Gretchen set the glass down at last, and rose. Oa took a step backward, but Gretchen was no longer looking at her. Instead, she glanced around the room. “I think you have everything you need,” she said offhandedly. “There’s a bathroom just through there.” She pointed to a side door. “I guess you should brush your teeth and so forth. I’ll be back later.”
She crossed the room, the narrow high heels of her shoes making no sound on the thick carpet. She passed the medicator without glancing at its array of drooping wires and tubes, its lifeless readout screen, its scanning hood. She disappeared through the door, and Oa listened to the snick of the lock. It was a familiar sound. She had learned it very well on the ship.
*
SIMON FOLLOWED COLE Markham through the carpeted corridors of the Multiplex, and up to the General Administrator’s office. Markham was new to him, but Gretchen Boreson was not. He remembered her as an intense, driven woman with a quick mind and a burning ambition. He was shocked, when he entered her office, to see how thin she had become, to notice the tremors that marred her features. Then he saw Isabel, and for the moment, he forgot everything else.
She stood by the mullioned windows, her slight figure framed by the rain-blurred view of the city. “Simon,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
He stood still for a moment, drinking in the sight of her. Her collar gleamed white against her black shirt. The carved wooden cross with its twisting flame hung on her breast as always. Her eyes—her magnificent eyes—shone like gray crystals in her slender face.
“Isabel,” Simon said huskily. “Are you all right?”
Boreson stepped forward before Isabel could answer, holding out her thin white hand. “Dr. Edwards,” she said. “It’s always a pleasure to have you here in Seattle.”
Isabel’s eyes flashed something, and Simon turned abruptly to Boreson. “What’s the meaning of all this. Administrator?” he demanded.
Boreson’s extended hand trembled. She withdrew it hastily, and pressed it to her stomach. “Dr. Edwards, I had hoped . . .”
He cocked one eyebrow. “Evidence suggests that ExtraSolar has committed actionable offenses against Mother Burke and against a child, in direct violation of its charters. To say nothing of the guidelines set up by World Health and Welfare.”
“We can explain,” she protested. “There are reasons for everything. There’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding? You mean you did not restrain Isabel Burke against her will? You did not transport an indigenous child away from her home world without demonstrable cause? If not, then, yes, there has been a misunderstanding.” The anger Simon had been containing made his voice hard. He was ready for a fight.
Boreson, though, was not strong enough. Faintly, she protested, “She’s not indigenous,” before her face colored, and then paled, leaving her skin white as paper. She groped for her chair. Her trembling hand did not quite reach it, and she stumbled. The muscles of her cheek jerked, and jerked again.
Simon and Isabel both stepped forward, but Simon was closer. “Administrator. Sit down. You don’t seem to be feeling well.” He helped Boreson into her chair, and touched her wrist with his fingers. It was icy cold. He glanced up at Isabel, and she raised her eyebrows and gave a slight shrug.
Cole Markham, his forehead creasing with concern and confusion, said, “Administrator? Shall I call your doctor?”
Boreson shook her head, and pressed one palm to the side of her face, as if to stop the spasms. “No, Cole, don’t do that. I’m just tired.”
Simon glanced around the office. In one corner was an ornate brass coat hanger holding a black fur coat. “Mr. Markham, get the Administrator’s coat, will you?” he said.
Markham brought the coat. Simon helped Boreson into it, watching her closely as he did so. The spasms in her face seemed random, sometimes jerking her eyelid almost closed, sometimes pulling up the corner of her mouth. Her hands shook as she thrust her arms through the sleeves.
She settled in her chair, the fur collar close under her chin. After a moment, her color improved. Simon said, “Administrator, surely you realized the events here at the Multiplex would attract the scrutiny of World Health.”
“Dr. Adetti will be here in a moment,” Boreson said. “He can explain the situation. We thought—that is, he made the decision to bring the girl here, to Earth, where she could be properly examined. And—and protected. Cared for.”
“Cared for? Was there no one on Virimund to care for her?”
“Please, Dr. Edwards, just wait for Dr. Adetti. He was there, and he explains better than I can. I’ll have some coffee sent in, shall I? And we’ll just wait for him.”
Simon watched her shaking hands tug at the coat, pulling it tighter. Her eyes met his, and then slid quickly away. She made a vague gesture. “I’m sorry. Dr. Edwards. I’ve been tired lately. Cole, ask Cecilia to bring in some coffee, will you?”
Markham hurried out of the office, and Simon turned again to Isabel. She put out her hand. With a wry smile, he took it. “It’s good to see you,” he said inadequately.
“Simon.” She squeezed his fingers a fraction of a second before she released them. “Thank you so much for being here.” She glanced over at Boreson, who sat with her head tipped against the headrest of her chair, her trembling eyelids closed. Isabel murmured, “They’ve taken Oa away, and they won’t tell me where she is.”
