Zenn Scarlett

by Christian Schoon

  Hamish paused, one claw on the door latch.

  “Director-abbot?”

  “We’ll be at the south gate in a few minutes.”

  “Oh…?” Hamish dipped his antennae at Otha, waiting.

  Otha sighed. “Be there to let us out and close the gate behind us. Alright?”

  “I see. Of course, director-abbot.” He placed his hat on his head and adjusted it so his antenna could protrude, then he ducked out the door.

  Sister Hild came up the stairs and shooed Zenn back into her room. Startled at the Sister’s approach, Katie blended and was gone.

  SIX

  “It’s the Bodine place. Again,” Hild said, taking a pair of coveralls out of the closet and handing them to Zenn. Beneath wind-burnished skin, the old woman’s cheeks blushed red from the chill morning air outside, her long, gray hair gathered in a tidy bun on top of her head. No doubt she’d already been up doing chores for hours. She wasn’t a strong-looking woman. Quite the opposite; slightly-built and smaller than Zenn with a delicate, bird-like manner about her. But she had more energy than Zenn and Otha put together, and she was the cloister’s resident tech expert, repairing balky computers and aging medical equipment with apparently effortless speed and efficiency.

  “Gil’s new sandhog is in a bad way,” the Sister said, “And he can't afford to lose this one.”

  “What’s wrong with it?” Zenn said, pulling on the coveralls. She knew Gil Bodine had bartered away a full first cutting of high quality gensoy for the new sandhog boar. He’d already lost two sows, and he’d be more than a little upset if this hog expired on him.

  “Something gastro-intestinal, from the sound of it.”

  “A sandhog with indigestion? There’s a shock,” Zenn said. Burrowing into the ground, devouring soil by the gaping mouthful and excreting it back out again, a big, grub-like sandhog could convert an acre of sterile Martian sand and rock to fertile, crop-growing humus in a matter of weeks. At least it could back on Sigmund’s Parch, its home world. “Otha says Parcher hogs need to get used to Martian soil gradually before you turn them out full time. You think Gil put this one to work too soon?”

  “Could well be. Patience isn’t Gil’s strong suit,” Hild said. “If he’d taken more care with penning in those first two sows, maybe they wouldn’t have disappeared on him.”

  “At least they were spayed females,” Zenn said, contemplating the unpleasant prospect of a sandhog population boom. Hogs were useful animals, but they were also large and belligerent when riled up. “You’d think he’d be a little more careful.”

  “Gil just has a lot on his plate,” the Sister said. “A farm that size? It’s too much for one man to handle.”

  “I think he’s had some help lately. Liam said he’d been out there a few times.”

  “Liam…” Hild said. She gave Zenn a look. “Ah yes, Liam Tucker.”

  “And Hamish has him helping out with chores around here, too,” Zenn said. The old woman continued to give Zenn a look she couldn’t decipher. “What?”

  “Oh, well,” Hild said. “Just that Liam seems to be in evidence at the cloister more than usual lately. He seems to be acting more… friendly.”

  Zenn had no idea what Hild was saying. Then it dawned on her.

  “With me?” She had to smile at this. Yes, Liam was interacting more with her. But not in the way the Sister was implying. “I don’t think so, Sister. Liam’s a towner. There are plenty of towner girls for him to be friendly with.” Alright, she conceded to herself, maybe not plenty of girls, but at least three or four who came immediately to mind. The Sister’s cryptic expression stayed put.

  “Zenn,” Hild sat on the bed. Zenn could feel one of the Sister’s “little talks” coming on. “Liam Tucker has a bit of a reputation. I don’t know if you’re aware of it.”

  “A reputation?” Zenn said. “For what? For joyriding in Benji Kao’s flatbed truck? It was a stupid stunt, I’ll grant you. But Benji got his truck back, didn’t he?”

  “I’m referring more to Liam’s general attitude. Toward responsibility. Toward others. It’s not just that he gets into trouble. Lots of boys his age do.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Liam and his family have had to contend with some… difficult times,” Hild said. “He’s grown up in a very different world from us out here. A harder world. I just mean he’s a boy who has a certain kind of attitude about life.”

