“She is as skilled as any Elysian doctor, and she would help the children.” Mother Artemis added thoughtfully, “More contact with fellow humans will be good for Sarai.”
Rod prayed the children stayed well.
Commotion erupted again, this time from Pima and Pomu, who were attempting to rise from the table. Under the table T’kun had tied their shoelaces together.
After dinner everyone gathered outside. The sun was just setting beyond the distant singing-trees. The llamas groaned at the sun, their regular habit in the evening.
Mother Artemis stood, and her nanoplastic hair waved above her head as if charged by an electrical storm. She spread her robe, and her skirts came alive with bears and lions. Strange story figures shimmered and stepped out around her; the nearer children tucked in their feet and hitched back a bit. The colors deepened to violet, in waving shades of water. Suddenly out leaped a wonderful flying fish. The fish spread its fanlike wings, and began to speak in an otherworldly voice, telling the Sharer tale of how the first fish came to fly, and why their souls were haunted, never again to rest at peace in the sea.
The children were spellbound through tale after tale, legends from Valedon and Urulan and every known world, until at last the younger ones dozed off. Rod put the twins to bed, and Haemum took T’kun. The sun was down now, but the soft remains of light diffused through the gathering clouds. A light rain was falling, as it nearly always did at this hour, as if Prokaryon’s “hidden masters” were in charge. The smell of ginger increased as the soil released its fragrance. The voice of the distant singing-trees abated.
Rod was dead tired, but somehow his mind would not yet let him sleep. He strode restlessly outside the compound, letting the raindrops cool his face and sink into his robe.
He found Mother Artemis walking with him. “How was L’li?”
There was too much inside him to tell. The very edge of certain thoughts made his stomach contract. “Those who had money still have it. But some have the creeping, too—and the cure does not work on advanced cases.”
“Yes,” she nodded, her darkened robe swishing. “But you did not spend your time among the rich.”
“The lightcraft are still running; for how much longer, I don’t know. A power blackout downed several. Next time I may not even be able to reach Reyo.”
She nodded again. To the east the clouds parted, revealing a large red moon whose glow filled Mother Artemis’s restless snakes of hair. The moon glowed red from the sentients melting out its iron for the insatiable factories of Valedon. Prokaryon’s moon had no known life, and by the next decade it would be mined down to nothing.
“The village I visited last year is deserted now,” Rod continued. “The hill I climbed this year will be empty next year.”
Mother Artemis kept walking.
“I gave the beggars what bread I had.”
“I’m sure you gave them everything.”
“My watch, and my leftover credits.” The colony’s own cash was scarce. “But not my pocket holostage,” he added remorsefully. “They could have sold that.”
“They could,” she agreed. “Was that the worst thing?”
His stomach tightened unbearably. “There was a woman outside the orphanage,” he forced himself to say. “She tried to make me take her baby.” He could not accept children of living parents, lest the nationalists accuse him of ethnic abduction. “Otherwise, she said, she would take it to the market, rather than see it starve.” It was not a slave market.
Suddenly he retched, and his stomach finally gave up. “That was foolish,” he said, wiping his mouth, thinking of the wasted food. “I must get to sleep.”
“Yes, you must. Even though you want to go back and save all of L’li.”
“I do,” he said with a touch of anger, at the universe and at himself. “It’s appalling, and we all just—live here.”
“You saved six children this time; isn’t that a great privilege? How many people live their entire lives without saving one soul? And the Spirit should grant you a world?”
He stopped and looked closely at her. Was she laughing at him? “Yes,” he said, his mouth smiling despite himself, “the Spirit should grant me a world.”
At last, finishing his nightly meditation, Rod found himself in bed. Patella came to mind, and he missed him terribly. Then came the face of his father on Valedon, reproaching him: What did you do with all your expensive schooling, to join a bunch of clerics raising orphans at a distant star? Then nameless faces and hands arose until his mind cried out.
