Eye of the Comet (18 page)

“I suppose Homesmind sent you. It can speak for Itself.”

“But then you might not have listened. No, I came by myself. Homesmind has other things to concern It now.” Etey leaned back. “It knows what It has to do — exchange Its thoughts and ideas with Its cybernetic sisters on Earth. It’s already learning how to open more of our links. And if all of that means exiling those who want to keep things as they are, then that is what It will do. Of course, it won’t seem like an expulsion. Those leaving this world will choose to do so. The result will be the same.”

“And some will choose to die.”

“Perhaps. Beings die and new beings are born.”

“My friends want to seed a new world.”

Etey shrugged. “Usually it happens when younger people want to explore or try something new and wish to rid themselves of the weight of the old. Now it will happen because many want to escape the new.” She stood up and began to pace along the deck. “I’ve been toying with various possibilities. Some of our children might spend time on Earth, and theirs might visit here. That probably won’t happen right away, but we have time.” She turned and leaned against the cabin. “At least we do. Earthpeople have such short lives. Perhaps they should be extended. We’ll have to be very cautious — hasty decisions could be damaging. We can’t simply treat them as subjects, and they might not regard what we have to offer as a benefit. Reiho worries about the possible destruction of what is worthwhile in their culture, as you know. Or maybe you don’t, since you haven’t bothered to communicate with him.”

Lydee’s shoulders sagged. “I thought it was over. I thought I could come back here and let others deal with Earth. I don’t know what to do, Etey.”

Etey crossed the deck and climbed off the boat. “I’ll be going to Earth soon.” Lydee gazed at her in surprise. “Someone else must put in an appearance. Reiho would like to have me there, and Daiya says she will welcome me this time. Good-bye, Lydee.” She strode down the dock without looking back.

* * *

Lydee’s friends had joined the ongoing party by the lake, wandering from boat to boat until they arrived at her dock. Globes of light floated near the water, illuminating Lydee’s boat as the group clambered on board. The light overhead had been dimmed and the people around the lake were enjoying the darkness of night.

Lydee settled the four young people on cushions, summoned food and drink, and let them chatter. Nara and Tila described a butterfly-filled garden they planned to tend together while Pilo offered a few suggestions and Jerod mentioned a design of stones he might embed in the garden’s paths.

During a lull in the conversation, Lydee cleared her throat. “The lattices,” Tila murmured. “Lydee can design the lattices, maybe weave the vines.”

Lydee said, “I’m thinking of going back to Earth.”

Jerod was still. Nara’s mouth opened slightly; Tila’s arm froze as she was about to pour more wine. Pilo drew up his legs slowly, wrapping his arms around them.

“Reiho’s old mentor is going, and I think she’ll be happy to take me with her.” She waited, expecting them either to change the subject or to make up reasons for leaving early. “I had to tell you. You would have found out soon enough.”

Jerod said, “I’m not surprised.”

“Well, I am,” Nara said quietly.

“I suppose you think I’m foolish to consider it,” Lydee said.

Jerod shook his head. “No. May I speak honestly?” He looked around shyly at the others. “When you first came back, you tried to act as though you hadn’t really changed, but I knew that couldn’t be after what you went through. I wanted to reach out to you, but I was afraid to do it. You might have misunderstood. It seemed that you wanted us to be as we were and yet you seemed unhappy with that. In a way, I was almost disappointed that you didn’t ask more of us.” The boy seemed flustered; he rubbed at his jaw, then folded his arms. “When I saw that you were really going to stay, I wondered what it meant — perhaps that you were rejecting Earth and wanted us to do the same. But it isn’t that, is it?”

Lydee was silent.

“You’re running away. Somehow Earth must have opened up parts of yourself you didn’t want to know, so you retreated, like a child clinging to the nursery or to a mentor. I think you must have grown to love that world, but there was too much of this one in you to let you admit it. And you didn’t want the responsibility of trying to work with them, or even with us, and maybe making a mistake. You were afraid.” He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m afraid, too. That talk of seeding another comet — it would just be running away.” He shaded his eyes, as if ashamed of having said so much.

