Daughter of Elysium

by Joan Slonczewski

  Nightstorm wrote to tell her that the fire had swept their part of Tumbling Rock this year, consuming the great longhouse of the Windclan. The longhouse had lengthened over an impressive ten years since the last burning, as each daughter came of age and built on a new section. Luckily the clan had had warning in time to move out without loss of life. They had mostly rebuilt by now, Nightstorm said, and had replanted most of the fields. Still, it gave Raincloud a pang to recall the writing desk her favorite brother had crafted as a wedding gift, too precious to risk shipping to Elysium.

  As she longed for her mother and sisters, Raincloud’s spirits fell. If it were not for her little one’s incessant demands, she could barely have dragged herself out of bed in the morning. And then there was Yshri’s daughter, the poor witnesser outside the door every morning; did she never tire? Did not her own family need her, back on her raft?

  Usually Raincloud was out before Blackbear and the older children, who took forever to locate their shoes and get their clothes untwisted. But one morning she just stayed in bed. Blueskywind was asleep across her arm, her quick breath snuffling in Raincloud’s ear. It was so peaceful, quiet, alone with just the rays of light aslant from the “window,” their color reddened to approximate Bronze Sky morning.

  She would have to eat breakfast, she told herself at last, to keep her milk going. And then, it was time she got her rei-gi practice back up to strength. She would feel much more alive.

  As she passed the sitting room, it occurred to her to wonder whether Blackbear had remembered to leave something for the Sharer outside. She opened the door, balancing Blueskywind at her shoulder. Yshri’s daughter sat there cross-legged on the entrance ramp as usual, an empty breakfast plate nearby.

  Raincloud’s heart beat faster, and she swallowed thickly. She simply could not have this any longer. Carefully she seated herself before the girl. “You must speak with me,” she exclaimed in Sharer. “You must speak now, or I’ll—I’ll unspeak the Gathering of Kshiri-el. I’ll go out on an offshoot raft.”

  The Sharer girl gave her a startled look and blinked twice. For a moment she just stared. “You can’t do that,” she blurted suddenly. “The baby and all—and it’s almost swallower season. My mother wouldn’t like that.”

  At that Raincloud wanted to laugh and cry at once. “Let’s go inside and have some seaweed tea.”

  So they sat in the sitting room, on the floor of course, sipping ersatz seaweed tea from the kitchen. Morilla was the girl’s name; Morilla the Restless, Raincloud recalled now, for she had taken her selfname just a few months before. Once she had begun, Morilla talked incessantly. “It was such fun sharing your family on the raft. I’ve never before seen people from another star. You’re so dark—you must have strong breathmicrobes. But why would you want to hasten death of another poor planet? My mother says I’ll understand these things some day, but I don’t think she understands it herself.” She paused to sip her tea. “I want to travel and visit distant stars, too. My aunt Leresha says that’s wicked. Do you think so?”

  Raincloud frowned. “I doubt that’s exactly what she said,” she replied diplomatically.

  “She thinks I won’t come back. She calls me ‘starsick’”

  That was a fear familiar to Raincloud. Her mother had urged her to come home, not to like Elysium too much. Small chance of that.

  ON THE WAY TO THE LAB, BLACKBEAR STEPPED OUT INTO the familiar street-tunnel with its upcurving facades. The scent of passionflowers always told him the butterfly garden was near. “Come along, now,” he called. Behind him, the two children were dawdling.

  Suddenly Sunflower stopped. “Where’s Doggie?”

  The crayoned trainsweep was nowhere to be seen. Had they lost her in the transit reticulum?

  “I want Doggie,” Sunflower whimpered.

  “Quiet, Sunny,” said Hawktalon. “She’s just gone visiting.”

  Blackbear frowned. “She’s not supposed to do that. We promised Foreign Affairs we’d keep an eye on her.”

  Hawktalon shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll meet us later at the lab.”

  Sunflower still had his face scrunched up, ready to cry. But he managed to take in his sister’s pronouncement. “I’m-sure-she’ll-meet-us-later-at-the-lab,” he repeated solemnly.

