Alien Child

by Pamela Sargent

  She let out her breath, relieved that the weapons were apparently not lethal. “We’ll have to practice,” Sven said. “Hitting a target probably isn’t so easy.”

  “After you have fired approximately forty times,” the screen continued, “return it to its holder. It will recharge within an hour. A reminder—be certain to keep your weapon in its belt when it is not in use. It will not fire unless it is taken from the belt and pressure is applied by your finger.”

  “Where are the belts?” Sven asked.

  “Open the panel to your right.”

  Sven went to that side of the room; the panel slid open. He took out two belts and handed one to Nita, then slipped the other around his waist before sliding the wand into the belt’s leather sheath. “Strange,” he muttered. “They had weapons that could destroy the world, and these only stun.”

  She put on her own belt. The weapon seemed light; she could almost forget it was there.

  She turned and left the room, hating the thought of any weapon at all. She was halfway across the lobby before Sven caught up with her. “I know how you feel,” he said, “but we will need them if we go exploring.”

  She moved toward the doors; he followed her outside. She descended the steps and sat down on the bottom one as he seated himself next to her. “I’ll tell that to myself,” she said, “that I may need it only in the forest and not in here.”

  “Nita, I talked about staying in the tower before. Maybe that’s what we should do. We can tell Llipel and Llare that we want to be by ourselves. They probably won’t object, and it might be safer for us.”

  She wondered if she could hide in the tower tormented by her doubts. “We’ll have to ask them.”

  “I’ll talk to Llare over the screen.”

  “I think I’d rather go to Llipel and tell her myself. She might find it odd if I just ask her over the screen. Anyway, there’s something else I should do.”

  “What?”

  She turned toward him. “I think I should see the cold room now.”

  He shook his head vehemently. “But you don’t know—”

  “Then I’d better find out. It makes more sense than sitting here dwelling on horrible things that might not even be true.”

  “But it might not prove anything even if they’ve left it alone,” he said. “Maybe they just haven’t had to act yet.”

  “At least I could put it out of my mind for now.”

  “If you’re going to go there,” he said, “I should come with you.”

  “No, Sven. You can watch me through the screen, at least when I’m outside the cold place. I think I can take care of myself, but if anything happens, you’ll be safe and can decide what to do then.” She tried to smile. “Do you think I’d do this if I really believed the worst? I have to prove you’re wrong about that, even if you might be right about other things.”

  “Believing the worst,” he said, “may be the only thing that can protect us now.”

  “All the more reason for you to stay in the tower.”

  He glanced at her. “I still think you shouldn’t go alone, but I can’t force you to bring me along, and you have that weapon now. I hope you can use it if you have to.”

  “It won’t come to that. If Llipel says she doesn’t want me to go to the cold room, I’ll come back here. She’ll never know why I wanted to see it.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we can assume the worst, I suppose.” She stood up and began to climb the steps.

  10

  Nita walked slowly through the garden, her body taut with tension. Llipel had no reason to harm her yet and could not suspect her doubts. She would be safer if she acted as though she had nothing to fear from her guardian.

  She hesitated in front of the entrance, then opened the door. The screen inside told her that Llipel was in the cafeteria.

  She went there and found Llipel on the floor, chewing at a flat, bluish cake she held in her hands. A few other provisions from the ship were piled on the table nearest her. She lifted her head and gazed calmly at Nita.

  “Sven and I were in the tower,” Nita said. “That’s where I found these clothes.” She pulled at the sleeve of her red shirt. “We went outside, too, just for a little while—we didn’t go far. We’re thinking of staying in the tower for a bit, just for a change and to be by ourselves. We might—well, we’re thinking of exploring the forest after we’ve learned more about the outside.” Her voice caught in her throat. She was babbling, trying to explain too much.

  Llipel finished her food. Her black eyes widened a little, as if she was concerned. Now that Nita was in her guardian’s presence, her suspicions seemed unfounded. This was Llipel, who had tended her when she was unable to care for herself, who had always reacted to her with gentleness.

  “Will you want the cats in the tower as well?” Llipel asked.

  “Oh.” Nita had forgotten the cats. “I don’t know. We’d have to take them down in the lift every time they want to go into the garden. But it would be nice to have them around.”

  “You might leave them in the garden and bring them to the big tower room when you like.”

  Dusky had never gone to Llipel as readily as to her. Nita had thought little of that before; living with a cat had shown her how independent and unpredictable such creatures could be, and Sven had told her that Tanj was even more temperamental. Now she wondered if the cats had somehow sensed a threat from Llipel and Llare.

  “They were in the courtyard earlier,” Nita said. “I’ll have to get them later.”

  “There is no need. I shall ask Llare to let them into the garden for you.”

  Nita was still standing near the door. She forced herself to move closer to Llipel, afraid as she was of being too near her. “Have you eaten?” Llipel continued. “It is past the time of your midday eating.”

  Nita wanted to bolt from the room. “I’m not hungry. I can eat later.” She sat down as Llipel brushed a few crumbs from her fur; she had never noticed how sharp her guardian’s teeth and claws were before. Since meeting Sven, she had become more aware of the differences between her and Llipel, differences that now seemed ominous and menacing. Would she have been so ready to see them if she hadn’t met the boy? Did being with one like herself have to separate her from others?

