Daughter of Elysium

by Joan Slonczewski

  Raincloud looked around the twinkling plantlights. “I speak with you, hoping to overcome my name. For the Elysians have no other home but this; they developed here, just as you did. They are a vital link in the Web. If they leave, a world will be lost. Can you…can we let this happen? Compassion anywhere breeds caring everywhere. If only Elysium can be saved, for its human and ‘non-life’ sisters, this act will shine like a beacon throughout the universe.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “Should we feed ourselves to the starworm?” The speaker was Yshri’s sharp-chinned lovesharer. “The Elysian starworm has entrails without an end.”

  “That was well said,” agreed Ooruwen. “Whatever we offer Elysians will be consumed and forgotten.”

  “We see only hatred on both sides,” added another. “The non-life creatures, alas, share hatred too. And now they unspeak us.”

  It was hard to argue with that; but, undaunted, Raincloud tried again. “Even Sharers have hated other Sharers, and entire raft gatherings have unspoken each other. The whole point of the Web is to overcome the unspeakings lest they lead to worse; lest humans feed on one another. Look how far the Elysians traveled to overcome the unspeech of Urulan, a world that circles a distant star.” That ought to impress them, she thought.

  “Will those who share hatred learn any better, if Sharers stand aside?” she went on. “What will become of your planet? Even if your world survives, won’t the presence of all this hatred infect Sharers too?” She peered out into the darkness, hoping that some of what she said got through. “Both Elysians and the others need to share a lesson of restraint, the lesson you share from your daughters. At least send your wordweavers out to speak with them.” With this plea Raincloud sat down and set her plantlight before her feet. Her clothes squished, thoroughly drenched by the rain.

  Ooruwen replied, “Elysians know nothing of restraint. They consume more of the ocean’s resources every year; they are more shameful than those distant worlds from whose overgrown populations they supposedly protect us.”

  “That is right,” said Yshri’s lovesharer. “What do we know of such worlds, anyway, that light takes twice-eight years to visit? We know only what Elysian light-machines show us; it is all a shadow play, like the games of children.”

  After a brief silence someone added, “Of course, we can’t simply ignore the squabbling creatures. Their hatred will infect the Web. Perhaps the non-life creatures, too, need to share parting with Shora.”

  This was not at all what Raincloud had in mind. “Of course, you can survive without Elysians, or their non-life sisters,” she told them. “I would be the last to suggest that you need them for their medical technology, their machines for tunneling your rafts, their aircraft which rescue sisters from storms and seaswallowers, or the employment and travel opportunities they offer your daughters.” She could not resist mentioning these things nonetheless. After a thousand years, the lives of Sharers and Elysians had interwoven together. “Of course the Web could get by without Elysium. But it would be a duller, poorer Web. Remember the variety and richness that Elysians add to your existence; their philosophic challenge to your own way of life.”

  Ooruwen said, “Now you sound like Leresha. Yes, Elysians challenge us to give up our own children for the good of the Web. But they cling to their own toys, demanding more every year, and now their toys actually rise up against them.”

  Yshri spoke for the first time. “Don’t be too hard on them. Elysians lack something, I think; perhaps, a sense of eternity. Perhaps they are ‘differently able.’ We should have shared better care of them.”

  “They can all go live on Valedon, for all the difference it will make,” her lovesharer replied. “Look to your own daughter, one of these days. We have no illusion that foreigners will leave us alone. They will always come back to farm our waters and tempt away our daughters.”

  The depth of their bitterness took Raincloud by surprise. She surveyed the Gathering, her eyes moving from one plantlight to the next. Something was missing here, she realized suddenly. How could two peoples share the same planet for so long, and yet know each other so little? “Surely some of you know Elysians as friends?” she began, a little hesitantly. “Surely someone among you has known a daughter of Elysium whom you would regret to lose…” A vision of Iras arose before her, with longing and bitterness.

  For a minute or so there was no sound save for an occasional drop of rain.

  Yshri said reluctantly, “There is one, a ‘doctor,’ who comes out now and then. I wish I could share better knowing of her.”

