Child of Earth (22 page)

By now, there were tears rolling down my cheeks, probably leaving dirty streaks in the ever-present soot and grime that we all wore as burrow-makeup. I shook my head. “I don't want—” I started, then stopped. I choked on the words and tried again. “I don't want to be the reason anyone quits or stays. I don't want it to be my fault.”

Mom-Woo nodded. “What do you want to do, dear?”

“What I want—?” I shook my head, I choked on the words. All of these strange people, these orange jack-o-lantern faces, lined and drawn, with rings and paint and hair in the Linnean style. Like American Indians, like the Inuit, like the natives of some small forgotten village in some dark southern jungle. All these aliens. These natives of Linnea, asking me if I wanted to go home. All I had to do was click my heels three times and wish—

But all these people had worked so hard, so long. We couldn't quit now. It would all go to waste. Well, no—it wouldn't go to waste. We could continue on as trainers. Or atmosphere people, living in Callo City, helping others to learn how to become Linneans, so they could take our place and go on through the gate and actually live on the new world and ... and ... ride the horses. No, we'd worked too hard, we couldn't give it up. We couldn't quit. I knew the speech as well as anyone.

“I don't know what I want,” I said. “But this isn't fun anymore. We're all hurting too much. I just want the hurting to stop.”

Mom-Woo looked across at Da-Lorrin. “Kaer is right about one thing. This isn't fun. We are not having a good time.”

Big Jes said, “That's no reason to quit.”

Mom met his eyes. “That's not what I said. That's what you heard.” To the rest of the room, she said, “This stopped being fun a long time ago. We have no holidays, we have no treats, we have no joy down here. We have nothing to look forward to except the possibility of escape. We've imprisoned ourselves. Maybe this is part of the training—maybe the administors have to do this to sort us all out, so that only the toughest of the tough will survive the training. Maybe this is how we harden ourselves for the trials still to come.” Abruptly, she laughed. “And maybe this is the
easy
part.”

Everybody groaned at that thought. And then, everybody laughed because everybody had groaned.

“Nonsense,” sniffed Mom-Lu. “This is the hard part. And we're handling it as well as anybody.”

“You think so?” asked Irm.

“Certainly. If I can survive one of Morra's farts, I can survive anything.”

This time, everybody laughed except Morra, whose expression tightened in annoyance. “I don't fart,” she snapped, almost embarrassed even to say it.

“Right, and you don't snore either,” said Mom-Trey. This time, everybody roared and howled. Morra turned red in the face. If this hadn't been a family meeting, and if she'd had someplace to go, I felt sure she would have left the room angrily.

Morra looked like she wanted to say something about Mom-Trey's bean stew, but Irm put his hand on her leg and visibly squeezed it hard. Her words choked in her throat. That was
interesting
. We had all turned into different people here in Linnea Dome. We'd all grown stronger and harder. I wondered what I looked like to them.

Da spoke up then. “We do not have to make a decision tonight. Perhaps we should all withdraw from this discussion for a bit and each consider it in the privacy of our own souls. Let's resume this discussion in three days or six. When everybody's clear about their own feelings. Does that work for you, Kaer?”

I nodded, swallowing hard, grateful to wriggle off the hook of this moment.

“Then, we shall do it that way,” Da said. And everyone agreed, relieved for the moment not to have to confront the decision. We could survive another few days, and another few after that, if necessary.

DECISIONS

SO, OF COURSE, EVERYTHING GOT WORSE. The weather got warmer, then colder—warm enough to turn the snow to slush, cold enough to freeze part of it to an icy crust. The ground seeped constantly and the burrow got wetter. We ran low on fuel, and cut back the fire again, so of course everybody got sick. Not just sniffly-sick, but lay-down-and-die sick. We all huddled together on the firebed and slurped at soup and tea and took turns throwing up.

Whatever it was, we couldn't shake it. We coughed, we shivered, we vomited. We cried with the endless pain of diarrhea. The thing—that's what we called it, the
thing
—ricocheted through the family, infecting and reinfecting. Some of us relapsed two or three times. It was hardest on the little-uns, Nona and Shona—and none of Mom-Woo's medicines did much more than ease the pain for a few hours.

