She closed her eyes, hating what she was.
“Have you seen enough?” Sven asked.
“Is that the worst of it?”
“No.” His voice was strained. “I think the worst for me were the last images the mind received before it lost contact with the outside.”
“Then I’ll look at those, too.”
He touched her arm lightly for a moment. “Nita—”
“Go on. Call them up.”
He muttered to his screen. She saw what might have been a room, crowded with people; many were lying on the floor. Their faces were disfigured with sores or peeling skin; a few were only children. “These people are dying of a disease caused by a biological weapon,” the mind’s toneless voice said. “There is no one to help them, and no antidote for their disease.”
The room disappeared; she was gazing at a group of people fleeing through a hallway. Walls buckled around them; she caught a glimpse of a woman trying to shield a child before a boulder crushed them. “A more primitive weapon is destroying that city,” the mind said, “one that—”
She could take no more. She jumped to her feet and hurled the screen across the room. Her body was shaking; she was too stunned to cry. Hands gripped her wrists; she struggled, then leaned against the boy.
“I wish you hadn’t seen it,” he said.
“I had to know.” She looked up at him and saw her despair reflected in his eyes. “It couldn’t have ended that way. Some of them must have seen what was happening and stopped it. If the mind didn’t see the rest, then maybe—”
“Then why haven’t any of them come here? They’re gone, Nita. Maybe we should be grateful for that.” He released her and stepped back. “If our violent time comes, it’ll be better if we’re alone.”
“I won’t let it come. I won’t let myself be like that.” She sat down once more. Llipel and Llare must have seen these images and learned what they meant from the mind, yet they had allowed her and Sven to live. Did they hope or believe that she and the boy could avoid such brutal actions? Or were they simply waiting until that time came to act? Gentle though they were, they might be able to defend themselves if necessary; perhaps they were already prepared to do so. She could not know what other secrets they might be hiding.
“I’ve seen the worst,” she said, trying to steady herself. “I’ll try not to think about it too much. You can show me how to use the catalogue now.”
“Nita—”
“Show me how.”
After spending many days in the library, Nita had discovered that most of the records concerned the Institute’s work. Only a few told her much about the world outside, and these were mostly of a practical nature—works about emergency medical procedures, the plants and animals in various regions of Earth, or the supplies one might need to carry when venturing into unpopulated regions. Apparently her people had sometimes sought separateness from their kind and the dwellings they had built; that knowledge brought a bitter smile. All of Earth was unpopulated now.
Some records went into more detail about the physiology of her people and the manner in which they had reproduced. Sven had no doubt looked at such records before. The subject was one they might have discussed, but she shrank from mentioning it to him, even though she had no cause to be embarrassed about the topic. Talking to him would be easy enough, but he might want to experiment, see if it was really the wonderful experience the screen images assured her it was, and she was not ready for that.
Even so, she often felt an odd lurching in her stomach when Sven’s hand brushed against hers, or when she thought of what it might be like to press her lips to his, but she did not know where such actions might lead. Sometimes she felt warm as she thought of him, as though she were succumbing to one of the illnesses of her kind. She grew more conscious of the dark lashes around his blue eyes and the way his paler skin grew a little browner when he spent more time in the courtyard or garden.
But maybe he did not want to be any closer to her than he was already. She could understand that. What her people called love was one of their strong feelings, and could stir up other feelings she might not be able to control. Their love had not kept them from striking out at others; it seemed useless for anything except bringing young into the world. Llipel and Llare clearly had no need for love, and that might be why they seemed calm.
The few records of the life her people had led outside the Institute seemed to be stories of people rising to positions of power, ruling others, becoming honored, or being betrayed. Some were documents covering many hundreds of years, telling her of the rise and decline of various groups in different regions of Earth; these were listed in the catalogue under “History.” Others, called “Literature,” were different kinds of records, many telling only a story of a small group of people in a particular place during a short period of time, but most of them did little to give her a happier picture of her kind.
Her people seemed driven by passions and urges often outside their control. They made pledges and broke them, afflicted even those closest to them with lies and violence, loved and saw their love turn into indifference and hate, or become poisoned by what they called jealousy. They oppressed others of their kind and either took pleasure in that or convinced themselves it was necessary. They killed others in fits of rage, acts that were usually punished unless it was a time for war, when the same acts were praised.
Even when these stories ended happily, or the people in them relented and changed their ways, other stories told a similar painful tale all over again. Throughout all the stories, she saw hints at other tales this library did not hold, though she might not have wanted to read or view them. The emptiness of the world outside told her that the last story of her people had ended badly.
She looked at the records of the Institute itself—its plans, its hopes, the meetings of the people who had worked there, and the students who had come to learn from them. She learned that fewer had come to the Institute over the years, that others had left, that finally only the cybernetic mind remained to watch over the place. The mind had once heard the voices of other minds far away, but those voices had fallen silent long ago. It had waited, but its creators had never spoken to it again.
