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EarthChild Page 2

by Sharon Webb


  …MO­U­AT-GA­RI IN­COR­PO­RA­TES BIRTH-CONT­ROL. SPE­CI­AL IN­HI­BI­TING ME­DI­CA­TI­ONS MUST BE TA­KEN TO OF­FSET THE IN­FER­TI­LITY THE PRO­CESS CON­FERS…

  He fo­und what he was lo­oking for:

  …WITH THE EX­CEP­TI­ON OF CER­TA­IN OF THE GRE­AT APES, THE MO­U­AT-GA­RI HAS NO EF­FECT ON LO­WER ANI­MALS…

  He scratc­hed the dog's ears. Com­mit­tee mo­aned in ple­asu­re. Let­ting the fle­xi-she­ets drop to the flo­or, he gat­he­red the dog to him, run­ning his fin­gers thro­ugh the ro­ugh co­at. He tho­ught of how fle­eting so­me things we­re. He tho­ught of his fat­her. He sat the­re for a few mo­ments pet­ting his dog, sta­ring at the fle­xi-she­ets, but not se­e­ing them. Fi­nal­ly he fo­cu­sed oh the one that lay on top:

  CO­PEN­HA­GEN-WIT­HIN HO­URS AF­TER THE NEWS OF THE MO­U­AT-GA­RI PRO­CESS DIS­SE­MI­NA­TI­ON, A PI­LOT AIMED HIS SMALL TWO-SE­ATER AIRC­RAFT BE­ARING A WAR­HE­AD OF EXP­LO­SI­VES IN­TO THE MIDST OF A CHILD­REN'S CON­CERT HE­RE.

  THE­RE WE­RE TWO HUND­RED EIGHT VIC­TIMS OF THE RE­SUL­TING EXP­LO­SI­ON AND FI­RE. SE­VENTY-EIGHT DI­ED, THE PI­LOT AMONG THEM.

  HE LEFT A RE­COR­DED MES­SA­GE: "HELL'S DE­MONS HOLD THEM BY THE PRO­CESS. ONLY DE­ATH CAN GI­VE THEM BACK TO GOD."

  Kurt tri­ed to prac­ti­ce, but the pi­ano se­emed ha­te­ful to him just then. He sta­red at the keys and at his bro­ad, tan­ned fin­gers abo­ve them. He had to get his prac­ti­cing do­ne be­fo­re his pa­rents got ho­me. His fat­her wo­uld ne­ed to sle­ep then.

  He tri­ed aga­in, but he co­uldn't con­cent­ra­te on the Bar­tok Su­ite. The no­tes eva­ded his fin­gers. It was a re­li­ef when the do­or ope­ned; it was a tigh­te­ning of his gut too. Not yet. He didn't want to see his fat­her yet.

  But it was his ol­der brot­her Eric, we­aring his track su­it and muddy sho­es, tos­sing his card, his to­wel, his lunch sack on the tab­le, spre­ading an air of che­er­ful di­sar­ray. A smi­le bent his lips and cre­ased the cor­ners of his gray eyes when he saw Kurt. "Hel­lo, old ti­mer."

  A half-smi­le crept over Kurt's fa­ce in res­pon­se. "You too. Old ti­mer."

  "Then you've he­ard."

  He nod­ded, then lo­oked away. "Do­es Dad know?"

  Con­cern cros­sed the cle­ar eyes. "I'm su­re he do­es-by now." He plop­ped down on the pi­ano bench next to Kurt and swung an arm over his hunc­hed sho­ul­ders. "He’ll be happy for us. I know he will."

  "We're go­ing to lo­se him." He felt the arm gi­ve him a ro­ugh squ­e­eze. He tri­ed to smi­le. "Not­hing's the sa­me is it? We're go­ing to lo­se all of them-Mom, Grand­ma-all of them af­ter a whi­le."

  "We al­ways knew that, didn't we?"

  He tho­ught abo­ut it. "I gu­ess so." But the­re wasn't much con­vic­ti­on in his vo­ice.

  "And we've got each ot­her. We'll al­ways ha­ve each ot­her." Eric ga­ve him a play­ful sho­ve. "Now mo­ve over. You've hog­ged the pi­ano long eno­ugh. You're not the only vir­tu­oso, you know."

  Kurt grin­ned, got up, and set­tled on the co­uch as Eric be­gan to play a Cho­pin etu­de. As he lis­te­ned, his cri­ti­cal ear as­ser­ted it­self as it al­ways did. Eric's tech­ni­que was sloppy. He was fa­irly mu­si­cal, but not eno­ugh-not eno­ugh to charm an audi­en­ce in­to over­lo­oking his de­fi­ci­en­ci­es. Kurt watc­hed Eric's long fin­gers swe­ep over the keys, then he lo­oked at his own. He was bet­ter. He had mo­re ta­lent, mo­re mu­sic in him.