We reported our status to the administors every morning and every evening, but they offered us little acknowledgment and less advice. We understood that they were trying to teach us that we were on our own, but it didn't make us like them. Mom-Woo started muttering under her breath. I didn't recognize all the words, but I did catch something about ancient ancestors and untouchable night-soil collectors.

Da-Lorrin had gone all stoic again, which meant he was angry. Angrier than usual and not letting it show. When the
thing
got to him, he even threw up in silence, rinsed his mouth, then crept back to bed without comment.

On the fourth day, Cindy and Parra bundled themselves up and headed for the ladder up. Big Jes roused himself enough to say, “Where are you two headed?”

“Callo City. We're going to demand a doctor. Or at least some medicine that works.”

“They won't give you anything. They'll just send you back.”

“They can't do that. They don't understand how bad this has turned.”

“They most certainly do—they're watching everything we say and do. We've all got monitors implanted. They know what we've got. If they thought the situation serious enough, they'd have sent someone out already.”

“It
is
serious. We're all on the verge of pneumonia. And the toddlers are sickest of all.”

“This is a test. We have to solve this like Linneans—”

“I see. That's a great way to show our commitment—bury a baby or two!”

That stopped the conversation. The only thing that broke the silence was Aunt Morra's cough.

Finally, Big Jes said, “It's too dangerous. If you don't get eaten by kacks on the way in, they'll certainly get you on the way back.”

“We've got crossbows,” said Cindy. “And clubs.”

Da said, “I'll go with you—” But Mom-Woo pulled him back down. “You're not going anywhere. Not in your condition.”

Big Jes was already pulling on his boffili robe. He pushed Little Klin back into bed. “No, not you.” Little Klin started to protest, then rolled to the side of the bed and vomited into a bucket.

Auncle Irm spoke up then. “Why don't we try phoning first?”

Cindy, Parra and Big Jes looked at him as if he'd just arrived from Mars.

“I mean it. Call for help. Use the code-phrase. ‘Elvis has left the building.' They have to respond. It's in the contract.”

“Elvis leaving the building means we leave the dome,” croaked Da-Lorrin. “It's a one-time deal, not negotiable. It's the rip cord on the parachute. Once we pull it, we're done.”

“Maybe ...” whispered Mom-Trey quietly, “Maybe, we
should
pull it.” Everyone turned to look at her. “I mean, if we have to choose between going to Linnea or saving Shona's life, then ... then I say,
fuck
Linnea.”

I put my hand over my mouth to keep from giggling. This was serious—but it was so startling to hear
that
word out of Mom-Trey I wanted
to laugh. But at the same time—
fuck
Linnea? Now? After everything we'd been through?

Big Jes pointed at me. “Kaer, come up with us. I want you to pull the hatch closed after we're gone.”

I guessed that was it then. Fuck Linnea. I felt bitter and alone and betrayed. And a little bit relieved. Okay, yes, this was the easy way out. But so what? We weren't Linneans. We couldn't be expected to live in holes like gophers. They should have warned us—

No, that was wrong. We'd known what we were getting into. From the very beginning, they'd told us how hard it would be. They'd said it over and over. “No matter how hard you think it's going to be, it's going to be harder than that. It'll be the hardest job you ever loved. So you'd better love it, or you won't get through it.”

I guessed we didn't love it enough. Fuck Linnea. I wondered how long it would take to get out of here. If they'd send a bus for us. If we'd sleep in real beds tonight. I wanted a hot bath, even a shower. I wanted to be clean again. Even clean underwear.

I wrapped myself in Da's robe and followed them up the ladder steps. We had a kind of foyer dug into the ground and half covered over with planks, a good place to put on snows hoes and outer wraps before finally stepping up into the world. We were out of the wind, but swirls of snow and ice kept floating down. I waited while the others wrapped themselves against the cold. As bitter as it was, it was also refreshing to get out of the stuffiness below. Big Jes put a hand on my shoulder and leaned in to my ear, “Everybody's feeling cold and hungry. They're all saying things they don't mean—”

“Yeah, I know.” I hugged him. So I wouldn't have to say, “But they do mean it.”