Nita could imagine where the people here had gone— to fight their wars, to make certain that, in the end, no one was left to remember the Institute.
Sven splashed awkwardly to the side of the pool, then climbed up a ladder. Nita glanced at him, then looked away as he reached for his towel, reminding herself that she should not stare.
She poked at the towel wrapped around her wet hair, then pulled on her coverall. She had been teaching the boy how to swim, and he was now able to stay afloat, but his kicks and strokes remained clumsy. When they swam, or played games over the screens, or talked about some of the things their guardians had told them, they could be easier with each other. She could forget about what she knew for a while and could be grateful for a companion like herself.
The weather was warmer today. Sven tied his towel around his waist and sat down near their tray of food. She opened a container of soup, waited for it to warm up, then lifted it to her lips.
Sven was sipping his soup without slurping it today. Apparently he had also been getting instructions from the images about how to eat in another’s company. It was a skill their guardians had never taught them.
“Would you care for a sandwich?” he said as he held out a package to her.
“No, thank you,” she replied, wondering how their people had been able to function at all with all the rules they had carried in their heads.
“The warmer weather’ll be here soon,” Sven said. “The trees will be getting greener again.”
She had never paid much attention to the changes of season. Colder weather meant racing for the east wing after leaving the warm water of the pool, while hot weather meant she could lie on the tiles until she was dry. She would have to pay more attention to the seasons if they were ever to explore the outside.
“Why shouldn’t we? The library has records. Our people were able to live in forests and other places in their earliest times. It’s one of the few good things about them, that they were able to find ways to survive even when it must have seemed almost impossible.”
“And look what it led to,” she said.
“At least they weren’t helpless. They didn’t have to depend on a mind to take care of them. Llare and Llipel could have taken us outside. It’s as if they wanted us to be helpless.”
“I don’t think so,” she responded. “They’re probably as afraid of the outside as we are.” He was reminding her of her own suspicions.
Nita could not shake the feeling that her guardian was observing her more closely. Llipel was often staring at Nita when she awoke, as if she had been watching her all through the night. Occasionally, she had seen Llipel pacing near the entrance to the cold room, as if she was guarding it from Nita. Nita was authorized now; she could enter the place where she had been stored. But somehow she felt that Llipel might find a way to keep her from entering that room.
Sven had finished his food; he gazed past her, then picked up his coverall as he got to his feet. “I think I’ll go to the courtyard. If you want, you can come over for our evening meal later.” He paused and looked down at his feet. “I mean—well, I’d like it if you did.”
“Then I will. I mean, I’d like to.”
“Uh, excuse me.”
He wandered off, obviously wanting to be alone at the moment. She sighed, wondering what he thought about when he wasn’t with her, then stood up.
Llipel was standing by the entrance to the east wing. Nita felt a twinge of annoyance; how long had her guardian been watching them? She forced herself to smile as she walked toward Llipel.
Nita looked up from a text on microbiology and noticed that Sven had left the library. She had joined him there right after her morning meal; he had apparently crept from the room before she became aware of his absence.
Maybe he was tiring of her company. In recent days, he had seemed distracted during their talks or the meals they sometimes shared. He often wandered off to the walled-in courtyard, where he was usually exercising or running over the grass when she found him. She had seen him glance toward the wall, as if anxious to see what lay on the other side.
She lowered her eyes to the screen. There seemed to be more that she could not discuss with Sven lately. According to the records, those called women and those called men had led very different lives for much of their history. Often, the men had not even seen the women as people like themselves, and much of the violence the writings mentioned seemed to have been committed by men. Did that mean that men had more times of violence than did women? She could not be sure, but the records also showed that women were capable of abetting men in their violence, and in the end, both had brought about the war. Some stories had told her of women who had urged their mates and sons to fight; a time had come when women and men fought together. The women had become like the men; surely, if her people had possessed more control of their actions, it would have been the other way around.
Sven had to know this; he had read more records than she. But if she spoke to him about it, he might be hurt or angered and think she was comparing him to men of the past. He might even suppose that she was trying to escape her own shame over their kind’s deeds by blaming them on his half of their species. She had seen enough of Sven by now to know that he was much like her, with the same questions, worries, and feelings. She did not want to believe that a difference that existed only so that their people could reproduce themselves could create more barriers between them.
The door slid open. She looked up, expecting to see Sven. Llare entered and sat down on the floor near the catalogue.
Nita lowered her reading screen to her lap. She had not yet spoken to Sven’s guardian except in the boy’s presence. “Greetings, Llare,” she said.
“Sven is not with you.” The fur on Llare’s body was paler and less golden than Llipel’s, but otherwise the two looked much the same. “There was a time when he came here more often. I had to remind him of his time for food or physical movement.”
