Analog SFF, April 2012

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The rover's lights winked through the trees and the vehicle crossed the little bridge and came up the bank, its headlights bobbing as it negotiated the ruts. It stopped across the road and down a little, in front of Jason and Jessica's place. Their pods blinked out and Jason turned on a porch lamp that bathed the dirt in front of their veranda in a pool of brilliance. Karen strode toward the house as Jessica descended the steps.

  “I'm going to see what happened.” I set my wine glass down and trotted toward the small group. Even from this distance, I could tell it was something bad.

  As I came up, Jessica turned toward her husband, questioning.

  “Sure we can help out,” Jason said. “For how long?”

  “Thanks!” Karen hurried toward the truck. “I don't know how long.” She opened the back door of the rover and pulled out two wide-eyed nomad children who shivered and clung to one another.

  Dan came up behind me. I caught his frown as he took in the scene.

  “Their mother was killed,” Jessica explained.

  “Killed—” A chill ran down my back. In the years I'd been here, I'd come to know most of the nearby nomads by name. “Who?”

  Karen brought the two little ones up and Jessica knelt and held out her hands. Fred's older two.

  “Mae?” I asked. Numbness prickled me all over.

  Dan put an arm around my shoulder.

  Karen nodded grimly. “I thought I could take Tosh,” she said. “He's close to Sam's age, I think. Do you have room for the baby?”

  “Of course,” Dan said. “What happened to Mae?”

  Karen's face darkened. “What do you think?”

  “Fred?” Dan said.

  Karen stroked the soft hair on the back of the nomad child's head. “Fred.”

  “How can you know?” I asked. “You—”

  “I was there. I saw it.” Karen's nostrils flared. “I was bringing the operator back in the rover and I had to stop suddenly to avoid hitting Mae. The family was foraging in the field for unharvested roots, and they were hidden by the grass. Fred pushed her back for being in my way. She tripped and hit her head on a rock.”

  “Then it was an accident.” I had to confirm.

  “If you want to call it that,” Karen said contemptuously.

  I bit back my temper.

  “But you're sure Mae's dead?” Jason asked.

  “I'm a doctor, for God's sake!” Karen rubbed her face in frustration. Then she took a breath. “I don't . . . Fred didn't mean to kill her. I'm sure he didn't.”

  “But why do you have the children?” My words sounded like an accusation, even in my own ears. “Why didn't you leave them with Fred and Dot?”

  “Fred?” Karen cried in amazement.

  The children's eyes darted back and forth between Karen and me, and I was glad they didn't know English. At least, I didn't think they did.

  “He's their father,” I pointed out.

  “He's an animal!”

  Her words smacked me in the face.

  “I mean . . .”

  The others watched us, alert.

  Karen looked from me to Jessica to Jason and Dan, then abruptly turned back to the vehicle. “You know what I mean.”

  Jessica hustled the children into the bungalow.

  I followed her to the road. “We can't interfere—”

  “Sometimes, we can!” she shot back.

  “Karen! You can't just—”

  “Fred was in no shape to take them.” She stopped at the rover. “He wouldn't leave Mae's side. He was bewildered. Overwhelmed.” She climbed in. “No one could get his attention. Not even the children.”

  “What about Dot? Or Grandpa?”

  “They weren't there.” She started the engine. “We have to get these little ones inside and put them to bed. I'll bring the baby to your place.”

  I backed out of the way so she could close her door. “But tomorrow, we have to talk to Lloyd. They'll have to go back.”

  “I already talked to Lloyd.” She put her elbow out the window. “You know what he said? He said it was none of our business. He said we should leave the children out in the middle of the savanna. Ha!”

  “I know it sounds hard—”

  Her scowl bore into me. “Without their mother those children will die.”

  * * * *

  The next day, Dan set his research aside to watch the baby while I went to talk to Lloyd.

  “Fred gave his consent.” Lloyd leaned back in his chair and, removing the dictamike from his ear, dropped it in front of one of his active screens. Lloyd's office was the only place in Tumbling Rock with climate control and it was blessedly cool.

