The Children Star (40 page)

The grainy monochrome image took shape. A man and a woman stood there, each wearing the same white hooded robe as a Spirit Caller, but with ropes of flowers around their necks and open-toed sandals on their feet. Much to Rod's irritation, they both sketched a starsign.

“Greetings,” said Sister Heather, “from the Spirit Brethren, a sister order to your own. The Great Spirit of the Universe moves us to entreat you to accept our application to serve your colony. Our mission is to serve children, and where better than Prokaryon?”

“We are prepared to ‘carry' micromen,” added Brother Chrysoprase. “We've carried breathmicrobes for years, to help us dive and fish to support our order.” Their skin was dusky, though the neutrinogram did not show the color. “But our numbers have grown, and you need us more.”

“We bring many skills to help you,” the woman added. “We've experience in farming, servo mechanics, child psychology. . . .”

This was but the latest request the colony's newfound notoriety had brought them, from would-be colonists who had no idea what they were getting into. As for the so-called Spirit Brethren, their help was the last thing respectable Spirit Callers needed.

“Enough,” Rod told the holostage. “Keep the image in memory, for Mother Artemis.” She would send the callers a polite reply.

Finally he gave up and took Gaea back up to Station. The old lightcraft had been fixed with a new controller, which kept it in good repair although it increased the chance that the craft would turn sentient.

At the clinic, the little girl shrank from the giant caterpillar, but Rod held her close, pressing her curls of hair. “It's all right. The doctor will help you feel better.”

“We'll give her new nanoservos,” the medic told him.
“We've enhanced their program, to provide much better control. They adjust the level of certain key nutrients in her circulation, nutrients she doesn't need much, but the micromen do. And we'll keep working on it. Lots of volunteers want to get rich on Prokaryon.”

“Even with all the hostile ‘natives'?”

“Every frontier has hostile natives. It goes with the territory.”

Rod looked closely at the sentient. “Are you new here?”

“Most of the old medics rotated out. I've come from the Brain Institute. What an opportunity—that is, to keep you healthy, of course.”

In fact, Station's corridors were full of strangers. As Rod brought Gaea back to the lightcraft, they ran into a group on some kind of tour. Some were humans in faded jeans, others were sentients of various sizes and shapes; a “lamppost,” a caterpillar, an eyespeaker for some nonmotile structure. The humans spoke in obscure jargon, oblivious to their surroundings, and even the sentients looked as if they had not checked a mirror lately. Leading the group were Elk and Khral.

“Rod!” boomed Elk's voice. “You should have told us you were back.” He took two strides and gave Rod a bear hug.

“Glad you're here,” said Quark from someone's shoulder. “Meet the new students.”

From the front of the group Khral turned, but kept her distance.

Elk laughed. “We can always use another student, Rod. After all, your colony got Three Crows; I thought he'd never give up deep space. Why don't you join us?” Elk nudged his arm and nodded at Khral. “Ask our new Research Director.”

“Bother about that.” Khral waved her hand. “Good to see you, Rod.”

. . .
just when life got to be worth living
.

Elk began introducing the new students, but Rod barely heard. Thankfully Gaea was getting restless, and he excused himself to take her home.

“Hope you had a nice trip,” said the lightcraft politely.

Rod barely heard or knew where he was. He could only see Khral's look as she had turned to him, and hear her voice call his name.

Geode came running out of their new home, its shiny roof tiles gleaming in the sun. “Rod—you'll never guess!
Patella is coming back!”

It took a few seconds for Rod to realize what he had said. “Patella's coming back? To us? You're sure?”

Geode was hopping up and down on all six limbs, his starstone dancing crazily around his eyestalks. “Yes he is! He sent a neutrinogram. It took months and months, but they gradually got his mind working in his new body, and he's coming back.” Rod had never seen him so excited. But then, Patella was like a twin to Geode, from the same Valan factory. They had always been especially close.

During worship that evening, as the new llamas groaned in the dusk and the gentle rains hid the moon, the Spirit Callers gave special prayers of thanks for their brother's imminent return. Rod tried to feel glad, but any joy he could feel was overwhelmed by the pain within. All he could see was Khral's face before him, and feel her in his arms again. He longed for her, yet hated himself. He was living a lie; he could no longer call the Spirit.

