by Sean O'Brien
“I changed my mind.” Yallia paused to let the implications sink in, then continued on her original subject. “You will not be allowed back here for any reason. Kahlman will have full control of the Domes in every other way, but I will not allow him to release you back to us.” She paused. “And I will never tell the child of her father.” She sighed and stepped closer to him. Her voice became soft, almost kind. “Despite appearances, I am not angry at you, Lawson. You are just…weak.”
“I told you I wanted to be more like you.”
“And I said you were like me. You still are, Lawson. We are all alike, Domers and Family, shippie and argie. I am not going to deny you existence, but I will deny you association with us.”
Lawson looked at her with longing. He made abortive movements with his hand, as if wanting to touch her but afraid of doing so. “I love you, Yallia.”
“I know.”
Lawson stared at her for a moment longer, but she did not speak. He started to stand up and head for the door where Kahlman’s guards were waiting. “I am curious, Yallia, about one thing. Why are you keeping the baby?”
“The baby has done nothing, Lawson. As I said, I am not denying you existence. You will live on through your child. Perhaps, one day, she will help to erase your sin. She will be your salvation.” She paused, then looked up at the ceiling, looking through it to another time, another place. “My mother told me once, years ago, about an encounter my grandmother had with a man who told her something that you need to hear. The man said that ‘hell is a place where those who do nothing go.’ You had an opportunity to redeem yourself, Lawson, but you chose to do nothing.”
Lawson swallowed his answer and left the room.
Khadre knocked on the frame of Sirra’s dormitory room and entered when the girl looked up. “Khadre!” Sirra shouted and rushed at the young scientist, hugging her tightly around the legs.
“Hello, little one.” Khadre returned the hug, bending over somewhat awkwardly, then knelt down and grasped Sirra’s arms. “How are you?” she said, looking into the girl’s eyes.
“I’m all right, Khadre. How are you?” The girl returned the soul-searching gaze.
Khadre sighed. “I think I’ll be all right, too. I just wanted to tell you something.”
“What?”
“Viktur and I are going to have a baby.”
Sirra’s eyes widened. “Really? A girl or a boy?” She did not ask how.
“I thought I’d have a boy. For him.”
Sirra nodded. “Yes. A boy will be good.”
The two did not speak for a few seconds, then Sirra said, “I was thinking about the boat. And the fish. I want to go back there.”
“We will, Sirra. We still have a lot to learn from the sea-creatures.”
“Khadre?”
“Yes?”
“Shouldn’t they have a name?”
“I guess so. Do you want to name them?”
“Uh, well, I thought that Viktur should get to name them. He found them, didn’t he?”
Khadre nodded. She felt emotion welling inside her and did not want to speak.
“So I think we should call them ‘Vikturs’ or something. Or maybe ‘Vicks.’
Khadre smiled. “How about V-i-x?”
Sirra nodded slowly. “Yes. Vix. I think he would have liked that.”
Khadre got up from the ground and rubbed her knees. “Well, I have to go. But I promise I will come back.”
“Will you take me with you when you go back to see the vix?”
“I promise.”
Sirra hugged her again for a long time.
“She wants to go with me on the next expedition,” Khadre said to Yallia as they sat over strong tea in the Assembly room.
Yallia nodded. “I see no harm in that.”
Khadre sipped her drink and added more salgar. “Madame Prime,” she began carefully, “I have been thinking about what happened out there.”
“Yes?”
“The rescue. The flyer malfunction.”
“Don’t you believe in luck, Khadre?” Yallia said with a smile.
Khadre smiled back. “No, ma’am. Not when I can explain it away in other ways. I have been thinking that both events are connected.”
“How so? And stop calling me ‘ma’am.’”
Khadre blushed. “Sorry. Well, first I thought the vix were doing something with their sonar, but—”
“Vix?”
Khadre looked up from her cup sheepishly. “Oh, uh, that’s a name Sirra thought up for the sea-creatures. Their official name in the taxonomy is “Neocetacean-octopii Ljarbazzii.”
“Vix is better,” Yallia said.
“I agree. I was thinking they had something to do with it, but….”
“What?”
“Well, there’s no way I can imagine their sonar reaching far enough to be heard by the harbormaster’s station. And even if somehow they could focus their sonar to reach such distances, how could Del have interpreted the message? So I don’t see how it could have been the vix.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
Khadre looked up sharply. “You have an idea?”
Yallia sighed quickly. “Khadre, I hesitate to tell you this, because I am frankly not sure what you youngsters will do with the knowledge.”
Khadre looked at her in astonishment but did not interrupt.
“You have heard the stories, I’m sure, but how many of you believe them?”
“Stories?”
Yallia looked up briefly, then focused her eyes back on Khadre. “You know, of course, that the first voyage launched to this planet was the second to get here. The Odyssey arrived here about thirty-five, thirty-six years ago, long after the Argo had already colonized. The Argo had been dismantled to provide raw materials for the colony. When the Odyssey arrived, it was not needed any longer. It was stripped, but a section of it was left in orbit.”
Khadre nodded. “Of course I’ve heard that. So? It’s just an empty hulk up there, right?”