  Llipel had said nothing about the weapon hanging from Nita’s belt. Nita gestured at the wand. “Sven says we’ll need a way of protecting ourselves when we go outside, so we asked the mind if it had anything.”

  “Will you go outside so soon?”

  “Oh no. We’ll have to practice before we do, and get used to being outside first. We didn’t want to stay out long, it’s—” Nita waved a hand. “We’re accustomed to the garden and the courtyard. It’s different when there aren’t any walls to protect you.”

  “Then it will soon be time for you to see some of your world.”

  Nita averted her eyes. Llipel did not seem puzzled by or suspicious of her behavior; she did not even seem worried by the weapon. “I really wish we didn’t have to have these wands,” she murmured, “but we should be prepared when we go outside.”

  “Of course. We knew about the room of wands. I would have told you of it if we had gone outside together, but it may be better if you learn of this world with Sven. Be careful—it would be a loss if harm came to you. I want you safe, but it seems it is a time for you to reach out.”

  Her words did not ease Nita. The concern might be false, the kindly words a lie. She could read no hidden meaning in any gesture of Llipel’s; her furred body was still, her hands resting on the floor.

  “There’s something I want to do before I go back to the tower,” Nita said. “I’ve wanted to for a while, but I think this is the time.”

  “And what is that?” Llipel asked.

  Nita took a breath. “I want to see the cold room. I want to go there.” She watched her guardian, expecting to see signs of distress. “I’m authorized now, so I don’t really have to ask you, but I hope
you won’t tell me not to go. I want to see where I was, where I came from.”

  Llipel thrust out an arm, as if pushing something away from herself, a sign of denial. “You should not.”

  Nita’s muscles were stiff. She tried to keep her hand near her weapon without being obvious about it. “Why? I’ll be careful, I won’t make your mistake.”

  “I do not fear a mistake,” Llipel replied. “I fear what you might feel when you stand near all that remains of your people. Your feelings may move you to ask for another to live. We cannot know what that might bring.”

  “I won’t do that,” Nita said.

  “Yet a time may come for such an action. I have thought much about what I once supposed about your kind. I feel that another time is approaching. A new feeling grows inside me that I cannot stop, as if a part of me is awakening.”

  Nita was terrified. Somehow, she managed to stand up; she felt as though her legs would give way at any moment. “I want to see the cold room.” She waited, expecting Llipel to make another gesture of denial.

  “Then you must go,” Llipel said, surprising her. “But I cannot let you go there alone.” She rose to her feet as Nita backed toward the door.

  As they strode through the hall, Nita remained behind Llipel, keeping her guardian in sight. Why had Llipel agreed to this? It had to mean there was nothing to hide, that Sven’s wild suppositions weren’t true.

  They came to the end of the corridor. Ahead lay the exit that led to Llipel’s ship; to the left stood the door marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY with its diagram of a fetus. Llipel turned toward the door and said, “We wish to enter. We want only to view the place inside and what it holds.” She glanced at Nita. “Be careful in what you speak.”

  The door opened slowly. Nita followed Llipel inside, too numb with fright to turn back. Her fear of her guardian had subsided a little; now it was the cold room she feared more.

  They were in a small room. Behind glassy doors, a row of silvery suits dangled from hooks. Globes that might have been a kind of head covering sat above them on a shelf, while a row of boots stood on the floor. “Put on the protective clothing,” a voice said. “Make sure that your helmet is securely sealed by your suit collar.”

  “I came here many times before I understood those words,” Llipel murmured, “before I had enough of your speech to grasp them. The space inside must be kept free of what is on our bodies—the tiny things.”

  “Microbes,” Nita said. Llipel opened the glass panel, pulled out a garment, and got into it quickly. The suit was too loose around her slender torso, while its five-fingered gloves were too large for her six-fingered hands. She held out a smaller suit.

  Nita stared at the silvery garment, wondering what to do with her wand and belt. “Leave your wand here,” Llipel said. “This is not a place for it.”

  She had no choice. She unhooked her belt, laid the weapon on the floor, and pulled the suit on over her clothes. She bent over to put on a pair of boots, then secured a helmet over her head.

  Llipel covered her head with another helmet. The inner door opened. They entered a large room; its walls seemed to stretch the length of this wing. The wall to her left was filled with slots, each with a row of lights beneath it. From the bottom of each slot, slender tubes nearly as thin as wires were connected to curved metallic chambers resting on a platform that ran the length of that wall. Each slot, she knew from diagrams she had seen, held an embryo; a tube would convey it to one of the chambers below.

  The wall to her right was covered with shelves holding glassy boxes of various sizes, each covered with wires and tubes. Through the pale mist inside them, she glimpsed a few creatures that might have been cats, as well as the shapes of other animals she had viewed on the screens—dogs, monkeys, and small birds.

  Llipel gestured to the right. “I found the cat for you there,” her voice said inside Nita’s helmet. “And you were over here.” She motioned to the left. “Llare found the boy at the other end of the room, where it meets the west wing.”

