and said, Oh, okay, when do we leave?
No one talked at all during dinner. Afterward Mama and Papa went into their room again. When I heard Mama start to cry, I left.
[284] I went straight to Papa’s ship. Sure enough, she was there.
Papa says we’re leaving the day after tomorrow, I said.
She looked real serious.
Do something, I said.
Did your father say where he was going?
I told her. That made her look worse, almost as sick as I felt. I could tell that she was thinking, like a computer—going tick-tick-tick real fast through all the choices.
Then she said, I will speak to your father.
This way, I said and grabbed her hand, the one with the glove. This time she didn’t jerk back but held on real tight.
Mama and Papa were sitting on the couch. They both looked up when we walked in, and then they just stared.
For a minute, no one said anything. Her hand gripped mine, and I heard her swallow. It was that quiet.
Papa’s forehead got all wrinkly. He stood up real slow, and Mama got up right behind him. Who are you? Papa asked.
She let go of my hand and took a step toward them. I must speak to you.
Papa’s voice got angry. What are you doing with my daughter?
It’s okay, Papa.
Mama shushed me. Come away, dear.
No. She’s my friend.
Papa started toward the wall comm. I’m calling colony security.
No! Her voice was loud, like thunder. You must not. You must listen.
Why?
[285] Because what you are planning will place you in great danger.
Papa’s eyes got as narrow as a snake’s. How would you know what I’m planning?
I know. You cannot go to the Delta Quadrant You must not.
Mama gasped, and her hands went up to her mouth. Papa opened his mouth, but no sounds came out.
Then he coughed. I’ve not filed a flight plan. I haven’t told anyone but my family. How do you know this?
You must listen, she said. She wasn’t shouting, but her voice was still sharp, like the edge of a knife.
Answer me. How do you know?
You would not believe me.
Then why should I listen?
Because I speak the truth.
Who are you? You’re not human. What are you?
I am human. I was once ... something else.
What? Papa asked, but he sounded scared now not just angry, and I didn’t know Papa could be scared. What were you? What are you?
Not in front of the child, she said.
I was surprised. I thought we were friends, I said.
We are, she said. But there are some things suitable for children, and other things that are not.
That made me mad. That’s not fair, I said. You told me everything else.
What else? asked Mama.
My God, you’re from the Federation, said Papa. You’re here to spy on me.
No.
[286] Oh no? Papa balled his fists up and got taller. How do you know so much? You’re wearing a uniform. That’s clearly a Starfleet combadge. You don’t come from the colony. We’ve never met.
You cannot know that, she said, so low no one heard her but me.
Papa kept talking, You know about the Delta Quadrant.
I told Father, said Mama.
Papa said a bad word. That means they’re monitoring our subspace.
She said, No, you are wrong.
Dear God, you’re not even human. What are you?
I will explain, but first—
No, you listen to me, and then Papa said a very bad word, and Mama said, No, that won’t help. And then Mama said to me, Come here, sweetheart, come here, baby, come to Mama. And I shouted, Listen, will you please just listen, she wants to talk to you!
Then she touched my shoulder. Go to them.
Yes, come here, baby, said Mama.
I didn’t want to, but I did what she said. Mama cried a little bit and hugged me so I almost couldn’t breathe.
Papa was staring at her real hard. I don’t know who you are or where you come from—
It is irrelevant-—
But you accost my daughter, come into my home—
It was the only way—
Give me one good reason not to have you thrown out on your—
I had to be certain of this place, she said. Of this time.
Papa stopped. Papa stared.
[287] Time? His mouth didn’t work right. Time?
She said it again, real slow and loud, like he couldn’t hear so well, Of this ... time.
Of this time, Papa said, but he whispered it instead. Time? As in ... travel? Another time?
Yes.
But how—why now—
I know, I understand, said Mama. It’s the gravimagnetic variance. The phase shift. That’s it, isn’t it?
Yes. It has opened a window. The gravimagnetic phase shift has created the optimum conditions to facilitate a displacement in time-space.
