“No problem; Quark will fetch me up.” She glanced frankly at the craft, then at him. “Take care of those children, Brother Rod.”
So this was the Children Star, thought ’jum. Brother Rod was still her god of death and life; but like most gods, he did not keep all his promises. He had promised no more sickness; yet day after day she had been sick to her stomach from all the strange potions of the machines in this prison-palace, where unheard-of riches combined with unending tortures. She still dreamt at night of her mother, whole and well, come to fetch her home again. But lately the dreams had dulled, and sometimes she could not remember what her mother looked like.
The only family ’jum had left was the family of numbers. The prison-palace offered numbers and patterns of numbers beyond imagining. Lately ’jum had learned something called a transform that could turn the patterns inside out. On the lightcraft, while Brother Rod was preoccupied, ’jum had tried to talk to the holostage. “Show me the transform of four dots in a square,” she had demanded. This lightcraft did not answer, however; it was as stupid as most people. So ’jum crossed her eyes and thought out the transform for herself. It would have concentric circles of light, tiled with little squares.
When the door opened at last, ’jum fell out into another world. This world had a fresh, fragrant smell to it, almost like the old days when her mother had a kitchen to bake in. Something wet trickled down her cheek; she wiped it off hastily and dug her fists deep into her pockets.
The bright light made her squint at first. But then, the loopleaves and whirling birds and distant forests, all came alive—alive, not just shapes of light on a holostage. Real earth, full of things to catch your feet. Brother Rod was running ahead to pick up little Gaea, who already had fallen over herself. With his back turned, ’jum’s pockets soon filled with pebbles.
In the distance two great beasts came lumbering up a trail, their ears sticking out straight as street signs. They looked like llamas, with ridiculously outsized hooves. An older girl called Haemum stepped down from one of them, crying out to Brother Rod. Like Mother Artemis, Haemum spoke ’jum’s language with an odd accent, but ’jum could understand most of it. Some great creature was looking in at a window, Haemum said.
“’jum, you can swing up behind Haemum,” said Brother Rod. Reluctantly she did so, keeping a wary eye upon her god while he swung the little one up with him on his own mount. But Haemum had a strong back and rode well.
They came at last to a building, a long structure built of what looked like some kind of animal dung. The animal dung was draped with festive decorations. A large banner had on it some words in the new letters ’jum had been learning; it said, “Welcome home…”
Brother Rod leaned over to hug her. “It’s your own name, ’jum. You remember.”
She stared curiously at the letters that meant her own name. Then suddenly, strange children came streaming out, all kinds and shapes of children. Some of them looked familiar from the holostage; but that was quite a different matter, ’jum had learned. In the flesh, too many children meant trouble.
But then came Mother Artemis with all the stories on her skirt. The skirts spread, and there leaped a mountain goat just like the ones that scampered up the cliffs of Scarecrow Hill. Immersed in the story, ’jum forgot all about the extra children.
Suddenly she realized—where was Brother Rod? She never let him out of her sight, if she could help it.
“’jum G’hana,” Mother Artemis was calling, “do you understand me? This is your brother Chae, and your brother T’kun. And here, your little sister…” She went on naming all the little faces with stupid fingers in their mouths. But ’jum was too confused to hear them. The two boys stood there, like two bright dots. She crossed her eyes; the transform was simple, many bright bars spread evenly across a disk.
“Hey, what’s she doing with her eyes?” Squeals of laughter followed.
’jum looked up at Mother Artemis. “Where is Brother Rod?”
The snakes of Mother Artemis’s “hair” swept up to point like a weather vane, ’jum followed her out around the dung house to a garden. A huge round creature slouched there, near a window, and Brother Rod was trying to help Haemum dig it out. The creature stank worse than the city streets in summertime. Creature or tree, or moldering truck tire—whatever it was, it was certainly the most bizarre sight she could remember, with clouds of insects surrounding it, alighting and flitting up off it again like the many lightcraft above Reyo. ’jum stood and watched as Brother Rod and Haemum hoisted the thing onto a cart and drove it off.