It took a few moments for everybody to tie up their leggings and fasten their snowshoes. Then it took even longer to wrap them tightly in their robes so the heat wouldn't escape out any loose folds. And then we had to hang their weapons on them, their crossbows and clubs. And finally, their great wooly gloves. By then, my ears were burning from the cold. It would be worse just a meter up—the full force of the wind would whip ice crystals into their eyes. Just before dropping their snowmasks over their faces, Cindy and Parra both gave me hugs. Big Jes too. Then he clapped me on the back and said, “All right, we're ready. We'll be back as fast as we can. Be sure to secure the hatch on the inside.”

The three of them turned to go. They climbed the last few steps up to ground level, picking their footing slowly and carefully. Cindy and
Parra first, then Jes; at the top, he hesitated. Parra was pointing at something. They leaned their heads together to talk, but the wind whipped their words away. I wasn't dressed for this, but curiosity got the better of me. I pulled the hood of Da's robe over my head and wrapped it close around me, then climbed the last few stairs to the top. What were they looking at? Kacks?

Something bright in the distance. For a moment, it didn't resolve. Rolling across the snow, it flickered like a star. It was something from Earth.
Alien
. What the hell was it doing way out here on the Linnean steppes? I blinked, confused—right, we were still in the dome. But just the same, an air-car? Here? No, not a car—a chopper-bus, coming in low.

“They must have heard us—” said Cindy. “It's a rescue.”

Big Jes poked me. “Kaer, get downstairs.” Then he poked me again. “Kaer, get downstairs and tell them.
Now.
”

I slipped-stumbled excitedly down the stairs, down through the hatch, and down the ladder steps. I made so much clatter that everyone stopped what they were arguing about and turned to look at me. “They're coming! They're coming for us! A chopper-bus. It's coming!” And then everyone started talking at once, grabbing for robes and blankets, and scrambling up topside. “They're taking us out—”

And inside, part of me was screaming, “We've failed. We're quitters. We're no better than Tildie's family, or any of the others who flunked out. We're just another bunch of almost-made-its. I climbed back up the ladder steps with sinking heart—up in the bright yellow air again, just in time to see the chopper-bus clattering down onto the snow. It whirled up great flurries of white. Its pods crunched into the crust and sank deep, bringing the body of the aircraft almost down into the snow. A rollaway ramp unspooled toward us and two white-suited scouts picked their way carefully across. They crunched off the end of the ramp down to where the snow was packed harder. One of them threw back her hood. It was Birdie! Beautiful Birdie! She looked like an angel from the sky, with her long blonde hair and sparkling smile.

She spoke fluently, and she spoke only Linnean to us; her accent was flawless. She offered ritually correct greetings to everyone, but especially to Da-Lorrin. She bowed before him and offered her services. If they were here to rescue us, this was very puzzling. Then she straightened and became much more businesslike. “I offer sincere regrets at interrupting your winternap. You have my apology and the apology of the administors as well; but I must impose on your hospitality this evening.
In the
machine
—” There was no word for aircraft in Linnean, so she used a phrase that meant machine, though a more accurate translation would have been ‘constructed tool.' “—In the
machine
we have guests from another world, a place called
Orth
. They represent
the authority that owns and controls
. They have asked to
admire-inspect-investigate
. They want to see how a real Linnean family lives. They want to see your home, your tools, your manner of dress and speaking. This has much
importance-value
for all of us, so please show us your best selves.”

A
real
Linnean family?!

Then they weren't here to rescue us. I almost laughed. I almost cried. We weren't going home at all. I didn't know what I felt, disappointed or elated.

Da started to protest, started to explain, but Birdie cut him off, laughing and pretending that she was saying something else. “Please,” she said to him Then to all of us, “Give me your trust. You must speak only Linnean. Say nothing in the old-tongue.” She looked around to all of us—almost with a sense of pleading.