Daughter of Elysium

by Joan Slonczewski

  Blackbear remembered something else. “The Web says that everyone should raise a child.”

  “Merwen said that,” Kal qualified. “The problem is, how to stop with one? Sharers, by the way, consider The Web a rather dangerous book.”

  “Then why does everyone draw attention to it?”

  “A good question.” Kal’s voice grew soft, with a singer’s control. “The Heliconian Doctors were much taken with The Web. That is why they called their leaders ‘Guardians,’ a crude translation of the Sharer term used in Merwen’s speech. And yet, when they built the shon, they followed Weia’s principle, that only a few were fit to be parents.”

  Among Elysians, that might be true, Blackbear thought to himself.

  “At any rate,” Kal concluded, “dangerous or not, one is bound to become that which one fights, to some degree. Therefore it’s wise to choose a worthy adversary.”

  His face grew warm as he realized the implication.

  Kal looked up. “I am sorry about your project. You worked so hard on it, and your hearing earlier this year was well done. I would have had nothing to say.”

  Blackbear appreciated the compliment, although the thought of Kal without comment was an unlikely one. “I guess I’ll go back to the Eyeless gene,” he muttered. What am I doing here? He kept pushing that thought back into the fog. “It has interesting effects on longevity…” He looked up. “Just how common are ‘longevity defects,’ anyway? I can’t seem to find statistics on it.”

  Kal thought a moment. “My guess is that aging will set in for most of us early in the second millennium.”

  “Then aging isn’t prevented, really, only postponed.”

  “Who knows? The oldest of us are barely a thousand yet. You’ll find it’s not a subject for polite conversation.”

  He thought this over. “Do Elysians age just like we do? Develop wrinkles, and a weak heart, and so on?”

  “It varies a lot. Some start to wrinkle, and within months they shrivel up like dried fruit, but their hearts remain strong. Others collapse suddenly of heart disease. Others lose muscle tone, gradually, until they’re left to subsist in virtual space.”

  So that was it. “Immortality” was a hoax after all. Even Alin had told him as much. Still, he thought, one need not sneeze at a thousand years.

  “There’s a special Palace of Health for them,” Kal added. “I visit there. If you like, I’ll take you along sometime.”

  Chapter 2

  RAINCLOUD ENJOYED HER COMFORTS AT THE NUCLEUS. In her new office, with a higher security rating, she was free to put up her feet now and then, letting herself mend from the childbirth, while trying out new gadgets like the language analyzer. Blueskywind lay snug between her mother’s breasts, or slept in a little cradle that had molded itself out of the wall. An automatic sensor detected a soiled diaper; then servo “hands” snaked out to whisk it off and snap on a fresh one.

  With her rise in status, assistants from other departments sent their mates to meet her, bearing gifts to be reciprocated by Blackbear’s embroidery. The baby made a sensation; some visitors gawked with undisguised astonishment, as if she had grown a fifth limb. A few snide remarks were heard about “wallowing like animals,” in reference to the nursing. Raincloud considered it beneath her notice, but Verid sent round a directive designating the infant an official part of their Sharer relations effort.

  At this time, of course, Sharer relations needed all the help they could get. Leresha and Ooruwen sat in whitetrance outside the Nucleus, while others still purple stood by to attend them, all unclothed and unspeaking. The few Sharer delegates willing to talk addressed all their remarks to Raincloud and her child, “unspeaking” the Elysians completely.

  Yshri was one of the few. Verid tried to convince the lifeshaper to call a conflict resolution conference, according to the terms of the treaty.

  “There is no conflict,” Yshri told Raincloud, who sat on the floor next to her, holding the sleeping infant. “There is only a mistake to be recognized.”

  “Is it that simple?” Verid demanded. “How was your own world colonized? Every species on your planet shows sign of gene engineering. Your ancestors must have ‘lifeshaped’ them all, to make their biochemistry compatible with human life. How many less tractable creatures went extinct?”

  Yshri observed the sleeping baby. “What do you think, Lushuywen,” her pronunciation of Blueskywind. “Do you think that because your ancestors swung from trees and ate their own kind, you will grow up to do likewise? Or will you embrace your inheritance of a million years’ wisdom?”