  His mot­her knew it too, from the ti­me he'd be­en old eno­ugh to sit at the pi­ano, and la­ter when he'd blown the first ten­ta­ti­ve no­tes in­to an oboe. She'd ne­ver sa­id so; she didn't ha­ve to. He co­uld see it in the way her dark eyes sho­ne when he pla­yed and in the way she pus­hed him, gi­ving him har­der and har­der mu­sic to play, un­til the day she sa­id she'd ta­ught him all she co­uld and sent him to Dr. Ro­uk at the uni­ver­sity.

  A dis­cord clan­ged on Kurt's ear, but Eric pla­yed on, ig­no­ring the mis­ta­ke. Kurt's fin­gers mo­ved on his lap un­do­ing the er­ror, ra­cing on to bring the pi­ece up to tem­po. He won­de­red what it wo­uld be li­ke to chan­ge pla­ces with Eric, see with his eyes, he­ar with his ears. It didn't se­em pos­sib­le that Eric's ears func­ti­oned the sa­me as his. He con­si­de­red the tho­ught. He wo­uldn't want to chan­ge with him-re­al­ly. And yet, if he co­uld ha­ve just so­me of the things Eric had: the free and easy way; the qu­ick sen­se of hu­mor that spil­led over to che­er ot­her pe­op­le when they we­re down; the way he had with girls. Girls. How did Eric al­ways know what to say to them? The right words we­re so hard to find. Only la­ter when he was alo­ne wo­uld things co­me to him-all the funny witty things he sho­uld ha­ve sa­id. Every­body tho­ught he was alo­of. Well, it was bet­ter to be that way than stu­pid, wasn't it? It was bet­ter to ke­ep his mo­uth shut than to let a bunch of dumb words fall out. But may­be when he got to be six­te­en, li­ke Eric, he'd be mo­re li­ke him. He sta­red at his brot­her for a mo­ment and then sig­hed. He wo­uldn't want to bet on it.

  Com­mit­tee's ears per­ked, sen­ding one to stand erect in splen­did asym­metry. He ga­ve a wel­co­me bark and ran to the do­or. Car­men Kra­us pus­hed it open, hol­ding it for her hus­band.

  Eric stop­ped pla­ying and swi­ve­led on the pi­ano bench to lo­ok to­ward the do­or.

  Ric­hard Kra­us. He mo­ved li­ke a pup­pet with stiff wi­re for strings. He le­aned on his wi­fe for sup­port. With bre­ath that ca­me fast with exer­ti­on, he spo­ke. His vo­ice ba­rely car­ri­ed to Kurt.

  What had he sa­id? "What, Dad?"

  "Hot. It's hot." The words we­re an ex­ha­led sigh. He slum­ped in­to a cha­ir and lo­oked up at his wi­fe, "Ho­ney…"

  "I'll get it." She mo­ved to­ward the bed­ro­om and in a mo­ment was back, brin­ging the red me­de­j­ect kit to him. He pres­sed the le­ver and a drin­king tu­be pop­ped up. He suc­ked de­eply. He sat then, not spe­aking, not mo­ving.

  Kurt twis­ted une­asily. It se­emed to him that the si­len­ce was he­avy. Li­ke so­und wa­ves too low to he­ar, slap­ping aga­inst his fa­ce with a slow and ste­ady rhythm. "Did-Did you he­ar the news, Dad?" he sa­id aga­inst the si­lent bre­akers.

  His fat­her's lips ro­se in a part-smi­le, qu­ave­red, fell. "I he­ard." He suc­ked aga­in from the drin­king tu­be, ro­se, and wal­ked slowly in­to the bed­ro­om.

  Car­men Kra­us's dark eyes lo­oked stric­ken. "He's ti­red. So much pa­in…" She smi­led brightly at Eric, at Kurt. "It's won­der­ful news. He's just ti­red." She fled to the bed­ro­om to see af­ter her hus­band.

  That eve­ning whi­le Ric­hard Kra­us kept to his ro­om, the boys and the­ir mot­her ate a light sup­per and sta­red in­to the lit­tle ho­lo set on the tab­le. The news was pre­dic­tably all abo­ut the Mo­u­at-Ga­ri pro­cess.

  The­re we­re ot­her news sto­ri­es too-the stock mar­ket cri­sis and the ho­mi­ci­des. The­re had be­en ele­ven mur­ders in Tam­pa sin­ce mid­night. All of the vic­tims we­re less than eigh­te­en ye­ars old.

