Authors: Pamela Sargent
The boy reached toward her again, taking both hands this time. “It’s all right, Lydee. It’s what I like about you — you’re unpredictable.”
“You mean that I’m not like the rest of you.”
“Reiho isn’t either.”
“No, he’s not.” Her mentor had always been kind and sympathetic, willing to talk to her at any time. She had lived with him for well over three years, ever since she had turned twelve and it had been time to leave the nursery to live with an adult. He had become her lover recently, another responsibility of a mentor when a young charge was more mature, and had counseled her when she spoke of her feelings for others. But there was a part of Reiho she did not know. That was not odd; no one would reveal all of his thoughts and feelings to someone he had known for so short a time. But she had seen the distant look in his eyes before he masked it with a smile. Reiho lived on the Wanderer as if he too were an outsider, apart from others, lost in his own thoughts.
“I’ve always thought Reiho was awfully young to be a mentor,” Pilo said. “Barely three decades of life. Most are much older.”
“I chose him,” she answered, wondering if she had. Homesmind had given her several choices, but it now seemed that It had made Reiho seem the most appealing. Perhaps It had thought she would be happier with another who was unusual. “Anyway, he was the first of us to visit Earth since the Flight. That must have counted for something. And you know perfectly well how few choose to be mentors.”
Pilo frowned. “That’s true. Home has been in balance for a long time. In a way, it doesn’t really need us.” That unhappy thought was so unlike the boy that she drew back, startled.
“Nara asked what I wanted to do,” she said quickly, wanting to change the subject. “But I really don’t know.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “Maybe I’m supposed to be undecided. Sometimes I wonder if Homesmind wants to send me back to wherever I came from.”
“Why would It do that?”
“Think about it, Pilo. How often have we been able to communicate with other worlds?”
“Old ones have done so, and even some younger ones have, not long ago.”
“They have contacted some of those who live on other comets and have spoken to them occasionally while viewing images of their worlds. But there’s been no physical contact for centuries, even when the comets drew close and visitors could reach another comet easily. We are all human, yet many of those people are as strange as aliens would be.”
“You might have been sent here aboard a small vessel. Or the atoms of your body might have been transformed into tachyons and beamed to us while you were still a baby. Homesmind and Its counterparts elsewhere would be capable of that.” Lydee nodded; she had considered those possibilities many times. Her link remained silent. Homesmind had long been aware of her speculations, yet It had never confirmed or denied them. “But why would It do such a thing?”
“Because then we could truly communicate with another world and have it understand our ways. I would be able to explain Home to them. Perhaps another world has raised a child from here who will do the same.”
“It’s possible,” Pilo said. “But Homesmind has Its own way of speaking to other worlds, and I wonder —” He bit his lip. “I hope you don’t mind speaking of this matter to me.”
“If I had, I wouldn’t have mentioned it at all.” Pilo knew her as well as anyone, yet he was still cautious. Custom dictated distance; too much intimacy was frowned upon, considered trespassing in another’s mind. Through their links, it was possible to encompass someone’s mind, but such an act was reserved for those who had grown especially close to one another. Lydee, considering all this, could understand why Homesmind might have sought a different way to communicate with another world.
“Reiho knows where I’m from,” she went on. “A few others do — his old mentor does. Maybe they don’t know enough about that world to tell me much. I must seem impatient to them — most of them have lived for so long. Perhaps people speak freely on that other world, and share their thoughts easily, and don’t conceal themselves from one another.” She should not have said that; Pilo might be offended.
“Well, Homesmind won’t send you anywhere if you don’t want to go.” The boy reached toward a small pouch at his belt, untied it, and handed it to her. “It’s my gift,” he said, “to celebrate your link. I want you to have it before the others arrive.”
She opened the pouch and took out a small, transparent orb. It twinkled; inside the orb, tiny comet specks circled a sparkling sun. As she held it, her mind seemed to drift after the comets, following them on their journey, another traveler in their company. She put the present back into its pouch, breaking the spell. “It’s lovely.”
“When you hold it for a long time, you’ll feel as though you’ve become a comet. You’ll feel the way Homesmind must feel.”
