Daughter of Elysium

by Joan Slonczewski

  “Go tell him yourself,” said Onyx. “You’ll have to visit his mate, first; his servo, that is. He calls her ‘Cassi.’” Onyx chuckled, and Blackbear wondered what was so funny about that.

  Then he remembered: “Cassi Deathsister” was the name of an ancient Valan exile among the Sharers, the narrator of The Web. Kal certainly had a warped sense of humor.

  Draeg snapped his fingers. “Why not call a hearing? Anyone can do that. We’ve done it lots of times, for the simbrid question and other things.”

  Onyx agreed. “A hearing helps diffuse the issue. Hold enough hearings, and they’ll be too bored to watch the logathlon next time.”

  “How does a ‘hearing’ work?” asked Blackbear.

  “Just announce one, over the network,” Onyx said. “Invite whoever you want; Alin, for instance, would speak well. But any citizen, invited or not, is welcome to show up and have his say.”

  “The only catch is, it’s open-ended,” said Draeg. “You have to stay as long as they want to talk. It can last for days.”

  “Not for us,” said Onyx. “Our longest was five hours, on the simbrid question. The longer hearings are usually border disputes.” Even on an ocean world, cities managed to argue over their borders.

  “Can I invite Kal, too?” asked Blackbear.

  “Sure.” Onyx laughed again. “You’ll be sorry, though.”

  So Blackbear went ahead and scheduled a hearing to explain his research on egg development. The obliging servo voice at the holostage helped him send “invitations” and post notices in the public register. He took a moment at his terminal to peruse the register, to see what else was going on. Sure enough, there was a hearing on Helicon’s northern border with Papilion, out in the ocean somewhere. What purpose could such a “border” serve? Fishing rights? Another hearing was about international lending—sponsored by Bank Helicon, Blackbear noted with a smile. Another, on “exploitation of foreign workers,” caught his eye. Perhaps he ought to attend that one.

  Meanwhile, Tulle asked him to take his analysis of Eyeless down to the molecular level. So Onyx helped him “expand” the model embryo until the very chromosomes within a single cell extended around him.

  The Eyeless DNA specified a protein which Onyx optimistically called “ovogen.” In germ cells, ovogen appeared to regulate several steps in the formation of egg cells. But of course, the same DNA sequence is present in every cell of the body. Other cells made slightly different versions of “ovogen” to regulate different developmental steps in outer eye tissues, heart muscle, and a host of other mesodermal structures. Ovogen’s function in the other organs was unknown.

  In order to make ovogen, the gene had to direct synthesis of an RNA copy; this RNA migrates to the ribosome, a factory which puts together the protein. All of this happens inside each microscopic cell. The cell contents are laced with a network of vesicles and channels which transport the protein to its site of action; this “endoplasmic reticulum” had actually inspired the design of the Helicon transit reticulum.

  Of course, the gene for ovogen had to be under strict control, because cells have to become eggs only in the ovaries, and only at the right time in development. It would not do for humans to have egg cells sprouting out of all parts of the body, like a flowering plant. So a dozen other genes specify control proteins that bind to the ovogen gene, preventing or activating the copying of RNA. Some of these control proteins have other functions; for instance growth hormone, which maintains youthful muscle strength, but loses its effect in later life. Growth hormone and other control proteins had been “corrected” by the Heliconian gene engineers. But this “correction” had left ovogen “turned off”—permanently. No ovogen RNA was copied; no protein was made; and no germ cells migrated to become egg cells in otherwise healthy ovaries.

  Onyx had mutated the control site of Eyeless, hoping to restore its response to the binding proteins. Now Blackbear could test the mutations for expression of ovogen, first in the model, then in tissue culture.

  Hawktalon soon learned to set up tissue cultures, and progressed to programming the apparatus for protein assays. She was also good at keeping an eye on the equipment, to make sure the servo did not change its mind for some reason and start assaying some unknown protein. Much impressed, Tulle offered to put her on the payroll one day a week, the maximum allowed for shonlings. Blackbear was grateful for the extra income, and Raincloud was proud to see her firstborn doing something as responsible as herding goats.