There was a tap at the door.
“Brother Rod?” It was T’kun. “My arm hurts.”
Rod pulled back the covers. T’kun was supposed to have outgrown sleeping in bed with him, but he would make an exception. The boy snuggled under the covers, his little head a miracle of softness. In an instant Rod was asleep.
THREE
The next day Rod awoke with a sore shoulder, a muscle pulled from hauling the giant tumbleround the day before. Nonetheless, he felt well rested, and the sight of the cloud-cloaked mountains always brought him peace. He spent the first hour with Gaea dragging herself after him and wrapping herself around his leg at every opportunity. The Spirit callers cared equally for all, but despite himself Rod had favorites.
Haemum and Chae rose early to go uphill and dig gravel out of the mine, an old streambed rich in corundum. They sifted the gravel through water in a fine-mesh screen, allowing the denser crystals to sink to the bottom. Then they dumped each screen over onto a table, where the younger children sorted out the crystals. Most of them were clear and not of particular value, but a few were tinted blue, yellow, or even pink; the better ones, when cut, might fetch enough to feed the colony for a week. Even Gaea picked out her share, although most turned out to be quartz.
After the midday meal, Mother Artemis treated and cut the stones, training Haemum on the lap wheel. The younger children painted little dioramas of four-eyes and singing-trees, or strung necklaces of helicoid propeller shells. Rod and Chae worked on the garden, collecting ringed pods and fruits, and replanting the rows gouged out by the visiting tumbleround. In the western field the brokenhearts were ripening fast; how would they ever get them harvested without Patella?
Chae brought back a bushel full of greens to cook up four-eyes stew for the two tables of children, all swinging their feet and twirling the vegetable pods around their fingers. Afterward, as the little ones cleared up, Mother Artemis said, “I sent the Most Reverend Father a neutrinogram.” Neutrinos brought word across the space-time folds, resisting the extreme electromagnetic distortions at the connection holes. The signal was crude, never of holographic quality, but it was the fastest way. “I told the Most Reverend Father we need another brother or sister with medical training, at least until Patella returns.”
“What will we do in the meantime?” It could be weeks or months before help arrived.
Mother Artemis watched the nightly rain outside, her hair twining into knots and untwining again. “We’ll manage. Haemum and Chae will help with the harvest. Between the two of them, now, they bring in as much as Patella did.”
Rod frowned, vaguely uneasy. “They are growing up.”
“Exactly.” She gave him a questioning look.
“Well—I guess I’ve been more on the infant end of things here. I’m not sure what the Reverend Father has in mind for the older ones, as they grow into adults.”
“When I was a nana in the shon, I raised Elysian children for Elysium. Now we raise Prokaryans. They’ll grow up to maintain the colony.”
“But they’re also citizens of the Free Fold.” He took a deep breath. “What if they choose to emigrate?”
She considered this. “If the Spirit so calls, so be it.”
“But how will they ever know enough? How will they know, without—education?”
“Education is the right of every citizen,” said Mother Artemis firmly. “We educate all our children. We meet the standards.”
“And your father, was he pleased with the result?”
“He was horrified.” By leaving to follow the Spirit, Rod had dashed his father’s hopes of continuing the family tradition in the Guard. “That’s the point of education: to free a child to make choices that horrify her parents.”
“So, should we send Haemum to the Guard?”
Rod smiled at the thought. “No, but she can attend school by holostage. Who knows; she might become a doctor someday. Look at how she set T’kun’s arm.”
“I know those programs,” said Mother Artemis. “The better ones would take up most of her waking hours. But if it’s time, so be it.” She looked up, and her hair stretched toward him. “Thanks for making the point. You’re such a good father, Rod.”
Rod looked away, his face warm.
As the children napped or did lessons, Rod checked the holostage to see if he could reach Geode and ’jum, but he found a call waiting. “Return call,” he told the holostage.