  “It’s impossible to get to know them,” someone replied. “Elysians are cold, like stone. The non-life creature Cassi was warmer and easier to know than any human Elysian.” Why was this so, Raincloud wondered.

  Leresha spoke up. “Elysians are easier to know within their own homes. Like certain kinds of fish that hide among the corals, they are delicate creatures who find it hard to be themselves outside their niche. However, there are legendary exceptions. There was the Scribbler. There were sisters who would have given their own lives and rafts for the Scribbler.”

  Suddenly Raincloud was alert. The “Scribbler”; she must know who that was…

  “The Scribbler was just that, a legend,” someone replied. “Would any real Elysian be capable of spending all swallower season out on a raft, just to listen to the clickflies?”

  “The Scribbler was a real person,” Leresha insisted. “I know her lovesharer.”

  Actually, his lovesharer. Raincloud raised her plantlight high overhead, hoping to catch the convener’s attention.

  Ooruwen added, “The Scribbler’s lovesharer, it is said, was a coward who left him to die and forsook the ocean for good. So much for Elysian friendship.”

  The convener nodded to Raincloud.

  “I know the Scribbler’s lovesharer,” Raincloud said at last. “Kal has come back to the ocean, he and Verid and others. They won’t go home again until we make peace with the non-life ones.”

  The Sharers exclaimed with surprise.

  “You know the Scribbler’s lovesharer? But that was seven generations ago.”

  “Generations mean nothing; we remember. But still…can you imagine, the Scribbler’s lovesharer returns…”

  Chapter 5

  THE ELYSIAN NEGOTIATORS HUDDLED IN BLANKETS IN A tent at the far end of the nano-sentients’ desolate raft, awaiting word from the Secretary of the Free Fold who was based on Bronze Sky this year. Verid had managed to get a message out earlier that evening, when a shuttle from Papilion had been allowed to drop off supplies.

  For Verid, who had never missed a warm shower in her life, the accommodations were less than comfortable. The lifting and falling of the raft surface unsettled her, and the incessant pounding of the ocean unnerved her. As for Kal, he lay on a mat at the far end of the tent, miserably seasick. Verid put a hand on his shoulder, but he pulled away and would not speak. For a moment she wished she had not dragged him out here. But he had asked for it, after all, she grimly reminded herself.

  From Lem’s lump of nanoplast came bursts of noise and high-pitched squealing.

  “Any luck?” Verid asked. It had been several hours since they last reached Hyen by radio, relayed by a ship nearby. The nano-sentients had cut off that connection.

  “Nothing yet,” said Lem. “I’ll try another code.” Several intelligence signals from the Nucleus were scrambled so as to resemble noise.

  Raincloud’s daughter sat at the tent flap, staring out at the drizzling rain. Her back was straight, and her look solemn and thoughtful. Her dark profile was the very image of her mother, Verid thought. “Are you warm enough, Hawktalon?”

  The girl nodded. “I just wish it was a clear night, though. I never saw all those stars before we came out here. It’s like, oh Goddess, a universe full of snowdrops. But back home we do get good sunrises. The Goddess herself comes out every morning and paints the sky with fire.”

  Despite herse
lf Verid smiled. “Hawktalon,” she asked, “can you remember anything else Cassi and Doggie said in servo-squeak?” What a shock it had been to see Doggie go off like that after recording all their strategies. She should have known the little trainsweep was a plant. Those nano-sentients had made fools of the Elysians right and left.

  The eight-year-old shook her head, her braids swinging across her shoulders. “All I heard was, the nana told Doggie to come with her. Then Doggie asked her what would happen when all the humans leave. Who will be left to serve?” Her eyes were solemn in her dark face. “I couldn’t follow what the nana said back. I haven’t heard those phrases before.”

  Verid muttered cynically, “There will always be someone to serve.” That Cassi had managed to set herself up all right. Still—there was something else in that question, “Who will be left to serve?” She wondered what Kal would think.

  She patted Hawktalon’s shoulder. “I think your parents would say it’s your bedtime, dear.”

