The Children Star

by Joan Slonczewski

  “They’ve always wanted that. So why make us stop adding settlers?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Mother Artemis. “They’ve never really cared for us; our colony is too small and expensive.”

  “But how do they plan to settle? Our colony has always cost the least per settler, of all the colonies on Prokaryon. You don’t suppose the cost of ’jum’s lifeshaping—”

  “No,” said Mother Artemis firmly. “Whatever is going on, it’s far bigger than ’jum, or all of us. Our colony is but a speck in their eye.”

  Geode said, “We still must inform the Reverend Father of this outrage. At least they can let the world know.”

  “The Most Reverend Father will tell us to heed the Spirit and obey worldly authorities.” Mother Artemis sounded oddly hesitant. “And yet, the Spirit does not call me to address His Reverence just now.”

  The very hint of a difference between Mother Artemis and the Most Reverend Father was unthinkable. Rod turned to her, astonished.

  “So what shall we do?” asked Geode.

  “Pray,” said Mother Artemis. “Let us pray together until the next sunrise.”

  TEN

  At dinner Chae rolled out the steaming kettles full of brokenhearts. It was time at last for Rod to try to eat them. He spooned some of the pale rings onto his plate, where they rested limply. As he raised a spoon toward his lips, T’kun grabbed his arm. “No, Brother Rod; that’s not your food!”

  Rod smiled and rubbed the boy’s head. “It’s all right, T’kun. I can eat home cooking now.” With a dozen pairs of eyes on him, now, he had to look brave. He took a spoonful and swallowed. The grains drenched his tongue with ginger, as well as less palatable tastes of things humans were never meant to consume.

  “Excuse me,” Rod said, rising from the table. “I have to help Gaea with her lessons before bed.” The children all had lessons to finish, numbers to add and capitals of all the Fold’s worlds to name. Pima and Pomu cried when it was time for their bath. All the while, Rod thought of how they were stuck without their lightcraft, and the colony faced extinction. He was not a sentient with multitasking capacity, and amidst such thoughts, it was hard to find room for prayer.

  When the last infant was in bed, peace descended. From the sky the rain settled lightly as always, until the stars emerged cold and silent, and the red moon glowed. The Spirit Callers stood together and began their prayer.

  “Spirit of all worlds, breath of all breaths,” called the Reverend Mother, her hair tendrils stretching toward the stars. Beside her Brother Geode watched the sky with a rapt expression. “Help us to be strong in our darkest time. Let hope find us even in the deepest waters, like those glowing fish whose light shines forth over the ocean floor. Above all, send us a hundred times forgiveness for those who would do us harm. For their need of You must be a hundred times greater than our own.”

  Rod bent his head over his clenched hands. Forgiveness was one thing, but how could he forget? All of his children, to be uprooted yet again from the one real home they had known. Indeed, he thought, he would have to forgive a hundred times yet, before he could forget. But on and on they prayed, in voice and song and in stillness, until Rod lost track of time. At last, remembering his human need, the Reverend Mother sent him to sleep.

  In the morning Brother Geode was up early as usual, bustling about with the babies, offering milk, and cooing at baby Qumum. But Mother Artemis herself kept the vigil well past sunrise. She seemed to have entered another world, like a Sharer in whitetrance.

  As Rod helped the little ones pull their shifts on and tried to locate their starstones, Pima waddled over breathlessly to announce a visitor. Rod went to the door with Gaea clinging to his leg. Whatever could he do to save them, he wondered for the thousandth time.

  There stood Diorite, his wiry arm tracing a starsign, the last person Rod wanted to see. Elysians were bad enough, but it cut deeply that a fellow Valan would let him down.

  “It looks bad, Brother, mighty bad,” Diorite solemnly intoned. “You know, we’ve got to have a plan to face this; we can’t just roll over. We have to stick together—”

  “Enough of your plans,” said Rod coldly. “You’ve gotten us into enough trouble already.”

  “Trouble from me? I’m as bad off as you are.”

  He had to force the words past his disgust. “You smuggled lanthanide extractors.” He did not even want Gaea to hear the words.