“Which caller?” asked the machine. Servo machines were intentionally built to as low a sophistication as possible, to avoid the chance of their “waking up” sentient, in which case they had the right to earn freedom.
“Diorite, of Colonial Corundum.” Diorite was the shipping agent for Colonial Corundum, a firm that worked commercial deposits in the foothills. His figure appeared on the holostage, tall and lanky, and tanned even darker than Rod. He wore a Valan talar, hung with strings of his pale green namestones, and a wide-brimmed hat for shade. “Rod, you’re back,” he exclaimed. “I heard about your brother. My sympathies—that ravine’s treacherous.”
Rod nodded. “Thanks.” He traced a six-point for blessing.
“Why didn’t you call me? We could have brought Reverend Mother home, and had your brother up to Station in no time.”
That was generous; Rod would never has asked such a favor. “Thanks, I’ll remember.”
“Anytime. Say, I see your old craft’s still out there—you’ll be shipping back soon?”
“I left six new children at the clinic. Besides, I have a load to ship.” There was a sizable cargo of sapphires for Valedon, plus the craft items the children made for tourists.
“You can help us out,” said Diorite. “A small package to deliver—the usual terms.”
The Spirit Colony was exempt from the costly regulations and reporting requirements for commercial mining. When Diorite had new samples whose contents he did not want known to competitors, he asked Rod to take them up, for a small “donation” which greatly helped the colony. It was legal, and Mother Artemis said they ought to trust good neighbors. “Meet us in the morning,” Rod agreed.
“Sure thing. Good luck to your new colonists.”
In the morning Haemum and Chae strapped up five of the llamas, a broad-footed breed lifeshaped for Prokaryon. Strapping them up was tricky, for soon as the beasts felt a heavy load they would empty their guts with streams of spit. Once harnessed, the llamas lumbered dutifully down the trail through the brokenhearts, then turned off into the treacherous wheelgrass with bleats of protest.
The old servo lightcraft was still stuck out in the wheelgrass where Rod had left it. Beside it now sat Diorite’s own sleek sentient craft, its rectennas mirror-smooth. Strains of popular music emanated from within, at rather high volume. As Rod approached, the music stopped, and Diorite emerged, shaking his head. “Sorry about that—Dimwit here has limited taste.”
“I heard that,” called the lightcraft. “Limited taste, indeed. Just you wait—only six point eight months till I draw a salary.”
“Sentients,” muttered Diorite. “Can’t live with the dimwits, and can’t live without ’em.”
Rod smiled. “I’ll trade you the llamas any day.” Haemum fed a treat to each of the beasts. They stood there, chewing sideways.
“Well, here’s the package.” Diorite caught Rod’s arm, and his voice sank to a whisper. “Just between us Valans—look what we found.” He opened his hand beneath Rod’s eyes. Between his fingers glinted a ruby, one of the largest and deepest Rod had ever seen. His father had worn such, and so had the Academy Master, whose namestones had glared fire at Rod too often.
A low chuckle escaped Diorite. “There’s more where that came from—and I’m the only man who knows where.”
Rod smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “No Valan will forget his name if you can help it.” He stowed Diorite’s package carefully in his old lightcraft, while Haemum and Chae helped transfer their crates from the cart. As they worked, Diorite’s lightcraft lifted off. The hiss of boiling air shattered the morning calm, startling a flock of helicoids. Upward it soared, then a lateral burst of plasma sent it streaking across the sky.
Haemum said wistfully, “I wish I could come with you.”
Rod smoothed her curls and kissed her forehead; only yesterday, she had been Gaea’s age. “I could use your help,” he admitted, “but the colony’s short-handed.” And now he had to find her a school.
“Will Brother Patella come home?”
“If the Spirit wills. But not for a while.”