  “Voluntarily?” I leaned over his desk. “He understood the translation?”

  “I drove out to the field myself, last night, after I talked to Karen. I think the kids should've stayed with Fred, but he gave permission.” He waved the paper with Fred's “X” on it.

  I pulled my chair out from my desk. “For how long?”

  “'Til next quarter. Then we'll see.”

  “I don't like this, Lloyd. It's like we're making it up as we go along. When two cultures come into contact there's always a disaster.”

  “We've done pretty well so far.” He fished a radialite from among the jumble of work gloves, coffee cups, notes, drives, and mini image displays on his desk.

  “We've taken four children from their parents, split them up, and put them into unfamiliar homes. They don't speak English, they've lost their mother—”

  “Want to see if we can find Fred?” Lloyd dropped the radialite into a pot and threw in a two-serving coffee net. “He took off last night, carrying Mae. South.” He filled the pot with water. “I don't have manpower to scour the bush for one nomad.”

  “Don't you think it's a priority?”

  “Amanda. You know how big the savanna is. How many pockets of bush there are.”

  I did. All too well. I had to admit, my idea wasn't helpful.

  “Listen. When he shows up again . . .”

  I slumped back in my chair. “In the meantime, the children'll be raised human.”

  The radialite pinged and Lloyd took it out of the pot. “Well, we can't have creatures with sharp teeth and claws hurting people.” He poured the coffee into two mugs.

  “And how'll they reintegrate into their family at the end of the quarter?”

  “I'm not saying it'll be easy.” Lloyd pushed a mug toward me. “Karen has the energy to take leadership on this. She can do some research. Let the kids visit nomad families. Find out about their songs and stories and beliefs. And food.” He leaned back in his chair, holding his mug in two hands. “You're in a good position. You speak the language. Dan knows more about nomad infants than anyone in the Alliance. If anybody can do it, you two can.”

  “Dan and I both work.”

  Lloyd sipped his coffee. “Show me a family that doesn't.”

  “The nomads.”

  Lloyd snorted. “Touché.” He put his cup down. “You're right, Amanda. We are making this up as we go along. We make up a lot of things as we go along. I wish the nomads had something that passed for a government who'd take responsibility, but they don't. If you can't care for the baby, let me know. I'll find someone who can.”

  “No.” Something with a dozen legs floated on top of my coffee. I set the cup aside. “Dan and I are a good choice. But it's not right.”

  “Think of it this way,” Lloyd said. “Something like this probably had to happen sooner or later. The nomads are going to need someone from their own race who can bridge both cultures. One of these kids, when they grow up, will be well educated to serve their species’ needs. This could be a good thing for them.”

  “Right. Just keep thinking that, Lloyd.” I stood to go. “And at what cost.”

  * * * *

  Karen and Michael, Jason and Jessica, and Dan and I worked as a team. As a result, the nomad children spend most of their time together, frequently at Karen and Michael's house.
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  Dan was delighted. “It's the opportunity of a lifetime,” he said to me one day after lunch a couple of months later, as I washed dishes and he changed the baby's diaper. This day, we had all four of Fred's children for the morning—fighting with each other, as usual—as well as Sam, and Jessica's little girl. Karen had just arrived to take the entire brood for the afternoon and was gathering up all the kids and their paraphernalia on the veranda.

  The heat had started early, and my afternoon in Lloyd's office editing his report was tantalizingly close. I smiled at the baby—toddler, really—with pale skin and undifferentiated sandy-brown fur. Dan and I had named her Julie and she'd already begun to repeat the name, “Chewie.” Now she stared idly at the streaks of sunshine streaming through gaps in the curtains, not protesting the diaper change. “She sure is a good baby. Doesn't cry. Is that normal?”

  “I'd have to compare her behavior with the notes I took out on the savanna.” Dan weighed her, measured her, read her blood work, and took a quick brain scan. “But with daily measurements for three months, on four children of different ages, my data will be rock solid,” he grinned. “Once I get it inputted and analyzed.”