  “Oh, no.” The miner’s face fell. “I did that only once, months ago. Nobody gets booked for that, anyhow. I’ve never sent anything that harmed anyone, no drugs or weapons. What else do they say I’ve done?”

  Gaea reached insistently, and Rod finally picked her up. “It’s no matter. We’re through.”

  “Don’t be hasty. Don’t you want to know how in the Spirit’s name they found out what we sent? Do you know how illegal that is?”

  “Birds of a feather.”

  “And fools see only fool’s gold!” Diorite took a deep breath. “Listen, Brother—if we’re to beat this thing, we have to work together.”

  “You can tell the Reverend Mother.” As soon as he spoke Rod felt ashamed, for he knew what she would say. His hand sketched a starsign. “It’s forgotten,” he murmured, his eyes averted. But he would never again carry the miner’s cargo.

  Diorite let out a long sigh. “Brother, there’s only one thing that can save our homes—only one way to keep Spirilla out of their hands. You know that?” He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “The tumblerounds. You know that’s who really runs this place, don’t you? They kidnaped the L’liites—and we’re going to track them down and prove it.”

  Rod listened, no longer certain whether to believe him or not. “Well, you’d better find out soon. Proteus is wasting no time.”

  “We’d better find out, all right. Because if we don’t, and Nibur goes ahead and boils off their home—there will be hell to pay.”

  His jaw fell. “Boil off? You don’t mean—”

  “That’s just what I mean. Why do you think they’re clearing us all out? They’re going to ‘cleanse’ Spirilla.”

  “Terraform the continent? Impossible.”

  “Rumor has it they’ve already started, out on the western coast.”

  All the fields of brokenhearts, and the singing-tree forests, cooked into soup; all those living souls. Who could do such a thing? This Nibur Letheshon—what kind of person could he be?

  From behind the compound came Mother Artemis, walking slowly as if still entranced.

  “Excuse me,” Rod murmured, and hurried quickly to meet her. They held each other close.

  Mother Artemis said quietly, “I know what we must do now.”

  “Yes?”

  She waited for Brother Geode to join them. “First, we will put a one-month appeal on Proteus’s order. We have that right by law. It will be overruled, but it will buy us time.”

  Geode waved a red limb. “It is our right. Even the Reverend Father would agree.”

  “In the meantime—” Mother Artemis paused. “I will pay a call on my old friend, Verid.”

  Rod raised an eyebrow. “Verid Anaeashon? The Secretary of the Fold?”

  “You will call her?” Geode exclaimed.

  “I will visit her in person. She is not immune to the Spirit; she will hear our cry.”

  “I’m sure she will,” said Geode. “Verid has known you forever—and she owes you one or two.”

  Perhaps there was hope after all. Rod felt a weight lift from his heart. But Mother Artemis leaving—that would be hard. “The children—they’ve never been without you.”

  “It will be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I will need your prayers.”

  The Reverend Mother Artemis booked passage on the next starship scheduled to leave Station. Diorite sent his lightcraft to carry her up. The sight of the craft, signaling the Mother’s imminent departure, threw everything into chaos, as children wailed and collapsed right and left. It was all Rod could do to keep the
littlest ones clear of the landing.

  “Peridot, here, at your service,” called the craft. “I just earned my freedom. I got a salary in the ninetieth percentile.”

  “Congratulations,” Rod called out. “And thanks—we’re so much obliged—”

  T’kun fell down shrieking that his leg was broken, and Mother Artemis had to stay and fix it.

  “By Torr,” exclaimed the lightcraft, “I’d heard human babies keep one busy, but this is something else.”

  Rod watched the rising lightcraft until it was a bright speck in the sky that disappeared into the blue. At length he turned away, thinking, nothing left but to hope. Haemum and Chae pitched in right away with the younger ones, changing diapers and bandaging scraped knees. Rod tried not to think about whether they got their studies done that night.

  The days that followed fell into a new routine. Geode led the prayers, and Haemum joined in the evenings. Harder than ever, they called on the Spirit to protect Prokaryon, and to help the Reverend Mother in her mission; and to open the ears of the Secretary of the Fold.