He could hardly tear his eyes from her. Her nearness frustrated him. He felt such a strong desire to touch her, to fold her in his arms, that he almost took a step back, away from the magnetic pull of her slender body. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest. “Do you have the rest of the medicator reports?”
She waved at a small pile of cartons and luggage waiting by the door. “In my things.”
“Good.” He glanced over his shoulder again at Boreson. “There’s something very unusual about this child, Isabel. Something—”
Isabel watched him with a familiar intensity. Whenever anyone in their care was in trouble, was in danger—especially a child—he had seen this look. “She’s all right, isn’t she, Simon? Healthy?”
“I think so. I should know more soon.”
Gretchen Boreson stirred, and opened her eyes. Simon turned to face her. “Administrator? When can I see the child from Virimund?”
Boreson said stiffly, “I don’t really know. That decision will be made by Dr. Adetti.”
“Adetti!” Isabel spat the name. “Simon, do you know what Adetti did?”
Boreson said, “Mother Burke . . . please . . .”
Isabel touched her cross. With the deep note in her voice, she said, “He kept her awake, Simon. The whole journey. Fourteen months in space, and no twilight sleep. He put her under the medicator so often she’s terrified of it. He kept her awake with no one for company and nothing to do but be examined like a bug on a slide!”
The secretary came in with a coffee service, and they fell silent while she arranged cups and spoons. When she had left, closing the door behind her, Simon said, “Administrator Boreson, I can hardly beheve that you would sanction such behavior. Did you know?”
Boreson fidgeted, playing with a coffee spoon. “I didn’t know he intended that. Perhaps it wasn’t good judgment on Dr. Adetti’s part—but the situation is unique. We’re struggling with it, too, you understand.”
“Bring her back,” Isabel said simply.
Boreson looked up at Isabel with an ice-blue gaze, and her voice was cold. “Dr. Adetti feels she’s better off where she is.”
“You contracted with the Magdalenes for me to study the girl. Let me do my job.”
“Dr. Adetti says you have interfered with his work.”
Simon cleared his throat. “He had the girl for fourteen solid months,” he said. “I would judge he’s had his chance.”
Boreson tapped the spoon against her desk. Her color had improved, her thin cheeks tinged with pink. “Dr. Adetti says he needs just a little more time. We didn�
�t realize—” Her eyes swept Isabel again. “We didn’t realize that Mother Burke would try to interrupt his research. We will contact her Mother House and cancel our contract.”
Isabel said, “Do have any idea what you’re doing to this child? Do you care?”
Boreson pursed her bright pink lips. “She is being looked after.”
“I—” Isabel began.
Boreson lifted her chin. The skin of her throat pulled in vertical lines. “ExtraSolar received an extraordinary empowerment from the charter regents. Because of this extraordinary situation. In fact—” A gleam of triumph brightened her eyes. “In fact, we’ve applied for approval to bring two more subjects here from Virimund.”
“Subjects!” Isabel exclaimed. Simon touched her arm.
Simon said firmly, “We will take this to a review board, Administrator.”
Boreson stiffened. “You don’t have that authority.”
Simon favored her with his coldest smile, the one he saved for head nurses and recalcitrant bureaucrats. “But I do,” he said. “I have the authority of public opinion. World Health carries a lot of weight with the media.”
Boreson stood up. She turned the spoon in her fingers, and it caught the light, sparkling in her hand. “ExtraSolar has observed all regulations regarding this child. She is not, in fact, an indigene, but the descendant of a colony long believed lost. We are fulfilling our responsibility to the expansion movement to fully investigate the fate of that colony and its descendants.”
“Good,” Simon said mildly. “You can say all that to the review board.”
The administrator dropped the coffee spoon onto her desk with a rattle of silver on wood. “I don’t like being threatened, Dr. Edwards,” she said, with a flash of her old intensity.
He let his smile fade and his own voice grow cold. “And I don’t like being manipulated,” he said. “Isabel, I’ll help you carry your things down. Administrator—” He nodded to her. “I’ll be in touch.”
10
A WEAK SUNSHINE briefly overcame the rain. Isabel tipped her face up to feel it on her cheeks, breathing deeply of the damp air. Simon stood beside her on the sidewalk as they waited for a driver. Boreson’s secretary stood with them, twittering something about linens in the guest suite. Isabel didn’t listen. She would have preferred a hotel or apartment away from the Multiplex, but she wanted to stay close, hoping for word of Oa.
Simon didn’t speak until they were in the car, with the partition to the driver’s compartment closed. “The World Health office will find a room for me by tonight,” he said. “You’ll have to put up with me till then.”
