* * *
Lydee’s friends had joined the ongoing party by the lake, wandering from boat to boat until they arrived at her dock. Globes of light floated near the water, illuminating Lydee’s boat as the group clambered on board. The light overhead had been dimmed and the people around the lake were enjoying the darkness of night.
Lydee settled the four young people on cushions, summoned food and drink, and let them chatter. Nara and Tila described a butterfly-filled garden they planned to tend together while Pilo offered a few suggestions and Jerod mentioned a design of stones he might embed in the garden’s paths.
During a lull in the conversation, Lydee cleared her throat. “The lattices,” Tila murmured. “Lydee can design the lattices, maybe weave the vines.”
Lydee said, “I’m thinking of going back to Earth.”
Jerod was still. Nara’s mouth opened slightly; Tila’s arm froze as she was about to pour more wine. Pilo drew up his legs slowly, wrapping his arms around them.
“Reiho’s old mentor is going, and I think she’ll be happy to take me with her.” She waited, expecting them either to change the subject or to make up reasons for leaving early. “I had to tell you. You would have found out soon enough.”
Jerod said, “I’m not surprised.”
“Well, I am,” Nara said quietly.
“I suppose you think I’m foolish to consider it,” Lydee said.
Jerod shook his head. “No. May I speak honestly?” He looked around shyly at the others. “When you first came back, you tried to act as though you hadn’t really changed, but I knew that couldn’t be after what you went through. I wanted to reach out to you, but I was afraid to do it. You might have misunderstood. It seemed that you wanted us to be as we were and yet you seemed unhappy with that. In a way, I was almost disappointed that you didn’t ask more of us.” The boy seemed flustered; he rubbed at his jaw, then folded his arms. “When I saw that you were really going to stay, I wondered what it meant — perhaps that you were rejecting Earth and wanted us to do the same. But it isn’t that, is it?”
Lydee was silent.
“You’re running away. Somehow Earth must have opened up parts of yourself you didn’t want to know, so you retreated, like a child clinging to the nursery or to a mentor. I think you must have grown to love that world, but there was too much of this one in you to let you admit it. And you didn’t want the responsibility of trying to work with them, or even with us, and maybe making a mistake. You were afraid.” He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m afraid, too. That talk of seeding another comet — it would just be running away.” He shaded his eyes, as if ashamed of having said so much.
Nara stood up and lurched toward the dock. Pilo reached for her, pulling her down. The white-haired girl shivered.
“Well,” Tila said nervously.
“Well,” Lydee said.
“I suppose,” Tila murmured, “you must be used to that sort of frankness after sharing your thoughts with others.” She pulled at her long, brown hair. “Fears should be kept to oneself, shouldn’t they?” She turned toward Jerod apprehensively.
“No, they shouldn’t,” he said abruptly. “They fester.”
“It wasn’t just fear we shared,” Lydee responded, “or anger or hatred. There was friendship and love, too. A girl there was my friend, and I cared for a boy.” At last she had admitted that to them openly. “They read my thoughts and knew what I was inside, and yet they cared for me anyway.”
“I see,” Pilo said. “Maybe they are your true friends, then.”
“Maybe they are. I came to love the boy, in my own way. Not that it matters now. I was ashamed of it when I came back.”
“It must be hard to share thoughts so readily,” Tila said.
“It is. Even the Earthfolk can’t always do it easily. One has to be honest, even about hiding one’s thoughts. They always know when you’re hiding them, you see. Here, we pretend we don’t know.”
“It frightens me,” Jerod said. “Some on this comet are already trying to share their thoughts and use their powers. Sometimes I fear that if others saw my mind as it really is, they would hate me, and at other times I’m afraid I might lash out at them.”
“We’ve lived without such powers all this time,” Nara said, “and our lives have been good.”
“Homesmind has waited for this,” Lydee said. “It knew we would have to communicate with Earth again, It knew I would have to go back, and I suppose It prepared me for the journey all my life somehow. We grew up together, so It must have prepared you, too. You may be capable of more than you realize.” She sighed. “I must go back, and eventually, others may follow.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go,” Pilo whispered.
“I have to.”
“You could help us. We could consider these matters together.”
“You can still speak to me through Homesmind. You might even want to come to Earth sometime.”
Jerod shook his head. “Not right away. Maybe not ever.” His voice had resumed its old, steady tone. He raised his glass. “We should celebrate. You mustn’t return without happy memories.”
She reached for his hand and held it tightly.
* * *
“Go on,” Etey said. “I need some time to prepare myself.”
Lydee nodded, sensing Etey’s apprehension. She climbed out of the shuttle and walked by the side of a ditch toward the village. The air was warm; the grass on the meadow had brown and yellow patches among the green.
Homesmind had prepared her for what she would find. The huts on the village’s periphery were already crumbling; several had holes in their roofs. The path she was following through the town was green with weeds, while briars and unpruned flowers had taken over gardens. She had not thought so much could change in only a year.