  Now that the simulator was working again at full capacity, Onyx maintained it strictly. A list of “don’ts” appeared on the console, including, “Don’t swear at machine; scatology disorients the network.” Draeg got the simulator to image the cardiac fibers developing in his heartless mutants. What he found was so exciting that he managed to persuade Pirin to test his mutations in a live simbrid embryo.

  One day Draeg arrived in lab looking strangely sick, his complexion darkened to a dusky violet. Blackbear eyed him with concern. “You getting enough sleep, Brother?” he asked in L’liite.

  At that Onyx laughed and slapped her knees. “Draeg’s okay—he’s gone native! Breathmicrobes,” she explained. “You know, that’s how the Sharers swim underwater an hour at a time. The microbes in their skin absorb oxygen from the water. A good thing, when you live out alone on a raft. Does it work, Draeg?”

  “It does,” Draeg told her. “So far I’ve doubled my time underwater, and it should get even better. I’ve been trying to screw up my nerve for this all year. You should try it, Brother.” He gave Blackbear a friendly shove. “Don’t worry, my little bacteria aren’t that contagious. Hey, you’ve got to sail out to my raft, sometime.”

  AT THE NUCLEUS, RAINCLOUD TRANSLATED IMPERIAL broadcasts and awaited word from Verid on Lord Zheron’s invitation. Lem was anxious too, for he hoped to go with Verid to Urulan. Raincloud considered warning him not to offer himself to Urulite females—the cultured Elysian would survive about five seconds, she thought.

  But only Flors’s statement came out, a blast at the Imperium, barely softened at the end. Lem shook his head. “It will all come to nothing, if Flors has his way and kicks the legation out.”

  Why do that? she wondered. The internal politics of Helicon still puzzled her. By now, most of the Subguardian’s associates were preoccupied with the L’liite tariff plan.

  At home, it occurred to Raincloud that her cycle was more than a month overdue. Her breasts felt tender, and she woke up queasy early in the morning.

  “Do you think you could teach the kitchen to make my ‘corncrunch’?” Raincloud asked Blackbear at breakfast. “I’d like to keep some in my pocket, and on the night table.”

  “Of course, dear,” he said, looking up hopefully. Corncrunch was a mixture of cracked corn coated with honey, which Raincloud had snacked on to steady her stomach before. “Are you carrying again?”

  “Goddess willing.”

  His eyes widened. “Another little one! What good news for the clan.” He came back and hugged her, fondly running her beaded braids through his fingers. “We’ll need to find a doctor,” he added. He had delivered infants himself in Tumbling Rock, but it was unwise to treat one’s own family.

  She smiled meditatively. In the Hills, it was said that the Dark Goddess is reborn in every womb. And in The Web, the great wordweaver said, “The mother is born in her child.”

  Sunflower, who had woken early that morning, crawled sleepily into her lap and rubbed his head against her breast. “Milk, Mother?” he muttered, his voice muffled by the thumb in his mouth.

  At that she winced, knowing she had to give up the token nursing for the sake of the unborn. “I’ll read you your rabbit book, Sunny.” She would get the kitchen window to print out a shelf full of bright new storybooks for him.

  While Sunflower tiptoed off to fetch his book, she noticed Hawktalon looking at her oddly. “Is it true?” the girl asked in a muffled voice. “Another little Sunflower?”

  “Or another g
irl,” said Raincloud. “But don’t mind about it now, dear. Besides, it’s not yet quickened.” For Clickers, the conceptus had no “personhood” until it quickened; the mother might keep it or not, before then. Of course, Raincloud wanted her child.

  Still, Hawktalon’s eyes blinked fast, and her face seemed to struggle between a smile and a cry.

  “What’s wrong, Hawk?” Blackbear asked softly.

  She burst out, “Will I still get my birthday?”

  “Of course you will, dear,” her parents both exclaimed. Raincloud shook her head. “Wherever did she get that notion?”

  “It’s right on our calendar,” Blackbear insisted, “three days from now.”

  “You said time was money,” Hawktalon explained, “and money was short. And babies take up both.”

  “Excuse me, Citizens,” interrupted the house. “Prepare to receive a transfold interstellar call.”

  “Transfold?” exclaimed Raincloud. “You mean, from Bronze Sky?”

  “Calling party, Nightstorm Windclan. Do you wish the barrier removed?”

  “Goddess, yes—right away!”

