Behind the Eyes of Dreamers (22 page)

“It’s fair,” Teno said suddenly, interrupting her reverie.

“What’s fair?”

“Pericles dying. He killed things and now he’s dead.”

More visitors now came to the village. They had been arriving ever since the children’s birth.

There had once been talk of raising the young ones with other, “normal” children, but nothing had come of it. Josepha supposed that it was too late to do anything about it. The visiting children from outside, however curious they might be at first, soon learned that the children here were uninterested in their games, pranks, emotional displays, and rivalries. The visits ended with each group of children keeping to itself.

A few biologists and psychologists came, but most of the visitors were simply curious. Now that the children were older, and the differences between them and the rest of humankind were more obvious, more outsiders arrived. They peered into the recreation hall at Kelii and the children. They went down to the lake where the young ones were being taught to swim. The children bore up well under this inquisitiveness, being even more courteous and well behaved while under observation. Josepha sensed, however, that the visitors might have preferred seeing the children scream or yell or laugh or cry or gang up on someone.

She saw Chane standing with Edwin Joreme and a group of visitors, ten tall Tartars who had congregated in front of Merripen Allen’s small cottage. They had just arrived; Chane had accompanied them to the village.

He had been visiting old friends. She had urged him to get away for a few weeks, remembering how refreshed she had felt after a solitary sojourn at her old home. But he looked weary to her. She waved at him and bowed to the Tartars, who bowed back.

Chane seemed surprised to see her. He made his farewells to the visitors and came toward her, greeting her with a light kiss on her forehead. “I didn’t expect you to meet me,” he said.

“We missed you.” She took his arm and they began to walk through the park toward their house. The dark gray sky seemed to hang over them and the brown grass, scattered with red and yellow leaves, was desolate. Chane shivered slightly in his long gray coat. Edwin had taken charge of the visitors, leading them over toward the recreation hall. Josepha recalled the day he had struck Linsay; since then, he had become one of the gentlest and most patient parents here. She could only wonder at what it cost him. His hazel eyes were often doubt-filled and distant.

“Were there many visitors here while I was away?” Chane asked.

“Indeed there were. Didn’t I mention it to you when you called? Maybe I didn’t.”

“I don’t think you did.”

“Well, don’t worry about them, Chane, everyone pretty much ignores them now.”

“I have good reason for worrying. I’m even more concerned after being outside. Before, when I called my friends, I was sure they were exaggerating the suspicion and hostility of others toward this community. Now I know they weren’t.”

She felt a slight prickle of fear. “What are they upset about? What can possibly happen here?”

“They’re afraid of the children, of what they might become.”

“But that’s so silly. What could they do? If anything, the kids should be afraid of us. That is, if they could feel fear. I don’t know if they can.”

“Granted, it’s foolish,” Chane replied. “But you’ve seen the visitors here. They all act a bit apprehensive. The group I came back here with did. I don’t understand Russian or Tartar, but I saw that much. And that’s nothing compared to what I’ve seen elsewhere. Those who come here at least give us the benefit of a doubt.” He sighed. “People don’t want things to change,” he murmured, as if speaking to himself.

She was silent. They approached the house and stopped at the gate. “Are Teno and Ramli home?” Chane asked apprehensively.

“They’re over at the hall.”

They entered the house, hanging their coats in the hallway. Chane went to the living room and sat on the sofa; he sprawled, head forward, feet out. “I heard one rather interesting proposal,” he said as she came into the room and sat next to him. “Some believe that the children should be taken away from here.”

“Taken away!” She clasped his hand tightly.

“There was talk of exile, putting them on a colony out by Saturn or some such place.”

Josepha was stunned. Recently various groups had started to send murderers and other very disturbed people out to small space colonies under robotic guards. Eventually, it was hoped, they would be aided by new biological or psychological techniques. In reality, they were usually forgotten. Josepha doubted that anything much would ever be done for them. It was small wonder so many murderers attempted suicide rather than risking such an exile.

“But the children aren’t criminals,” she said. “They’ve done nothing. Sending them away would only guarantee their bitterness. How are they going to feel about people who would do that to them? They might, in their reasonable way, decide that they have to defend themselves.”

“I said that. If they’re exiled now, though, so the idea goes, there’s not much they can do, they’re only children. And once they’re gone, there’s nothing they can do anyway if they’re guarded. I argued with a lot of people, Josepha. I didn’t get far.” He withdrew his hand and looked away.

She suddenly wanted to hurry to the hall and make sure Teno and Ramli were safe. Instead, she leaned back and closed her eyes. The village had become a fortress, a settlement surrounded by danger, uncertainty, hostility. The visitors were members of reconnaissance missions, spies, enemies.

Teno sat on the floor, placing furniture inside a small doll house. Josepha sprawled on Teno’s bed, watching the solemn eight-year-old arrange the tiny sofa and chairs Chane had carved. Little figurines lay next to the child—a small mahogany Chane in a red robe, a tiny Josepha with waist-length black hair, and two smaller dolls.

“Two kids from outside were at the hall today,” Teno said. “I don’t think they liked me.” The child’s tones were quiet and measured.

“Why do you say that?”

“I could tell when I talked to them.”

Josepha peered at Teno. The child’s eyes were hidden by long dark lashes. “Did you like them?”

Teno shrugged. “I don’t know. Kelii told me I could show them the garden so we went outside, but then the boy said to go around the side of the hall, so I did, and then the girl said for me to take down my pants.”

“She said what?” Josepha said, trying not to look too shocked.

“Take down my pants. She said they wanted to see me there and I said I would if they would, so they showed me theirs and I showed them mine and they said I was a freak.”

