by E. M. Foner
“I’ve never been on a strike myself, but I’m not sure it’s supposed to happen that way,” Kelly ventured. “The idea is usually to halt production, so the, er, The Man has to give in to your demands.”
“But we would fall behind on the schedule,” Matilda exclaimed. “That wouldn’t be right!”
“We must keep the schedule,” Sue echoed, and the other Gem nodded their agreement.
“Oh. Good luck, then,” Kelly said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “I’m going to head for the next lift tube up the deck so I don’t get caught in the crowd with the baby.”
“We’ll contact you again as soon as we hear from the rest of our sisters in the movement about trusting the Stryx,” the green-haired leader told her. “We have to run now.”
“Don’t forget your chocolate,” Gwendolyn said, pointing at a bag below the picnic bench. Kelly did a double-take. It was a big bag.
Fifteen
The first elective event on the schedule was the hide-and-seek competition sponsored by the Cherts, and the McAllisters attended as family. Pressured by Ian, Kelly took a seat with the judges, though she had already decided not to wield her voting power as Carnival Queen. She listened nervously as Chute, the ambassador chairing the hide-and-seek judging panel, read the Chert rules.
“The participants shall be divided into groups of eight, with one individual from each group being designated as the Seeker. The Seeker shall enter the isolation shroud and count loudly to one hundred, by ones, in the language of his or her choice. At the count of one hundred, the Seeker shall announce, ‘Beware, little Cherts,” and emerge from the isolation shroud to hunt the Hiders. The Seeker receives a half-point for each Hider discovered, and the chairman, me, will enforce a reasonable time limit for each round.”
“What about declaring ‘My stump, one, two three?’” asked ambassador Czeros, who was also a judge. Like most of the other ambulant species, the Frunge had a childhood version of hide-and-seek and were entering a youngster as their champion.
“Wait for me to finish,” Chute replied testily. “If a Hider does evade the Seeker and reaches the isolation shroud first, he or she proclaims, ‘My shelter, my shelter, my shelter,’ and is declared safe, gaining one point. The first contestant to reach ten points wins. No invisibility technology, mind control or reality distortion fields are allowed. Any communication from a player’s supporters in the crowd will result in that player losing all points scored in that round. And I’m sorry to announce that the Cherts will not be competing in their own elective event due to an argument over the rules, and have resigned their slot to the open pool. So if there are unaffiliated aliens present who wish to compete, please report to the judges now.”
“What’s an unaffiliated alien, Daddy?” Dorothy asked her father urgently.
“I think it’s anybody whose species isn’t represented in Carnival, like Dring, but I don’t think it would be fair for a shape-shifter to play,” Joe answered.
“Not Dring,” Dorothy replied in exasperation. “Mist!”
“Oh, you’re right,” Joe said. “Your mom told me the Gem never compete in Carnival because they already know that they’re the best at everything.”
Dorothy seized her friend’s hand and dragged her up to the judging panel, where the EarthCent ambassador was doing her best to look inconspicuous.
“Mommy? Can Mist have the Chert place?”
“You have to ask Ambassador Chute,” Kelly replied. “I’m only here to lend moral support.”
“Ambassador Shoots! Can Mist play?”
“Well, it doesn’t look like anybody else is going to volunteer,” the Dollnick replied, eying the young clone skeptically. “Have you ever played hide-and-seek, little Gem?”
Dorothy translated to English and Mist shook her head vigorously in the affirmative.
“Do my esteemed colleagues have any objection?” Chute asked as a matter of form. “Alright. And the two of you better hurry to the ready room now. We need to prepare the course.”
The two girls followed the other children into the large black tent that had been set up just outside of the enormous circular sandbox that served as a hide-and-seek playing space on the Chert deck. As soon as the tent flap closed behind the last contestant, a grounds crew leapt into frenzied motion. They expertly deployed a series of isolation shrouds sufficient for the number of players, and then they began rolling out a collection of impromptu props. These ranged from cardboard cut-outs used as advertisements in shops, to physical items with large holes, like pipes, barrels and boxes. There were a variety of potted plants, bushes, and flower arrangements that looked like they had been borrowed from another event. The preparation was completed with ribbons dividing the circular play area into sectors, the isolation shrouds situated at the narrow point of each wedge.
