The Child Goddess

by Louise Marley

  A few seconds passed before the door opened and someone stepped through from the sterile bubble. It was a tall figure, in the pencil-lapelled suit that seemed to be an ExtraSolar uniform, and swathed from head to toe in a transparent accordion-paper quarantine suit. The reverse airflow hissed into the quiet room until the door closed.

  Through the mask Isabel saw black hair, a black mustache. Dark expressionless eyes flicked over her, on to Oa, back to her. His voice, muted by the mask, was deep and slightly hoarse. “Dr. Burke?”

  Isabel folded her arms. “I prefer Mother Burke, if you don’t mind. You’re Paolo Adetti.”

  “Dr. Adetti. Yes.”

  “Oh, of course. Doctor.” Isabel indicated the door with her chin. “And you’re planning to imprison me as well?”

  “No one is in prison here,” Adetti said. He stood stiffly, his arms straight at his sides. “I certainly would have preferred to meet under more congenial circumstances.”

  “No doubt. Try to imagine how I feel.” Isabel’s fingers tightened on her arms. “Are you going to open the door for me, or not?”

  He eyed her. “I’m told you were offered a suit. You chose to violate the quarantine.”

  Isabel’s head began to ache. In Tuscany it must be midnight at least. She felt too weary to sustain her temper.

  She turned her back on the doctor, and went to one of the orange plastic chairs, settling into it with a sigh. Slight as she was, she barely fit.

  “Dr. Adetti, you’ve had this child in your custody for fourteen months,” she said. “Eight months past the most stringent quarantine recommendations. There’s nothing in the archivist’s report to show that she has a contagious illness. Surely the medicator has run tests for antibodies and antigens, bacterial infections. You yourself had direct contact with Oa when she was injured, and you haven’t become ill. Neither have any of the hydro workers who touched her or the other Sikassa child.”

  “This is out of your area of expertise, I believe,” Adetti said sourly.

  Isabel rubbed her eyes with her fingers. “I know enough to understand that ExtraSolar took a young child from her home, subjected her to the risks of a long space journey, and continues to isolate her here. She needs company. She needs to see friendly faces, perhaps meet other children. She needs a bit of kindness.”

  “No one has been cruel to her,” Adetti said.

  Isabel stared at him. “You don’t find any of that cruel?”

  “It was necessary.”

  “Why? What are you afraid of?”

  “It’s not a question of fear, Mother Burke, but of caution.”

  “Tell me what you’re being careful of, then. This is a poor way to begin a working relationship.”

  “You might at least have observed quarantine protocol.”

  “It’s ridiculous. You could have lifted it months ago.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  Isabel closed her eyes briefly, asking for patience. “What are your reasons, Doctor?”

  “I’ll explain, in time.”

  Isabel rose from the little chair. She stepped close enough to Adetti to see his eyes through the clear plastic. “Your reasons. Doctor, or I will refuse this assignment. I will refuse to serve as the girl’s guardian, and your extraordinary empowerment provision will be voided.”

  He made a sound that might have been a laugh. “You can hardly reject the job at this point,” he said. “By coming in here without protection, you’ve guaranteed a good long stay.”

  “Try me.” Isabel gave up trying to moderate her tone. “You can find a pretext to lock me up, I suppose. But if you do, I’ll make absolutely certain you have to explain it to someone.”

  He paused, as if considering. She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Dr. Adetti. You wouldn’t dare cut me off from communication with my superior. You don’t have the authority. You’re part of a public organization, overseen by the regents of World Health and Welfare. Do you want to risk a lawsuit?”

  From the intercom they heard Boreson’s anxious voice. “There’s no need for that,” she said tightly. “We can work things out, Mother Burke.”

  Isabel glanced over her shoulder at the mirror. “Not without the medicator reports.”

  Adetti folded his arms. “They won’t change anything. You can stay here, with the child, or we’ll set up another room if you prefer. But you’re not going out until I’ve cleared you.”

  “You can’t silence me forever. Doctor. And I want those reports.”

  He moved to the door, and stood looking back at her. “I’ll have them sent over.”

  “Today, please.”