  At the lab, it was Onyx’s last day before leaving to set up the Valan Fertility Lab. Pirin would be Tulle’s senior student now. He wanted to pick up Onyx’s Eyeless gene, using the simbrid embryo to test alleles of Eyeless that might affect longevity.

  So Blackbear reviewed for him what he had learned so far about Eyeless in development. He called up the giant embryo on the simulator, a corrected version of his Eyeless mutant which had failed to show the heart defect before. This time, as the time sequence progressed, the pulsating heart tube bulged outward like a twisted balloon, correctly predicting the deformity which had developed in Pirin’s simbrid embryo. With his hand he reached into the model to trace the unfortunate bulge, feeling a twinge of sadness.

  “You’ve refined the model,” said Pirin approvingly.

  Blackbear nodded. “Like most developmental genes,” he explained, “Eyeless has several different control sequences.” Special proteins would bind to the different control sequences in different tissues, or at different times in development. As the protein bound, it would turn the gene on or off to transcribe its product. “My first Eyeless mutant, which produced the severe heart defect in your simbrid embryo, revealed a new control sequence for heart development. This control sequence in the DNA binds its protein only during early development, and then only in heart tissue. That is why my servo simulation never picked it up.” Blackbear remembered only too well. If his simulation had predicted the defect, then Pirin would not have bothered to test that particular gene allele in embryo culture.

  Pirin nodded. “A novel control sequence—we should publish it right away.”

  “If you think it’s ready.” That would be nice, to have his name on something. “Then I’d like to characterize the control mechanism. You know, a similar protein-binding event has been associated with heart disease in Elysians going on three hundred. It may turn out to be the same control sequence, turned on by ‘mistake’ in mature individuals.”

  “Yes,” said Pirin excitedly, “early-onset heart disease—that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”

  The implications for longevity were clear. Yet somehow, Blackbear felt as if a part of himself had become detached from the work. The intellectual compulsion was as strong as ever; yet, as a person, he seemed to see himself from a distance, as though his real self had somehow moved on—on to what? he wondered.

  He shook himself. “Thanks for your interest, Pirin. Yes, I will try to write up the Eyeless results.”

  Tulle held a farewell luncheon for Onyx at the swallowtail garden. There was a multitiered cake decorated with double helices, and a floor show of servo “magicians” who seemed to throw all sorts of illusory objects out into the audience. No one was fooled but the capuchin, who leaped down to scamper madly after everything, upsetting Tulle’s plate in the process. Pirin and Lorl showed exceptionally high spirits, even tossing each other synthetic grapes to catch in their mouths. It was hard to believe they were his age at least, still acting like adolescents.

  “There’s Doggie!” cried Hawktalon, as the trainsweep showed up. “I knew she’d come back for the party.”

  Someone else was missing, though. “Where’s Draeg?” Blackbear wondered aloud. “It’s not like Draeg to miss a party.”

  Across the table, Onyx looked up, her eyes wide. “He went home—didn’t you hear?”

  The chattering voices died.

  “No—no, I didn’t. Is he all right?” Blackbear frowned anxiously.

  “His sister’s family was on that ship.”

  Tulle explained, “A freighter full of illegals blew up on takeoff. The L’liites say it was accidental, but of course it’s their policy now. It barely made the news here.”

  After
the party, Onyx drew him aside. “You’ll look after Draeg, now, won’t you? If he comes back.” Her face was creased.

  “It’s an outrage,” Blackbear muttered. “So little news—why? When the Urulites blew up a Valan freighter, it made an interstellar crisis.”

  “I guess this is just a domestic affair. L’liite ships blow up by accident all the time.”

  “But this is different,” he exclaimed. “It was part of Flors’s deal with them, to keep out illegal immigrants; I know it was.”

  Onyx shuddered. “I don’t know, sometimes. Well, I’ll miss you in my new lab, but you made the right decision. Valedon’s not the place for you.”

  “You must be glad to go home, though.”

  “Oh, yes.” She half smiled. “I’ll be a big shot now; they’ll call me ‘Lady,’ and I’ll get my parents a better place. I’m used to the beggars in the streets. You would give them the shirt off your back.” She looked at him and squeezed his arm, her fingerwebs pressing his skin. “I’ll never forget the day you first arrived with that darling toddler on your back. You’re a good man, Blackbear. Someday I’ll come see you in Tumbling Rock and carry off one of your brothers.”