  Chapter 2

  Kitty Ta­ran­ti­no sta­red at her na­ked body in the mir­ror. Eight months. Eight months go­ne, and whe­re's the rent co­ming from?

  Her belly rip­pled with the qu­ick thrust of a tiny fo­ot. She ran her fin­gers over the cris­scros­sed stretch marks. They lo­ok li­ke ti­re tracks, she tho­ught. Ti­re tracks on a hill. Li­ke a trans­port had run over her tummy. A trans­port car­rying a lo­ad of wa­ter­me­lons. "Who­ops! Par­don me, lady, but you got one of my me­lons in the­re."

  She cup­ped her hands un­der her belly and lif­ted gently. "Are you ri­pe yet, kid?" She was ans­we­red by anot­her qu­ick kick from wit­hin.

  She thrust her fa­ce clo­se to the mir­ror. It was dark with what se­emed to be an une­ven tan. The wo­man at the cli­nic had cal­led it the mask of preg­
nancy. She aimed an in­dex fin­ger from the hip to­wards her ref­lec­ti­on. "Stick 'em up." The fin­ger wag­gled, "The mas­ked lady and the kid he­re are cut­ting you out, see? So you got­ta die. But you got­ta die la­ter, 'ca­use if I don't sho­wer and get to work, they're go­ing to pink me."

  Wal­king flat-fo­oted, Kitty went in­to the bath­ro­om and tur­ned on the tap. The me­te­red spray trick­led out in a rusty stre­am. "Damn. Don't I pay eno­ugh rent to get wet in the sho­wer?" With the eco­nomy of long prac­ti­ce, she lat­he­red her ha­ir and let it rin­se whi­le she was­hed her body. Do it the ot­her way and get char­ged twi­ce when the me­ter cut off.

  She step­ped out, wrap­ped a to­wel aro­und her he­ad, and drip­ped on­to the mat. It was co­oler that way. She plop­ped down on­to the to­ilet se­at and to­we­led her ha­ir. Her legs we­re get­ting ha­iry as a go­at's, but who co­uld re­ach over all that baby to sha­ve? The ha­ir was dark and thick aga­inst her oli­ve skin. "Re­al­ly sexy," she mut­te­red. "But who's lo­oking?"

  The ans­wer was, con­ci­sely, no­body. No­body sin­ce Je­ep wal­ked out. No­body un­less you co­un­ted the cre­ep or­derly at work. The one with the gre­asy lips and the eyes that lo­oked soft and fat li­ke pe­eled gra­pes. Pe­eled Gra­pes, that's what she cal­led him. P.G., when she wan­ted a la­ugh with the ot­her aides in the lo­un­ge when the flo­or got qu­i­et.

  She fi­nis­hed drying and pul­led on a pa­ir of limp ma­ter­nity pan­ti­es. The front pa­nel snug­ged over her belly. She pat­ted it. "It's you and me, kid." No­body el­se ga­ve a flip­ping shit. But the kid wo­uld. She was go­ing to be the sun and the mo­on to that baby. And la­ter on they'd be bud­di­es. Hell, why not? The­re wo­uld be less than ni­ne­te­en ye­ars dif­fe­ren­ce in the­ir ages.

  She ran her fin­gers thro­ugh her damp ha­ir and brus­hed it in­to a short curly flip. No re­ason why they co­uldn't be bud­di­es. They'd be clo­se. Go to the mo­vi­es. May­be even do­ub­le da­te. Mo­re li­ke sis­ters.

  Her own mot­her had be­en thirty-eight when she was born. Li­ving with her was li­ke ri­ding a rol­ler co­as­ter thro­ugh a net­tle patch. One big scre­am. For God's sa­ke, Ma­ma. Ple­ase ta­ke yo­ur me­di­ci­ne. It was easy to cont­rol ma­nic-dep­res­si­ve psycho­sis. Only one catch. You had to ta­ke a pill.

  Kitty pul­led on her uni­form, ga­ve a fi­nal pat to her ha­ir, and he­aded out the do­or. With the sun glin­ting on her ha­ir and with her fa­ce ba­re of ma­ke­up, she lo­oked clo­ser to six­te­en than ni­ne­te­en.

  She he­ard the tra­in co­ming. "Hold on, kid. We're go­ing to be la­te." She be­gan to run to­ward the Tam­paT­ran sta­ti­on. She ran awk­wardly, one hand clam­ped to her swa­ying belly. With a lit­tle luck she'd be ab­le to clock in on ti­me.