HUMAN WORLD—TELL US SOMETHING, WE PRAY YOU. The micromen would not leave him alone. IF ONE SOUL MARRIES ANOTHER, BUT THE MATE
DIES BEFORE MERGING; THEN HE TAKES A SECOND MATE, WHO ALSO DIES; THEN HE MARRIES A THIRD; TO WHOM IS HE MARRIED WHEN ALL HAVE ASCENDED TO HEAVEN?

Rod closed his eyes. Make me a llama, he told them, like you tried to before. Then I'll no longer need to think or feel.

Early in the morning, Rod went to the Reverend Mother. The first rays of light from the window cast bright squares across the wall, and Rod blinked as they caught his eye. Mother Artemis was nursing T'kela. Her strands of hair stretched up toward him. “Rod, whatever is wrong, let me help you.”

“I must leave the order. I've broken my vows, and I can't stay.” He paused, then added, “I'm sorry to leave you short-handed, but now at least Patella will be back . . .” He stopped, full of shame and confusion.

“I'm so sorry. What a terrible time you must have gone through.” She set down T'kela, who crept off to grasp at a sunbeam. “Will you join Khral?”

He shuddered to realize she had known all along. For some minutes he could not speak. “I can't,” he said at last. “I care for her, but I would hate her for what I've lost.”

“Then where does the Spirit lead?”

“The Spirit doesn't lead me anymore. For now, I'll join Diorite's crew.” Beyond that, his future was blank. He had never before faced a future alone, without someone leading him on.

“Well, you can apply to the Most Reverend Father for release from your vows. It will take some months to approve and process—”

“No,” said Rod sharply. “I can't stay. It would set a bad example for the children.”

Mother Artemis paused. “The children will miss you.”

“I will miss them.” He choked on his words. “I can't imagine life without them.”

“Is that all you'll miss, Rod? The children?”

“No, of course, I'll miss you, and Brother Geode. And—” He could not say it. “I still don't understand. I still feel the Spirit led me to Khral, as it did to the tumbleround. Yet it can't be.”

“The Spirit tests us with choice. Sometimes one must give up a great love for a higher one.”

“I did that, once,” said Rod. “I gave up the Guard—my pledge of honor to Valedon. But now, I have to give up the Spirit.”

“The highest love is truth.”

To that he had nothing to say. Truth brought peace, if nothing else.

Mother Artemis was silent for a while. She looked out the window, her hair twining in the sunlight as if to soak up wisdom. “In truth, I have listened for many decades, yet I never understood why the Spirit would be jealous of human love. Would you be jealous of your micromen?”

Rod blinked in surprise. “What are you saying? Do you question the vow?”

“The vow is right for some. It was right for you, for a time. I pray the Spirit Fathers would keep their other vows, such as to support this colony.”

This heresy left him speechless.

“I've been thinking, Rod. It's time our colony became more ecumenical. So many kinds of people want to help out, and we'll need their help, even with Patella back. I'd like us to accept those two Spirit Brethren who applied to join.”

“The Spirit Brethren? But—but they're not . . . respectable.”

“Respectability counts for little out here.” The sentient's features made an odd slant, as if she were angry. “In truth, the Spirit Brethren are respectable enough. They split off from us several decades back, when two Fathers quarreled over doctrine. They hold the Sharer view that the Spirit calls each of us to conceive and raise our own child.”

Imprisoned deep within an Elysian hospital, Verid paced the spotless floor, restless as a dog. There was company enough, the micromen within, and virtual visitors without; but for weeks now, no living human had so much as shared her breath. When would the Fold Council relent? The quarantine went beyond all reason, but, having stripped her of power, her opponents could enjoy their revenge.

IF WE EVER DO RETURN TO MYTHICAL PROKARYON AND DISCOVER NEW WORLDS, THEY WILL HAVE TO MEET OUR STANDARD OF CIVILIZATION. THEIR AMBASSADORS WILL HAVE TO LEARN OUR PROTOCOLS, FLASHING COLORS IN PROPER ORDER.