  The wall of nanoplast surrounding the holostage began to melt away, as the Windclans hurried into the sitting room. A column of light grew above the holostage, flickering confusedly. At last the connection steadied. Raincloud’s sister appeared, flanked by her two turbaned husbands, Tallwheat and Halfmoon, and their five children. Nightstorm wore her braids in a striking crossed-diamond pattern, which Tallwheat was particularly skilled at making. The girls, too, had all their dark coils newly done up. Their expectant faces all shone with the rich darkness of fertile soil, none of those pasty Elysian complexions.

  Suddenly all their eyes widened and mouths fell open, as if the Bronze Skyans had just caught sight of Raincloud’s family on the stage. The children smiled and held out their dolls, except for the littlest in Tallwheat’s arm, who screeched and buried his face in his father’s chest.

  “There’s the birthday girl!” Nightstorm called to Hawktalon, in her full contralto voice. “Five years old! You didn’t think we’d forget, did you?” Five Bronze Skyan years, actually a bit over seven years standard.

  “You surprised us, all right,” said Raincloud. “You’re three days—”

  “Just because you’re out on some other planet?” Nightstorm went on, as if Raincloud’s words had not yet reached her. “We scheduled it weeks ahead; nearly missed our time, too, because one horse is lame. Did you eat your cake yet?”

  Suddenly Raincloud realized. She clapped her hand to her head. “We’re three days behind. We forgot, Shora’s day is longer.”

  “Yes,” said Blackbear, shaking his head, “the Elysians stretch out their ‘hours’ to compensate. No wonder we’re off.”

  As their words reached her, Nightstorm looked puzzled. “Three days behind? A day’s a day, isn’t it? Anyway—say, Hawk, did your present arrive yet?”

  Nightstorm, who had quit school early to help their mother build up the livestock, had little patience for the world beyond Tumbling Rock. No matter, she managed one of the wealthier clans of the Hills.

  “Not yet,” said Hawktalon eagerly. “What is it?”

  “It’s a surprise, of course.”

  “It’s a stethoscope!” shouted Nightstorm’s younger daughter.

  Tallwheat gave the girl a squeeze. “Don’t be rude to your mother.”

  Nightstorm chuckled. “She’s got the clan’s stubborn streak. Well, Hawk, you’ll grow up to be a doctor, too. Your father’s a good one, and as a goddess, you’ll do even better.”

  “I won’t be just a doctor,” Hawktalon announced solemnly. “I’ll be a linguist.”

  The children back on Bronze Sky squirmed and fidgeted, awaiting her delayed reply. Nightstorm’s daughter looked up at her mother. “‘Linguist’? What’s a linguist, Mother?”

  Nightstorm shook her head. “Such fancy notions. Be good like your mother, Hawk; don’t forget the clan.”

  Raincloud winced, feeling sorry for Halfmoon, who turned his head away. Halfmoon originally had married their sister Running Wolf, the “white goat” of the clan. Everyone had hoped the marriage would settle her down, but instead she had run off to Founders City to make her fortune in trade. So Nightstorm had remarried Halfmoon, to preserve the clan’s honor; but their sister was forever lost to them. It happened; there were one or two in every clan.

  “How’s Mother, and Dad?”

  “They’re fine, and Clanmother’s getting on as if she were twenty years younger. Before I forget, I bagged the pair of double-horned goats you wanted, off the slope behind Crater Lake. I shipped them just as you said…”

  “Great, thanks!” Raincloud had hit upon the rare goat variety, found only on the Bronze Sky, as a return gift for Blackbear’s lab director, who ran a preserve. She could always count on her first-sister, never fail.

  “Goats?” repeated Hawktalon hopefully. “Can you ship me my goats, too?”

  “…we all miss you so much,” Nightstorm was saying. “You’re famous around here; I don’t know any Clicker family that’s traveled so far—”

  The image shivered and faded out. Sunflower ran to the holostage and scrabbled over it, as if trying to find where his cousins had got to. Doggie crept over the stage, too; the trainsweep seemed to delight in imitating everything the two-year-old did.