As she came nearer to the public space, she noticed more order; here the paths had been kept clean and the gardens tended. Chickens clucked as she passed; she sensed the murmur of minds. But the village’s Net was now only thin threads.
Cerwen, Leito, and a few other Merging Selves sat in the open space communing with Reiho. Cerwen looked up, smiling when he saw her; Leito held up a hand. Lydee touched their minds gently. They were speaking with Earth’s Minds, learning more of the past; their thoughts seemed sharper and more angular.
— There is sorrow in what we have lost — Cerwen said as he caught her thoughts. — But we have found some joy in what we are learning. Welcome back, child —
She withdrew and turned to greet Nenla and Kal as they entered the public space. The red-haired woman hurried toward her. — We’ve been waiting for you — Nenla said.
— I didn’t realize how few of you were left — Her mindspeech seemed awkward; she would have to get used to it all over again. — You’ve lost your village after all —
— It will change. More children will be brought here, and the village will grow — Nenla’s words were tinged with doubt. — We have already had one village ask us to accept a child born as a separate self, and others are sure to follow —
— But why did so many leave? —
— It’s best that most live elsewhere — Kal replied, — to help others through this period. But I know that there were also many who wanted to leave a place that reminded them of the sorrows they once felt. They are part of another Net now —
Lydee thought of Marellon and then hid behind her wall.
— My brother is far from here — Nenla said; she had touched the memory before Lydee could hide it. — He went with Luret and Wiland to a village far to the south. I hope he has found some happiness there —
— Don’t you know? You can speak to him, can’t you? — The Minds, she knew, could now link one village to another without the aid of Merging Selves.
— I could. But he has not spoken to me or reached out to us, and I have come to think he needs his time of forgetfulness. Luret and Wiland are now partners. Perhaps Marellon has found someone by now —
Lydee stared a
t her feet, hiding her thoughts.
— Did you think he would wait when he believed you would not return? A love like that must be put aside, or it poisons. You may call to him if you wish — Nenla thought more kindly. — You have the power. You might have spoken to him from the comet, but you did not, I see —
— I don’t want to cause him more pain —
Kal patted her shoulder. — Rejoice with us — the dark-haired man said. — At last we’ll have another child — He touched his partner’s belly. Lydee tried to smile.
Reiho stood up, leaving the Merging Selves to their thoughts. His hair was shaggier, his brown tunic frayed at the edges; he looked like another villager. He went to her and gripped her by the shoulders.
— I’m glad you came back, Lydee —
— I suppose it is my home, after all —
— Are you going to stay? —
— Yes, I suppose I shall. But I thought there would be more for me to do here. It doesn’t seem that you really need me —
Reiho shook his head. — It may seem peaceful now, but that’s going to change. Tomorrow, I’ll be fetching a child from the south, and there will soon be others, more solitaries. At least this time the parents welcomed the child’s birth, for they think the baby will be happy here — His mood darkened. — I know that others have been killed. We learned of that too late before we could stop it, though we probably couldn’t have prevented it without force and might have made things worse if we had tried. There are still many who can’t accept the new way —
— There must be something you can do —
— What? — The word pricked her. — We’ll have enough to do helping those who ask for our aid. We can’t save everyone. That was a hard thing for me to learn —
She put a hand to her head, feeling dizzy. Reiho led her toward a hut as Nenla and Kal joined the Merging Selves, and seated her on a bench near a rosebush. “You’re not used to mindspeaking, I see.”
“I spent a year without it.” He sat down next to her. “I longed to reach out sometimes, but knew I would only drive others away if I tried. Now I’m here, and I find that there are always walls. I could never become a Merging Self, I’m sure.”
“Nor could I.” He glanced at the old people. “They fall more often into their private thoughts now. I wonder if that’s how it will be for all Merging Selves.”
“Reiho, I’m worried. So many on the Wanderer want nothing to do with all this.”
“I know.”
“Genlai wanted to die. She meant it this time.” She paused. “I suppose that’s what made me decide to return, in a way. I had to show her and the others who felt as she did that I wasn’t running away, too. At least now she’ll wait.”
He took her hand. “I must tell you something to cheer you. Harel and Silla have a child at last. Silla gave birth yesterday.” He winced at the mention of that subject.
“A normal child?”
“A solitary.”
“Then it will be the first child to live here. I should go visit them.”
“I wouldn’t advise it. Daiya and Harel told me to keep up my wall and sent me away from the hut when it started. It’s still hard to think of it — having children that way. Daiya chides me because I can’t give her one, so her sister’s baby may fill that need for her.”
“I’ll have to get used to it, so I may as well face it.” She shuddered as she rose. “I’ll go to them. Etey is waiting in the shuttle — I’m sure she’ll want to see you now.”
* * *
Silla was outside her hut, apparently over the rigors of birth. She sat by her garden holding the child, a squirming, bald creature clad only in a piece of cloth around its bottom. Lydee saw that Silla had bared her breasts; the baby was suckling. She covered her mouth, shielding her mind until her nausea passed.
“Greetings, Silla.”