“Lydee!”
The cry came from the river. A boat was rowing itself toward them, its silver oars dipping into the water in unison. Lydee stood up, waving when she saw her friends on its decks. Nara was with them, her hands around the stem of a large, yellow flower. Lydee dived into the water, swimming to the boat.
* * *
The yellow flower, Nara’s gift, was Lydee’s parasol; its stem rested against her shoulder. Tila’s present, a silver butterfly striped with red, nestled against one petal. On her wrist, Jerod’s bracelet gleamed; the tiny stones on the gold band spelled out a message: You are linked to us. Each stone represented a friend; Tila was amber, Pilo onyx, Nara turquoise, Jerod a diamond. Lydee’s stone was black, like Pilo’s, but hers was veined with scarlet.
The boat’s oars hovered over the water as they drifted. Tila smiled at Pilo’s orb of comets, then handed it and the pouch back to Lydee. “Now we all have links,” she said, letting her long, brown hair fall over one rosy cheek as she tilted her head.
Jerod handed Lydee a glass of pink wine; the fine silver threads on his bald head glittered in the light. Lydee had known the four on the boat all her life. They had grown up together in the nursery, played together, been taught together, looked after the few younger children together. They would always have a special bond.
“Row on,” Jerod said. The boat obediently stroked the water. They passed a flock of gray waterfowl; the birds lifted their heads in unison. “We should live in boats, not in caves. I dream of a world with rivers and lakes, where we’d never reach shore. We could build a world like that.”
“Are you still thinking of doing so?” Nara asked.
“There are too many older ones here,” the bald boy replied. “No matter what happens, we’ll always be the young ones to them, even after we’ve lived for a century or two.”
Tila shook her head. “By then, some of them will have chosen to give up life.”
“Do you really think so? How many old ones ever give up life? How many have given up life since we were incubated?”
Three
, Homesmind said inside all of them. “Three,” Jerod continued. “Out of three million.” “It doesn’t surprise me,” Nara said. “I don’t understand why anyone would give up life. Of course, there’s Genlai.” She giggled.
Jerod’s blue eyes narrowed. “She won’t choose death. She’ll settle for forgetfulness, and then the world will seem new to her again.” He draped one lean, muscular arm over his knee. “They won’t give up life. And few of them become guides or teachers or mentors, so Homesmind gives us fewer children. You see what I’m saying. It’s almost time — time for some of us to leave this world and make a home on another.”
Tila gazed at him silently, her hazel eyes lost in thought. “We can’t,” she said at last. “We don’t know enough.”
“We’ll know enough before long. Homesmind will help, and give us a new Mind for our new world. Don’t you see? That world will be ours. Here, we’ll live as those here have always lived. There, we might become something else.” His voice was calm, but his eyes shone.
“It could be dangerous at first,” Nara murmured. “We’ll have to seed another comet.”
Jerod shrugged. He had always been more adventurous than the others, the first to attempt new stunts while flying, the first to learn how to pilot one of Home’s shuttles. “Not really,” he replied in his husky voice. “After all, most of what we’d do would be design. We could wait before moving. I’m sure that some of the younger children would decide to go with us by then.”
The prospect appealed to Lydee.
Perhaps it is time
, Homesmind whispered.
This world has not given birth to a new one for centuries.
“Why talk of it now?” Pilo asked. “We’re here for Lydee, to celebrate her link.” He reached for a glass.
“That’s why I say it.” Jerod turned toward Lydee. “Lydee is not like the rest of us.” She did not take offense at the statement; the wine had soothed her, and the boy had pitched his voice to convey affection. “You are something new, from another world. You belong to a new world, not to this one.”
Lydee considered his words. This was one possibility she hadn’t considered, that Homesmind had been seeking divergence when It had accepted her. It would draw on her genetic pattern to create more children; there would in time be others like her. But there might not be room for them on the Wanderer.
“We should consider your idea,” she said to Jerod.
Nara gazed toward shore. “It would be hard to leave Homesmind.”
“We’ll have another Mind,” Jerod responded.