  The lights under the slots had already told Nita what she wanted to know. She thought of the diagrams the library’s records had shown. Had there been no embryos in the slots, the lights would have gone out. But the library and its records had not prepared her for this sight.

  Hundreds of her kind, maybe more, had to be housed here, dependent on the circuits that protected them. She swayed unsteadily. “They’re safe.”

  “Yes,” Llipel said, “safer than they would be inside the bodies of your kind.”

  “Of course they are safe,” another voice said inside Nita’s helmet. “They are stored and ready to be revived. Do you wish to revive one? Say the names of its parents, and it will be conveyed from its container to a womb, to begin gestation. Which do you wish to revive?” The voice paused. “If necessary, I can recite the names of parents, and the requisite facts about each, if you are selecting one for adoption.”

  “No,” Nita said quickly. “We don’t want to revive anyone.” She moved toward the wall, then felt a tug on her arm. Llipel’s gloved hand was holding her; she nearly recoiled.

  “You were there,” Llipel said. Nita saw then that the lights under one slot did not shine.

  She shuddered, as if feeling the cold through her suit. “My parents,” she said. “I think I can ask it now. I might as well know. Who were they?” She shook off Llipel’s grip, then touched the surface of the slot that had once held her. “I was here, and Llipel revived me. Tell me who my parents were.”

  “Your mother was called Juanita Gutiérrez,” the voice replied. “Your father’s name was Robert Kufakunesu. If you would like to know—”

  “Why did they come here?”

  “For the reasons many came—they had hopes for a child but were not yet ready to raise one. At the time they arrived, the Institute was just beginning its work. They were willing to take this chance of having a child they could remove and raise later, when one or both of them might no longer be able to have a child in any other way. They were to contact the Institute when it was time to begin gestation, then return for their child at the time of its birth.”

  “Why didn’t they return, though?” she said. “Was it a war? Did they die before they could come back?”

  “Do not ask this,” she heard Llipel say.

  “I know nothing about any war preventing their return,” the voice said. “My records show that the Institute sent them messages when they were living in your father’s African land. It seems that they had second thoughts and chose not to raise a child. There were others who never returned. Occasionally, those they left here were later adopted by others, but many were not. The Institute expanded enough as the years passed to store more embryos. There was hope all might be claimed in time, and by then some people saw reasons for keeping these specimens of humanity preserved, and envisioned a time when they might be needed.”

  “Because of the last war,” Nita whispered. “Because there might not be anyone else left.”

  “It seems so. There was much talk of a war during the last days people were here, but even before then, many had left this place. Perhaps people no longer needed this Institute. Fewer came, more rooms were closed and left empty, and resources were directed elsewhere, perhaps to their weapons. The Institute’s administrators could find few willing to accept the potential children stored here. Many of the parents were like yours and decided against coming here for their children. In the end, there was only silence for me, until the two called Llare and Llipel came to this place. That is all I can tell you, unless you would like to know more about your parents. I can call up records of them.”

  “No,” she said softly. Her parents had forgotten her; the world had found no place for her. By the time of the last war, she had already been cast away by the two who should have cared most for her. None of her people had wanted her. Only a cybernetic intelligence, following ancient commands, had preserved her. She was alive only because of Llipel, who might finally turn from her, too
.

  Llipel’s arms were suddenly around her. “I did not want you to hear such words,” her guardian said. “I know what it is to seem cast away by one’s kind. I am sorry, Nita. I would close off this time for you and carry you to another, but I cannot. I thought you would be told that the two called parents had died before you were claimed, but this is as painful to hear.”

  Nita twisted away. Llipel pawed at her helmet with her gloved hands in her sign of distress.

  “You should have let them die,” Nita cried. “I’m glad their parents are dead. No one cared about them then, there’s no one left to care about them now. I don’t know why you bothered to raise me.” She panted for breath. “There’s no reason to bother with them now. They can just wait here until the mind begins to fail, or the circuits aren’t replaced, or until everything in this place has vanished or rotted away. They’re already forgotten—they might as well be dead.”

  “Nita—”

  She ran from the room, pausing only long enough to pick up her weapon before she rushed into the hall. As she tore the helmet from her head and was about to hurl it away, she remembered that Sven was probably watching her.

  She moved toward the nearest screen and tried to compose herself. “Sven, everything’s all right. You don’t have to worry. I’ll come there later.” She turned away from the screen before she could see his image, stumbled toward the exit, and went outside.

  11

  Nita circled Llipel’s ship. She had never been this close to it before, but had only watched from the doorway whenever her guardian went out to the vessel. The door had always closed behind Llipel so that Nita could not follow.

  The silver globe was not that large; she doubted that the inside could be much bigger than the room in which she and Llipel slept. How far could the two have traveled in such a small ship? She had learned enough from the Institute’s records about the solar system to know that her guardian’s people had to be from somewhere much farther away. The planets around Earth’s sun were not places where they could have survived easily, if at all. Perhaps they had a base on one of the satellites of Mars, or on Earth’s moon. Maybe Llare and Llipel had a way of communicating with such a base, and had kept that a secret, too.