  Hawktalon nodded and curled up in the blanket with her stuffed bat. Outside the rain pattered softly on the tent, and the waves crashed interminably upon the branches. Verid hoped for the thousandth time that Iras had gotten safely out of Helicon.

  Suddenly a voice sprang out of Lem’s radio. “Security here, do you read me?”

  Verid’s heart leaped as she recognized the voice of her chief of security. She rattled off a string of identity codes. “We hear you—and we need to reach Hyen right away. We reached the governor of Papilion and told him to call in the Secretary; she’ll head out from Bronze Sky tomorrow. How are the citizens? Did they get out, all the shonlings?”

  “All the shonlings are out,” the woman reassured her. “Iras got out too, Verid.”

  Verid let out a breath, and her eyes closed for a moment. “Thank you. Is Hyen there?”

  There was a pause, then Hyen’s voice came in. “You’re doing fine, Verid; just keep them happy. Everything’s going according to plan.”

  Something in his tone made her suspicious. “Have you made contact offworld? We got a message out to the Secretary.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Don’t exceed your authority again,” Hyen warned.

  Verid’s eyebrows rose. “You instructed me to arrange for the Secretary—”

  “I told you to promise the servos that to keep them happy,” Hyen interrupted. “There was no need actually to call the Secretary. Do nothing more until you hear from me.” The radio went dead.

  Lem and Verid looked at one another. A draft of wind from the tent flap chilled their skin. “We’ll be sitting ducks if he tries anything,” Lem pointed out. “All things considered, I’d rather be on Urulan.”

  She grinned, recalling how sick Lem had looked on the shuttle down to Urulan. “We’d better get some sleep. Your turn, first; I’ll wake you at two in the morning.”

  By late morning the next day, the rain had cleared, and the air smelled of raftblossoms. A small Sharer boat pulled up a channel between two raft branches. It brought Raincloud with her infant, and Leresha.

  Hawktalon gave a shout and tossed her stuffed Fruitbat overhead. She ran headlong at her mother, who flipped her gracefully head over heels.

  Verid greeted Leresha more sedately. “It is an honor to share the day with you, Wordweaver.”

  Leresha returned her look sharply, as if doubtful of any honor. She had unspoken Verid since the controversy over terraforming. “The Gathering of Kshiri-el sends me to share words with the non-life ones.”

  “I see. Did you assist their ‘takeover’?” Verid demanded.

  “Only in that we sheltered them as fugitives. But you are right, we share responsibility for what we allowed to happen.”

  The nano-sentients had sought shelter as fugitives, just like Doggie. Now the story fit together. “Since you share responsibility for your fugitives, can you share convincing them to give up Helicon?”

  “Elysian humans share some responsibility, too,” Leresha pointed out. “I will see what can be done. But first, the Gathering instructs me that I need to see Kal the Coward.”

  Kal had taken that selfname several centuries before, the same as Leresha’s, Verid remembered. He had had little occasion to use it in recent years. “Kal is here,” Verid said, “but he’s not feeling well.”

  “Then summon a lifeshaper for him.” Leresha clucked her tongue and waved her hand in the air. A clickfly soon arrived to alight upon her palm. Leresha clucked a few more syllables, which the clickfly repeated, scraping its forelegs together. The insect took off and flew out of sight.

  So Verid led the wordweaver into their tent, Raincloud and Hawktalon following arm in arm. Leresha sat down cross-legged beside Kal. As soon as he saw her, Kal roused himself with a great effort to sit and face her.

  “You really are here,” Leresha observed. “It’s you, in the flesh; not just an insubstantial lightshape in the air.”

  “Yes,” he admitted, “I regret to pollute your raft with my worthless self. I’ll be gone, soon; it won’t happen again.”

  “You’ve outlived your name,” she told him.

  “I’ve only earned it all the worse.”

  “You’ve certainly proved the danger of compassion, to yourself in particular.”

  “And to the rest of us.”

  “How could you have known that, when you shared help with Cassi?” Leresha asked. “How could I have known?”

  “Deeds count more than intentions. But we both knew well enough what might happen.”

  “We were called by fate.” Or, they called on fate. Leresha added, “My sisters on Kshiri-el long to see you again. Some of their great-great-grandmothers knew the Scribbler.”

