Child of Earth

by David Gerrold

  “Probably,” said Earring. “But I doubt that you could call this squad of military guards innocent. They have a nasty reputation, well-deserved. I don’t have a lot of sympathy for their needs right now. But the question does merit consideration. All of our questions do. We have to consider all our options and their consequences before we act.”

  He glanced at the clock. “I think we’ve said enough for now. Midnight approaches; so does winter. You all have work to do. Those of you who want to volunteer, give your names to Smiller—then go home and talk this over among yourselves. In your own homes, nowhere else. Remember, no one goes unless his or her family agrees. Oh, and don’t worry about the hidden monitors; tonight’s snowfall will probably knock some of them out for a few hours. Weather often has funny effects like that. You all know the situation, so you shouldn’t have any disagreements about the facts. Just decide if you can afford to take the risk. If you can, make your good-byes tonight. We’ll pick you up in the morning. Oh, and one more thing,” he said. “Thank you.”

  THE DECISION

  THE TRACTOR-BUS WAS WAITING FOR US, its engine already running. I wondered what the driver had told the Kellys about why we hadn’t gone back with them, but I didn’t worry about it too much. We had a more important subject to discuss.

  But once we got home and started passing out tea mugs, there really wasn’t much to say about it one way or the other. Jaxin had demonstrated enormous kindness to all of us. While we had a sense of protective loyalty toward Linnea, we had an even greater sense of comradeship with the scouts who trained us. We didn’t know the other scouts, but whatever it took to rescue Jaxin, the whole family supported it; so we went to bed quickly, leaving Mom-Woo and Lorrin alone in their little corner of the house. They probably had a lot to talk about and not a lot of time.

  The next morning, Smiller rode out on Mountain to pick up Lorrin. We were already shivering in the cold air when she came thundering over the hill, stirring up clouds of fresh powdery snow in her wake.

  Almost her first words, she said, “The Gate Authority turned down our request to mount a rescue operation.”

  “What does that mean—?” Lorrin started to ask.

  “It means we’ll have to send in a team of observers instead,” said Smiller. She tossed down the rope ladder. “Come on, let’s go.” Observers . We knew what that meant. They would be operating outside the restrictions of the Charter. Whatever happened on Linnea, there would be hell to pay back here on Earth. But that would be later, and right now nobody was worrying about later.

  Lorrin tossed up his bag, then turned back to us for farewells. He looked grim when he told us not to worry, but how could we not worry? He hugged each of us in turn—he ruffled my hair and told me to take care of Aunt Morra and Uncle Bhetto—then he climbed up the ladder into the basket on Mountain’s right side, and they headed off in the direction of the Brill farm. We didn’t know when we would see him again ... and the possibility that we might never see him again suddenly scared me. For the first time, I think, mortality was a real thing to me.

  But almost immediately, Mom-Woo began pushing us back to work. She pulled her boffili robe tighter around herself and said, “Well, don’t everybody stand around waiting for him to return. We still have a lot of work to do.” She gave me a push in the direction of the house and said, “Come on, Kaer. Let’s clean up the breakfast dishes.”

  Later that day the snow started coming down again, this time so thick and fast it scared us. We worried that the dome’s snow-making machinery had broken or something. We all took turns climbing the ladder to peek outside, until finally Mom-Lu complained that we were letting all the heat out. When Irm came back down the ladder with nearly an inch of white frosting on top of his cap, Mom-Woo said, “All right, everybody. We’ll have no more peeking at the snow for now. Come on, Rinky, help me get lunch on the table.”

  By the third day, the snow was two meters thick. Our water tank was full, and so was the cold-room, where we kept our food. The big pile of fuel bricks and boffili chips that we’d left upstairs had turned into a giant snow cone. We took some leftover boards from the wagon we’d “dismantled” and practiced sledding with the little-uns.