The woman looked up. — You may mindspeak with me. I no longer fear your thoughts —
Lydee shook her head. “I must get used to it again.”
Silla’s lip curled. “You mean you must get used to this, and hide your feelings.” She gestured at a bare breast. “You skydwellers are squeamish.”
The child gurgled, gazing up at Lydee with Harel’s blue eyes. A pale rivulet trickled to its chin; it smelled of urine. She wrinkled her nose, trying to block the odor.
“She’s a girl,” Silla continued. “A solitary. She is Anra SillaHarel. Daiya chose the name, though I had hoped our mother’s name would go to a normal child.”
“But you know that she won’t remain that way. When she has her implant, her powers will be like yours.”
“She’ll have a crutch, you mean, like a cripple. I have tried to accept her, but I reach out and she can’t even sense my thoughts. It’s hard to form a bond. I see why it’s best that such children be with others like themselves.” Silla pulled her shirt down, then rubbed the child’s back. “Daiya tells me that the world will come to accept such separate selves and will commune freely with them, but I’m not so sure. Reiho hopes for others to come here from the sky, but when I touch his thoughts, I see his doubts.”
“Some will come here eventually.”
“I don’t think they should. Let Reiho or your world’s Mind teach the people here how to give such children their crutches. Then you can go back to your own world.”
“But we want these children to be part of both worlds.”
“They’ll never be that. I think that they’ll always be separate both from this world and from yours. They will be like you, Lydee.”
It was the first time Silla had used her name. “And what am I like?”
“You look for a purpose. You try to fill the empty spot I see inside you. Your mind has sharp edges and is filled with strange thoughts. You divide time into segments and see a line stretching from one place to another instead of an eternal cycle. You separate yourself from this world with machines and devices, and think we will come to do the same.”
“I might become more like you.”
“But you’ll never be one of us, and you aren’t a true skydweller, either. You’re an exile.” Silla shrugged. “Well, I have a child, poor creature that she is, and there will be others. Maybe they won’t be like this one, though if they are, we’ll send them here.” She rested the child’s head on her shoulder. “Harel and I will soon go to another village, and leave Anra here.” There was a note of triumph in her voice; Daiya, too, would be left behind. “That will be best. She’ll be with those like her.”
Daiya and Harel were walking toward them along the path, carrying buckets of water. They smiled when they saw Lydee, but showed no surprise; they had already known she was there.
Silla stood up. “Take her.” She thrust the baby at Lydee, who held Anra gingerly, uncertain about what to do with her. The baby wailed; her covering felt damp. Lydee made a face; Anra screamed. Daiya laughed as she set down her bucket.
“I have much to learn,” Lydee said, handing the child back to Silla. “I can’t even hold her without making her cry.”
Harel went to Silla and took his daughter from her. “You’ll learn,” Daiya said. “The Merging Selves have raised many children and they’ll show you what to do.” A wistful look passed over her face as she gazed at the baby.
“You don’t need me for that. Our teachers and guides should come here — they know more than I do.”
“You will learn.”
Harel crooned to Anra, rocking her gently in his arms. Daiya beckoned to Lydee; they began to stroll along the path toward another hut. “Anra will come to see us as her parents rather than Silla and Harel,” Daiya said.
I shouldn’t have come back, Lydee thought to herself, already feeling useless as she followed her sister into the hut.
* * *
Lydee sat on the hill. Daiya’s old hut had become only a heap of bricks; vines had begun to sprout along the remaining wall.
In the distance, Daiya was walking along the riverbank with Etey. At least Daiya had fo
und some contentment; she had been sharing a hut with Reiho. Her feelings for him might be feeble compared to what she had once felt for Harel, but Reiho too was still learning how to share himself. He would have no time to concern himself with Lydee.
She could go back to the comet; her friends there would understand. Earth would be a series of images in Homesmind’s thoughts. Here, she was in the way, someone to be given useless tasks to keep her busy. She had felt the pity of the remaining villagers.
The sun was setting. Those tilling the fields put down their tools and walked toward the huts. Perhaps she should rebuild Daiya’s old house and live outside the village as her sister had.
She heard a faint hum, and looked up. Reiho was returning from the south, where he had gone that morning to bring back a child. His shuttle floated over the hill, dipped toward the meadow, and landed near the fields. The door opened. Reiho got out; a pair of hands handed him a small bundle. A parent, or someone else willing to help with the children, must have returned with him. She turned back toward the river.
— Lydee —
The thought was faint, but clear. She raised her head, sensing a familiar mind. Three people were standing next to the shuttle; as she watched, they lifted themselves and began to fly toward her. She clasped her hands together.
— Marellon — she called out.
He soared, dived, then alighted in front of her as Luret and Wiland landed next to him. Their minds sang as they ran to her; Luret and Marellon embraced her as Wiland stood to one side.
— Reiho told us you’d come back — Luret said. — He spoke to us through the Minds and stopped for us on the way back. We had to come when we found out you were here —
Lydee swallowed, unable to mindspeak. She had not told Reiho to do that.
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