  “So?” Zenn said, a small kernel of righteous annoyance forming within her. “Who doesn’t have an attitude about life?”

  And if Liam had attitude issues, Zenn told herself, there wasn’t any mystery about it. After his father’s death in some sort of farming accident years ago, his mother took up with Deg Bradden, a prospector from Syrtis Forge. Liam and Deg never got along, and things came to a head when Constable Jakstra was called out one night to break up a fight between the two of them. Shortly after that, Deg moved back to the mining camp at Syrtis and Liam’s mom went with him. Liam stayed. He was related to Vic LeClerc, so he moved out to live on her ranch. Since then, he’d had other run-ins with the constable, but nothing all that terrible far as Zenn knew; fistfights with other boys, “borrowing” Benji’s old truck, kid stuff. Maybe that was her main impression of Liam. Street-smart but not school-smart, self-centered in a boyish way.

  “In Liam’s case,” the Sister said, “I’m afraid the attitude is one that tells him to act first and think later. And he’s at an age that… well, you’re old enough that I don’t need to explain hormonal surges. And the quantity of available peer group females in Arsia doesn’t enter into the equation. If you’re the girl he’s talking to at the moment, you’re the girl he’s going to ‘be friendly’ with.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot!” Zenn half-laughed at Hild’s retort. But it was only half a laugh. “So the only reason he comes to find me and talk is that he’s enslaved by out-of-control hormones? I’ll have you know he’s taken an interest in the clinic’s patients. He’s curious. He asks questions about them and he appreciates the things I tell him. Are there hormones for that kind of behavior? I guess we haven’t gotten to that chapter in the textbook yet.”

  “It’s just this,” Hild said, reaching out to take Zenn’s hands in hers. “You need to use a little common sense around boys like Liam. That’s all.” She patted Zenn’s hands and released them, giving her an indulgent smile.

  Zenn didn’t return the smile, but bent to scruff Katie between her tufted ears.

  “I think I’m old enough to know I need to use common sense, Sister.”

  “Hm,” she said, her clear, blue, old-woman’s eyes fixing on Zenn’s. “Well, the truth is, I’m surprised Vic can spare Liam.” She rose from the bed and started straightening the covers. “First he’s here doing Hamish’s work for him. Now he’s going all the way out to Gil Bodine’s? Seems like the boy would have plenty to keep him busy at the LeClerc place. All those goats.”

  “He said Vic is thinning out her herd. Not enough decent grazing land,” Zenn said, knowing that Hild was just trying to direct the conversation to some subject other than the chemical changes in Liam’s adolescent bloodstream. “I guess that gives him the free time to help Gil. And Hamish. And that’s encouraging, isn’t it? That he’s willing to spend his time at the cloister, work around the animals, ask about them. Not many towners would make that kind of effort.”

  Hild didn’t argue with this, and Zenn felt like she’d scored a point for Liam. Even though he was a towner, at least he seemed open to the idea that the cloister’s animals might be something other than a toxic menace.

  “So,” the Sister said, going to stand by the door. “You’ll be careful out at Gil’s, won’t you? No wandering off?”

  Hild had likely heard the same rumors as Zenn. That the scab-landers stalking the more remote areas were getting bolder every month. Liam had even told her when scabs robbed the Zubrin train or held up other travelers, they weren’t just stealing cargo or food. They were taking people �
� and selling them to off-world slavers. Zenn found this hard to believe. But not impossible.

  “I’ll be perfectly safe with Otha,” Zenn said, though the prospect of venturing far beyond the cloister walls always filled her with a quick rush of apprehension and excitement. In fact, she’d never been out of sight of the walls without an adult by her side. “And if Gil has a sick animal, it’s our duty to go out there and help, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. But I still don’t like it,” Hild said. “Gil is one of the good ones, though. At least he sees the benefit in off-world creatures, that they have their place just like we do. Not like others I could mention.”

  The unmentionables, Zenn assumed, included most of the population of Arsia City. “Sister,” Zenn said to Hild, her gaze drawn to the window and the compound’s buildings and grounds. “What if the Rift really is ending? If contact between Earth and Mars starts up again, what will happen to the cloister?”