  Raincloud saw little ground for give and take, as she told Verid afterward. “You Elysians intend to terraform, and the Sharers won’t have it—and that’s that. What’s the point of talking?”

  Verid’s owllike eyes peered at her. “That’s why there’s a ‘war’ on.” A war without “weapons” on either side—so far.

  Raincloud thought a moment. “Is it true, that all of Shora’s species are engineered?”

  “Oh, they’re native stock, of course. Clickflies, fleshborers, seaswallowers; they’re all consistent with Shora’s fossil record. But their chromosomes show telltale sequences resulting from Sharer management.”

  “I thought the Sharers engineered themselves to fit the planet, not the other way round.”

  “They did, of course: their webbed digits, their epidermal symbiosis with breathmicrobes. But that’s only half the story. Today, none of Shora’s species produce amino acids toxic to humans. In fact, many synthesize the precise ratio of amino acids needed for human nutrition. By contrast, on all other unterraformed worlds, the native flora and fauna are inedible. On Urulan, only the isolated ‘needle rock’ mountains have been cleared off and seeded for human agriculture.”

  “The Urulites like it that way,” Raincloud recalled. “They avoid getting swamped by immigrants.”

  “It’s a harsh life, though.”

  “But the Sharers—nine-tenths of their species were lost? Is that right?”

  Verid’s black eyebrows rose, and she smiled ironically. “The Urulites actually had far less impact on their planet than the Sharers did on theirs. After all, eco-engineering is not an exact science. It’s not clear just what happened, but around ten thousand years ago, the time Sharers got started, the fossil record shows widespread extinctions. To be fair, millions of Shora’s species survived, which is better than terraforming. But I like to keep the record straight.”

  “I see.” Raincloud sighed. “It’s so complicated.”

  “A clash on this issue was inevitable,” Verid explained. “Flors’s little ‘mistake’ only brought it on sooner.”

  Raincloud felt little sympathy for Flors, who had taken a consulting job on Valedon at twice his old salary.

  “Speaking of Urulan,” Verid added, “we’ll meet with Zheron next month.” She did not mention their purpose; all discussion of the Urulan visit had to take place offworld, for fear of leaks. The Urulites, with their “death fights,” and their missiles aimed at Elysium. Raincloud shuddered. There were the real flames of war to be quenched.

  The next morning, Raincloud arrived at the Nucleus to find a Sharer seated directly before her office doorway. A youngster, barely fourteen years standard, Raincloud guessed. Then she recognized her, an adopted daughter of Yshri, whose mothers had been lost at sea some years before. Her name slipped Raincloud’s mind. At any rate, she made no sign of greeting, only sat there cross-legged, a couple of bright scars visible on her bare thigh.

  “If you’ll excuse me…” Raincloud lamely began.

  The Sharer clearly had no intent to speak, nor to get up and allow Raincloud to enter her door. Raincloud felt sweat on her palms. She tried to reach Verid, who was unavailable. Finally Lem stepped out for a moment. “There’s a Sharer in my doorway,” she told him. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s a ‘shadow.’” Lem explained. “She’ll follow at your train all day. You’re lucky she’s not a ‘ghost,’ in w
hitetrance. That is unnerving, I know.”

  “How’d she get past the octopods?”

  “If we kept her out, there’d be ten tomorrow,” Lem explained. “So long as they’re reasonable, we play along.”

  “So what do I do now?”

  “Do nothing. Just carry on.”

  “But how do I get into my office? I can’t just climb over her.”

  Lem gave her a puzzled look. “Isn’t the wall functional?”

  Of course, a door would open anywhere. Red-faced, she returned to her office and requested a door to open in the wall. She entered, directing the original doorway to remain ajar, in case the Sharer changed her mind about speaking.

  For some reason Blueskywind slept little that day; she fussed without stopping, her snuffling cries demanding her mother’s attention. Exasperated, Raincloud wished she were back in her clan house where one of the men was always around to soothe a crying child.

