The Children Star (16 page)

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.”

“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.”

A
t 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 Lethe
shon
—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 Anaea
shon?
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.