  But the snow kept coming down, even thicker than that, and after a while, it was all we could do just to clear it away from the doors. We had a lot of time to ourselves then. Aunt Morra helped all the kids with our lessons, while the moms concentrated on their sewing. In the evening, we sang and told stories and acted out plays—just like Jaxin had told us we would. And even though it was cramped, we had fun.

  It would have been more fun with Lorrin—we all missed him so—but Mom-Woo just said, “He’ll come back, I know it.” And then she’d resume stirring something at the stove, or she’d pick up her knitting or whatever else she had been doing.

  We had to work harder without Lorrin’s strength, but nobody complained. We couldn’t exactly ask for news, but every two or three days one of the scouts would call or stop by to check on us, and in the course of her visit, she’d remark, “Lorrin sends his love. They’ve crossed over.” Or: “They’ve arrived at camp, only twenty klicks from Callo City. Lorrin says he misses you.”

  We weren’t totally cut off from everybody else. In the evening, we had a half hour of news from the Administration. It was like going to Meeting, only we didn’t have to walk two klicks to get there.

  Administor Rance said told us that we would have to get used to not having the latest information piped into our homes, that we had to learn how to live in real isolation, and we all knew she was right. Even so, the evening broadcast was the high point of our day, and nobody ever missed it. We’d gather around the screen almost hungrily. On Linnea, we wouldn’t have even this much, unless we were willing to dig a secret room like the Kellys.

  After the news ended and the darkness returned, Mom-Woo would light candles, Mom-Lu would pour tea, and we’d talk about what we’d heard, speculating about what each thing meant to us.

  One thing had been bothering me since the night winter was postponed. “I don’t understand it,” I said. “How can anyone be so stupid that they would tell the Linneans about Earth? Didn’t they get trained properly? Don’t they know that they’re putting other people at risk? Why would anyone do something like that?”

  Gampa came over and sat down next to me, putting his arm around my shoulder. “Kaer, you have asked a very sad question. You probably won’t like the answer.” I leaned into his shoulder, letting his hug protect me. “Some people ...” Gampa said slowly, “Some people do not believe they have to keep their word. They say whatever they think others want to hear while they create personal loopholes for themselves. They tell themselves that rules exist for other people, but not for them. They have their own selfish agendas, which they don’t share with others, so they use other people to get what they want. They pretend to go along with the program while they further their private plans.”

  “But what kind of plans? Why would they betray the Agency?”

  Gampa shrugged. “Think about it, little peanut. Linnea resembles our own world, three hundred years ago. Imagine if you could travel back in time, you could invent the steam engine, railroads, electricity, the telephone, movies, automobiles, airplanes, all of the great industries that changed the world. If you could do that, you could own the world. Perhaps some of the people who crossed over to Linnea may have succumbed to that temptation. Yes, I know, we all want to think the best of everyone who makes it through the training. But those three families that disappeared...I wonder if maybe they had planned to do that all along.”

  I thought about that. It made me sad and angry to think of someone going through training, lying and pretending just so they could get to Linnea, knowing all along that they intended to abuse the trust of so many others. I couldn’t think of the right words in Linnean to describe such actions; we hadn’t learned many Linnean cusswords, but the few I did know were pretty bad. Anyone who would betray two worlds at a time had
to be double-maizlish.

  “But, Gampa, why would they tell the Linneans about Oerth? Earth? What do they gain by that?”

  “I have a theory,” said Auncle Irm, filling his mug and joining us. “The traitors—yes, I would call them traitors—want the gate closed. If they can turn the Linneans against Oerth, the administors will have to stop sending families, will have to pull back the scouts. That would explain why they had to disappear—so the scouts couldn’t track them down and extract them. Or maybe even ... kill them. Considering the stakes in this game, the traitors will have to play for keeps. And so will the scouts.” I must have looked horrified, because he added, “Kaer, if you want to own a world, you have to get rid of the competition. I fear that Linnea has become the site of a secret war. And I fear that the people who cross over will find themselves on the front lines of the battle.”

  EVEN MORE SNOW

  IT WAS STILL WINTER. There were still storms. The snow kept falling. Somewhere up north, a couple of lakes must have been drained. I gave it only a passing thought. In our minds, we were already on Linnea.