The old lightcraft soon left Prokaryon behind, the stripes of singing-tree forest and wheelgrass fading into the continent Spirilla, where most of the colonists had settled. Spirilla had the shape of an S, its mountain range rising out of its northern curve, while its southern curve cupped the crater from an asteroid that had fallen some hundred million years before. The continent rotated out of view as the great ocean came round, then continents and oceans blurred together, leaving the planet a bright jewel set in the black of space.
At Station, Rod docked and hoisted up his cargo, including Diorite’s package. All surfaces had to be cleansed by mite-sized servos that removed traces of arsenic and toxic proteins. Afterward, the ship would head off to the first extradimensional space fold, where it would “jump” several light-years. Three jumps later, it would reach the star system of Elysium and Valedon. On Valedon, the gems were always in demand for namestones. The crafts would sell better on Elysium, whose millennial inhabitants in their floating cities admired anything handmade.
While the cargo was processed, Rod hurried off to the clinic. He found Geode feeding two infants while changing a third.
“Brother, am I glad to see you.” Geode’s eyestalks twined in delight, and he extended his furry red arm around Rod. “You would be quite worn-out with those little ones. Even I need an extra recharge.”
“You’ve done well, I see.” Rod picked up the youngest girl, T’kela. Less than a week old when he first picked her up in Reyo, she still fit comfortably in one hand. Her own wrinkled hands squirmed at odd angles, and her face had a preternaturally wizened look. She stared at Rod’s face, then fell asleep, her arms still sticking out straight from the blanket. Rod put her up to his shoulder. The magic of such a tiny person always took him by surprise.
The two older ones were crawling and pulling themselves up to stand. Now that they were well fed, they acted more like toddlers than the infants the orphanage had claimed. That could mean extra costs for lifeshaping—one “older child” was bad enough.
’jum was at the holostage, observing a stellated geometric solid that hovered insubstantially before her. She caught sight of Rod and stared, then came over and squeezed his hand, digging in with her fingers as if to assure herself he was really there. Her face glowed with health, her cheeks already filling out so that he might barely have known her. Rod imagined the millions of nanoservos swarming through her veins, to clear her prions and give her genes for Prokaryon.
“Hello, ’jum,” said Rod. “Found any interesting numbers lately?”
The girl only stared.
“Don’t let her fool you,” said Geode. “She can talk, all right. Say, ’jum, did you count the corners on that solid yet?”
’jum swallowed to speak. “Twelve corners pointing out, eighty pointing in. And one hundred eighty faces.”
Geode groaned. “You’ve got the algorithm, all right. Hey you,” he called to the holostage, “show us an extra dimension, will you.”
“Please specify request,” the holostage replied in a flat tone.
“A four-dimensional geometric solid, Dimwit.”
Rod frowned. “Brother, don’t talk like the miners.”
“You’re right,” Geode replied contritely, hunching his arms. “Let us pray for mindless machines, that they be granted souls. Well, the babies are making excellent time,” he told Rod. “The youngest one is taking up nanoservos twice as fast as usual. All her cells are making arsenate pumps, and her liver is nearly transformed. She’ll be home within two weeks. I show them your holo image, and Mother Artemis, as often as possible,” said Geode, “so they’ll know you well. I show them Patella, too; I sure hope he gets home soon.” His eyestalks twined anxiously.
“What will we do without him?” Rod asked softly.
“Pray. Pray without ceasing.”
Rod picked the toddler Qumum up from the floor and tried to catch his gaze. After a minute Qumum suddenly smiled, a big smile with his mouth and eyes wide. Then he let out his breath with a trill. Rod laughed. “Here’s someone happy. Say, ’jum, how about you? Do you like your new room at Station?” Station would be her home for some months, perhaps longer.
’jum nodded, then looked away with a guarded expression.
“I’m sure you miss the blue sky.” Among other things.
’jum looked up suddenly. “Does the creeping ever reach the Children Star?”
Rod crouched to look into her face, catching her shoulders. “Never, ’jum. You will never be sick like that again.”
The Children Star Page 4