“It will take time,” Tila said. “We’ll have to go back to the Halo, find a comet, seed it.” She laughed. “By then, we’ll certainly be old enough to settle there.”
“We must consider it,” Lydee said, leaning against Pilo. They drifted past a meadow where a large, tawny cat was nuzzling a tiny monkey. Nara began to sing, her crystalline voice accompanied by the lapping of water against the boat.
* * *
Reiho was sitting on the floor, his back against a mushroom, the flat rectangle of a reader propped against his knees as Lydee entered their cave. He was frowning, his eyes staring past the reader as if he did not see what was there. Putting it aside, he looked up as she twirled before him, showing him her gifts. The butterfly fluttered to the reader and settled on one of its corners.
“Reiho?” She went to the stocky man and sat down next to him, letting her flower slip to the floor. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “Nothing is wrong.” His dark, almond-shaped eyes regarded her solemnly. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Of course. We were on the river. We went all of the way to the lake before turning back.”
“I have a present for you.” Reiho got up, straightened his blue loincloth, and strode to the wall. He took something from one of the recesses, came back to her, and sat down again, folding his legs. There was a blue marble in his open palm.
She took it from him. The marble was a tiny world, blue and green; wispy clouds swept over it as it turned slowly in her hand.
“I must speak to you, Lydee.” His voice seemed strained; a line had formed between his black brows. “I’ve spoken to my old mentor Etey, and Homesmind agrees. It is time you found out who you are.”
“Where I’m from.” Her hand closed over the marble. “I know who I am.” She tried to smile; at last she would know.
“Where you’re from and who you are.” He ran a hand through his black hair. “It’s my duty as your mentor to tell you, hard as it is. You’re not from another comet, Lydee.”
“But I must be.”
“You’re from Earth. You’re from the world that gift represents. You were born on the world where I died.”
2
“No,” Lydee said, unable to feel anything except shock. “Only primitives live there, not people like us. Everyone knows that.” She let go of the marble; it rolled over the green, mossy floor and came to rest against a mushroom stem.
“They are human, in their way. They’re the descendants of those who were left behind when we fled to the Halo.”
“Homesmind?” she cried out, suddenly afraid.
Let Reiho speak. I shall aid him if it is necessary
. She clasped her hands together.
“You know why our ancestors fled that world,” Reiho said.
She nodded. Thousands of years ago, Earth’s inhabitants had tried to discover a way to draw on humankind’s latent mental powers. Knowing that some could intermittently read the thoughts of others or move objects with their minds, people had sought a means to amplify those abilities. The human body, by itself, could not contain enough energy to direct those powers; a source of energy had to be found. At last one was.
Reiho and the room faded from view. Lydee was gazing at a grassy plain. The shiny spires of a city gleamed on the horizon as Homesmind showed her Its depiction of Earth’s past.
In front of her, the images of men and women watched as golden and crystal pillars rose from the ground. The pillars would be their city of the mind; through the pillars, and the cybernetic minds within them, human beings would have the power to touch one another’s thoughts, to move mountains with a wish, to create images out of dust and air. The pillars would channel power to humankind. A new civilization would arise; the human mind would rule all.
The image changed, and Lydee sensed fear. People reeled through the streets of the city as if intoxicated. A man’s mind lashed out at a boy, striking him to the ground. A group of women joined their minds, walling themselves off from the chaos around them. A few seized the minds of others, forcing them to dance. Other people were fleeing from the city, pursued by the specters of giants. Still others ran toward the ships that would carry them away from Earth.
Their power corrupted them
, Homesmind murmured.
They could not control it. At first, it was a game, and then it became a battle. Hate could no longer be hidden; thought and action were the same
. Several people hurtled through the air, thrown by the minds of their tormentors; others screamed as a building toppled toward them. Lydee felt their despair; they were among those who lacked the mental strength to draw on the power of the pillars, whose minds were deaf and blind to the thoughts of their fellows.
They could not remain on a world where they would be victims
, Homesmind said.
The survivors fled to the Halo, where they created new homes among the comets and vowed never to return to Earth
. It did not have to tell her more. The cometdwellers were the descendants of those who had lacked mental powers and who had come to believe that probing too deeply into another’s mind could bring only evil.
