Child of Earth

by David Gerrold

  ONE HUNDRED PERCENT

  THAT PIECE OF CHOCOLATE CAKE cost a thousand work points for our family and the Kelly family. They got fined for sneaking chocolate into the dome. We got fined because Rinky and I didn’t report it. If we hadn’t been so close to finishing our underground flood-proof house, Administor Rance would have dropped us from the project.

  Rinky and I had to stand up and publicly apologize to the entire dome for putting their lives at risk. I cried a lot. “I have to apologize; Mom-Woo says so. I know I did wrong by not reporting an infraction. But I didn’t get a birthday party this year and—”

  Administor Rance cut me off. She was very angry and very severe—as if she were a Linnean administor. “We do not celebrate birthdays on Linnea! We do not tempt the demons to rise up out of the ground. Nor do we eat of the demon beans! Who knows what poisons such demon foods contain? Will you burn for the practice of witchcraft, Kaer! You live on Linnea now! You must choose between chocolate and life.” She made it sound evil.

  I started to weep. “I just wanted something for my birthday, that’s all.”

  Administor Rance’s face grew sadder. She came down from the podium and spoke directly to me, “Kaer, do you want to see your family burned alive—all of them screaming in agony, just because you wanted a piece of chocolate?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I broke down completely, falling to my knees on the floor in front of her. Administor Rance ignored me. She walked back up to her podium and waited impassively. “Do you want that, Kaer?” She asked again.

  That’s when Aunt Morra stood up. “For Christ’s sake,” she said. “You’ve made your point. Stop picking on the poor child. This won’t happen again. The family has already taken responsibility. You don’t have to subject us to an unholy Inquisition!”

  Somehow, I stopped sniffling long enough to look up. Administor Rance scribbled little notes on the paper in front of her while Morra went on. “Look,” she said. “We’ve cooperated one hundred percent with this program. We’ve worked as hard as anyone. And we haven’t complained. We’ve done our best to learn the language, the culture, the traditions. We eat the food, we wear the clothes, we make our own tools, we’ve built a house and we’ve planted crops. Doesn’t that count for anything? You can’t expect perfection.”

  Administor Rance picked up her paper. “Fifty-point penalty for the use of the word ‘Christ.’ Fifty-point penalty for the use of the term ‘Inquisition.’ Fifty-point penalty for the use of the term ‘one hundred percent.’” She put the paper down. “Yes, I know this seems harsh and cruel and unfair to you. Especially to you, Kaer. But we cannot allow even the smallest breach in discipline. If we make one excuse for one child’s birthday, then we’ll make another excuse for something else later on. And another and another, until we’ve punched so many holes in our integrity, we can use it for a sieve. I take no pleasure in these proceedings, believe me—but better that you learn this lesson here than after you arrive on Linnea where anything out of the ordinary can result in an Inquiry by the local administors. I doubt very much that you will like their Covenant of Justice.

  “We have had good results with our first group of colonists only because we trained them so rigorously. We will not risk their lives or yours. Each and every one of us needs to have a total commitment to the agreements. And that includes the children most of all, because if anything gives you away, it will probably come from the children. I do not apologize for trying to save your life, Kaer.” She looked at me sternly. “You must regard all references to Earth as profane, so profane that you would rather die than betray the existence of the home world.”

  Morra sat down and folded her arms across her chest. I knew that look. She was through listening for tonight. Probably for a long while. Like the way she acted when we first told her we wanted to apply for Linnea. She probably wouldn’t say anything at all for a week, and then after she’d thought about it for a while, she’d turn into a real witch—on the side of the agreements. But she wouldn’t talk about how she changed her mind; she’d just insist on us keeping strictly to our word.

  Mom-Woo said that when you looked up stubborn in the dictionary, you found Aunt Morra’s picture. But Morra had spoken up for me, and I’d never seen her speak up for anyone like that before, and I spent the rest of the evening looking at her as if I’d never really seen her before.