  And we finally figured out how to keep warm. It was a matter of adjustment—us as well as the burrow. We hung robes on the walls. We hung woven mats of dried grass. We hung the extra canvas from the wagon. Every bit helped to keep the heat from seeping out through the bricks. This hadn’t been in any of the trainings; we had to figure it out ourselves. And later on, we realized why it hadn’t been in any of the trainings—because we were supposed to figure it out ourselves. Real Linneans are resourceful.

  With the double insulation of our walls, the combined body heat of all twenty of us in the same room was enough to raise the temperature another ten degrees. And by dinnertime, the cook-fire had added ten more degrees of warmth, so if anything, we were sometimes too warm in the house and we had to open up both of the ventilation shafts all the way just to cool down. It took us a few days, but we finally worked out a system so we were mosty comfortable.

  We had two ventilation shafts at opposite ends of the house. Above us, one terminated just above ground level; the other went up a twometer chimney. The pressure differential as the wind blew over the two shafts created a steady flow of air through our underground house. We also had a third chimney directly over the cooking bay, and a lot of warm air went up that shaft, melting the snow up topside so it would flow down into our water tank.

  Of course, with all the snow coming down, we had no shortage of water. The tank filled up quickly and stayed filled. Because the tank was more than two meters underground, the water in it didn’t freeze; it was always cold and refreshing—except at bath time. Mom-Woo didn’t want to waste valuable fuel boiling too much water for baths, so we had to learn how to bathe in cold water. That was always good for an evening of shrieking. But nobody complained about bundling up into a nice warm bed afterwards.

  Every so often, just for the fun of it, someone went up the ladder, pushed opened the hatch, and scooped out a few buckets of fresh snow to look around and see how high it had gotten. There were a couple of days when we had no idea how much white had piled up topside. On the evening news Administor Rance said we had gotten four meters of snow—simulating a light Linnean winter. Our ventilator chimneys could be raised above the snow level, so they both stayed clear, but the periscope Klin rigged showed only white.

  One of our projects was something we hadn’t had time to do before the snow started; but now we did. We built a real bathtub. We used some of the razor grass fuel bricks to boil down some tarpay, and we made a huge brick tub against one wall with a firepit under it, like a stove. Now we could take hot baths, two or three at a time—or as Gampa said, we could also use it to make a lot of soup.

  Mom-Woo wouldn’t let us have much fuel for the fire. But at least now we were able to keep clean—and that was very important for a large family cramped together in a small house. Not all the bed shelves had been installed yet; we had run out of time before Lorrin left and winter started, so Rinky and I decided to use the tub as our bed so we wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor anymore. But it echoed when we giggled.

  During the days, the moms made everyone practice their lessons, we all had our sewing to do, and we took turns cooking. We experimented with different recipes to see what we could do with Linnean food; but we also had to practice making the traditional meals too.

  And we had to exercise too. Mom-Trey insisted on that. Not just our fitness and stretching exercises, but also our aerobics and our Tae Kwon Do. Mom-Trey wouldn’t let us quit until we had worked up a serious sweat. Everyone had to participate, no exceptions. Gamma and Gampa grunted a lot and the little-uns giggled too much, but everybody did their numbers every day.

  The news from the other side of the gate trickled off. We knew that six choppers had crossed over, and three dozen scouts and volunteers. On the evening news, Administor Rance told us that the High Council had accepted Callo City’s petition for an Inquiry, but instead of the Council coming to Callo City, the prisoners were ordered east. That didn’t sound good. She didn’t say anything at all about our observers. And that worried us even more. The not-knowing hurt the worst.

  Meanwhile, the snow kept coming down.

  We’d reached the point where there was little more to say, so we said nothing and did our work in silence, each retreating into our own winter-soul. We had our work to keep us busy, and sometimes in the evening we played games, but it seemed as if our lives were slowing down to zero—a little slower every day, until one day we wouldn’t be moving at all.