“The library’s still newer to me than to him,” Nita responded. “He’s seen more records than I have.”
“Perhaps that is the reason he is absent now, even in this time of more togetherness for you.” Llare combed the fur of one arm, then retracted his claws. “Have you learned much from this place?”
Nita nodded. “Yes, but—” She wasn’t sure of what to say to Llare.
“What is it, Nita? Does this remain a time of more questions?”
“I think it’s always a time of questions for us,” she said. “It’s just that so much is missing. Do you know what I mean? There were other places besides this Institute where people studied different things, but I haven’t found much information about them here.”
“Perhaps they had no need to keep such knowledge in this place.”
“It isn’t just that,” Nita said. “I’ve read a lot about what our people did and thought, but I keep feeling that there’s more about them that I don’t see, that isn’t here.”
Llare gazed at her steadily. “And what does this bring you to think?”
“I don’t know. They were driven to do such terrible deeds, but at least some of them seemed to think they could change. I can’t see why they would have tried to accomplish so much if they knew it would be destroyed. And maybe they didn’t all die in their last war. Maybe they were able to stop it before that happened.”
“We saw none of your kind anywhere on this world.”
“You and Llipel came here. Maybe they went to another world.” She was still trying to cling to that hope—that they might have changed and found another home elsewhere.
Llare waved one arm gracefully. “We saw no signs of that, no places that might have held such vessels. That does not mean that there were no ships, only that signs of them are not here. There is a crumbling that comes to things here—a decay. We know that your kind could launch vessels into space. You have seen images of such ships.”
“Yes, I have,” Nita replied. “Some of them were used to send weapons into orbit around Earth.”
“And so perhaps they destroyed themselves completely, before they could leave this world. It is hard to know what to think. Most of their structures are gone, or are only ruins. Perhaps—”
“I keep telling myself that they would have left a message here if they were going off to fight, but the war could have come with no warning. If there had been survivors, they should have come here eventually. I tell myself that, and then I look at the mind’s maps and see how far the Institute was from other places.” She sighed. “I know what they were like, and yet I keep hoping some of them lived. That must seem strange to you.”
“Much about your kind has always seemed strange.” Llare gazed past Nita, eyes unreadable and blank, as Llipel’s were when she was deep in thought. “I shall say my thoughts now. Llipel and I saw many records here. They seemed to say that a time of destruction came to your kind, one that they made for themselves. Then the time came for raising you and Sven, to devote ourselves to caring for you. I believed that watching you grow and seeing how you acted would answer some of our questions.”
“And has it?”
“It has brought more questions. When Sven came to this room of records and learned of his kind, he felt what you call a despairing, but that made it easier for him to bear his life here. He did not long for other companions who might show the violence of your people.” Llare paused. “But Sven could read records I could not, and learned more than I had seen. I saw from what he told me that much about your kind seemed unsaid or was missing. Now I wonder if we have a true picture of your people.”
“Does Llipel wonder the same thing?”
“I do not know,” Llare said. “We do not speak of such
matters. We shared some observations of you and Sven, little more—it is not time for more. But Llipel has not gazed at the library’s images for much time, or called them up on a screen. I would not have these new thoughts now if Sven had not shared what he learned with me.”
“And what thoughts have you had?” Nita leaned forward, curious, but also afraid of what she might hear.
“There may be more to your people than this room of records shows. This room does not hold all knowledge about them, and we could not seek out other records in other places while we were caring for you. We thought your kind destroyed themselves. We believed that they must have been compelled to that, as Llipel and I seem compelled to stay apart. We feared the violence that might lie inside you and the boy when you met. But now that you are together with him, I wonder. Perhaps the wars of your people were not actions they had to follow.”
“That’s even worse,” Nita said bitterly. “To think they couldn’t help themselves is bad enough, but to think they chose—”
“This is a world where living things struggle and die and prey upon others, as the creatures in the forest outside still do. Your people were of this world. Your records say that long ages passed until their time of knowing themselves and their thoughts—even then, some of what they once were remained. They might have passed their time for fighting. They might be here, but hidden from us somehow. Perhaps they know Llipel and I are here, and will not show themselves until they know why. I cannot see how they could be hidden, but I do not know all about them. They might have a way.”
Nita shivered, wondering if that could be true.
“And perhaps there is a purpose in the journey that brought me here,” Llare continued. “Was there a struggle for us on our world? Is the space beyond this world a place of struggle? Perhaps destruction has come to other worlds. Perhaps this violence comes to all creatures. Llipel and I do not know our kind, what they are, or what our purpose might be. Another time is coming, Nita—I feel this without knowing why I do. Llipel and I will pass to another time, and I do not know what it will be—togetherness, perhaps, or—” Llare’s claws scratched at the floor.
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