  “As you wish.” He spoke to the door and it opened.

  “Dr. Adetti—all of them.”

  “There are dozens,” he said. “They’ll take you days to read.”

  Her lip curled. “Well. Then I’ll be grateful to you for providing me with plenty of time.”

  He grunted, and went through the door into the quarantine bubble. The guard stepped back to let him pass, glancing at Isabel with a face full of apology. Isabel gave her a wry shrug.

  When the door closed, she went back to the chair and sat down. “Oa, I’m afraid you’ve acquired a roommate. I hope you won’t mind.”

  There was silence for several minutes, and then the girl began to uncurl her body. She unthreaded her tangled hair from the buttons of the sweater. With a rustle of bedclothes, she straightened her back and tucked her feet under her, eyes fixed on Isabel. Isabel thought she had never seen a child capable of such stillness.

  She let her head fall back against the top of the chair, and closed her eyes. It had been a long, long day. Despite her bravado, she supposed Adetti and Boreson could keep her in isolation as long as they liked. She didn’t really mind. There was no other place she wanted to be at the moment. She would need her valises, though, and her equipment. She could put the time to good use, and keep an eye on the child at the same time. Absently, she put her hand up to touch her cross, and then she remembered. She had taken it off.

  A soft noise made her open her eyes. Oa had climbed off the bed and moved to the chair where Isabel had laid her cross. The girl picked it up, and came to stand before Isabel, presenting the carved wood on her small pink palm. “A . . . gift,” she said.

  *

  IT SEEMED TO Oa that the slender bald woman confronted Doctor without any fear. Isabel must be strong in some way Oa could not recognize. She was too small to fight him with her hands or her feet. She had no knife, or even a stone to throw. She must have some other power. If Oa had stood up to him in that way, he would have snarled at her, dragged her into the little room with the spider machine to strap her to the high table again. People hurt anchens when they were angry.

  Oa remembered Mamah weeping while Papi dragged Oa down to the beach. The night had been clear and warm, the air full of the salt fragrance from Mother Ocean, the spicy scent of nuchi. The brilliance of the stars mocked Oa’s misery.

  The tatwaj was over. Her skin stung from the needle, but her arm hurt much worse where Papi’s hand gripped it. His lips pressed hard together, a thin line of fury. When Oa cried out, he released her arm and backhanded her across the cheek. She slammed to the ground, the pastel sand of the beach grinding into her face, her hair. Mamah had screamed, a high keening that stopped abruptly, as if someone had put a hand over her mouth.

  Oa was too shocked to weep. Papi had never struck her before. He pulled her up from the sand and shoved her into the canoe next to Bibi. Stunned and silent, she gazed back at him as one of the elders rowed the canoe out of the bay. Papi stood on the beach, his back to the water, refusing to watch his daughter disappear.

  When the canoe reached the island of the anchens, the elders made Oa and Bibi climb out. The girls stood together on the beach as the boat bobbed away through the surf, leaving them. Oa remembered how the waves washed their ankles with foam, and how her cheek stung from Papi’s blow.

  Not till the canoe disappeared into the da
rkness did the anchens—the other anchens—come down to the beach. They led the newcomers into the forest, Oa rubbing at the circle of purple fingerprints on her arm, Bibi weeping great gulping sobs. Oa never saw her papi again.

  And now the woman called Isabel sat in the not-wood chair with her hands together in her lap, her pale face drawn. When Oa held out the cross, she smiled, and little lines curved around her mouth and wrinkled her eyelids. “Thank you, Oa,” she said.

  Oa sniffed. She detected no scent of anger or fear rising from Isabel.

  Oa wanted to touch her, to see if her skin was as smooth as it looked, her white hands as soft. Oa hadn’t touched anyone in a long, long time. Doctor had touched her, at first, but his hands had been hard and cold. And he had worn gloves. Isabel didn’t have gloves.

  It occurred to Oa that Isabel didn’t yet know about her. Would she be the one to understand what Oa was, to figure it out? And what would happen then?

  Oa laid the cross carefully in Isabel’s open hand, then dashed back to her bed. She put her back to the corner, and clutched the fuzzy toy to her chest. She waited.