  Then she left. With Onyx gone, and now Draeg, too, Blackbear felt an ache in his chest.

  ALIN, AT LEAST, WAS STILL INTO “VISITING” TO PRACTICE rei-gi. With his Elysian physique, he had progressed even faster than Draeg, now performing the most advanced multiple maneuvers with Blackbear. Raincloud occasionally joined them, although she preferred to practice with Iras out at an orbital station whose rotational force provided an extra fifteen percent “gravity.” The station was shaped like a giant version of one of the roller drums he had used to aerate bacterial cultures in medical school. The purpose for the high-gravity practice, of course, could not be explained; Blackbear did not try, but allowed Alin a playful remark about “macho Bronze Skyan females.”

  After practice at Alin’s place, where they had more room, Blackbear was catching his breath. “Do you know exactly what happened to the L’liite ship, with Draeg’s family? You should call a logathlon.”

  Alin was reclining on one of the “intelligent” couches that surrounded the spacious practice mat. Servo arms snaked from the ceiling and walls to bring refreshments at a command. Next door, Hawktalon and Sunflower were immersed in a virtual “adventure” in Alin’s chamber. “It’s a terrible thing,” Alin agreed sadly. “I would confront someone, but who? Elysians aren’t at fault, as far as I know. You can’t call foreigners to a logathlon; they’d only laugh.”

  “Bank Helicon’s deal with Solaria was responsible.”

  “Indirectly, yes. All things are connected.” Compassion anywhere breeds caring everywhere. “Right now,” said Alin, “I’m more worried about the Sharers. I hope Hyen does nothing foolish.”

  “What do you think about the Sharers?” Blackbear wondered. “Do you think it’s right to terraform?”

  “Those are two different questions,” said Alin. “Is it ‘right’ to terraform? Whatever humanity needs for survival has to be ‘right’ somehow. Even The Web admits that. And yet, when I look at some of the old Bronze Skyan foliage Tulle keeps in her preserve, I feel as if…” His head turned, and a shadow seemed to fall across his face. “That aside, to just go ahead and do it, without working things out with the Sharers first—it’s unthinkable. The Sharers have special meaning for us logens.” He shook his head. “Some of us are twisting arms at Bank Helicon right now. Banks really don’t like trouble; they may yet back down.”

  “Why don’t you confront Hyen himself? It was his fault.”

  “A logathlon with the Prime Guardian is a tricky business. Suppose I won, and the Guard were to call for an early rotation. That would bring Loris to replace him—which would be dreadful.”

  “Why? Isn’t Loris your shonsib?”

  “Anaeans prefer books to politics. They rarely make good Guardians.”

  This seemed a lame excuse, but Blackbear let it go.

  On his way home, in the transit reticulum, the holo news reported that another logen had formally challenged the Prime Guardian. The challenger was Kal Anaeashon.

  Chapter 4

  IN HER OFFICE VERID WATCHED MORILLA AS SHE SAT cross-legged on the floor next to Raincloud. The Sharer girl was the first “shadow” to open up and talk.

  “I really wish we could just have a Gathering and talk things out. The Gathering always finds what is right.” Morilla held Raincloud’s baby up to her bare shoulder as she spoke, patting her to keep her quiet. She addressed Raincloud, who had drawn her out of unspeech. Verid thought, this Bronze Skyan was worth more than a dozen Nucleus-trained diplomats. Already she was looking her old self again; amazing, how one of these foreign women could recover from having a new human being ripped out of her womb.

  “Even Gatherings make mistakes,” Verid pointed out. “Would a Gathering know what to do with twenty billion people?”

  The Sharer girl shook her head vigorously. “I hope we never make so many people on Shora. It would be too hard on the other predators. A virus would have to consume us all, for the sake of the Web.”

  Verid lifted her hand in exasperation. Having spent the morning assuring ambassadors from three different planets that the Sharer crisis posed no threat to interstellar trade, the last thing she needed to hear was apocalyptic threats. “Please share with your mother that we are deeply grateful for her daughter’s presence among us. I’m sure she misses your help as Kshiri-el prepares for the seaswallowers.” Yshri more than the others seemed sympathetic to Elysian views. “And tell your mother that if she has any better ideas than a virus, do share them with us right away.”