  I wiped my hands and took the baby from him. She laid her head on my shoulder. “This isn't your personal research project.”

  Karen poked her head in the kitchen. “I think I have all their stuff. See you at . . . about six?”

  “Great.”

  There was a yelp from the veranda followed by noisy tears. Dan dashed to the doorway but by the time I poked my head out, Karen was kneeling between Tosh and Sam, her hands covering a play pod that Sam still clutched. One of Tosh's older brothers stood behind him, snarling, while Jessica's little girl watched. Tosh's other brother lay quietly in the shade for once, panting with the heat.

  “It's mine!” Tosh cried.

  Well. He'd certainly picked up an Alliance sense of property rights.

  “I had it!” Tears streamed down Sam's face. “He took it!”

  “He called me a monkey!” Tosh bared his teeth.

  “Sam.” Karen took the play pod from both boys. “It's not okay to call names. Tell Tosh how you feel.”

  “I was just playing with it and you grabbed it! I got mad.”

  "Tosh." Karen looked at the small nomad. "Tell Sam how you feel."

  "The pod's mine. You took it without asking. I wanted it back," Tosh said. He sat on the veranda.

  “But can I play with it?” Sam asked.

  Tosh shrugged. His older brother lost interest and lay in the grass.

  “We could do a two-player,” Sam offered.

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Both of you.” Karen gave Tosh the play pod and he rolled on his side and gave it to Sam.

  “You're getting pretty good at the language,” Dan said.

  “I get lots of practice with that scenario.” Karen hoisted a bag of toys onto her shoulder.

  I handed her the sleepy baby. “Kids are learning to get along. It's good.”

  She gave me a deep-felt smile. “I love them.” She gave Julie a hug and the little one squirmed. “All of them.”

  * * * *

  The end of the quarter came and went, but Fred didn't return. My work with Lloyd, Karen, and others took me out to two or three of the nomads’ closest dwelling places, and Karen and I took all of Fred's children to visit kin there, but we didn't see Fred. I asked about him, and about Dot and Grandpa. Some seemed to know them but others didn't. None had any reliable information about Fred's whereabouts, his plans, or even how he was doing. And every time, as soon as they saw the children, the nomads found some reason to punish them.

  The heat became fierce, and nobody traveled if they didn't have to. Mostly we lay in the shade, drank water, and tried to get a little work done. Fred's children seemed to take the heat worse than anyone, which was surprising, sleeping for long stretches. I wondered if the baby was sick, and asked Karen to check her out. Karen had the same concern about Tosh and his brothers, but she readily admitted she wasn't an expert on nomad physiology. “But I did take baseline data when I first came, a year ago,” she remembered.

  She compared the data. “Their current activity levels are significantly reduced and all of them have lost weight.” She shook her head. “It's not the weather. They're not sick. Neither their antibody levels nor white blood count is raised. Besides, the first thing we did was inoculate them against all our known bugs.”

  “Could we have infected them with something unknown?” I asked.

  “Possible. We wouldn't know where to begin to look for such a thing.” She gave me a worried glance. “But I'll see what I can find. I'll hunt for parasites, too.”

  Dan delved into the masses of data he'd collected, both on the savanna and over the past months in the children's new environment. He checked chemicals in the buildings, pollution from the vehicles, dietary variations. Neither he nor Karen came up with anything.

  The nomads’ response, when we brought the drooping children to see them, was inexplicable. Without exception, the adults became hysterical, hissing and baring their teeth and trying to scratch and bite them. Karen removed the children to the safety of the vehicle, and I tried to get to the bottom of their fears.

  "Why do you punish the children? They've done nothing wrong."

  "They're sick!" the nomads said. "They're sick!"

  "Sick? Have you seen this before?" Were they worried that the children would pass on the illness? Is that why they tried to kill them? "How can we help them?"

  "Bite them! Scratch them!"

  I could get no more from the nomads than this, but they were truly agitated. Twice, groups of them ventured as far as Tumbling River, both times seeking to attack the children. Lloyd and I eased the situation each time, but we all became more vigilant.