  *

  THERE WAS NOTHING for Isabel to do but wait, as well. She didn’t look into the mirrored window again, or try to call anyone through the door. She put the cross around her neck, and sat absently gazing at the wall, where a framed print showed varicolored horses galloping across a white field. Her eyelids drooped, and she let them fall.

  She startled awake at the crackle of the speaker. “Excuse me,” a voice said, one Isabel had not heard before. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I have your valises.”

  Isabel stood up with difficulty, finding her muscles stiff from travel and tension. Her voice was scratchy when she spoke. “Do you have my equipment cases, too?”

  “I don’t, but I think I can get them for you.”

  “Can you? That would be a great help.”

  “I’ll just put these in the bubble, and go back for the other things.”

  Isabel crossed to the mirrored window, where she could see only her own tired face. “Who are you? I would like to say thank you.”

  The silver of the mirror dissolved, deliquescing to clear glass. The window became a real window, showing the corridor beyond, the external windows facing into the Multiplex and the darkness of the early evening. Oa gasped.

  A longshoreman faced Isabel through the glass, the friendly face she had seen at the airfield, with long, heavy-lidded eyes and a slow smile. “I’m Jin-Li Chung.”

  Isabel smiled back. “I’m Isabel Burke. Thank you, Jin-Li.”

  “You’re welcome.” The longshoreman’s black hair was very short, and streaked with silver. “Mother Burke. Jay Appleton is on guard now. Tell him to call me if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you,” Isabel said again. “I will.”

  Just as the glass silvered, becoming a mirror again, Paolo Adetti loomed in the corridor. The speaker was still on.

  “You, there!” Adetti rasped. “Are you the one who brought Dr. Burke’s things? Who gave you permission to clear the glass?”

  Isabel closed her eyes, listening, imagining the confrontation on the other side of the mirror. She heard Jin-Li Chung’s mild response. “Mother Burke wanted to speak to me.” Adetti snarled something dismissive. There was a click as he turned off the speaker, and then silence.

  Absently, Isabel wandered back to the table, and stood rubbing her bare scalp reflexively, wondering what Paolo Adetti wanted.

  *

  SHE LEARNED LITTLE more that day. Someone brought blankets and sheets to make up the bed in the empty room. There was an observation camera suspended from the ceiling, but Isabel thought it didn’t matter. Let them watch her if they liked. Jin-Li Chung returned with her equipment, and the medicator reports arrived in the form of a box of disks in plastic sleeves, dozens of them. Isabel found her reader and set it up, but she put the disks aside to look at in the morning. She needed to sleep. She had left San Felice more than thirty hours ago.

  A meal appeared, brought by someone in a quarantine suit who also made up the beds and brought extra towels for the tiny bathroom. Oa seemed accustomed to the routine. She ate her supper, washed herself, and when the lights dimmed, she climbed into the bed with the teddy bear in her arms. Isabel was half-asleep herself by the time she pulled on pajamas and brushed her teeth. She hesitated in the doorway to the little room that was to be hers, at least for tonight.

  “When I was young, Oa,” she said sleepily. “My mother always tucked me into bed at night. I would do the same for you, but I’m afraid you would misunderstand.”

  The child’s eyes showed white in the gloom. She whispered, “Oa sleeps now.”

  “Yes. Isabel sleeps now, too. I wonder if you would prefer my door open, or closed?”

  There was no answer. Isabel couldn’t think of another way to ask. She could hardly keep her eyes open. It would all have to wait until tomorrow. She said, “Well, then. Suppose we compromise? I’ll leave it half-open. Good night, Oa. Sleep well.”

  As she slipped into her own room, she added under her breath, “God bless you.”

  *

  JIN-LI TAUGHT A karate class in the Rec Fac, then showered and went to the cafeteria for a late dinner. Buckley was there, lingering over coffee and watching a sports video on the big screen set into the wall. He muted the sound as Jin-Li approached.

  “Hey, Johnnie,” he said in a low tone. “You get a look at the girl over there today?”

  Jin-Li set down the tray and slid onto the bench across from Buck. The cafeteria was almost deserted. Jin-Li had the last hot meal to be served for the night, a fish casserole. “It’s nothing to do with us, Buck.”