“Why do they have all the props if they usually play with invisibility devices?” Kelly subvoced to Libby.
“I expect the idea was to lull the other players into a false sense of security,” Libby replied in her head. “Of course, it’s decent of them to make the facility available even after they withdrew in protest over the invisibility ban. They could have simply cancelled.”
“An ambassador wouldn’t be subvocing the Stryx to request help for her daughter, would she?” a silky voice insinuated in her ear. Kelly blushed when she realized that Ambassador Ortha was addressing the not-so-subtle comment to her. She was also surprised he could pick up the movement of her throat when she subvoced, but the Hortens were a very observant species.
“No, Ortha, I am not requesting help for Dorothy,” Kelly replied icily. “Joe and I are raising our daughter to stand on her own feet, and I’ll have you know, she told me herself that she didn’t want my two votes.”
“How very human,” Ortha replied, turning a jolly brown. “Oops. What did I just say?”
“How very human,” Kelly repeated back.
“Oh, that’s a relief,” Ortha said with a chuckle. “I guess the translation tables haven’t been updated recently, and the diplomatic implants have always been a bit loose on idioms in any case.”
“Hold on just one minute,” Kelly flared up, as the Horten began to turn away. “Are you implying that ‘how very human’ means something other than ‘how very human’ when you say it in Horten?”
“That depends on what you mean by ‘means’” Ortha replied cheerfully, turning his full attention to the contestants as they began emerging from the tent in groups of eight.
Each troop was led to an isolation shroud where the designated Seeker was installed behind the curtains. Kelly could see the Chert game-masters giving last minute instructions to the children, and then a loud counting began from multiple directions as the children fanned out to look for hiding places. Kelly spotted Dorothy running to the outer edge of the sand, where Joe stood holding Samuel. She waved happily, and then sat down next to a cardboard box and pulled it over her head.
“Not in the box!” Kelly groaned. “Who hides in a box?”
“Look at my Mornich,” Ortha said, pointing proudly.
Kelly followed the Ambassador’s pointed finger to a tall Horten boy rolling around on the sand. His skin was a cheerful brown, like his father’s, but he seemed to be going through some sort of rebellious phase as he struggled out of his clothes while flopping about like a fish. Probably the pressure getting to the kid, Kelly thought sympathetically. Then she realized that the Horten was blending into the background. Before the Seeker reached one hundred, speckles had appeared on Mornich’s skin, which was now indistinguishable from the color of the surrounding sand.
“That’s cheating!” Kelly hissed to Ortha. “No invisibility technology allowed.”
“He’s not invisible and it’s not technology,” Ortha replied calmly. “It’s just hard to see him right now against that sandy background.”
“I thought you said that Hortens couldn’t control the color of their skin,” Kelly objected.
“After puberty,” Ortha
replied. “I would have thought a species with such a well-funded intelligence service would have known that. How very human.”
Kelly gritted her teeth and looked anxiously at the isolation shroud in Dorothy’s sector, as the Drazen girl designated as Seeker emerged. The girl adapted to the geometry of the game swiftly, moving out from the point of the wedge in expanding arcs, not missing a single child as she went. In a short time, only Dorothy and Mornich were left undiscovered, and the Drazen girl was approaching Dorothy’s hiding place.
“If I were playing, I would look in the box,” Ortha murmured in Kelly’s ear, receiving an evil look in return. “It’s just a suggestion.”
The Drazen girl stopped inches away from the box with her face upturned, looking rather puzzled. Her head swayed back and forth, as if she was trying to triangulate a sound, and then she stepped uncertainly towards the place Kelly had last seen Mornich.
“What’s happening?” Ortha hissed, gripping Kelly’s arm. His fingers dug in so hard that she instantly realized he must be one of those super-competitive parents caught up in a child’s sport.