  At times, though, Rod found himself wondering. He had always relied on Mother Artemis to plan for the future, just as the Reverend Father planned for her. Obedience in material things meant freedom of the spirit. He had never followed the politics of the Fold Council, let alone the diverse peoples of the seven worlds. Yet Mother Artemis kept track of events, and finally chose to act “in the world.” When a great evil arose, the Spirit called for action.

  By day there was less time to think, as everyone took on extra chores. A field needed sowing for brokenhearts; without Feldspar’s help, they would never have managed. In the garden the tumbleround stayed away, but Rod noticed a couple of snake-egg reporters hovering near the roof. They never sought an interview, just hung there, eavesdropping. What sort of story were they after? It had been some time since their last “human interest” piece; afterward, their craft sales had increased.

  ’jum did well, physically, though she had to spend most of her time in the filtered room. She ate the same bland food pellets that Rod used to eat. Rod gave her daily time for math at the holostage, and Haemum taught her to make tourist dioramas. She took to it surprisingly well, pasting cutout zoöids onto backdrops one after another, methodically, as if she were back in the Hyalite factory.

  For his part, Rod tried to eat more brokenheart stew. His stomach held, but the taste still gagged him. He realized that all the food on Prokaryon had always smelled to him like glue or cleaning fluid, or other chemicals not meant to be eaten. But he had figured the lifeshaping treatments would change his taste buds as well as his liver. Now he saw that he might learn to eat Prokaryon food, but he would never enjoy it. He dreamed of shepherd’s pie at the table in the Station lounge.

  One night he dreamt of Khral. She stood alone in the dark, wearing the protective skinsuit which made her glisten all over like a gem. But when he reached out to touch her, the nanoplast dissolved, and she fell into his arms. An indescribable joy flooded through him, as if he had waited a thousand years for a drink of water.

  The dream was so vivid Rod awoke, sweating all over and distressed. He had felt little need of women since he joined the order. He had no strong feeling for Khral when they met at Station, though he enjoyed her friendship. She was nothing like the women he had before, who were tall and blond and could shoot as sharp as he did. Khral stood barely a meter and a half, with a simian stoop; she would not have met Academy standards. And yet, somehow…It was nothing, he thought, but he could not sleep again.

  The next day three visitors appeared at the holostage, from New Reyo. They wore talars of bright L’liite colors, and their curls were dyed orange, piled into towering knots.

  “We are the L’liite People’s Federation,” one announced. “We demand the repatriation of our citizens.”

  Rod glanced at Geode. Geode whispered, “It’s them—the nationalists. What spirit brings them out here?”

  “I don’t know.” Rod wished Mother Artemis were here to address them; she would find the right words. “Our colonists were adopted legally,” he told the group. “We rescued them from certain death, and now—”

  “Rescued?” the L’liite interrupted.

  “You call that ‘rescue’?” said another. “Abducting our ethnic treasures and putting them to work? Mining gemstones with child labor?”

  The L’liite in red shook a fist at him. “You’re covering for those lanthanide miners. That’s why they run all your farming for you. You’re a sham.”

  Rod nodded slightly. He could see their point. Entanglement with the world—and yet without it, their colony would have gone under, many times. “We do our best for the children. We teach them their L’liite heritage, and we raise them as free citizens.”

  “Free citizens? With less than two hours a day at school?” The L’liite sounded scandalized. “We know—we’ve been monitoring.”

  He took a deep breath. “What do you want of us?”

  “You heard me,” said their leader. “Let our people go.”

  “Our children?” For a moment Rod was hopeful. “Would you adopt them?” Much as Rod loved the children, he could not deny them the chance of traditional parents. That was what ’jum really needed—her own mother and father, with infinite time to share.

  “You’re evading the issue. Give back our children—and close down your perverted operation. Children abducted to be raised by dimwits—imagine.”

  At that Rod froze. Better silence than what he would have said.

  “It’s true,” said Geode earnestly, “we’ve made some mistakes. Won’t you come meet the children in person, and see for yourselves if they’re happy? Perhaps we can do better.”