Nara stood up and lurched toward the dock. Pilo reached for her, pulling her down. The white-haired girl shivered.

“Well,” Tila said nervously.

“Well,” Lydee said.

“I suppose,” Tila murmured, “you must be used to that sort of frankness after sharing your thoughts with others.” She pulled at her long, brown hair. “Fears should be kept to oneself, shouldn’t they?” She turned toward Jerod apprehensively.

“No, they shouldn’t,” he said abruptly. “They fester.”

“It wasn’t just fear we shared,” Lydee responded, “or anger or hatred. There was friendship and love, too. A girl there was my friend, and I cared for a boy.” At last she had admitted that to them openly. “They read my thoughts and knew what I was inside, and yet they cared for me anyway.”

“I see,” Pilo said. “Maybe they are your true friends, then.”

“Maybe they are. I came to love the boy, in my own way. Not that it matters now. I was ashamed of it when I came back.”

“It must be hard to share thoughts so readily,” Tila said.

“It is. Even the Earthfolk can’t always do it easily. One has to be honest, even about hiding one’s thoughts. They always know when you’re hiding them, you see. Here, we pretend we don’t know.”

“It frightens me,” Jerod said. “Some on this comet are already trying to share their thoughts and use their powers. Sometimes I fear that if others saw my mind as it really is, they would hate me, and at other times I’m afraid I might lash out at them.”

“We’ve lived without such powers all this time,” Nara said, “and our lives have been good.”

“Homesmind has waited for this,” Lydee said. “It knew we would have to communicate with Earth again, It knew I would have to go back, and I suppose It prepared me for the journey all my life somehow. We grew up together, so It must have prepared you, too. You may be capable of more than you realize.” She sighed. “I must go back, and eventually, others may follow.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Pilo whispered.

“I have to.”

“You could help us. We could consider these matters together.”

“You can still speak to me through Homesmind. You might even want to come to Earth sometime.”

Jerod shook his head. “Not right away. Maybe not ever.” His voice had resumed its old, steady tone. He raised his glass. “We should celebrate. You mustn’t return without happy memories.”

She reached for his hand and held it tightly.

* * *

“Go on,” Etey said. “I need some time to prepare myself.”

Lydee nodded, sensing Etey’s apprehension. She climbed out of the shuttle and walked by the side of a ditch toward the village. The air was warm; the grass on the meadow had brown and yellow patches among the green.

Homesmind had prepared her for what she would find. The huts on the village’s periphery were already crumbling; several had holes in their roofs. The path she was following through the town was green with weeds, while briars and unpruned flowers had taken over gardens. She had not thought so much could change in only a year.

As she came nearer to the public space, she noticed more order; here the paths had been kept clean and the gardens tended. Chickens clucked as she passed; she sensed the murmur of minds. But the village’s Net was now only thin threads.

Cerwen, Leito, and a few other Merging Selves sat in the open space communing with Reiho. Cerwen looked up, smiling when he saw her; Leito held up a hand. Lydee touched their minds gently. They were speaking with Earth’s Minds, learning more of the past; their thoughts seemed sharper and more angular.

  — There is sorrow in what we have lost — Cerwen said as he caught her thoughts. — But we have found some joy in what we are learning. Welcome back, child —

She withdrew and turned to greet Nenla and Kal as they entered the public space. The red-haired woman hurried toward her. — We’ve been waiting for you — Nenla said.

  — I didn’t realize how few of you were left — Her mindspeech seemed awkward; she would have to get used to it all over again. — You’ve lost your village after all —

  — It will change. More children will be brought here, and the village will grow — Nenla’s words were tinged with doubt. — We have already had one village ask us to accept a child born as a separate self, and others are sure to follow —

  — But why did so many leave? —

  — It’s best that most live elsewhere — Kal replied, — to help others through this period. But I know that there were also many who wanted to leave a place that reminded them of the sorrows they once felt. They are part of another Net now —

Lydee thought of Marellon and then hid behind her wall.

  — My brother is far from here — Nenla said; she had touched the memory before Lydee could hide it. — He went with Luret and Wiland to a village far to the south. I hope he has found some happiness there —

  — Don’t you know? You can speak to him, can’t you? — The Minds, she knew, could now link one village to another without the aid of Merging Selves.