  She was about to give up and go home, when she noticed the purple face of her “shadow” peering through the door-crack in the wall. An idea occurred to her. “Open, please,” she told the door. “Would you…share this one?” she invited hesitantly.

  Without a word the Sharer took the child. The little one’s eyes widened, her look absorbed by this unusual stranger who rocked her briskly.

  Raincloud went back to translating the latest broadcasts from Urulan. The new Imperator had toned down the official rhetoric a bit; instead of “unholy swine,” now the Elysians were just plain “barbarians,” a conventional term for anyone off Urulan. The claims about Elysium’s supposed intent to terraform Urulan were reduced to a formal sentence or two. Imperator Rhaghlan seemed a bit of a moralist, lecturing the Fold on the evils of abortion and fetal experimentation. A curious position, given that Urulite fathers had the right to drown an undesired newborn.

  When at last Raincloud did go home, her “shadow” followed her silently through the transit reticulum, her form starkly out of place among the elaborate trains and trainsweeps. The holo news was full of Sharer witnessers, and the generen Sorl Helishon, with his waterfall of hair, announcing a children’s march in support. The marching shonlings appeared on the holostage, offering food and water to the Sharer witnessers. The littlest ones, of course, could safely approach those in whitetrance. A clown-suited girl about a year older than Sunflower appeared on the holostage, her face full of freckles and her hair tied in pigtails. “It’s not right to break the Sharer treaty,” she said gravely.

  At the door to the Windclans’ apartment, Yshri’s daughter stopped and would not come in.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Raincloud told Blackbear, very unsettled. “She won’t leave, and she won’t come in.”

  “Offer her dinner,” Blackbear suggested.

  She asked, but the Sharer kept silence. So she ordered a plate of ocean-style food from the house and set it outside the door.

  While Hawktalon took the baby and Sunflower clamored for her, Raincloud threw her arms around Blackbear and felt the soothing clasp of his big hands at her back and neck.

  “Let’s quit and go home,” he whispered.

  “No, silly,” she replied, although her heart whispered the same.

  HYEN FACED VERID IN THE BUTTERFLY GARDEN OF THE nucleus, his normally affable features skewed in a frown. “Those women,” he exclaimed, meaning the Sharers. “Surely you explained to them why we need to terraform? If we don’t make the loans, some other world will; surely that was pointed out?”

  “No,” said Verid bluntly. “Such an argument would be taken as the greatest insult.”

  “Yes, of course.” A fleeting smile crossed his rounded lips. “Well, if they choose to parade naked down Elysian Fields Boulevard, it hardly offends my own sensibilities. But the public response is deplorably naive. The nerve of that bleeding heart generen, to have a plump four-year-old on camera recite that I’ve violated the treaty.”

  Verid suppressed a smile. Elysians, who rarely had to deal directly with children, were uncommonly susceptible to the sight of a cherubic face.

  “Go talk to those witnessers,” he urged her. “Convince them to go home and mind their rafts. It’s swallower time coming up, isn’t it?”

  She watched Lem Inashon hide his face, embarrassed. The new Sub-Subguardian had rarely seen Hyen in his less rational mood.

  “Look here, Verid,” said Hyen with some irritation. “I expect you to work with Sharers, not to become one.”

  “One has to become one, to overcome them.”

  “Nonsense. After ten centuries our people have as much right to this world as theirs. They have to reckon with us.”

  Verid threw up her hands. “I explained that to them, as you know. Great Helix, I know well enough why we need to terraform. But you let Flors handle it in the worst possible way. Instead of buying off the L’liites, why didn’t you let them go ahead and land one of their ships full of immigrants on Shora? That would give the Sharers something to face up to.” Verid paused. “We could still do that. We could cancel the Solarian deal, in a way that saves face; I’ll arrange it.”

  Hyen chuckled at the thought. “Ships full of immigrants—I’d like to see you as Prime handle that one. No, I think Flors did his best, except that it leaked. We’ve got to plug these leaks. We must tighten security.”