“No more,” Lydee said. She caught a glimpse of pillars being buried under rock as the images of destruction faded. “I know all that. I don’t want to see it.”
It is important that you do. It is part of your history.
“Some Earthfolk survived,” Reiho said. She raised her eyes to his face. “They found a way to live with their abilities. They are taught from childhood how to control themselves, and live out their lives in small villages using only a little of the power available to them. They speak in thoughts instead of words. They believe that their purpose is to draw closer to one another as they grow older until, when they are very old, they can no longer tell which thoughts are their own and which are those of others.”
Lydee swallowed. “Then the pillars are still there.”
“Oh, yes,” Reiho replied. “But they lie buried under mountains and the Earthfolk have forgotten that their ancestors built them. Now they believe that their powers were given to them by a deity. Their brief lives last less than a century, yet they have lived as they do for thousands of years. There are many communities on each of Earth’s continents, but they have all followed the same customs.”
“All of them? Surely some must have diverged from others in all that time.”
He shook his head. “Some live in regions of snow and ice, others are fisherfolk by the sea, and still others tend herds or farms, but their basic beliefs are the same in spite of the distances that separate their communities. Occasionally a few people leave one village for another. They say that this is so they won’t grow apart, though it also keeps them from becoming too inbred.” He paused. “Curiosity and change are evils to them. They tell legends of the destruction and seek to keep such a thing from happening again. Therefore, their lives are lived out in ignorance. Their customs protect them. Those who are too passionate, who cannot learn control, die out early. All of their young people go through a ritual that eliminates the unfit.” He narrowed his eyes. “They think of their world as a peaceful one.”
Lydee clutched her knees, drawing them toward her chest. “You said that you died, but you are here, alive. What did you mean?”
Reiho covered his eyes, making her wish she had not asked. “It’s hard to speak of it.” His voice was low. “The people of one village killed me. They directed their thoughts at my mind, and I had no way to protect myself from that. Etey was with me, but she lived. She stored my lifeless body aboard our shuttle and brought me back here, where Homesmind was able to restore my mental pattern to my body — my memories, my personality, and my thoughts. I live as that Reiho would have lived, but he is gone, and I remember him without feeling that I am he, for I am not.” He folded his hands. “I have feared death ever since. The fear seems to grow worse with time. The thread of my life was broken then, and I live here almost as a stranger even now.” Loneliness and fear were in his eyes.
Lydee was still, unable to speak for a moment. Her mentor had never revealed so much of himself to her. Homesmind had given Reiho back to his world, but not to himself. Another Reiho lived in the place of that boy, a brother with the same memories. There was something heartless in the way Homesmind had restored Reiho to the Wanderer and to all who knew him, but not to himself.
“You said the Earthpeople were peaceful.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “Why would they strike out at you?”
“They have peace among themselves. But I was an outsider, not part of their world. They feared me. Only one tried to protect me.” He reached for her hand. “She was the one who gave you to us.”
Lydee was suddenly afraid of knowing more. The image of a girl was before her, a girl with her own curly, dark hair, brown skin, and large bones. The girl wore a dirty white tunic and pants and clutched a baby to her chest. “No,” Lydee said, and Homesmind blanked out the image. “Why?” she asked, knowing that she would have to find out.
Reiho squeezed her fingers gently. “Perhaps you should have been told earlier, but Homesmind did not wish it — It thought that such knowledge would only make your childhood more difficult. You see, sometimes even now a child is born on Earth who lacks mindpowers. The people of Earth call such infants ‘solitaries’ and —” He drew his hand away. “They believe such children are defective. They put such babies to death.”
Lydee recoiled. “But that’s cruel.”
“They feel it is for the best, since such children can’t live as they do. They fear those who are separate, as they call it. They also know that such children would be tormented. The temptation to torment the helpless is great.” His face was hard. “You were born without mindpowers, Lydee. The Earthgirl who was my friend brought you to Etey because she did not want you to die and knew that you could have a life with us.”