  The L’liite gave the sentient a look of utter disgust. “Happy children—who can never expect to raise children of their own? We humans can’t even give birth on this toxic world. Get out, and let the Fold clean it up for us.”

  “We’ll stay on your holostage,” warned the other one. “We’re prepared for hunger strike.”

  Rod bowed slightly and spread his hands. “Good day, Citizens.” He turned quickly and left.

  “So that’s what the snake eggs were after,” exclaimed Geode, outside. “I’m sure Nibur put them up to it.”

  “Peace, Brother,” Rod warned, sketching a starsign. “The Spirit save them from their folly.”

  “Yes, but what about our holostage? They got a free-speech permit to occupy it.”

  So the holostage was out of order for a day, then the next. No more school time at all, now, thought Rod. More of the snake eggs came hovering again, this time to ask what he thought of the witnesses, and how could he let them starve themselves.

  By the week’s end ’jum was in trouble again. “She was fine, so long as we left her at the holostage,” Geode explained. “She behaved for a while and seemed interested in sorting the crystals.”

  Haemum nodded. “I sewed up her pockets to keep her from hoarding them.”

  “That was clever.” But Rod noticed the dark welts under Haemum’s eyes. She worked herself too hard.

  “’jum still keeps to herself too much,” Geode went on. “She won’t look at another child without crossing her eyes. Of course the others make fun of her. And then—” Geode shook his head.

  “She hit Pomu’s leg this time,” said Haemum. “He needed three stitches. I’m sorry—I’ll watch her better.”

  “You can’t be with her every minute. You need to rest, Sister. You must; do you understand?”

  “I’m all right, Brother Rod. I just get these headaches—ever since we hauled the last tumbleround. You know how they smell. The medical service couldn’t find anything, so I’m sure it will get better.”

  Rod was silent. Vague fears stirred in him, of what he could not say. “I’ll talk to ’jum.” What were they to do with her, he wondered. An older child…She needed time to heal; but she was a danger to others, and no one could watch her every second. If only Reverend Mothe
r were here.

  ’jum sat alone on her bed in her filtered room, more sullen than ever. “’jum, why?” Rod asked. “You know the rules. Your brothers and sisters don’t want to hurt you. We need to keep each other safe.”

  “They’re stupid.” Her voice was low and grudging as if forced out of her.

  “They’re family. They love you.” There was something wrong with this child, Rod thought. She could not see other people as people.

  “They’re stupid,” she repeated. “Even the holostage is stupid.”

  Did she miss the sentient holostage at Station? “Would you like to go back to the clinic?”

  ’jum looked up. “Yes, Brother Rod. Let’s go back.”

  So she missed all their hours together, the two of them at Station, touring the worlds of the Fold. Rod reached out to clasp her hand. Then he saw on her arms a rash was spreading; it must feel unbearable. It was a relatively mild reaction to something on Prokaryon, but if Haemum’s treatment failed, it might become serious. He should have kept her there at the clinic. But how could all their other children do without him?

  Suddenly Rod wished he had left her to die on Scarecrow Hill. She was half-dead then; a day or two more would have ended her misery, and never brought the colony the burden of this traumatized child. The depth of his own feeling surprised and shocked him. Whatever good he might do was all useless in the end, if he could feel such hardness toward one suffering human being.

  But the girl was alive, here; and somehow she had to be dealt with, along with the tumbleround and the defunct lightcraft. A voice from long ago welled up within Rod, the voice of his old Academy Master. He held ’jum by the wrists and made her face him. “Listen. You are one of us, and you will live by our rules. Do you understand?”

  The girl did not reply. “The sun’s rays are not infinite,” she said at last in a defiant tone. “I will count their photons.”

  Outwardly Rod carried on as always, but inside he felt forsaken. He needed the Spirit more than ever, but when he called, his soul heard only emptiness. He was losing weight on Prokaryon food, and by day he could think of little else. At night he dreamed of Khral, again and again. It always felt the same; a sense of longing and satisfaction, a feeling of the deepest joy to become one with her. In the morning he would awaken, bewildered and remorseful. He prayed for release, but instead found himself looking forward to the nighttime, while dreading the shame of awakening.