  It had ne­ver se­ri­o­usly oc­cur­red to her that she might ha­ve a boy. It was go­ing to be a cu­te, pink-ruf­fled girl, she was su­re. May­be blon­de li­ke Je­ep, with blue eyes. Mo­re li­kely dark li­ke the Ta­ran­ti­no si­de. It had not se­ri­o­usly oc­cur­red to her that her baby wo­uld be im­mor­tal. Su­re, she had he­ard abo­ut all that last night on the la­te news. But it was an abst­rac­ti­on. A fan­tasy. Oh and ah over it for a whi­le and then set it asi­de li­ke she had her gra­du­ati­on trip to Dis­ney World. Of co­ur­se, she ne­ver gra­du­ated. But so what if she'd drop­ped out of scho­ol in Oc­to­ber. She'd pa­id her mo­ney. Let them try to ke­ep her out when she'd pa­id. So she to­ok the we­ekend off from work and sho­wed up, big belly and all for the trip. And if old lady Ha­mil­ton didn't li­ke it, she co­uld suck.

  She'd had a romp, she told her­self. Un­til she saw the guy that lo­oked li­ke Je­ep. Big and blond with a slow smi­le and a sexy lit­tle butt. Af­ter that it se­emed she saw him everyw­he­re- eating a ham­bur­ger, dri­ving a shut­tle, suc­king on an OJ. Well, who ne­eded him? Af­ter all, she had the kid. She was go­ing to call her Mar­got Lynne af­ter the sin­ger.

  The tra­in swung in a slow arc. The bay glis­te­ned be­ne­ath her. Ne­arly the­re. The mul­ti­lit­hic struc­tu­res of Tam­pa Ge­ne­ral Hos­pi­tal lo­omed ahe­ad on Da­vis Is­land. She swung off at the stop, to­ok a short­cut ac­ross the grass and re­ac­hed the clock in ti­me to avo­id be­ing doc­ked a half-ho­ur's pay.

  The ele­va­tor to­ok her to Med-Surg West. She had wor­ked the­re sin­ce she star­ted. Not that she min­ded. She'd ha­ve be­en bo­red ri­gid if she had the sa­me types of pa­ti­ents all the ti­me. The­re was va­ri­ety on Med-Surg. And you had to be smart too. No dum­bing aro­und.

  When she re­ac­hed the nur­ses' sta­ti­on, she saw a stiff blon­de fi­gu­re. Mar­ge Ri­de­o­ut was in char­ge to­day and wasn't that won­der­ful? Su­per­la­ti­ve. If she had a cho­ice she'd rat­her ha­ve At­ti­la the Hun. Thank God Ri­de­o­ut wor­ked only part-ti­me. Who co­uld stand a we­ek's worth of her?

  Ri­de­o­ut was lis­te­ning to a re­port from the sta­ti­on com­pu­ter cen­ter. She hit the pa­use but­ton and sa­id, "You're la­te, Ta­ran­ti­no."

  "Slow ele­va­tor, I gu­ess. The comp-clock says I'm on ti­me." And who the hell do you think you are? she ad­ded to her­self.

  In ad­di­ti­on to Ri­de­o­ut, anot­her RN, Con­nie Da­vis, an LPN flo­at, and Kitty's best fri­end Jani­ce Mills ma­de up the se­cond shift. Oh yes, and don't for­get the or­derly, Pe­eled Gra­pes. The­re he ca­me-oozing out of the lo­un­ge. What a sli­me. He ne­ver sa­id much, but what he did say was ob­no­xi­o­us.

  P.G. sid­led up to the con­so­le next to her. Be­hind Ri­de­o­ut's back he re­ac­hed out and rub­bed Kitty's belly. She felt her skin crawl. "Hands off," she snap­ped and mo­ved away.

  The ward sec­re­tary ans­we­red a ring on her com­pu­ter sta­ti­on. In a mo­ment she sa­id to Mar­ge, "We're get­ting an ad­mis­si­on. A pe­di­at­ric ca­se. Fo­ur ye­ars old."

  "A fo­ur-ye­ar-old! On Med-Surg?"

  "Pe­die's full," ans­we­red the sec­re­tary. "They've had a run on tra­uma ca­ses to­day."

  Mar­ge Ri­de­o­ut mut­te­red to her­self and then hit the key for a re­port on the child.