  THE DOUBLE-HORNED GOATS ARRIVED IN TIME FOR Raincloud’s next Visiting Day, when she visited Tulle Meryllishon in order to return her mate’s courtesy. None the worse for their voyage across the Fold, the spindly-legged animals stretched their necks to feed, their ears pointing straight out sideways like the arms of a toddler. The goats delighted Tulle, who rubbed her hand in their coarse white hair and rubbed the emerging horns. Her capuchin, too, was entranced, scampering up to ride the back of the ram. Hawktalon, who had come along with Raincloud, busily told the Elysian what forage the goats like best, and how to inspect their hooves for disease; in the end, she could barely let them go.

  “This is where we ought to live, Mother,” said Hawktalon, jumping with excitement. “We could have our flock, then. Please?”

  Raincloud swallowed her embarrassment. “We’ll be home again in a year, dear.”

  Tulle smiled. “You are lucky, to live among such beautiful animals. Would you like to see the rest of mine?”

  They toured the preserve, seeing animals and foliage saved from all the worlds before terraforming. From L’li, three-limbed one-eyed tree climbers writhed along branches in search of fruit; the tree climber would bore through the shell and insert its stomach to digest the juices. From Bronze Sky, ethereal gliding creatures with scissor-shaped jaws circled over a stream, waiting to pounce on swimming things. Raincloud recalled the look in the eyes of the Sharer envoy to her world, and it brought a chill to her heart. All these creatures had died, that humans might inhabit L’li and Bronze Sky.

  There were creatures, too, from dead Torr: zebras, wolves, and cheetahs, species never brought to terraformed worlds. All roamed freely in spacious enclosures landscaped to resemble the original habitats, as far as they could be reconstructed. And then, Tulle showed them, with particular pride, the gorillas.

  Raincloud felt her heart beat faster. It seemed indecent, somehow, to think she might see a reminder of Rhun. But she followed Tulle to the tree-lined enclosure.

  The dark thick-furred apes lay in a heap on top of one another, seeming to enjoy each other’s company. A grizzled old grandmother stared out at Raincloud, shrewdly, she thought. The creature sat on her haunches, twisting a stick between her wrinkled black fingers with their rounded nails. The flat nose and cavernous nostrils, the thin, smooth lips, the striking eyes set deep within a surprisingly hairless face—Homo gorilla, once assigned a genus distinct from human, now shared the genus Homo. Their genetic code had long ago betrayed their closeness, a closeness which unscrupulous humans now abused. And yet, she found herself asking, should she regret the ancestry of her beloved teacher?

&nb
sp; Rhun, of course, had only distant descent from gorillas; his thickened eye sockets and thin lips had hinted of it. But she recalled the hands of the servant at Lord Zheron’s table. With a shudder, she turned away.

  IN THE OFFICE OF THE SUB-SUBGUARDIAN, A DOCUMENT came to life above the table. Elysian documents never stood upon solid ground, Raincloud mused to herself; they hovered unsubstantially, like the words of angels. She straightened her back and viewed the text with a wary eye.

  “We’ve accepted Lord Zheron’s invitation to visit Urulan,” Verid told her. “There are conditions, of course,” she said, nodding to the text. “I’d like you to return for more formal discussion.”

  “I see.” Raincloud swallowed back a tinge of nausea; she would snack on corncrunch later. By the fourth month it would subside, she reminded herself. “Who exactly has ‘accepted’?”

  “The Prime Guardian directed me to accept. This is highly confidential, of course, since the Republic has no relations with Urulan. First, I will visit the Imperium with a small entourage to lay the groundwork. If all goes well, the Prime Guardian will then make a state visit.”

  That would shake up the Fold, all right. “You’ll take Lem along, I assume.”

  “Zheron expressly asked for you.”

  “Out of the question,” said Raincloud. “I am ‘with child.’”

  Verid paused, and her face turned blank, as if to hide whatever she might think about Raincloud’s exceptional condition. Then she nodded respectfully and permitted herself a smile. “This is, I confess, a novel concern for me. Nonetheless, gestation takes nine months, does it not? Nothing will happen right away; it may take us weeks, even months, just to negotiate conditions.”

  “I will assist you in Helicon,” Raincloud insisted, “as I was hired to do.”

  Verid’s eyebrows rose, and her voice intensified. “Are you so sure of your choice? Think, what a historic opportunity to make the world safer for your children.”

  “You Elysians have no children to risk.”