  “I suppose we’d have Earther students enrolling again, wouldn’t we?”

  “But what if the stories about the Authority on Earth are true? If they got control here on Mars, with how they feel about aliens?”

  “I think the Authority is changing, Zenn,” Hild said. “It sounds to me like they’ve decided Earth can’t just go it alone any more. They tried that, it didn’t work out for them. They’re starting to see the value of working with the planets of the Accord again.” She paused, folding Zenn’s robe and setting it on the dresser. “The New Law faction, they’re another story. They’ve got some strange ideas. About human superiority. About Earther purity. About hanging on to the past, no matter what it costs. And even if the Rift does end,” the Sister’s voice lifted, affecting a lighter tone, “the VIPs on Earth and Mars will have more on their minds than our little cloister. And you have a patient waiting, child. Now go on with you.”

  Hild waved her hands at Zenn to urge her out of the room, but suddenly the bedspread seemed to come alive, making Hild take a quick step back. Katie materialized, her fur fluffed out defensively. She leaped off the bed and positioned herself between Zenn and the Sister.

  “Katie,” Hild exclaimed. “I hate when she pops out of nowhere like that.”

  “She’s just looking out for me. Aren’t you, Katie-Kate?”

  “Well, it’s alarming,” Hild said, but she was smiling in spite of herself. “Now then, you stay close to Otha out at Gil’s.”

  “I will.”

  At her feet, Katie sat up and signed: “Katie hungry still. Hungry now to eat.”

  “Oh, right. Um…” Zenn looked from Katie to Hild.

  “Yes, I’ll feed the little imp. You go.”

  “Thanks. There’s a bag of dried grasshoppers in the bread box.”

  “Next to my fresh-baked rolls?” Hild said, not pleased. But Zenn was already in motion. Grabbing her work gloves from the desk, she hurried into the hall and bounded down the steps, taking them two at a time.

  SEVEN

  Outside, Zenn jogged across the cloister’s outer courtyard to where Otha waited in his cherished Mistuchev. The worn, old pickup truck had been wired up, welded together, and jerry-rigged so many times it looked less like a truck than a prehistoric beast with a bad case of mange. Slung over one shoulder, Zenn carried the battered leather backpack that used to serve as Otha’s field kit. Now it was Zenn’s, and it was one of her most prized possessions. Searching through the supply shed, she’d stocked the kit with an array of the clinic’s second-hand equipment, unused bandages, older medicines and anything else she thought a reasonably equipped exovet should have while out on a call.

  “I don’t think we need your little assistant on this job,” Otha said dryly, pointing behind Zenn. She turned to see Katie skittering across the drive, tail held high.

  “No, Katie,” Zenn signed and spoke, trying to make her voice sound firm even though Katie couldn’t hear her. The little rikkaset was acutely perceptive; so much so that Zenn had been working on lip-reading with her lately. She was picking it up quickly. “You stay here with Hild. Stay.” Katie sat down, but just barely. “Good girl.”

  Zenn pulled open the passenger side door.

  “That rear tire still holding air?” Otha nodded his head toward the back of the truck. Zenn dropped her pack on the ground and walked around to check.

  “Looks good to me,” she said, coming back to the front, tossing her pack behind the seat and climbing in. She slammed the door three times before it finally latched and settled back as they pulled ahead.

  Hamish was waiting for them at the gate. He’d already opened the two big, metal doors that guarded the compound’s east entrance.

  “Do I have your approval for now shutting tight these gates?” Hamish called as they drove past him. Otha stopped the truck.

  “Yes, sexton, you may close the gates now.” Her uncle spoke as if addressing a young child.

  “Hamish,” Zenn said, “You don’t always have to ask for approval, you know. Not for every little thing. Sometimes, it’s a good idea just to think for yourself, right? Take the initiative.”

  “Very well. If this is your wish,” he said. But from the way he said it, Zenn didn’t think he really thought much of the idea. Zenn wondered again about Hamish’s species, and the rigid coleopt social order on Siren. Did anyone there do anything without getting clearance from the Queen Spawn-Mother herself? They drove on and Hamish dutifully shut the gates behind them.