  Administor Rance then turned her attention to the Kelly family. “By rights, I should drop you from the program here and now. I have the authority to do so. The severity of your infraction leaves very little choice in the matter. And I must ask you now what other contraband you’ve brought into the dome. If you want to continue in this program, I expect you to turn over everything immediately. And that includes that Bible you smuggled in....” She ignored the gasps in the room. “Yes, we know about it, Citizen. It will not go to Linnea with you.”

  Buzz Kelly stood up. He wore only his blacksmith’s apron and leather kilt. Everybody called him Buzzard Kelly because he looked so tall and gangly. But all the hours hammering at the forge had given him arms like tree trunks, so when he stood up, people shut up and listened.

  “The Good Lord made all the worlds, not just this one,” he said quietly. “He will reign wherever we go. So how can we leave our faith in Him behind?”

  Administor Rance didn’t like that question. Even I could see that. Probably because it didn’t matter how she answered it, someone was going to get angry. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment before putting them back on. “Dr. Whitlaw has already addressed that. Perhaps you should revisit that lesson. I am not asking you to relinquish your faith, Citizen Kelly. Only your Bible.” And then she added in a more thoughtful tone, “As far as we know, Christ doesn’t exist on Linnea. Not now. Maybe not ever. We don’t know what specifically happened to our lost settlers. Whatever records they left behind may have disappeared when the plagues decimated the continent more than fifteen hundred years ago, almost wiping out all human life. We do know that the Linneans never developed monotheism as we know it. As you know it.”

  She stopped herself. “Never mind all that. For reasons we cannot yet identify, the Linneans have developed a profound hostility to changes in their fundamental belief systems. That may be the result of holy wars in their past. But the practice of any Earth religion on Linnea represents a serious possibility of cultural contamination, with consequences we cannot predict. We can’t run the risk of triggering an inquisition, or worse. We can say with certainty that the discovery of religious artifacts among your goods would endanger you and probably everyone you came in contact with as well. The Linneans do not yet have the concept of religious tolerance.”

  She held up her hand to keep Buzzard from replying. “Consider this, Citizen Kelly. You will have privacy in your own home. And if you choose to use that privacy for the kinds of prayers that succor you, you will do exactly that, no matter what I say here. If you build your home five hundred kilometers out in the wilderness, and if your nearest neighbors remain a two-day ride in any direction, and if you assume that distance equals security—then in all likelihood you will grant yourself the privilege of violating the integrity of your agreement to not practice any Earth-based rituals. And by so doing, your immersion in the Linnean way of thinking will remain incomplete. You will have carved a hole in your integrity large enough for the danger to you and your loved ones to come galloping through like a stampede of enraged boffili. Yes, Morra, chocolate cake by itself carries no danger. Neither does a quiet faith in Christ. But the breach of integrity that such actions demonstrate also proves an intolerable failure to assimilate.

  “Had we not already invested so much time and energy in all of you, I would recommend your immediate dismissal from the program. By now, we expect all of you to know better. Administor Moffin gave you high recommendations. This does not give me confidence in any of his other judgments. Nevertheless, based on his prior faith in you, I will withhold immediate judgment and p
lace you on indefinite probation, pending further incidents.”

  She rang her bell to close the meeting—and exited without saying another word to anyone. That was the way she always did it, but this time it really hurt.

  HOME

  THAT NIGHT WE HAD ANOTHER FAMILY MEETING around the table. At least we had a table, even if we didn’t have a house yet. We were still sleeping in the great-wagon, or underneath it—just like we would do on Linnea someday. And that thought always gave me a curious feeling too, because it meant that someday we’d be leaving this house behind. Even though we hadn’t even finished building it yet, it already felt like home.

  Klin and Cindy folded the table down from the left side of the wagon, and Rinky and Parra and I put out the tea things: mugs, salt, pepperrinds, tea and tea-strainers. Gampa lit the lanterns, one after the other, and hung them overhead.

  I didn’t sit at my usual place. I sat next to Aunt Morra, my way of showing her I was glad she had spoken up, no matter how many points it had cost us. Morra surprised me by putting her arm around my shoulder and whispering into my ear. “Don’t you fret, sweetheart. We’ll take just so much and then we won’t take anymore.”