Now her god was gone—and Mother Artemis was unaccountably gone, too. ’jum was all alone, among the children.
“Where you from?”
“Come on, ’jum; you’re my friend.”
“No she’s not, she’s a—”
’jum froze, withdrawing into herself. She could see the children, but she did not let herself hear their talk or their nervous giggles. There were two of them, and one behind, and two more beyond the one. Two triangles with one dot shared—what an interesting pattern.
Someone shoved her on the arm, then ran back giggling to the group, ’jum knew that they were laughing at her, and that they expected some kind of response. But she never knew any response that helped. Warily she closed her fist around a pebble in her pocket.
Another child came forward and shoved her harder, grabbing a fistful of her shift so that she nearly fell. That was the worst thing, you learned in the streets of Reyo: Never fall down, because the crowd will never let you up.
The one who had grabbed her, called T’kun, rushed back to the group amid laughter and scolding. ’jum stared hard at him and focused her aim. Her hand whipped from her pocket, and the stone leaped out to meet him exactly between the legs.
T’kun screamed and doubled over. The children scattered, except for an older boy who helped T’kun away, bawling his head off. Now ’jum was truly alone, with no companion save the countless rays of a foreign star.
The cart with its ponderous load creaked perilously behind the spitting llamas. Rod and Haemum pushed from behind, careful to avoid the llamas’ aim. Haemum shook her head. “I don’t know why this tumbleround keeps coming back. We never used to get tumblerounds.”
Rod said dryly, “The Spirit sends strange messengers.” He wondered about Khral’s microzoöids. Was it just another false alarm? On the horizon the enigmatic singing-trees formed a dark band edged with light.
“Pomu had a whirr caught in his eye yesterday,” added Haemum. “I found it, and used the correct procedure to wash it out. I confirmed that baby L’lan has a dislocated hip; but I think we can treat that here.”
Rod nodded. Three weeks left of their “trial period.”
Haemum suddenly stopped and threw her arm around him with such a strong hug that he nearly lost his balance. “I’m so glad you’re home again, Brother Rod. You always set things right.”
After a good hour’s trek, Rod hoped they had taken the beast far enough. Carefully they tipped the cart on its side and hauled the tumbleround out, taking care not to scrape it too badly. Pain shot through Rod’s back as he tried to ease himself up. Regarding the foul plant-animal, he was struck with a sense of absurdity. “You know, Haemum, Khral thinks that thing is our ‘master.’” And here they were, again, dumping it out like trash.
“Is it really?” Haemum gave a puzzled look at the stinking mess as it oozed into the loopleaves. “It never says a word.”
“It sends microzoöids. Thank the Spirit they can’t grow in us.”
She still seemed unconvinced. “Why would any intelligent thing let all those vermin buzz around it? Wouldn’t it invent bug pills?”
His eyes suddenly focused on the whirrs. For a moment he froze, seeing nothing else but that cloud of tiny helicoids. Insects carried disease, didn’t they? In this case, might they carry messengers? He wondered what Khral would think.
As the two colonists returned to the compound, Chae came running out
to them, his starstone bouncing around his neck. “Brother Rod, that new girl is in trouble.”
Geode told him the story. “She’s up to her old tricks again,” the sentient exclaimed, waving two limbs. His other arms carried two of the babies from Reyo, both filling out wonderfully.
Rod found ’jum in her room, a small compartment partitioned off the row of beds where the other children slept. ’jum sat on her bed quietly, while the air filter gently hissed behind her. Her cheeks had filled out, but her expression held the same sullen stare that Rod remembered so well. “’jum, don’t you remember? You can always call on me. You don’t need to hurt people.”
She looked away. Rod sighed. To her, this new planet must seem even stranger yet than Station, even with all the holo scenes she had viewed.