Yallia cursed under her breath. She herself had long ago emphasized to the other Originals that the history of the Family began with their exile from the Domes, and therefore all other history need not be taught or studied. There had been no formal ban on study, but most of the Family chose not to examine the past too closely. History had turned to legend and was already on its way toward myth. Yallia had often felt pangs of regret at the loss, but she saw too much danger in a connection to a recent past. When the crisis was past, she had often told herself, historians could once again study what they wished.
Yallia answered Khadre’s question with a sigh. “No. It’s still staffed. My grandmother visited it about twenty-four years ago. I think they are still watching us.”
Khadre said slowly, “They sent the message to Del?”
“And they disrupted the flyer.”
“Why?”
Yallia looked up again. “I think they are trying to…atone for something they did, or didn’t do, in the far past.”
Khadre didn’t answer, but looked upwards.
* * *
Kuarta and Dolen received their daughter in strikingly different ways. Yallia smiled indulgently at her father and hugged him warmly. The two looked at each other for a while, saying nothing, before Yallia whispered something to him. He nodded, looked at his wife, and left the two women alone.
“I told him I’d see him later,” Yallia said, preempting Kuarta’s question.
“But you have to unload some of your venom on me first,” Kuarta said.
Yallia didn’t rise to the bait.
“I heard about your…takeover,” Kuarta said carefully. She had thought to use the word ‘rebellion’ but instead chose a word that did not have familial implications.
“Of course. Life won’t really change much for a while in the Domes,” Yallia said. “Franc Kahlman will make a fine administrator.”
“But life will change.”
Yallia shrugged. “Eventually. There will be many
more children of shippies and argies. We’ll take any of them you want to send.”
“I’m surprised.”
“Why?”
Kuarta said icily, “You’ve had such anger at me for doing the same thing. Why would you endorse it now?”
“Kuarta, do you really think it’s the same? You abandoned me twenty-four years ago. Now, we’re a thriving community. Children sent to us will be cared for, nurtured. Loved.” This last word she said with bitter emphasis.
“You think I didn’t love you?”
Yallia looked away, but said, “Your actions answered that.”
“You think because I sent you away I didn’t love you.” Kuarta waited for a response, but when none came, she continued. “If I had tried to hold you with me, Tann would have killed hundreds. Thousands. And he still would have taken you.”
“I would have appreciated the fight.”
Kuarta stared at her. “Even though the result would have been the same? You still would have been exiled, you still would—”
“But you would have fought!” Yallia shouted. “Don’t you see, Mother? I don’t want logic; I didn’t want it then. I know, rationally, that you did the only thing you could have done. But since when is love rational?”
Kuarta listened and answered, quietly, “You never met Renold Halfner.”
It took Yallia a moment to place the name. “My grandfather? Of course not.”
“He could have answered that question.”
“That’s convenient.”
Kuarta shot an angry glare at her daughter. “He was my father, Yallia. I hardly knew him, but Jene did. She told me about him. He was the most rational person she knew, and yet he loved me and loved Jene. To him, love was the most rational emotion, if there is such a thing, the human mind was capable of.”
“You’re hiding behind a dead man,” Yallia said, but there was uncertainty in her voice.
“I’m answering your question. You asked ‘since when is love rational?’ I’m telling you that it always is. Dolen, your kind, loving father, never saw that, either. He would have kept you and fought off Tann’s men on his own if I hadn’t been there. And when I acted, he knew I was right.”
Yallia’s voice was considerably shakier as she said, “It doesn’t matter. You still did it. You can’t argue me out of my….”
“Your what? Hate?” Kuarta searched her daughter’s face—a face she did not know well enough to read. “Why are you still holding on to it?”
“You did not fight for me.”
“Would you have fought for your Family? The explosives you planted, would you have detonated them if Nessel hadn’t surrendered?”
Yallia looked at her with narrowed eyes. “How do you know—”
“Most of the Domers know. Things leak out, Yallia.” She returned to the question. “Would you have killed to save your Family?”
Yallia looked away again. She had thought about that as much as her tortured mind would allow in the past few hours. She always kept coming back to the same answer. “No.” She looked up at her mother. “But I tried. I was willing to bluff him.”
“You had an army. I had only your father, your grandmother, and a few unorganized supporters outside. I had nothing to bluff with.”
Yallia felt her emotions weakening. She wanted, desperately wanted, to hate her mother. It would solve so many problems. Her feeling of injustice would have more than one target. Hating Carll Tann was easy and therefore offered no solace. She had more hate than she could comfortably place on one man. If she released her mother, her hate would have nowhere to go. She did not wish to believe the universe was inherently unjust.
Realization crept slowly upon Yallia. Rationality was taking over—the natural enemy of hatred.
“Mother, I—”
“You don’t have to say it, Yallia,” Kuarta started to gather her up in her arms, but Yallia pushed her away.
“I still hate you. But….” She looked into her mother’s eyes. “I know it will not always be that way. You’ll have to give me some time.”
Kuarta put her arms back in her lap. “I think I can do that.”
The two looked at each other for a long time as the green mist rolled past the Dome.