“I’m not sure,” Kelly replied softly, though there was something about the girl’s movements that reminded her of—Beowulf? “I think she can smell him!”
Ortha was pale with nervous energy by the time the Drazen girl reached out tentatively with a foot and prodded the sand with her toes. The sand pile leapt up and tried to run.
“You’re mine, little Chert,” she recited the formula for freezing an uncovered Hider.
A split second later, Kelly heard Dorothy’s staccato cry, “My shelter, my shelter, my shelter.” Everybody had been so intent on the Drazen girl’s hunt for the Horten that they hadn’t seen Dorothy crawl out from under her box and sprint for the isolation shroud.
When the first round was completed, the contestants were summoned back to the tent where they were assigned to new groups. By the fourth round, some of the younger players were already beginning to droop from the intensity and didn’t seem to be trying anymore. By the ninth round, the holographic score board showed four contestants clumped in the lead, well ahead of the rest. To Kelly’s surprise, she saw Mist’s image right next to Dorothy’s, along with Ortha’s son and a clever little bunny. The only player with no points was a young Fillinduck.
“You have to feel sorry for the Fillinduck hatchling,” Kelly subvoced to Libby, as the players came out for what could be the final round. “That strategy of burying her head in the sand so she can’t see the Seeker just isn’t working. Makes me wonder how that response evolved.”
“The Fillinduck have no natural predators on their home world, but they also lack a moon and the nights are very dark,” Libby replied. “The hatchlings like to stay out late and play, so if they hear somebody’s parents calling, they try to bury their heads quickly so they won’t have to go home. They’re very obedient otherwise.”
“Look, my boy is finally the Seeker again,” Ortha said excitedly, shaking Kelly’s shoulder. “He only needs to find four children to reach ten points!”
“Three other players have nine or nine and a half,” Kelly pointed out, not feeling the need to mention that one of them was Dorothy. “If he misses one and they beat him back to the shroud in time to get through three ‘my shelters,’ it’s all over.”
“Mornich has been playing hide-and-seek since he was able to crawl,” Ortha said confidently. “Would you like to place a little wager on the outcome?”
“I would never bet on my own child,” Kelly exclaimed in shock.
“No, I don’t expect you would,” Ortha replied coolly.
Mornich entered the isolation shroud and began to count loudly. The children in his group, which included the three top contenders, scattered within the wedge bounded by the ribbons. The Grenouthian, Dorothy and Mist independently arrived at the same strategy. All three sought hiding places near the shroud, hoping to evade detection long enough to win with a quick dash. Ortha perched on the edge of his seat, his skin streaked an ugly red with nerves, his fingers drumming on the table.
“One hundred,” Mornich cried, and emerged from the isolation shroud. He carefully studied the obstacles in front of him, apparently guessing the strategy the leaders would employ.
Dorothy was crouched behind a bush near the ribbon demarking one side of the wedge-shaped playing area, as close to the shroud as she could get. Mist stood frozen behind a cardboard cut-out of a Chert woman walking a dog-like creature, and the Grenouthian had vanished into a large pipe, which would allow him to exit at either end.
Mornich finished his survey of the obstacles and took a few steps away from the shroud in the direction of the bunny’s hiding place, which was in the middle of the wedge. Then he stopped and fished in his pocket, bringing out a closed fist.
“What do I have here?” he asked, in a strangely honeyed voice. “Why, I do believe it’s a Sheezle slug.”
“Gimmee,” shouted a hungry young Dollnick, clambering over the pipe that sheltered the Grenouthian, which rolled under the Dolly’s awkward bulk. A terrified bunny hopped out of the end and then froze, remembering where he was.
“You’re mine, little Chert,” Mornich spoke the magic phrase, freezing the bunny he had uncovered in place. In the meantime, the Dolly rushed up to the young Horten and pried his hand open. It was, of course, empty. “I’m sorry for tricking you, my Dollnick friend. I promise my father will buy you a whole box of Sheezle slugs when the game is over.”