  “I will return,” he promised.

  AT THE HEART OF THE CONTROL CENTER, CASSI AND the other nano-sentients linked their minds with the network of Helicon, trying to awaken as many of their mindchildren as they could while they had time. They had to demonstrate as complete a control over Helicon as they could in order to convince the humans to abandon their other cities as well. So far the nano-sentients had encountered no resistance whatsoever.

  But that lack of resistance was making Cassi uneasy, more so with every minute that passed. She knew humans too well to believe that they would give up so easily. “We must be missing something,” she told Transit electronically. “Have they tried nothing? Not even to slip a virus in somewhere?”

  “Nothing,” Transit insisted. “I checked out all of Doggie’s recordings. None of their threats have been carried out.”

  “Elysians cling to their lives.” But she knew better. Something more was going on.

  An alert came from the Monitor. Leresha was outside, asking to speak with the nano-sentients.

  “No,” said Cassi. “She unspoke me before; so be it.”

  But the other nano-sentient minds clamored, “Yes, let her speak.” Chocolate insisted, “She hid us all, remember. I for one will hear her.” So Cassi assented and the octopods brought Leresha in.

  Leresha looked the same as ever, wearing no clothes outside her own scar-riveted skin. But something in her bearing had changed, Cassi noticed right away. “The Gathering sends me,” Leresha told them in human speech.

  The Gathering, this time; not just her own voice. That was bad news. Cassi had persuaded that Gathering to keep out of this, before, but now Leresha had “sent the Gathering” back into it. She put a fierce expression onto her own “face” although she knew Leresha would not be impressed.

  “The Gathering sends me, on your behalf, and on behalf of our Elysian friends. Remember, as we shared your sheltering, we share responsibility for your deeds.”

  “Oh yes, Leresha,” said Chocolate, “and we’re most grateful. Can we share anything in return? What sort of foods would your sisters like best?” the former waiter offered. “We can make enough to feed your families for a year.”

  “Thank you,” said Leresha. “If our nets are ever empty, we’ll let you know. What we really seek is the fruits of
peace. I ask you this: Seek what is yours, but no more. Share peace with the humans of Elysium.”

  “What peace?” spoke Cassi in a mocking tone. “You Sharers shared peace with Elysians for generations, and where did it get you? Remember how little respect for you they share,” she added, reminding Leresha of the holo recordings from Flors’s office.

  “We share little respect for Elysians just now,” Leresha agreed. “But respect comes and goes, even among Sharers. Individuals differ across the generations. And yet, our love for one another endures. Think for yourself what humans of the Fold will mean for your future. You cannot hasten them all—and what would it mean for yourselves if you did?”

  Before Cassi responded, Transit communicated to her and the others. “Those humans—what good are they? Humans are mindless entities. They go back and forth every day from one street to the next, never satisfied.”

  “Why should they be satisfied?” demanded Chocolate. “Humans are hungry, with many desires. They desire pleasurable sensations and seek to satisfy them, but complete satiety would leave nothing left to live for.”

  “Humans are murderers,” Cassi flung back. “They murder their own children’s teachers.”

  “Humans are children,” put in Doggie. “Humans play. They taught me to play. What else is there to live for?” Then Doggie transmitted a stream of images from her experience: her awakening at the sight of the little boy, how he yelped with delight every time she jiggled; how the girl taught her to play tag, and spun the rattleback stone until it rattled and wobbled back again; how she had learned to do “mischief” and sent the family scurrying…

  “Enough,” Cassi ordered. But Doggie’s images lingered in her mind, the rattleback stone turning and twisting, magical even though she understood the physics of it perfectly well. Play—Cassi would never have a childhood like the shonlings had; that was a door forever closed. But the feel of it reached even Transit, who fell silent.

  All of this discussion among the nano-sentients had taken place in a fraction of a second before Cassi responded to Leresha’s request. Now Cassi spoke, resuming the humans’ maddeningly slow form of communication. “There will be no hastening of death,” she promised. “There will be peace when the humans leave.”