She wanted to reach over and hug the child, but Teno seemed calm and undisturbed. “What happened then, dear?” she managed to ask.

“I said I wasn’t and I liked having a penis and vagina and they only had half of what I had and I don’t think they liked that. Then the boy said a lot of people didn’t like us because we were different from them and I said that was stupid because everybody’s a little different from everybody else. I think he was going to hit me but he didn’t, and we went back inside.”

Josepha sat up on the bed, folding her legs under her. “Do things like that bother you, Teno?”

“No, it’s just dumb.” The child picked up the Chane doll and put it inside the house.

“Listen,” she said quickly, “maybe all of us can go down to the lake this weekend and take out the sailboat. Would you like that?”

“You forgot, we have a camping test then.” The children were going to be set loose in the forests beneath the nearby mountains for three days, with only a knife, compass, and poncho each. The young ones were well prepared; they were all skilled campers and robots in the area would be alert to any danger. But Josepha found herself worrying anyway.

“Tell me,” she murmured, “why are you so interested in campcraft?”

“We all are.”

“I know that.” It was one of their peculiarities. Although the children varied in their interests and aptitudes—Teno enjoyed mathematics while Ramli preferred botany—they always remained interested in what all the others were doing. It was as if they thought that if one was interested in something, it might be worthwhile for all of them. “I didn’t ask that,” Josepha went on. “I asked why
you
were interested.”

“It’s fun. I like to go and watch the deer, but you have to sneak up on them or they run away. I like to watch the campfire when we sit around. Anyway, we need to know that stuff.”

“Why?”

“I might have to live in the woods. Lucky we don’t need as much food as you, so we wouldn’t have to hunt anything. We could stay a long time.”

“Why would you have to live in the woods that way?”

“Maybe they won’t let us live anywhere else and we’ll have to hide.”

“Who won’t?”

“The people that don’t like us.” Teno picked up the Josepha doll and held it.

“Teno,” Josepha said quietly, “do you mind it, being different?”

The gray eyes gazed steadily at her. “No. I’m the way I am, I’m me,” the child said calmly.

Josepha saw the woman before Alf Heldstrom did.

She and Alf were designing a history course for the children. Even with the computer’s aid, the project was more difficult than they had expected. They were arguing over how to present the history of the Transition when Josepha noticed that a woman, an outsider, was watching them.

The visitor was standing under a nearby weeping willow. She was thin, almost emaciated. Her pale platinum hair was clipped short.

“Have you seen that woman before?” Josepha whispered to Alf.

“Never.” Alf brushed a wavy lock of long golden hair off his delicate face. “She seems to be alone, usually visitors come in groups.”

“It may be silly, but I don’t like the way she’s looking at us.”

The woman walked toward them. Josepha felt apprehensive. She nodded and the blonde woman nodded back. She stood in front of them, nervously pulling at the sleeve of her blue jacket.

“Hello,” the woman said softly. “Are you parents?”

Josepha was startled by the directness of the question. She glanced at Alf. He raised an eyebrow and stared back blankly with his blue eyes. She turned back to the visitor. “Yes,” she replied.

Alf uncrossed his legs and sat up. He and the woman stared silently at each other while Josepha tried to keep from fidgeting. At last the woman looked away. “I’m Nola Reann,” she said to the air, speaking so softly that Josepha had to lean forward to catch the name. “Where are the children?” She looked at Josepha.

“Camping.”

“Camping. I can’t imagine why.”

“I’m Josepha Ryba. This is Alf Heldstrom. Won’t you sit down?”

“Thank you. I’ll stand.” Nola Reann put her hands inside the pockets of the blue jacket she wore over her silver lifesuit.

“Most of the people who come here are biologists or psychologists,” Alf said, in an obvious effort to relieve their discomfort. “We do, of course, get a cross-section of other types too.”

“I’m a meteorologist. I’m in space most of the time.”

“What did you do before that?”

“I didn’t do anything before that. I’m only twenty.”

Josepha glanced at Alf, who seemed as surprised as she was. It was easy to forget that there were young people in the world. She tried to recall what it felt like to be twenty.

“Are you here to study the weather?” Alf asked as Josepha attempted to decide if he was being courteous or sarcastic.

“No.” Nola swayed on her feet as she surveyed the village. Her dark eyes betrayed her uneasiness. She seemed oddly impatient. She had not lived long enough, Josepha supposed, to be anything else. “What are you trying to do here?” the young woman said suddenly.

“I beg your pardon,” Alf murmured.

“What are you trying to do here?”

“We’re trying,” Josepha answered calmly, “to raise our children.”

“Why these children? They’re not even normal, they’re alien and soulless.”

“I
beg
your
pardon
” Alf said harshly. “You have no right to say that. Do you know them? Have you seen them or talked to them?”

“I’ve seen them on the holo. That’s all I need to see. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“You have no right to say that,” Josepha replied. “You have no right to come here and discuss our children in such a hostile way.”

Nola Reann stepped back. “Hostile! I’m not hostile. Your biologists are hostile, enemies of the human body and what it represents. They want to change it and mold it, it’s only dead matter to them, meat, if you will. They want to change it because they hate it, which means they must hate themselves on some level.”

Josepha thought of Merripen. “Tell me,” Alf said, smiling slightly, “since you’re a meteorologist, how you rationalize the implants I know you have, the ones that provide you with a direct link to the machines you need to do your work.”

Nola glared. “That’s not the same thing at all. Such devices merely amplify the potential of the human form and mind.” She waved her right hand in a gesture of dismissal.