  In the end, all we could do was to continue providing the most nurturing environment possible. We made two of each meal, one for ourselves and a different one for Fred's children. We stripped their rooms and made nests of twigs and branches and leaves for them to sleep on. We hugged them, read to them, and played with them. But as the fourth quarter wore on and the rainy season approached, they became, if anything, more listless.

  After a week of darkening clouds and rising wind, when the first-quarter rain splashed fat drops on the dusty soil, Tosh died.

  Michael came to tell us. It was late afternoon. The rain had let up momentarily.

  He sat at our kitchen table. “He didn't wake today at all.”

  Dan rocked the baby, who slept in his arms.

  “His breathing was shallow. Neither Karen nor I could think of anything more to do for him but stroke his hair and hold his hand.” Michael's face was pale. “When I came home from school this afternoon, Sam was playing by himself in the living room. Karen was in the bedroom by Tosh's side. But he was gone.”

  Dan and I held hands across the table, unable to fathom the finality of it.

  * * * *

  Necessities distracted from the pain. I fetched Jessica and Jason, their daughter, and Tosh's brothers. We went with Dan and the baby to Karen and Michael's. Tosh's brothers took one look at Tosh and began to fight.

  "Stop that!" Jason said, but the boys paid him no heed, and had to be taken from the room and separated.

  “We'll have to let Lloyd know,” Michael said. “Jasmine. Some of the others.”

  “I'll take care of it.” Dan nodded.

  “I can drive out to the dwelling place tomorrow,” I said. “I'll let the nomads know.” Even as I said it, I dreaded the thought. But I was the logical one to do it.

  “I'll watch Julie,” Jessica said gratefully.

  There were a hundred details to arrange. Dan left on his errands and people came by to express condolences.

  I left to put the baby to bed. I held her close and sang to her and cuddled her in her nest of leaves as the rain pattered outside the open window. She curled her small fingers around my one large one and closed her eyes, nestled on
my shoulder.

  It was close to midnight, as Dan and I were having a glass of wine at the kitchen table, when Lloyd knocked on the door. “I saw a light on,” he apologized.

  “Come in.” Dan fetched a chair.

  Lloyd joined us at the table. I filled him in regarding the arrangements.

  “I'll come with you tomorrow,” he offered.

  “Thanks, Lloyd. I appreciate it.”

  He looked at both of us. “I know you've been working on this problem for months. But—Amanda, I have to be direct.”

  I gave him my undivided attention.

  “This death changes everything. My decision to let Karen take the children was wrong.”

  “Fred?” Dan poured Lloyd a glass of wine.

  Lloyd accepted the glass. “We still don't know where he is. We need to inform him as soon as possible, of course. But, no. It's bigger than that.”

  Dan corked the wine and sat down.

  Lloyd turned the stem of the wine glass between his fingers. “This is the first sentient to die in Alliance hands in forty years. At least, the first one where we're clearly culpable.”

  “Culpable!” I cried. “Lloyd! We've done everything—”

  “I know.” Lloyd spread his hands on the table. “But you have to look at it from the Alliance standpoint. This wasn't a lowlife, shot carrying out a crime. The Judiciary'll ask, and with good reason, why these children were taken out of their culture and away from their parents.”

  “Questions we'll have no trouble answering,” Dan said. “They would've died, otherwise.”

  “But not at Alliance hands.”

  “I don't believe I'm hearing this,” I cried. “How can you—?”

  “I know.” Lloyd leaned on the table. “I agree. Otherwise, I never would've allowed you to foster the children. I didn't think this was going to happen. Clearly.” He sighed. “But it has. And it could be an interplanetary incident.”

  “Wait.” I tried to read his face. “We can't find the next of kin. The nomads we've met want nothing to do with the orphans. And the nomads have no government to sue us. How can it be political?”

  “The nomads—any of them, kin, individuals, groups—would be well within their rights to accuse us of lethal cultural insensitivity,” he said. “Worse. Xeno Intolerance.”