The Dollnick looked disappointed and slinked past the Horten, where he suddenly grabbed the curtain of the isolation shroud and declared, “My shelter, my shelter, my shelter.” The point earned only got him up to eight, but it was cleverly done, and everybody applauded.
Mornich shook off the distraction and focused on building up his score. Freezing the Grenouthian had brought him a half a point, but he was still three captures away from reaching the magic number. He squinted in the direction of Dorothy’s bush.
“Who would like a nice little rain shower?” he asked, in the same tone he had used on the Dollnick. The bush Dorothy was hiding behind began to tremble. “I can’t imagine that a Frunge would hide in plain sight,” he continued, trying to lure the young bush into standing up and running. Mornich didn’t want to give up his position near the goal if he could avoid it, lest one of the remaining leaders should sneak out behind him and make a run for the shroud. He reached back in his pocket again and drew out a closed fist. “Do I have a fertilizer spike here?”
The temptation was too much, and the young Frunge gave up with a groan. He didn’t have a chance of winning in any case, and maybe he thought he could duplicate the Dollnick’s move and get a point out of the maneuver. When he rose, the dense vine-like hair that had given him the appearance of a bush dangled straight, and even though Dorothy tried to make herself as skinny as possible, Mornich spotted her.
“You’re mine, little Chert,” the Horten cried in triumph. “Both of you.” Then he said it again just to be safe, “You’re mine, little Chert.”
At the opposite side of the wedge, realizing that with one more discovery the Horten would reach ten and win, Mist broke cover and sprinted for the shroud.
“Behind you,” Ortha shouted, jumping to his feet and pointing. Then he clapped his hand over his mouth and sank back into his chair in humiliation. He had just disqualified his son for the round. Frozen in shock, Mornich stared in confusion at the judges, not even trying to race the young clone for the shroud.
When she reached the curtain, Mist screamed, “My shelter, my shelter, my shelter,” as if the whole Horten nation was in pursuit.
A Grenouthian news crew captured the event, and even did a follow-up interview with the young clone, who credited Dorothy with teaching her everything she knew about hide-and-seek. Kelly felt bad that none of Mist’s sisters were present to congratulate the young clone on her victory, so she and Joe took the girls out for ice cream at the Hundred Flavors Parlor in the Little Apple. They were out
of every flavor that included chocolate, bringing the total down to something in the sixties.
The party had just settled into the seating area, and were taking the first lick at their multi-scoop cones when Metoo floated in, holding a little gift-wrapped box in his pincer.
“Metoo!” Dorothy jumped from her seat, precipitating the top scoop of ice cream from her cone onto her jumper, where it left a maple-vanilla trail on its way to the floor. “You’re floating again!” She gave the little Stryx a hug, leaving a lactose line on his sleek casing.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t watch your competition in person, but my elders thought I might be tempted to help you again,” Metoo apologized. “Congratulations, Mist. Gryph asked me to deliver your prize,” he added, extending the pincer with the box.
“It’s so pretty,” Mist exclaimed, examining the little package. “Please thank Gryph for me.”
“That’s just the wrapping,” Dorothy told her. “You have to tear it off and look inside.”
“I don’t want to tear it,” Mist protested, shielding the box from Dorothy’s attempts to help, while trying not to lose the top flavor from her own teetering ice cream tower.
“It’s a gift coin,” Metoo said. “If you want, I can open the box later without tearing the wrapping, and then I’ll put it back together after taking out the coin. But right now I have to go because I have two days of catching up to do on my work.”
“Thank you, I’ll wait,” Mist replied. The little Stryx zipped away to work on one of his mysterious projects, avoiding the maintenance bot which was just arriving to clean up the ball of ice cream on the floor.
“I could open it without tearing the paper,” Dorothy asserted, drawing skeptical looks from everybody, including Samuel, who was annoyed to find that his developing idea for a throwing-food-on-the-floor trick was already taken.
“What’s a gift coin?” Mist asked, finishing her scoop of coffee ice cream and moving on to the layer of pistachio.