  Mom-Woo overheard and looked at Morra grimly. “Don’t encourage the children, Morra. We have enough trouble as it is.” She brought the boiling pot to the table and began spooning tea leaves into it. One by one, the other adults finished peeing or pooping into the compost pit, finished washing and came to the table. Gamma and Mom-Lu filled tea mugs, and Parra and Cindy started passing them around. Even though no one said anything, I felt so bad about everything, I just wanted to run off into the hills and die. But Aunt Morra still had her arm firmly around my shoulder, so I couldn’t go anywhere at all; so instead I just leaned into her and buried my face in her side, pretending I didn’t exist anymore.

  After a bit the grown-ups started talking, gently at first, easing their way into the subject, and Morra nudged me upright. “No hiding out,” she whispered. So I reached out and pulled my tea mug close and stared down into it instead. The salty aroma comforted me. Linnean tea was more like soup than tea. I liked it more than Earth tea.

  Across from me, on the other side of the table, Lorrin hunched over his mug too. He glowered diagonally across at Irm. He wasn’t angry at anyone here. He was just angry. “Do you still feel the same way, Irm? Do you still think this is such a good idea for us? I can’t help but wonder, what have we gotten ourselves into?”

  Irm rolled his own cup back and forth between his hands, as if warming his fingers. “I suspect that this conversation will occur in many homes tonight, around many tables.” Around us, the howling of the wind had grown. Authority had begun simulating the beginning of winter, and it was a very convincing simulation. I kept my boffili robe wrapped tight around me. Irm said thoughtfully, “What we had before, we still have tonight. We have our family. What we choose to do next, we will still have what we have tonight. Each other.” And then he added. “The decision belongs to you, Lorrin—and everyone else who crosses over.”

  Mom-Woo sat down at the head of the table, indicating that she would take charge of this family meeting. Parra and Cindy finished handing out mugs of tea and took their places down at the foot of the table. They looked strangely silent too.

  Bhetto, who hardly ever spoke at family meetings, spoke up first. He said, “I agree with Irm. The decision does not belong to those who will stay behind. But I will tell you this, Lorrin. The more we learn about Linnea, the more I worry. The natural dangers, we all knew those coming in: the kacks, the razor grass, the long winters, the boffili, the range fires, the flooding ... all of that. You believed you could handle it. I believed it too. And every day, as they told us of each new threat we might encounter, we included those dangers in the challenge, confident that we could expand our commitment to meet them. But now, we hear that the natural realm represents only the smallest threat compared to the people of Linnea—and I candidly confess that now I worry what other dangers await that they still haven’t told us yet.” He spoke in Linnean, with flawless rhythm. I actually began to wish that Irm and Bhetto and Morra would come with us.

  Cindy, who also didn’t speak much at meetings, raised a hand to respond. Mom-Woo nodded, and Cindy, rubbing his new beard thoughtfully, said, “You make good points, Bhetto—but if you stay behind, you won’t share those risks, and as Irm just said, whatever risks obtain on Linnea, they belong only to those who choose to cross over. We have to make this decision ourselves, don’t we?”

  Bhetto agreed. “Yes, Cindy. I know that. But perhaps the time has come for the family to consider an alternative. You know what I mean. We don’t have to cross over, and we can still stay a part of this world. Other families have done it—they’ve chosen to stay on this side as trainers and teachers and reviewers of the material beamed back from the monitors. We could do that, all of us, and we could stay together.” Bhetto added quietly, “Sometimes, I feel as if you’ve already left. And I miss you so terribly. If we stayed here, we wouldn’t ever have to say good-bye.”

  “Thank you, Bhetto,” said Lorrin. He reached across the table and patted the older man’s hand. “We all appreciate that. But ... you know we can’t just stop halfway. We set a goal for ourselves. If we won’t commit ourselves passionately, and if we don’t make a full-out effort, we’ll never know what we could have accomplished. And like Morra and Irm have already said—this family cannot survive the stench of a festering dream.”

