Child of Earth

by David Gerrold

  Everybody groaned at that thought. And then, everybody laughed because everybody had groaned.

  “Nonsense,” sniffed Mom-Lu. “This is the hard part. And we’re handling it as well as anybody.”

  “You think so?” asked Irm.

  “Certainly. If I can survive one of Morra’s farts, I can survive anything.”

  This time, everybody laughed except Morra, whose expression tightened in annoyance. “I don’t fart,” she snapped, almost embarrassed even to say it.

  “Right, and you don’t snore either,” said Mom-Trey. This time, everybody roared and howled. Morra turned red in the face. If this hadn’t been a family meeting, and if she’d had someplace to go, I felt sure she would have left the room angrily.

  Morra looked like she wanted to say something about Mom-Trey’s bean stew, but Irm put his hand on her leg and visibly squeezed it hard. Her words choked in her throat. That was interesting. We had all turned into different people here in Linnea Dome. We’d all grown stronger and harder. I wondered what I looked like to them.

  Da spoke up then. “We do not have to make a decision tonight. Perhaps we should all withdraw from this discussion for a bit and each consider it in the privacy of our own souls. Let’s resume this discussion in three days or six. When everybody’s clear about their own feelings. Does that work for you, Kaer?”

  I nodded, swallowing hard, grateful to wriggle off the hook of this moment.

  “Then, we shall do it that way,” Da said. And everyone agreed, relieved for the moment not to have to confront the decision. We could survive another few days, and another few after that, if necessary.

  DECISIONS

  SO, OF COURSE, EVERYTHING GOT WORSE. The weather got warmer, then colder—warm enough to turn the snow to slush, cold enough to freeze part of it to an icy crust. The ground seeped constantly and the burrow got wetter. We ran low on fuel, and cut back the fire again, so of course everybody got sick. Not just sniffly-sick, but lay-down-and-die sick. We all huddled together on the firebed and slurped at soup and tea and took turns throwing up.

  Whatever it was, we couldn’t shake it. We coughed, we shivered, we vomited. We cried with the endless pain of diarrhea. The thing—that’s what we called it, the thing—ricocheted through the family, infecting and reinfecting. Some of us relapsed two or three times. It was hardest on the little-uns, Nona and Shona—and none of Mom-Woo’s medicines did much more than ease the pain for a few hours.

  We reported our status to the administors every morning and every evening, but they offered us little acknowledgment and less advice. We understood that they were trying to teach us that we were on our own, but it didn’t make us like them. Mom-Woo started muttering under her breath. I didn’t recognize all the words, but I did catch something about ancient ancestors and untouchable night-soil collectors.

  Da-Lorrin had gone all stoic again, which meant he was angry. Angrier than usual and not letting it show. When the thing got to him, he even threw up in silence, rinsed his mouth, then crept back to bed without comment.

  On the fourth day, Cindy and Parra bundled themselves up and headed for the ladder up. Big Jes roused himself enough to say, “Where are you two headed?”

  “Callo City. We’re going to demand a doctor. Or at least some medicine that works.”

  “They won’t give you anything. They’ll just send you back.”

  “They can’t do that. They don’t understand how bad this has turned.”

  “They most certainly do—they’re watching everything we say and do. We’ve all got monitors implanted. They know what we’ve got. If they thought the situation serious enough, they’d have sent someone out already.”

  “It is serious. We’re all on the verge of pneumonia. And the toddlers are sickest of all.”

  “This is a test. We have to solve this like Linneans—”

  “I see. That’s a great way to show our commitment—bury a baby or two!”

  That stopped the conversation. The only thing that broke the silence was Aunt Morra’s cough.

  Finally, Big Jes said, “It’s too dangerous. If you don’t get eaten by kacks on the way in, they’ll certainly get you on the way back.”

  “We’ve got crossbows,” said Cindy. “And clubs.”

  Da said, “I’ll go with you—” But Mom-Woo pulled him back down. “You’re not going anywhere. Not in your condition.”

  Big Jes was already pulling on his boffili robe. He pushed Little Klin back into bed. “No, not you.” Little Klin started to protest, then rolled to the side of the bed and vomited into a bucket.