He picked her up and folded her in her arms, where she relaxed a little. “’jum, can you tell me something?” he asked after some thought. He sat with her on the bed and looked into her eyes. “Can you tell me what you would like most of all, in all the world?”
’jum’s eyelids flickered. “I would like to count all the rays of the sun.”
The answer surprised Rod, who expected her to ask for her mother or her old home. But then, he should have figured. “All the sun’s rays, ’jum? That’s a tall order. The sun’s rays are infinite.”
“Infinite?” She turned toward him with interest.
“So many that no one can ever count them all, even you.”
She looked down as if skeptical. “A transform can measure anything.”
“You know, ’jum, other things are infinite, too. The love of the Spirit for you, and all of us—that love is infinite. We all want to share that love with you, ’jum.” ’jum did not seem impressed. Rod sat back on the bed, thinking. “There are different kinds of…infinite numbers,” he recalled vaguely from his calculus class at the Academy. “You could learn about them on the holostage.”
“Really? Do we have the holostage here, too?”
So that was what she wanted. “Of course we do,” he promised. “But remember the rules. Your brothers and sisters need to get to know you.”
Rejoining the daily prayers renewed Rod’s strength and took his mind off worries that swam deep as Architeuthis. Over the next few days he immersed himself in the field of brokenhearts, weeding between the rows of golden ringlets that shook and vibrated in the wind, listening to the hum of helicoids alighting to suck their juices. Then he checked the children’s progress with their new lessons on the holo, and he sorted their finds from the sapphire mine.
“We found several blue-tinted ones, and one deep pink, two-point-three carats.” Geode held up two infants to burp after feeding.
“Good work,” said Rod. “But you know, if you count the time they spend sorting, I wonder if it pays off. I can earn more working on Khral’s project. The children should spend more time in school.”
Geode twisted and untwisted a yellow limb. “I’ve never been able to understand why they can’t make human children learn all they need in the first month of life. I would think doctors would have corrected that by now.”
Sentients could not understand; their own thoughts ran so fast, they could live a thousand lives at once, along with the one they shared with humans. Rod looked at Geode curiously. “What do you do with all your free time? I mean, the part of your mind that’s not watching children?”
“Well, sometimes I read literature with Feldspar. We’ve covered all the works of poetry of three planets. Feldspar has good taste, but some terribly wrong ideas—I do set him straight at times. But lately I’ve been too busy.”
“Worrying?”
“Busy praying,” said Geode simply. “This colony needs all the help the Spirit can give.”
His lips parted, but there was nothing to say. He could imagine Mother Artemis, too, praying incessantly. No wonder sentients made such good Spirit Callers.
The next day Diorite came over, with another small package to “ship quick.”
“We’re waiting to get the lightcraft fixed,” Rod told the miner. They really needed to hire a sentient; they had been getting by on borrowed time. But they had no funds; even with Rod’s wages from the field lab, it would take months to make a down payment. Somehow, the Spirit would provide. “We’ve got a nice load of crystals, though,” Rod said. “Chae found one that’s deep pink, nearly a ruby.”
Diorite sighed. “Well, enjoy your luck while it lasts. You heard the news?”
“What news?”
“Proteus went and bought our whole continent, whirrs and all.”
“Is it that bad for you?” Rod asked sympathetically.
Diorite leaned forward and slapped his knees. “Son, where’ve you been? I mean the whole continent. All the nonprofits, too. You’ve got a new landlord, didn’t you know?”
Rod frowned. He knew that Mother Artemis was checking it out. “The Fold has been trying for some time to privatize colonial management. They think it will be more efficient. But who would want us? There’s no profit in it.”
“Exactly.” Diorite shook his head ominously. “Whatever Nibur wants this continent for, it won’t be good for you or us. He couldn’t care about namestones.” He paused reflectively. “I don’t know, though. I wonder if old Nibur hasn’t bought more than he paid for.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did I ever tell you about the L’liites from the ship?”
“Did you find any?” Rod asked quickly.