  “Well said, Lorrin, as always. But perhaps the family should take another look at this dream. It looked far better in the wanting than in the having.”

  “The doing, however—” said Morra, surprising us all. “The doing has changed us all for the better. And if we abandon the dream, we risk losing what we’ve all built together. A closer family.”

  Bhetto blinked. “But, Morra, I haven’t advocated abandonment at all—only that we consider a different realization of the same goal, one that allows us greater freedom and comfort.”

  “We all understand, Bhetto.” Mom-Woo came and sat down beside him. “You don’t want to lose us. And we don’t want to lose you either. We love you too. And we all of us have days when we look at you and Morra and Irm and the tears fill our eyes because we know there will come a day when we’ll have to say good-bye and then we’ll never see you again. We’ll have messages, yes, as often as we can. But ... messages don’t give hugs.” And with that, she put her arms around Bhetto and held him close, and they both wept quietly in each other’s arms.

  Watching, I felt good about that. So did the rest of the family. We waited in silence until they broke apart, both wiping their eyes at the same time, and then both laughing gently at each other’s tears. Mom-Woo reached across and touched Bhetto’s cheek gently, and I realized suddenly that Da-Lorrin had not been her first husband. Finally she turned to the rest of us. “Well, get on with the discussion,” she snapped; but I noticed that she sat close to Bhetto for the rest of the evening, holding his hand in hers.

  That’s when I whispered to Aunt Morra, “I wish you’d change your mind and go with us. I’ll miss you. And I like the way you teach. You make the math fun.”

  An expression of surprise crept across Morra’s face. “Why, Kaer, what a wonderful thing to say.”

  “Come with us? Please? I’ll miss you terribly if you don’t.” Impulsively, I hugged her. I don’t remember ever hugging her before.

  Morra blinked back sudden tears. “Oh, sweetheart. I wish I could, but you know I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—just because.”

  “You can change your mind, can’t you?”

  Morra looked helplessly across to Mom-Woo. “Can you explain it to her?”

  Mom-Woo spoke quickly and quietly, as if this was a subject she did not want to discuss at length. “Kaer, someone has to stay behind to take care of the family’s property here. Morra and Irm and Bhetto will do that. If they don’t stay, who will take care of our
resources?”

  “The Kellys hired a company to do that for them. Why can’t we?”

  “Because we arranged it this way. And we can’t change it.” She gave me a drop-this-discussion look.

  Down the table, Lorrin nodded his agreement. “We can’t change it. What you said—we’ve already jumped off this cliff. So let’s not have a discussion about whether we want to or not. That’ll take us nowhere useful, and we’ll still hit the same bottom. More important, we need to consider what we can do in the situation we have.”

  He lowered his mug to the table and traced out his thoughts methodically. “We’ve all studied our history. We know about repressive societies and witch-hunts. We know they can’t last long. It goes in cycles. And we’ll find safety away from the cities anyway, so I think we can minimize the risks, if we take care.” Big Jes and Klin and Parra nodded their agreement. Klin looked like he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head; it wasn’t necessary to say it. Lorrin put his hand over Klin’s anyway, a signal of reassurance or partnership. “No,” he said. “I have more serious worries about something closer to home—the goings-on in this dome.”

  At that, Mom-Woo glanced up meaningfully—at the imaginary ceiling. Her eyes scanned the table, the great-wagon and the surrounding equipment, as if to include them all in everybody’s awareness. Nobody knew if the Administor monitored private conversations, but we’d all seen the monitor bugs and we knew how they worked. And we knew that the administors had the right to observe us whatever we did—even going to the bathroom. So we all assumed that the monitors listened all the time and we didn’t talk about forbidden things.

  Some of the kids assumed that we were safe when we were all swimming naked in the lake. If we were naked, we were away from any monitors that might be woven into our clothes. But we had implants under our skin, and some of us were sure the implants were voice-monitors too. So after a while, we just sort of watched each other and made pointy-fingers whenever anyone said anything they shouldn’t.