  Auncle Irm spoke up then. “Why don’t we try phoning first?”

  Cindy, Parra and Big Jes looked at him as if he’d just arrived from Mars.

  “I mean it. Call for help. Use the code-phrase. ‘Elvis has left the building.’ They have to respond. It’s in the contract.”

  “Elvis leaving the building means we leave the dome,” croaked Da-Lorrin. “It’s a one-time deal, not negotiable. It’s the rip cord on the parachute. Once we pull it, we’re done.”

  “Maybe ...” whispered Mom-Trey quietly, “Maybe, we should pull it.” Everyone turned to look at her. “I mean, if we have to choose between going to Linnea or saving Shona’s life, then ... then I say, fuck Linnea.”

  I put my hand over my mouth to keep from giggling. This was serious—but it was so startling to hear that word out of Mom-Trey I wanted to laugh. But at the same time—fuck Linnea? Now? After everything we’d been through?

  Big Jes pointed at me. “Kaer, come up with us. I want you to pull the hatch closed after we’re gone.”

  I guessed that was it then. Fuck Linnea. I felt bitter and alone and betrayed. And a little bit relieved. Okay, yes, this was the easy way out. But so what? We weren’t Linneans. We couldn’t be expected to live in holes like gophers. They should have warned us—

  No, that was wrong. We’d known what we were getting into. From the very beginning, they’d told us how hard it would be. They’d said it over and over. “No matter how hard you think it’s going to be, it’s going to be harder than that. It’ll be the hardest job you ever loved. So you’d better love it, or you won’t get through it.”

  I guessed we didn’t love it enough. Fuck Linnea. I wondered how long it would take to get out of here. If they’d send a bus for us. If we’d sleep in real beds tonight. I wanted a hot bath, even a shower. I wanted to be clean again. Even clean underwear.

  I wrapped myself in Da’s robe and followed them up the ladder steps. We had a kind of foyer dug into the ground and half covered over with planks, a good place to put on snows hoes and outer wraps before finally stepping up into the world. We were out of the wind, but swirls of snow and ice kept floating down. I waited while the others wrapped themselves against the cold. As bitter as it was, it was also refreshing to get out of the stuffiness below. Big Jes put a hand on my shoulder and leaned in to my ear, “Everybody’s feeling cold and hungry. They’re all saying things they don’t mean—”

  “Yeah, I know.” I hugged him. So I wouldn’t have to say, “But they do mean it.”

  It took a few moments for everybody to tie up their leggings and fasten their snowshoes. Then it took even longer to wrap them tightly in their robes so the heat wouldn’t escape out any loose folds. And then we had to hang their weapons on them, their crossbows and clubs. And finally, their great wooly gloves. By then, my ears were burning from the cold. It would be worse just a meter up—the full force of the wind would whip ice crystals into their eyes. Just before dropping their snowmasks over their faces, Cindy and Parra both gave me hugs. Big Jes too. Then he clapped me on the back and said, “All right, we’re ready. We’ll be back as fast as we can. Be sure to secure the hatch on the inside.”

  The three of them turned to go. They climbed the last few steps up to ground level, picking their footing slowly and carefully. Cindy and Parra first, then Jes; at the top, he hesitated. Parra was pointing at something. They leaned their heads together t
o talk, but the wind whipped their words away. I wasn’t dressed for this, but curiosity got the better of me. I pulled the hood of Da’s robe over my head and wrapped it close around me, then climbed the last few stairs to the top. What were they looking at? Kacks?

  Something bright in the distance. For a moment, it didn’t resolve. Rolling across the snow, it flickered like a star. It was something from Earth. Alien. What the hell was it doing way out here on the Linnean steppes? I blinked, confused—right, we were still in the dome. But just the same, an air-car? Here? No, not a car—a chopper-bus, coming in low.

  “They must have heard us—” said Cindy. “It’s a rescue.”

  Big Jes poked me. “Kaer, get downstairs.” Then he poked me again. “Kaer, get downstairs and tell them. Now.”