  “Well,” said the girl brightly, “how about a virus just to stop up their wombs instead? It wouldn’t even hurt.”

  “That sounds better,” Verid admitted, “but it would scarcely go over with foreigners. What we really need is a conflict resolution conference. Will you share that?” She leaned forward for emphasis.

  “I’ll share with Mother,” Morilla nodded, “when I go home.”

  “Good. When you go home, I have a gift for your mother; something she’s been wanting for a while.” An Elysian medical supplier had disclosed Yshri’s inquiry into the purchase of certain tissue cultures for use in her lifeshaping. Elysian doctors had surpassed the lifeshapers in certain fields, particularly human somatic engineering, but the cost of their cell lines generally exceeded Sharer means.

  The office called softly, “Time check.”

  “Yes, thanks.” She nodded to Raincloud.

  “The logathlon?”

  “I’m afraid so.” That Kal—if only he could have kept out of things for once, instead of rushing in when the “shadows” were just beginning to talk. Logens rarely challenged a Guardian, for the golden sash tended to outshine whatever was said.

  Raincloud was explaining to Morilla, “If you could just walk the baby about the garden for a while, I’d really appreciate it. She’ll go to sleep soon.”

  As the Sharer girl departed, Lem Inashon arrived in his best dress train, bordered with peacock-eyed inachis wings. “I hope you’re right about what he’ll say.”

  Raincloud looked at Verid curiously. “Do you know what Kal will have to say?”

  Verid laughed heavily. “Of course,” she replied ironically, “because I’ve known him from the shon, I should know exactly what he’ll say.”

  “Kal will appeal to the sacredness of life,” said Lem, “all life, sentient or not, based on the teaching of The Web. Humans, in destroying the Web of life, ultimately share that destruction.”

  “That sounds like Kal,” agreed Raincloud.

  “It’s exactly what I’d expect from him,” added Lem.

  “And precisely for that reason,” Verid warned, “it’s exactly what he won’t say.” She had warned Hyen too, but feared he would not listen.

  As they spoke, a new “door” was shaping itself, not in the wall, but in the floor of Verid’s office. A few ste
ps led downward to a ramp descending to a lower level. The three of them thus departed the Nucleus by a rear exit, evading temporarily the Sharer witnessers. Verid wore her dress train of lemon green anaeans partly folded up by her trainsweeps, allowing her to stride more briskly. But it was not long before the unclothed purple “shadows” found them again—and so did the long-necked reporters. It was an acute embarrassment to have to censor so much routine footage for the more puritan foreign networks.

  “How long will Hyen put up with the Sharer witnesses?” one of the servos asked Lem, resplendent in his peacock-eyed train.

  Lem cleared his throat. “Of course, we are pleased to demonstrate our Elysian democracy and tolerance…”

  “Goddess,” clicked Raincloud to herself, “he’d better put up with them.”

  A servo thrust up its head at Raincloud. “Would you amplify on that remark, please?”

  Raincloud gazed ahead without taking notice.

  “The Guard’s position is that we must call a conflict resolution conference…” Verid spoke loud and slowly, timing her statement just long enough to hold the reporters until they reached Zebra Wing Park.

  The site for this logathlon was the largest butterfly garden in Helicon. The heliconians were zebra wings—hundreds of thousands of black and yellow striped wings winking in and out among the passionflowers, enough to make the eye dizzy. The vines full of bristly caterpillars twined up eight ancient trees that towered through three street levels.

  Verid and her staff took their reserved seats at floor-level, which was already packed. Most of the audience carried their own portable holo viewers, which would, of course, show Hyen’s image touched up, practically basking in a halo from the glow of the golden sash. No wonder foreigners ridiculed this peculiar Elysian ritual.

  Kal wore his usual white. He began in a low conversational tone, so that the listeners would have to work at hearing. “You have so many extra guests lately, Guardian,” Kal was saying. “As yet another, I must apologize for troubling you.”

  “What trouble?” rejoined Hyen expansively. “At least you’re in white, not whitetrance.”