  “Gil should’ve learned the lesson those first two hogs tried to teach him,” Otha muttered as they accelerated down the road. He shifted gears irritably, not really awake yet, sipping bitter chicory coffee from his chipped mug. “Breakfast,” he said, nodding at the small wicker basket on the seat between them.

  Zenn opened the basket and helped herself to one of the still-warm amaranth griddlecakes as the truck topped a low ridge and the terrain opened up ahead of them. She looked out across the patchwork of irrigated fields, barren ground and decaying farmsteads where settlers had given up and left. Bathed in the ruddy light of the rising sun, the few fields still being cropped glowed an improbable shade of green between the battlements of red rock.

  Farther along the valley she could see the farmhouses and outbuildings of the neighboring families who still stubbornly clung to their land. The Swansons, with their vast lichen barn. The permafrost well operated by widower Carl Dawkins and his five sons. The Zetian place, where she was just able to see the tiny, stooped figures of Cai-Lun and Wu working their way along the tidy rows of kipfruit saplings. And farthest away, just visible at the mouth of Huxlee’s Canyon, the eroded hillsides of the LeClerc spread, most of the land’s scant vegetation long ago gnawed to ground-level by the ranch’s ravenous goats.

  Centered in the middle distance beyond them, the lights of Arsia City were blinking off one by one as the morning brightened. A handful of campfires flickered amid the squalid shantytown that had grown up around Arsia’s outskirts. This sad collection of converted shipping containers and makeshift shacks was where the poor and homeless in this end of the canyon sought shelter from the steadily worsening situation on Mars. It had been several weeks since Zenn had accompanied Otha on a trip into Arsia to barter for supplies. But even from this distance, she could see that since that last visit a dozen new shelters had been hastily thrown together on the north edge of town. Zenn thought of the families driven off their failing farms and into the crowded jumble of shanties. They’d shed their role as brave, independent settlers taming a wild frontier. Now, they would assume the unfamiliar, new role of refugee, the dreams gone, the future uncertain.

  The sun had cleared the horizon, and Zenn folded down the visor to shade her eyes. She tried to imagine the Martian landscape before the bary-gens stretched their protective membranes of invisible, charged molecules across the valleys, before the first colonists arrived – a time of no green fields, no farmsteads or villages. Just dry rock and sand and an atmosphere so paltry it didn’t deserve the name.

  “It must have l
ooked so… harsh at first,” she said. “You know, before settlers came.”

  “More than harsh. Downright lethal. At least here in the deep end of the Valleys there was some kind of atmospheric pressure. Enough to keep water from boiling off into the sky anyway.”

  “But at first the people had help, right, from Earth?”

  “Not like now, you mean?” Otha snorted a soft laugh at the thought. “Sure they did. I’ll tell you this, though: the Rift was a blessing in disguise. Well, half a blessing. Made us self-reliant. Made us dig down and get serious about what it meant to be a Ciscan. What it meant to be Martian.” Otha sipped at his coffee, and then wedged the mug on the dash so it wouldn’t spill. “I remember the day we finally heard the news. Word got passed down from Zubrin – the last radio link with Earth had gone dead. Nothing but static. I told your father, ‘This is what we’re meant for, Warra. This is what the Ciscan Order was designed to do: survive.’”

  He paused, eyes on the road ahead. “Of course, it was a double-edged sword. It was before your time. Before the Rift, the scriptorium was full, teeming with novices and acolytes. We had three sextons then. You wouldn’t have recognized the place.”

  Zenn could see it in his face: he was back in the glory days, when the cloister training program was in full flower, the clinic school filled with eager would-be exovets from all across the Accord. After the Rift, even the cloister’s reputation as one of the premiere training clinics of the Accord couldn’t prevent the disastrous decline in enrollments. There was one advantage, though. With Earth closed to all off-worlders, the cloister on Mars became the only facility in nearby space for the treatment and boarding of alien animals. That had kept clients coming, money flowing. Not a lot, but enough. Now, though, with more Indra ships going missing, and fewer coming to Mars, even that meager source of cloister income no longer seemed secure. “Pretty quiet these days, eh?” Otha said, giving her a wry grin. “I suppose you’re the sole beneficiary now.”