  I slipped-stumbled excitedly down the stairs, down through the hatch, and down the ladder steps. I made so much clatter that everyone stopped what they were arguing about and turned to look at me. “They’re coming! They’re coming for us! A chopper-bus. It’s coming!” And then everyone started talking at once, grabbing for robes and blankets, and scrambling up topside. “They’re taking us out—”

  And inside, part of me was screaming, “We’ve failed. We’re quitters. We’re no better than Tildie’s family, or any of the others who flunked out. We’re just another bunch of almost-made-its. I climbed back up the ladder steps with sinking heart—up in the bright yellow air again, just in time to see the chopper-bus clattering down onto the snow. It whirled up great flurries of white. Its pods crunched into the crust and sank deep, bringing the body of the aircraft almost down into the snow. A rollaway ramp unspooled toward us and two white-suited scouts picked their way carefully across. They crunched off the end of the ramp down to where the snow was packed harder. One of them threw back her hood. It was Birdie! Beautiful Birdie! She looked like an angel from the sky, with her long blonde hair and sparkling smile.

  She spoke fluently, and she spoke only Linnean to us; her accent was flawless. She offered ritually correct greetings to everyone, but especially to Da-Lorrin. She bowed before him and offered her services. If they were here to rescue us, this was very puzzling. Then she straightened and became much more businesslike. “I offer sincere regrets at interrupting your winternap. You have my apology and the apology of the administors as well; but I must impose on your hospitality this evening. In the machine—” There was no word for aircraft in Linnean, so she used a phrase that meant machine, though a more accurate translation would have been ‘constructed tool.’ “—In the machine we have guests from another world, a place called Orth. They represent the authority that owns and controls. They have asked to admire-inspect-investigate. They want to see how a real Linnean family lives. They want to see your home, your tools, your manner of dress and speaking. This has much importance-value for all of us, so please show us your best selves.”

  A real Linnean family?!

  Then they weren’t here to rescue us. I almost laughed. I almost cried. We weren’t going home at all. I didn’t know what I felt, disappointed or elated.

  Da started to protest, started to explain, but Birdie cut him off, laughing and pretending that she was saying something else. “Please,” she said to him Then to all of us, “Give me your trust. You must speak only Linnean. Say nothing in the old-tongue.” She looked around to all of us—almost with a sense of pleading.

  Mom-Woo got it first. This was a surprise inspection, and there was a lot at stake for everyone; not just us, but the whole dome, perhaps even the entire project. Mom-Woo stepped forward and made a ritual bow, with outstretched hands. “Of course, we welcome you. We welcome all of you as our guests. The long journey across the plains must have exhausted you. Please bring yourselves into our home. I shall make soup-tea.” She poked Rinky. “Go stir up the fire, get a kettle, and gather fresh snow—”

  “Thank you for your kindness, mother; but we have no need of soup. We have many other things to see today. Please? May we proceed?” Birdie looked to the rest of us and repeated, “Remember, you don’t speak English, only Linnean.”

  English? Why would I want to speak English? I’d stopped thinking in English a long time ago.

  Mom-Woo nodded acquiescence and stepped aside. Birdie nodded to the other scout and he spoke into the headset he wore. “All right, we’re good to go. Bring them out.”

  The strangers wore bright colored clothing—red and blue and gold. Narrow pants and vivid jackets. They glittered and shone. A kack would have spotted them easily against the snow. An effortless meal, all of them. Two men, three women. Something about their manner—the way they walked, the way they looked at us, the way they sniffed the air—not just something, everything about them unnerved me.

  They approached us warily, as if they feared us—as if they thought us savages. They didn’t bow. They didn’t offer handshakes either. They just stared. They didn’t realize that they looked just as odd to us in their thin clothes, with their short hair and beardless, unleathered faces. Without braids or face-paint they looked naked. Their skin was too soft, they looked weak and fragile. Birdie made introductions too fast for any of it to register. “Representative Rich, Senator Snowden, Secretary Muller, Chairman Vocineck, Advisor Barx.” She introduced all of us as well; she remembered all of our names.