“I don’t understand,” she said, struggling with this new knowledge. “If they don’t want such children, why do they have them? Can’t they manipulate their genes? Why would they allow a womb to bring forth such a child only to kill it?” Her hands were trembling; she twisted her fingers together.
“They are primitive people. Their powers give them some control over their bodies, but they have never developed the tools we have — they feel no need of them. You were born in the ancient manner. On Earth, a man and a woman make love, their genes combine at random, and a baby is born from the woman’s womb.”
Lydee stared at him in horror. That she had been born on Earth was shocking enough; she could not endure this final indignity. She was little more than an animal. She had been rejected, given to Home and its people because even Earth’s primitives did not want her.
“The girl who gave you to us was your sister,” Reiho continued. Her ears were pounding; she could hardly hear him. “That is a word meaning that the man and woman who gave birth to you gave birth to her. She begged Etey to take you.”
“You lied to me. Homesmind lied to me all along.”
I didn’t lie. You always knew you had come from elsewhere. Is it so important?
“I never imagined this.” She shrank back from Reiho. “And you became my mentor. Homesmind must have wanted that, too.”
Reiho stretched out a hand. “I wanted it. You are like the girl who tried to save me on Earth. I thought you would help me heal.”
“How many know what I am?”
“Only a few — you know that. You weren’t deceived about that. There’s no reason for others to know at this time.”
“At this time.” She made a fist. “But they’ll all know later on.”
“Please try to understand,” he pleaded. “Homesmind has communicated with Earth’s cybernetic Minds. It’s learned many things, and It may discover others that could change things for us here. You’re a link with Earth — you might help us eventually.”
Her head was throbbing; the confrontation was making her ill. She had raised her voice; she was longing to strike out at someone. All her training now seemed only a veneer masking her primitive nature. Her body struggled to restore her balance, dulling the shock.
“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” she said. “Your mentor should have refused to take me.”
What was Etey to do?
Homesmind asked.
Leave you to die? She showed you mercy. A girl on Earth overcame everything she had been taught, and gave you a chance to live. I thought you would be able to understand by now.
“Don’t speak to me,” Lydee shouted. “I wish I could tear your link out of my skull.”
“Lydee!” Reiho cried.
She jumped up and ran from the cave.
* * *
She flew recklessly, far from the valley, frightening other flyers and scattering a flock of birds. By the time she reached the lake, several of those who lived in boats along the shore had gathered on their decks, looking up as she soared overhead. Tiny sailboats skimmed over the water below; she flew on until she spied a small bay. Dropping down, she alighted on the sandy beach. Reiho could, she knew, find her easily enough, but he probably feared another confrontation. Even Homesmind’s link had remained silent.
She sat on the sand, gazing out at the graceful sails. A guide had taught her and her friends how to sail when they were younger. She wondered if her friends would have celebrated her link with her if they had known what she was. She had been torn out of a woman’s body on a world civilized people had abandoned; that meant she was hardly human at all. She pressed her lips together. Pilo and Nara and the others were too polite to scorn her outright. They would simply withdraw, masking their disdain with cold courtesy. She could not expect them to welcome her on their new world when they found out. Pilo and Jerod would no longer recite love poems to her; Nara and Tila would not invite her to their caves.
She looked down at her round breasts and wide hips, understanding their purpose all too well. Had she remained on Earth, a child might even now be sucking at one breast; an embryo might be growing inside her. A sour taste filled her mouth; she spat into the sand.
A boat was gliding toward her. Two women, tall and bony, adjusted the sail; one waved at Lydee. Their golden skin gleamed.
She stood up, then ran toward them, splashing through the water until it was nearly up to her waist. “Go away!” she screamed. “Don’t come near me! I don’t want you here!”
One of the pair, apparently frightened, moved too quickly. The sail swung, knocking her into the water. Lydee laughed. The other woman glanced fearfully at the girl, then pressed a finger to her belt and swooped toward her companion. Scooping her up, she flew away quickly. The boat rocked in the water; a breeze caught it, carrying it away from the bay. Lydee’s laughter caught in her throat.
She stumbled out of the water and threw herself onto the sand, clawing at it, wishing she could cry.