Book Four
Home
Chapter 20
She was glad no one could read her mind.
It would not do to have anyone else, human or otherwise, know that at times, she thought of the vix as her children.
Sirra reluctantly answered the summons that had been buzzing in her headphone for nearly a minute. She knew what the message would be.
“Yes?” she said, disingenuously.
“Sirra, we read your life support has redlined. You need to return to base immediately.” Fozzoli’s voice was balanced on the razor edge between respect and demand.
“Oh, really? Are you sure you’re not reading a malfunction, Foz?”
“Domeit, Sirra, you’ve been out for almost six hours!”
“I am fully aware of my suit’s capabilities, Foz. There’s a forty-minute grace period built into these things.”
“It’ll take you forty minutes to get back, plus another ninety seconds to flush the lock, plus—”
“All right, Foz. I’ll come back. Sirra out.” She switched off, not really angry at Fozzoli; he was a capable man. She looked at the vix nearest her and reached out to touch him. He was a young male whom Sirra had privately dubbed Vogel, after an ancient Ship philosopher who had proved empirically that his “world” was on a journey. Sirra could feel the vix even through her armored sense-glove: he was warm and smooth. She found she could always communicate more clearly if she was touching them.
“I have to go now. I will return,” she said. She tapped the appropriate keys on her vixvox to amplify her message, though she suspected that Vogel could understand her thoughts almost as well as he understood the high-frequency squeals coming out of the transmitter on her shoulder.
“Thank you for your presence.” She felt the answer come back. The vix’ speech was just outside normal human hearing range, but Sirra could feel the waves deep inside her head. She had “listened” to their speech for the past thirty-five years, ever since her first encounter with them after that awful flyer attack—she knew what the native creatures were saying. Others used her translation device exclusively. Sirra used it in tandem with her mind and its sense of understanding for the sea creatures.
“I will think about what you said, Speaker-From-Above.” Sirra recognized the name Vogel had given her recently. She approved; it was at least secular, or rather less overtly religious, than some of the other names she had heard.
Vogel swam away, back to his settlement. Sirra knew he had taken a considerable risk in coming this far, but he was an adventuresome type and seemed to be able to tolerate separation from the oxygen vent for longer periods than his tribal partners.
Sirra watched him go, then set her buoyancy control to maximum and swam upwards to the lab with a certain degree of alacrity. Foz was right—she had redlined some time ago and would now have to hustle into the lock. Thirty-eight and one-half-minutes later, she entered it and started the cycle. During the ninety-second cycle, her helmet computer warned her, “Life support has run out. Return to surface immediately.” The warning continued—there was no way to shut it off. Sirra cursed softly to herself. The grace period had just begun; she could have stayed out with Vogel for at least thirty more minutes. The lock completed its cycle and Sirra started to climb out, only slightly encumbered by her deepsuit.
The laboratory was essentially a floating platform, maintaining its position over the vix settlement some four thousand meters below. It was constructed like a daisy, with a large central lab and several pods (power, machine shop, two subsidiary labs, and three habitation pods) surrounding it. The lab was home to seventeen researchers who rotated in and out on a three-month schedule. Only five were present at any given time, not counting Sirra, who had the right to come and go as she pleased
. It was her project, after all.
Sirra finished her ascent into the spacious main lab to find Abromo Fozzoli staring disapprovingly at her.
“You can’t keep cutting it that close, Sirra. We’ve—”
“Here are your recordings, Foz,” Sirra said, withdrawing a small data disk from her belt computer pouch and tossing it to him as he spoke. Fozzoli stopped midsentence to catch the disk.
“Anything good?” he asked, his expression changing instantly from angry concern to hopeful curiosity. Fozzoli was the only member of the research crew who was more committed to deciphering the vix’ language than Sirra herself.
“I think so. Some stuff on philosophy this time. I managed to get Vogel to live up to his name.”
Fozzoli had slipped the disk into its proper slot on the lab’s main computer console and was downloading the information into the mainframe. “Oh? How so?”
“He started thinking—in the vaguest terms, of course—about proving his own existence.”
Fozzoli looked at Sirra, his eyes widening. He whistled softly. “That’s pretty deep stuff.”
“Well, it wasn’t all that deep. But at least he’s starting to develop his rational mind.”
“Anything more on their religion?”
Sirra sighed. “Not much. Oh, but he did use the name ‘Speaker-From-Above’ for me this time.”
Fozzoli grunted. “Better than ‘Divine Avatar.’”
Sirra grimaced. She had always hated that translation, but she knew it was correct. She had been called any number of permutations of that name: ‘Voice-of-God,’ ‘Celestial Messenger,’ even ‘Most Holy Fish from the Silence,’ although this last name had never been translated to her complete satisfaction.
Sirra watched as Fozzoli tapped the holographic keys and integrated her recorder’s data into his already considerable database. He frowned vaguely while she watched.
“What’s wrong?” Sirra asked.
Fozzoli jumped in his chair, and Sirra laughed. “Sorry, Foz, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No, that’s okay.” His voice was distracted, distant.
“But what is it?”