  — I could. But he has not spoken to me or reached out to us, and I have come to think he needs his time of forgetfulness. Luret and Wiland are now partners. Perhaps Marellon has found someone by now —

Lydee stared at her feet, hiding her thoughts.

  — Did you think he would wait when he believed you would not return? A love like that must be put aside, or it poisons. You may call to him if you wish — Nenla thought more kindly. — You have the power. You might have spoken to him from the comet, but you did not, I see —

  — I don’t want to cause him more pain —

Kal patted her shoulder. — Rejoice with us — the dark-haired man said. — At last we’ll have another child — He touched his partner’s belly. Lydee tried to smile.

Reiho stood up, leaving the Merging Selves to their thoughts. His hair was shaggier, his brown tunic frayed at the edges; he looked like another villager. He went to her and gripped her by the shoulders.

  — I’m glad you came back, Lydee —

  — I suppose it is my home, after all —

  — Are you going to stay? —

  — Yes, I suppose I shall. But I thought there would be more for me to do here. It doesn’t seem that you really need me —

Reiho shook his head. — It may seem peaceful now, but that’s going to change. Tomorrow, I’ll be fetching a child from the south, and there will soon be others, more solitaries. At least this time the parents welcomed the child’s birth, for they think the baby will be happy here — His mood darkened. — I know that others have been killed. We learned of that too late before we could stop it, though we probably couldn’t have prevented it without force and might have made things worse if we had tried. There are still many who can’t accept the new way —

  — There must be something you can do —

  — What? — The word pricked her. — We’ll have enough to do helping those who ask for our aid. We can’t save everyone. That was a hard thing for me to learn —

She put a hand to her head, feeling dizzy. Reiho led her toward a hut as Nenla and Kal joined the Merging Selves, and seated her on a bench near a rosebush. “You’re not used to mindspeaking, I see.”

“I spent a year without it.” He sat down next to her. “I longed to reach out sometimes, but knew I would only drive others away if I tried. Now I’m here, and I find that there are always walls. I could never become a Merging Self, I’m sure.”

“Nor could I.” He glanced at the old people. “They fall more often into their private thoughts now. I wonder if that’s how it will be for all Merging Selves.”

“Reiho, I’m worried. So many on the Wanderer want nothing to do with all this.”

“I know.”

“Genlai wanted to die. She meant it this time.” She paused. “I suppose that’s what made me decide to return, in a way. I had to show her and the others who felt as she did that I wasn’t running away, too. At least now she’ll wait.”

He took her hand. “I must tell you something to cheer you. Harel and Silla have a child at last. Silla gave birth yesterday.” He winced at the mention of that subject.

“A normal child?”

“A solitary.”

“Then it will be the first child to live here. I should go visit them.”

“I wouldn’t advise it. Daiya and Harel told me to keep up my wall and sent me away from the hut when it started. It’s still hard to think of it — having children that way. Daiya chides me because I can’t give her one, so her sister’s baby may fill that need for her.”

“I’ll have to get used to it, so I may as well face it.” She shuddered as she rose. “I’ll go to them. Etey is waiting in the shuttle — I’m sure she’ll want to see you now.”

* * *

Silla was outside her hut, apparently over the rigors of birth. She sat by her garden holding the child, a squirming, bald creature clad only in a piece of cloth around its bottom. Lydee saw that Silla had bared her breasts; the baby was suckling. She covered her mouth, shielding her mind until her nausea passed.

“Greetings, Silla.”

The woman looked up. — You may mindspeak with me. I no longer fear your thoughts —

Lydee shook her head. “I must get used to it again.”

Silla’s lip curled. “You mean you must get used to this, and hide your feelings.” She gestured at a bare breast. “You skydwellers are squeamish.”

The child gurgled, gazing up at Lydee with Harel’s blue eyes. A pale rivulet trickled to its chin; it smelled of urine. She wrinkled her nose, trying to block the odor.

“She’s a girl,” Silla continued. “A solitary. She is Anra SillaHarel. Daiya chose the name, though I had hoped our mother’s name would go to a normal child.”