  Buck grinned. “Yeah, but you’re the curious type, Johnnie. We all know that.”

  Jin-Li eyed him. “Apparently you are, too.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, well, she’s an offworlder and all. And Matty Phipps says that Adetti is really interested in her—I mean, medically, not the other way.”

  “Who’s Matty Phipps?”

  “Crew from the transport. You know, the guys that stay awake while everyone else is in twilight sleep.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  The fish was good, and Jin-Li ate with a healthy appetite while Buckley watched the play on the screen. When the casserole was gone, and Jin-Li pushed the plate away, he said, “You did see her, didn’t you, Johnnie? How does she look?”

  “I caught a glimpse,” Jin-Li said with a shrug. “She seems well.”

  “Yeah, but, I mean . . . they’re saying there’s something really strange about this kid. Something weird.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about it, Buck.”

  He pushed aside his coffee mug and leaned across the table to whisper, “They say this Dr. Adetti is over there at the infirmary all the time, every day, and the ice queen, too. And now this priest is here. Gotta be something going on.”

  “Sounds like it.” Jin-Li stood up.

  “Come on, Johnnie. You always know everything! What’s happening?” Buck stood, too, and followed as Jin-Li deposited the tray in the recycle bin, and walked to the door. When they were outside, he fished for a cigarette and lit it. “Come on, Johnnie. Nobody’s around.”

  Jin-Li laughed. “Nothing to tell. Sorry.”

  “I promise I’ll keep the secret.”

  Jin-Li sobered. “Port Force gave me a second chance. I don’t want to blow it.” They had reached the barracks building. “’Night, Buck. See you in the morning.”

  He waved the lighted cigarette in exasperation. “You’re just not a sport, Johnnie.”

  “I know it. Not a sport at all.”

  Buck had been right, Jin-Li thought, climbing the stairs. Adetti spent a lot of time at the infirmary, or poring over medicator reports, or huddled with Boreson and Markham. None of them inspired much trust in Jin-Li. And it would be interesting to meet Matty Phipps.

  5

  OA DIDN’T LIKE sleeping alone. The anchens had slept in a
comforting tangle of arms and legs, hearing the murmurs of the others die away as forgetful sleep stole over their nest, and the buzzing of insects and the faint chirping of night birds filled the darkness. On the ship, and here in the infirmary, Oa often lay awake for hours, listening to the alien sounds around her. But the presence of Isabel, this lady of the shining bare scalp and soft, weary smile, soothed her. Isabel’s eyes shone like sunshine through clouds, and her scent was transparent as a mountain breeze.

  On this night, moments after Isabel went into her room, leaving the door neither wide open nor fully closed, Oa slept.

  She dreamed of the island. She knew it was a dream, because Nwa and Micho were still alive. Nwa, who they called Nah-nah because he was so small, and Bibi, and one-eyed Ette, tall Micho, and the others knelt around the kburi, chanting the song of the ancestors, begging Raimu-ke to help them. To work a miracle.

  Oa woke, and lay wondering for the thousandth time if Raimu-ke could hear her over such a great distance. Or if she was even listening.

  But sometimes Raimu-ke listened. She had listened to Lili.

  Oa remembered the day Lili returned to the people. The tide was receding, and the anchens had been digging for pishi in the shining wet sand. Oa opened one and shucked out the tender meat with a bit of stone. She was just about to put it in her mouth when Lili came running out of the forest, shouting, holding up the end of her ragged skirt to show the blood markings. Lili danced and cried and waved the bloody flag of her triumph. Oa’s fingers went limp, and she dropped the meat of the pishi into the sand. Like everyone else, she stared at Lili in stunned silence, hardly believing in the miracle.

  Only Micho, who always knew what to do, remembered to start the signal fire. While Lili pranced along the beach, celebrating, the anchens scattered into the forest to find the green wood and wide fronds of nuchi leaves to make thick smoke. When it billowed above the beach, a wavering white column against the blue sky, the anchens slipped into the trees. They left Lili alone on the beach, weeping with joy and relief, watching the horizon.