  Most of us hadn’t been outside in over a week—and even though there was nothing to see upstairs except snow in all directions, it was still a chance to get away from the sometimes-oppressive closeness of the house. I wished for a window, someplace where I could just stand and look out at the world. Even that would have made a difference.

  Auncle Irm said it best one night. He was bitter and frustrated and complaining about being locked in a hand-built sensory deprivation hole. He said, “It doesn’t matter how large a hole you dig, or how deep, if all you want to do is jump in and pull the dirt over you. We’ve dug our own grave here and all we can do is sit and wait to die.”

  Under ordinary circumstances, that would have started a fearful argument. But instead, Mom-Woo apparently ignored his outburst and moved quietly and calmly around the room, hustling all the children off to bed. “You too, Kaer, Rinky.”

  We complained of course, but it didn’t do any good; it never did. So Rinky and I went and made our bed up in the tub. We pulled the curtains closed and tried to hear what the parents were talking about, but it was all an indistinct mumble. We whispered together for a little bit, like we always did, and then eventually, we fell asleep.

  The next day, it snowed some more. And the day after that too.

  AUNCLE IRM

  AFTER THAT, THINGS IN THE BURROW WERE TENSE. All the adults seemed to know something, but nobody was saying anything, so we just sort of moved through the next few days like zombies. We were deep into our winter-souls. It wasn’t just the world that was freezing—it was our hearts. We were hardening inside ourselves.

  The moms weren’t talking, Auncle Irm and Aunt Morra and Uncle Bhetto had gone bitter and snappish, the little-uns were restless and cranky—and I felt like a caged rat. I went back and forth from room to room, up the ladder and down again, back and forth. I felt cramped and angry. My stomach hurt. I missed my da. I wanted to cry. I even kicked the wall, but that made my foot hurt, so I said some maizlish words. Finally, Auncle Irm looked over at me and said, “For the Old Woman’s sake, Kaer—stop it! Park yourself in one place or I’ll shove you into the potato bin.”

  I made a face, I stuck out my tongue. “Thbfffpt.”

  Auncle Irm didn’t hesitate. Before I could turn and run—there was no place to run to anyway—he scooped me up into the air, and a moment later I came plopping down on Auncle Irm’s lap wrapped in a basket hug. There was no escape.

  “No,” said I
rm. “No. You will learn to manage yourself. No matter what. Whatever it takes.” And then added. “Just like the rest of us.”

  “Let me go,” I said. “I don’t want to stay here anymore.” I didn’t know if I meant Irm’s lap, the burrow, the dome or the entire program. I just didn’t want to be here. “I’m hungry, I’m cold, I hurt all over. I want to go home.” By now, everybody was looking at me. All three of the moms, Morra and Bhetto, Gamma and Gampa, Rinky, the little-uns, everyone. “Why are we doing this? Why? This isn’t any fun anymore. I want to go home.”

  “We are home,” said Irm.

  “No, we’re not. Home is—home is—” I started crying uncontrollably.

  Irm just held onto me, rocking me gently in those great enfolding arms. “Home is wherever we are, Kaer. You know that.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to be consoled.

  “Shh, sweetheart, shh. Everything will turn out all right.”

  “No, it won’t,” I sobbed. “Da isn’t here.”

  “Will crying bring him back?”

  I didn’t want to answer that.

  Irm repeated the question. “Will crying bring him back?”

  “No,” I sniffled.

  “What? I didn’t hear you.”

  “No.”

  “Thank you. Will having a tantrum make anything better?”

  Didn’t reply to that one either.

  “Answer the question, Kaer. Will having a tantrum make anything better?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Then why are you doing it?”

  In that moment, I really hated Auncle Irm—for taking away all my reasons.

  “Why are you doing it, Kaer?”

  I didn’t know.

  “If it doesn’t make a difference, then why not do the happy dance instead?”

  That one I knew the answer to. “Because the happy dance doesn’t make any difference either.”