Verid sighed. By the time she ever got back to Prokaryon, her own micromen would be useless, having dwelt apart for generations. Precious time was wasting, while the timeless Elysians figured out what to do with her.

“A visitor,” intoned the hospital. “Iras Lethe
shon
.”

Her head shot up, and she straightened herself. A cloud of light shimmered and became Iras, her hair flowing gloriously down her the back of her best train, the butterflies with their eyespots glowing red and gold. “Dear Iras,” she breathed.

Iras smiled sadly. “I wish I were real, dear, but this was the most they'd allow.”

“It was good of you to come.”

“How can I be without you? Even if you are always muttering to your nanoservos. You know, Verid, I tried my best to spring you, but these medics are just incorruptible.”

Despite herself Verid smiled. “That's good to know.”

“Have you heard about Nibur? He was so besotted with that dog, he couldn't bear to lose it. You'd think he'd just make a virtual one. Instead, he had the medics cleanse his memories.” Iras shook her head. “Start down that path, and it's hard to stop. He's not half the man he was.”

Verid nodded. “Too bad.”

“But look,” said Iras brightly. “I've brought you something to keep you company—Raincloud's descendent!”

In a moment, there stood Sarai, resplendent in Sharer purple, flashing her fingerwebs as she lectured an unseen audience on DNA recombination. “Her research seminar, the one she gave at Station. It's on public record, so I acquired it. Isn't she gorgeous?”

“Stunning”—Verid laughed—“and most informative!” Then she grew serious again. “Listen, Iras; I need to tell you something. I give you my release.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I release you from our bond. You understand.”

“But Verid—”

“Iras, think.” Verid took a breath. This was hard, even harder than she imagined. “I carry micromen, now; I always will.”

“The Fold will let you out, eventually. They're just punishing you for being right. They need you to negotiate; why only yesterday Loris was saying—”

“But Iras—
they made you sick
. Remember?”

Iras shuddered. “Too well.”

“You can't touch me again. No one in their right mind would. You can't take the risk.”

She thought this over. “Dear, I've never been the one to worry about risks.”

Verid looked down, feeling shamed.

“Besides—what a thing to say, after the fortune I just spent on you.” Iras's net worth had fallen recently, by over three trillion credits.

“I'm sorry, the Urulite vote cost more than I thought.” A lot more; enough water projects, she figured, to turn his planet into Shora.

“The Urulite? That was nothing. I meant your birthday present. Remember?”

Verid put up her hands. “Goodness; I forgot.” What costly embarrassment could it be this time, for all the Elysians to cluck about? “Iras, I hope you were . . .”

“Discreet?” Iras finished. “You really are out of it, aren't you? Don't you even watch the news?”

“It's all censored here,” snapped Verid. She nodded to the ceiling. “Go ahead, show it.”

The Anaeon newscaster appeared, his train of dead-leaf butterflies flowing behind him, similar to Verid's own. “. . . from Reyo City, the Health Ministry announces a new project to diagnose and treat the ‘creeping' disease, and to undertake preventive measures designed to eradicate the deadly prions. Funded by an anonymous grant of three trillion credits, the project will establish clinics all around the planet. Within ten years, experts estimate, the prion plague can be effectively eliminated . . .”

Verid rarely flushed, but she did so now, her face and hands warm, then cold. “Iras, you didn't,” she said unsteadily.

“I would have named it for you, but you always said to be . . . discreet.” Iras wiped tears from her eyes, then collected herself. “Plagues are bad for business, don't you
know. And the one that's left won't be so easy.” She walked forward, until her shape nearly touched Verid in the face. “Please, Verid. Don't be proud; tell Loris what he wants to hear, and get yourself out of there. I need you—and the Fold needs you, to talk with those micromen before we lose the chance.”

Rod watched the sky for the old servo lightcraft he had sent up to Station. There it was, a bright oval descending toward the overgrown brokenhearts. Estimating where the craft would land, he jogged alone down the newly cut path. A flock of helicoids took off from the field, their propellers clacking, while in the distance the blue-striped four-eyes grazed unconcerned. Sometime he would have to chase the herd farther from their crops, but not today.