  So that was that: When in doubt, tighten security. Why would Hyen not listen to her as he used to? Why the insinuation that she coveted his job? Would he never trust those he needed most?

  AS SUBGUARDIAN, VERID NOW ATTENDED MEETINGS OF the Guard of Twelve, although assistants were rarely called on to speak. The Guardians alone put out words enough to drown a wordweaver. There they sat around the long oval table beneath the heliconians, ten men and two women. Elysians, self-conscious about their relatively slight stature, preferred to elect taller men as leaders to deal with foreigners. Each of them wore the golden sash of office, for this public meeting would be transmitted throughout Elysium.

  The Guardian Papilishon was speaking. “I can’t understand why we have such bad Sharer relations this decade. My home citizens had to put up with six months of this.”

  An image of Papilion’s main square appeared above the central holostage on the table. Beautiful little orange flies swarmed everywhere, over streets and trees and Elysian trains. The Guardians watched stoically, well familiar with this scene.

  “Now the Nucleus is crawling with naked natives. It’s putting off tourism and makes us a laughingstock. Has Foreign Affairs lost its grip completely?”

  Verid had to bite her tongue. Hyen replied, “You forget the decade’s first two-thirds, which passed in peace. The Nucleus is not yet ‘swarming’ with witnessers, only a decorous number, whom we’ve treated with care. Swarms are precisely what we hope to avoid—among other things.”

  Guardian Jerya Tenarishon spoke next. Jerya could be counted on for good sense, and Hyen badly needed her support. “It is inconceivable that we have violated the treaty in this way,” she said. “I move that we take steps to correct the error at once.”

  “Second,” spoke Guardian Letheshon.

  Hyen replied, “Several prominent logens have assured me that the Solarian loans do not violate the treaty.”

  “Several others plan to confront you. Which of your supporters will stand for you in the logathlon?”

  “Aside from four-year-olds, the public has full confidence in my decision,” Hyen replied sarcastically.

  Another Guardian expressed doubt, but two others seemed unconcerned. A couple of them orated at length about the terraforming of Bronze Sky and its contribution to the Elysian Economy. Jerya’s motion failed, three to nine.

  Guardian Loris Anaeashon rose to stand. “We’ve had enough of playing games with Sharers. It’s time to expel the nuisance-makers and stand up for ourselves. We’ve been here for a millennium; we need no more apologies. I move we expel from the Nucleus all Sharers present without formal invitation.”

  The retaliation such a move woul
d bring might well be disastrous enough to force Hyen to resign, and Loris would rotate in early. How transparent, Verid thought, disgusted by her shonsib; this kind of schemer gave Anaeans a bad name. And yet, several guardians spoke in support of the motion. The vote failed, five to six, with one abstention. Verid shook her head. The vote had to fail—the Guard had not expelled Sharer witnessers for the past two centuries—but those in the minority who voted for expulsion could tell their citizens that they stood firm.

  A servo waiter bent at the waist, holding a tray with a glass of water. “Thanks,” she whispered automatically. Watching the black-vested back of the retreating waiter, she recalled the laughing Sharer girls with their ominous revelation. How dangerous was that renegade nana? She had to schedule a visit to Kal.

  Chapter 3

  SUNFLOWER WAS PRACTICING HOLDING THE BABY. HIS brow furrowed tightly in concentration as he held both his arms hooked tightly beneath the wide-eyed little girl.

  “That’s right, Sunny,” Raincloud told him, “that’s right now—”

  One of his arms slipped. The baby flung out both arms reflexively and opened her mouth to wail. Raincloud caught her up, and Hawktalon laughed. “She looks so funny when she does that, Mom!”

  In the corner huddled Doggie, neglected and miserable.

  “If only the clan could see her now,” added Blackbear admiringly.

  Raincloud felt the pain in her heart. Back in the Caldera Hills, all the Clickers would be outside for the Dance of Fire. Sadly, the house had no tape on file, so they had tried to make a festive air by lighting dozens of candles all about the Goddess in Her shrine. It was a poor substitute for the real thing. She could imagine the spectacular show of the black clouds sweeping to the heavens, lifting up their fingers of flame.