Mama tugged on Papa’s sleeve. That’s exactly what you’ve been saying all along. It’s possible, isn’t it? Isn’t it?
Papa shook his head up and down. But I don’t ... I can’t control the displacement. It’s unstable. How—
The temporal fabric is quite tenuous. It cannot be artificially replicated, only enhanced. There is a relay array in the Delta Quadrant. The array is powered by a quantum singularity. Previously we had sent holographic images and rudimentary communications in a series of transceivers. The ship’s log contained information of an encounter with an advanced Federation technology capable of opening temporal fissures. I adapted the array for that purpose. Unstable, but enough to direct a high-density particle beam for a short time.
Then you’re from the Delta Quadrant, said Mama.
There are no Federation vessels out there, said Papa.
There are none, she said, now.
Papa’s eyes got round. You’re from the future?
Yes.
[288] Then you’ve done it, you’ve really done it! You’ve managed to control the timestream.
“Within certain parameters and under optimal conditions, yes. It is not what you imagine. Those of us on the ship cannot all return.
Papa turned to Mama, and he looked excited. It’s a beginning, don’t you see? I knew I was right, I knew it!
And all the time I’m thinking, Oh, no, oh, no, no, no, no, why are you doing this, don’t tell him that, don’t make him happy, don’t make him want to go.
I pushed away from Mama.
I thought you were going to help! I shouted at her. I thought you were going to stop him! Don’t tell him all about time and the future and all these good things about the Delta Quadrant!
They all jumped. I think they’d forgotten I was there.
But, dear, said Mama.
You’re too young to understand, said Papa.
I do not have nice things to say about the Delta Quadrant, she said.
What do you mean? asked Papa.
I didn’t pay attention. I was so mad, I stomped my feet. This isn’t helping! He’s going to go anyway, don’t you see? You’re making it happen!
Darling, said Mama.
No more, she said. Not in front of her.
Why not? asked Papa. Why can’t she know? What are you saying?
Not in front of the child.
Mama squeezed my shoulder. Go to your room, dear.
No!
[289] Listen to your mother, said Papa.
No, no!
Then she came and squatted down until I could see all the patterns of the circuit over her left eye.
We are friends, are we not?
My mouth was tight. Yes.
And friends must trust one another.
Yes.
I told you I would return, and I am here.
Yes.
Then trust me now. Do as your mother says. Go to your room. Sing to Rosie and calm her. She must be frightened.
Mama said, How do you—
Rosie’s scared, I said. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.
She does not understand, she said.
No.
She used her finger, the human one, to wipe the tear away.
She will, she said. Trust me.
So I left. My room was on the other side of the house, and even though I disconnected the auto—Papa showed me how once—so the door was open a crack, I couldn’t hear anything but noise. Her and Papa talking back and forth, then Mama, some spaces where no one was talking, then Papa’s voice going higher like when you ask a question, then her. Then, a long, long space, and then another, very strange noise, one I’d never heard before. A voice without words. Just sound. And then I figured out that the sound was Mama. The sound came and went, like waves on a beach, and I could hear Papa making shushing sounds, but Mama didn’t shush.
And she was still talking, only lower now and her voice was all strange, too.
[290] It was like a bad, bad dream. I grabbed Rosie and made a cave out of my covers. But I couldn’t sing; I forgot the words.
The next thing I remember, Papa was uncovering me. I made a little sound to show Papa I was awake. He put his hand on my cheek.
She’s gone?
Papa said she was.
Mama was crying.
Yes.
Why?
Papa’s thumb kept going back and forth across my cheek, and then he pushed the hair way back from my forehead. My hair was wet, because it’s very hot under the covers and I’d gotten all sweaty.
She said scary things?
Papa’s finger rubbed my chin. Yes.
What?
She was right. It’s not for you. Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up. It’s not so wonderful. Be grateful you don’t have decisions to make.
STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds II Page 24