  Birdie spoke in English to them. I could understand what she said, but it sounded strange, not familiar. “This is Da-Lorrin, head of the family. Mom-Woo, the number one wife; yes, their family arrangements are similar to our own contract-family structure, but the work-roles are much more disciplined. They have a greater degree of gender assignment. No, the Linneans don’t have mutable genders; they have no biological sciences, no science at all as far as we know; we’re not sure why. It’s almost as if they foreswore it. The tall one is Rinky; Big Jes and Little Klin are partners within the family. Gamma and Gampa—Gampa has a patriarchal role, he’s the family advisor, and Gamma is the historian, maintaining the oral history of the family and teaching it to the children. Yes, that’s Kaer—the one from the videos. Morra and her family are allied; Morra and Mom-Trey are sisters from a previous contract—” When she finished, the strangers just nodded to her, as if we weren’t here. As if we were exhibits in a zoo.

  The woman in the bright red jacket asked, “Do they just live out here in the snow?” She pointed at what was left of our great-wagon, a looming ramshackle shape. “Do they all sleep in that?”

  Mom-Woo stepped forward then. She spoke directly to the woman; but she spoke in Linnean. “We should all get out of the wind and the cold. Would you like to come below where we have a warm fire?”

  Red Jacket blinked; she looked to Birdie.

  Birdie said, “She’s invited you to see her home. They live underground.”

  The woman made a face. As if she couldn’t imagine it. “In a hole in the dirt? Like animals? Why don’t they have real houses?”

  Birdie’s response was quiet and dispassionate. “They don’t have a lot of wood. But they do have a lot of dirt. You use what you have. I think you’ll find it quite interesting. This way, please.” I offered a hand to help one of the women steady herself as she picked her way down the stairs, but she didn’t want me to touch her. She pulled her hand away as if I was dirty.

  Down in the burrow, they didn’t behave any better. Mom-Lu had stoked the fire with precious fuel we couldn’t spare. She had water boiling in the pot and was already stirring in grass for soup. The three women made faces. “It stinks down here.” I looked at Mom-Woo, she looked to Mom-Lu, and she looked to Mom-Trey. The real stink down here was Red Jacket’s overbearing perfume. Mom-Trey coughed into her scarf, then turned away. She went into one of the other rooms and watched, peeking around the door.

  Both of the men kept their expressions stiff, but all the visitors looked uneasy, as if they’d rather be anywhere else but here. I wondered if Birdie was embarrassed; if she was, she didn’t show it. She kept up a steady stream of chatter, explaining all the details of Linne
an life, like a travelogue on TV. “If you’ll notice, the walls are made of rammed-earth bricks. The Linneans also use sandbag construction as well; that’s often faster and easier.”

  The men ran their hands over the walls like masons inspecting an old building; but the walls were weeping with condensation and possibly slow leaks—Big Jes and Little Klin had been arguing about that since the first day it started. The men wiped their hands distastefully and mumbled something to the women. None of the women touched the walls. They looked around as if they were visiting a prison cell. They peeked into the other rooms of the burrow, but made no move to explore them.

  Birdie tried to show them the boffili robes, how carefully we’d sewn the separate strips of fur into warm comfortable garments; they weren’t interested. She showed them the painted clay jars packed with rice and beans and noodles, the pickled meats and vegetables, the root cellar, the dried and smoked provisions—all the good things we’d put away for the long winter. They tried to look polite, but the man in the black jacket poked the others. The senator, I think. “You’d have to be really desperate to eat this stuff. Or really hungry. A good steak in the evening, that’s all I want.”

  “Why do people live like this?” Red Jacket asked Birdie. “Don’t they know any better? They don’t even have a bathroom.”

  Before Birdie could answer, the man in the blue jacket replied. “Don’t be so harsh, Tasha. This is a step up for these people. Maybe the first time they’ve had a real roof over their heads. Look at them, they’re proud that they can put food on the table every evening. Probably for the first time in their lives. For them, this is luxury.”

  The woman next to him, the one in the gold jacket, added her own shovelful. “You have to understand how the program actually works. The Gate Authority deliberately seeks out the poor. These people had no chance in the real world. They can’t survive in a technology-based society. The Authority teaches them basic survival skills and then sends them through the world-gate. It’s economic empowerment for both sides. They get a simpler world to live in, and we get rid of that class of people who can’t or won’t work in ours.”