“Only those killed in the crash. But we never found all the bodies. There were tracks leading into the singing-tree forest. And where the tracks ended—”
“What?”
Diorite’s voice sank to a whisper. “They were covered by tumbleround tracks.”
The next morning, as Rod was heading out to exercise the llamas, Geode called to him, waving his limbs excitedly. “Brother, come quick! Our new management is on the holo.”
The three Spirit Callers met at the holostage. Mother Artemis and Geode each had a cranky baby in hand; Rod hoped Haemum and Chae could manage the rest of them for now.
Above the holostage hovered a column of light. Within the light appeared an androgynous Elysian behind an imposing desk. Before the desk floated a house logo, an ocean wave rolling incessantly toward the shore.
“Greetings,” said the Elysian. “I represent Proteus Unlimited, to whom the Fold has entrusted management of your Spirit Colony.” The figure did not introduce itself personally. It probably was a virtual construct, not a real human or sentient. “We have a new plan to improve the quality of your operation. You will triple the yield of your staple crops and become a self-sustaining colony.”
Rod wanted to hear more about the colony’s rights and expectations under the new system. But the figure had other concerns.
“We have identified a new site for agriculture,” the figure continued drily, “on the southeast quadrant of Chiron.” Chiron was another continent on the opposite side of the planet. “The Chiron site offers optimal growth conditions for native food crops—indeed, the best to be found anywhere on Iota Pavonis Three. All of the nonprofit colonies will relocate there. You will enjoy increased productivity, as well as new medical and scholastic opportunities provided by consolidation of colonial communities.”
At first Rod could not comprehend what he was hearing. The ocean wave rolled on in silence, never crashing.
“Are there fields to hunt zoöids?” asked the Reverend Mother. “Is there a sapphire mine?”
“You will no longer require such sidelines. Your productivity and lifestyle will increase substantially, thanks to more efficient agriculture.”
Rod found his voice. “We’ve invested two decades in this bit of land. Our charter lasts into the next century. We can’t just be moved.”
The figure did not even turn its head. “True, you have a charter. Until now, the Fold has overlooked your chronic abuses of your charter—removal of ethnic treasures, child labor, smuggling of lanthanide extractor
s, to name a few. You would be wise to cooperate with us, and start over with a clean slate.”
Lanthanide extractors—was that what old Diorite had them carrying up to Station? As for the rest…Dazed, Rod shook his head.
“What will become of our rescue program?” asked Geode. “Will you sustain our immigrant quota?”
“The removal of ethnic treasures must cease.” “Ethnic treasures” meant creeping-ridden orphans like ’jum; Rod had heard this nationalist line before. But why would the Fold suddenly accede to it? “Soon,” the figure announced, “a new era will dawn in the settlement of Iota Pavonis Three.”
The Proteus representative at last fell silent, as if expecting questions. But the colonists were left speechless.
“You have one month to settle your affairs; servos will help you pack for the move. Proteus Unlimited will cover all your costs, of course. Good day.” The holostage went blank.
Geode waved his blue arms. “The Reverend Father must hear of this! No more settlers—impossible.”
“That Diorite,” grumbled Rod. “How could we have trusted him? Just when we need good credit, look where it puts us.”
The Reverend Mother caught his arm. “Be careful. We don’t yet know the truth.”
“The rest is all false. How could Proteus expect to get away with this? The Fold must hear at once.”
Mother Artemis shook her head sadly. “I wish it worked that way. But I fear the Fold already knows too well.”
“But they can’t—” Rod stopped himself. Shaking all over, he tried to collect his thoughts. Mother Artemis was probably right, he realized with horror. “But how could they do this without…public hearing? Consultation?” He thought of something. “What did he mean, a new dawn for settlement?”
“There has been debate, in the Secretariat,” Mother Artemis explained. “Elysium and Valedon want more settlements, fast, to keep the L’liites coming here, instead of there.”
The Children Star Page 11