  …ANTHONY HER­RE­RA, 4 YO BLACK MA­LE. AD­MIT­TING DX OF RUP­TU­RED SPLE­EN POST AT­TACK BY STEP­FAT­HER. SPLE­NEC­TOMY PER DR. GON­SAL­VES. CON­DI­TI­ON STAB­LE. AD­MIT­TING OR­DERS…

  Fo­ur ye­ars old and daddy rup­tu­res his sple­en. Kitty's arm cur­ved pro­tec­ti­vely over her ab­do­men. No fat­her at all was bet­ter than that. Po­or lit­tle guy.

  Anthony Her­re­ra ar­ri­ved via stretc­her from the re­co­very ro­om a few mi­nu­tes la­ter. He was only half awa­ke. His eyes we­re so big that they se­emed to fill most of his fa­ce. Kitty re­ac­hed out and to­ok his hand. "Hi the­re, Ant­hony."

  He lo­oked at her with fe­ar in tho­se big eyes.

  May­be they cal­led him Tony. "Hi, Tony. I'm Kitty. No­body's go­ing to hurt you." She ran her fin­gers thro­ugh his soft black ha­ir. The boy se­emed to re­lax a lit­tle.

  Out­si­de in the hall, Tony's mot­her sto­od first on one fo­ot, then the ot­her. She clutc­hed the strap of her hand­bag, lo­ose­ned it, clutc­hed it aga­in. Her eyes we­re as big as her son's.

  As so­on as Ri­de­o­ut was thro­ugh chec­king the lit­tle boy, Kitty let his mot­her in­to the ro­om. She didn't se­em to want to talk, but just sto­od the­re squ­e­ezing his hand so tightly that Tony whim­pe­red and tri­ed to pull it away.

  "You can't stay now," sa­id Kitty, "but you can co­me back la­ter. Vi­si­ting ho­urs start at se­ven."

  The wo­man sho­ok her he­ad.

  "Lo­ok. I know you don't want to le­ave, but the char­ge nur­se is re­al­ly strict abo­ut it. We'll ta­ke go­od ca­re of him. I pro­mi­se."

  Do­ubt­ful, the wo­man lo­oked at Tony, then back at Kitty. Fi­nal­ly, she se­emed con­vin­ced. "Se­ven?"

  "You can co­me
back at se­ven. He'll be fi­ne."

  She chec­ked on him se­ve­ral ti­mes af­ter that. Then she went to sup­per. In the ca­fe­te­ria, she tal­ked with an aide from Emer­gency. "You wo­uldn't be­li­eve how rus­hed we've be­en. Strip one stretc­her and as qu­ick as you can get a she­et on it, it's fil­led aga­in. Mostly kids."

  "What's go­ing on?"

  "They're sa­ying it's be­ca­use of the im­mor­ta­lity thing. That Moo-ah Gary pro­cess or wha­te­ver it is. The­re's a bunch of warps out the­re at­tac­king kids."

  "Attac­king?"

  The Emer­gency aide nod­ded over her ham­bur­ger. "It's eno­ugh to ma­ke you sick. One lit­tle girl ca­me in DOA. Only se­ven ye­ars old."

  Kitty's eyes wi­de­ned. "Why? Why are they do­ing it?"

  "Crazy, I gu­ess. Who knows? But bet­we­en the at­tacks and the drunks, it's go­ing to be qu­ite a night."

  Then that exp­la­ins why Tony's step­fat­her hit him, tho­ught Kitty. But then, une­asily, she re­ali­zed that it didn't re­al­ly exp­la­in anyt­hing at all.

  * * *

  The­re we­re a lot of vi­si­tors that night, but ot­her­wi­se things we­re qu­i­et on Med-Surg West. The pa­ti­ents we­re all lis­te­ning to the news. Not­hing el­se se­emed to be go­ing on in the world but the Mo­u­at-Ga­ri Pro­cess.

  Whi­le the vi­si­tors fan­ned down the hall, Kitty to­ok the op­por­tu­nity to slip in­to the nur­ses' lo­un­ge ac­ross from the ele­va­tor and po­ur her­self a cup of cof­fee. Every two mi­nu­tes or so, the ele­va­tor do­ors ope­ned and dis­gor­ged anot­her gro­up of vi­si­tors. One of them was Tony's mot­her. Kitty wa­ved at her, but she was too dist­rac­ted to no­ti­ce. She clutc­hed her bag, tur­ned, and he­aded down the hall to­ward his ro­om.

  Kitty was won­de­ring if she co­uld get away with a se­cond cup of cof­fee when she he­ard the scre­am. It be­gan as a high ke­ening cry that ro­se in pitch and en­ded in a wa­il that ma­de the ha­irs stand up on the back of her neck. The cof­fee slos­hed from the over­tur­ned cup as Kitty ran down the hall to­ward Tony's ro­om.

 

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