“Of course,” Isabel said. She gave him a rueful smile. “You look tired, Simon.” She thought how ordinary his face was, really, lean, slightly lined, with deep furrows framing his narrow mouth. Those furrows deepened when he smiled, making her irrational heart turn over. It made no sense, of course. But there was nothing rational about falling in love.
He answered her smile with a weary one of his own. “I’m all right,” he said. “But I didn’t sleep much on the plane. Anna was upset when I left.”
A fresh wave of guilt made Isabel’s cheeks hot. “Anna knows . . .”
He nodded, his face grim. “She guessed. And I couldn’t lie to her.” He lifted a shoulder in a deprecating way. “Anna is a remarkably persistent woman. It’s one of her assets.”
“Oh, Simon. I’m so sorry. About hurting Anna—about everything. I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye to you. I just had no words for it.”
He put up one hand. “Don’t, Isabel. There’s no need. I understand.”
She twisted her hands together. “Simon, Oa must be terrified. We have to find her.”
“I’ll call the Seattle office, but what I told Boreson was true. They’ll have to bring the regents together, and for that they have to go through channels.”
“How long will it take?”
The car rolled to a stop in front of a foambrick building. Thick rhododendron bushes flanked its glass doors, and an awning bore the circled star logo. Simon said tiredly, “It can take days, sometimes even weeks, to convene a review board.”
Isabel’s heart sank. “Oh, no, Simon. What can we do?”
“First, I’m going to look at the rest of the medicator reports. Try not to worry, Isabel.”
“I can’t help it.” The driver opened her door, and she climbed out, saying over her shoulder, “She’s just a child, and she’s alone and frightened.” A doorman hurried out to help the driver unload the car, a porter following with a rolling dolly. Isabel watched to make sure that none of the cartons were left behind, and then followed the doorman up the steps. “And I don’t know what they might do to her. I don’t even know why they want her.”
“I don’t think she’s in danger,” Simon murmured as they followed the porter across the faux-marble lobby. “They need her, or at least they believe they do. They won’t hurt her.”
“There are different kinds of hurt, Simon.” She tried not to see the look that crossed his face, the reminder of his own hurt, and hers. She had to concentrate on Oa.
*
OA KNELT TO sniff the white carpet. It had that machine smell, the notfragrance that was now familiar to her. The little bathroom had white towels and bits of white pottery. There was a round mirror on the wall, with a scalloped silvery edge. Oa touched the glass, and put her ear to it, but she couldn’t tell if it was a trick.
She circled the big room, looking at the pieces of bright glass that rested on every surface, in every niche. One was a transparent oblong with yellow and blue blobs suspended in it, looking a bit like blurry fish. Another, slender, with slashes of scarlet and gold, reminded her of sunsets over Mother Ocean. There were others, all different shapes and colors. None seemed to have a purpose.
When she drew near the medicator, she stopped and turned to retrace her steps. She trailed her fingers along the cold glass of the tall windows. The sunshine had given way again to the dreary, endless rainfall. Did it always rain like that here, she wondered? Perhaps the sun of Earth was not very strong.
She looked out over the choppy gray waters of the bay. There were floating craft there, but they were oddly shaped and clumsy-looking, not the sleek, swift canoes of the three islands. These not-canoes were tall, with shahto built right on their decks. They had no oars that she could see and they floated aimlessly to and fro, to and fro, going nowhere. To the north, she saw a building with a great white cross on it, and another with a sort of wheel at the top. She wondered what they meant.
She had been foolish to think things could be different, to think things could ever change. Probably Isabel knew, now, that Oa was an anchen. That she was a not-person. Probably Isabel had let the pale lady take her, bring her here, where the spider machine worked. Perhaps Oa would never see Isabel again. Something hurt in her chest at that thought, and the pain spread up into her throat. She crouched beside the window to rest her forehead on the sill, closing her eyes as she thought of Isabel.
Oa remembered the airy scent of Isabel’s skin, the sweetness of her breath. She remembered the touch of Isabel’s hand in the darkness, warm fingers closing around Oa’s as if they were anchens together. Or people. She thought of Isabel’s house with all the women in it, the priests, and the girls who would be priests. She remembered Isabel kneeling before the tiny flame of her candle, and her prayer that began, “Saint Mary of Magdala . . .”
When Oa stopped remembering, she opened her eyes and stared out over the gray water to the white mountains. She didn’t even have the fuzzy toy now. Oa had nothing.
When Doctor came to make her he down under the spider machine, she found herself wishing the spider machine would take all her blood, take away her mind, suck out all her feelings. She hardly noticed that Doctor no longer wore a quarantine suit, that his bare fingers were cold and hard. It didn’t matter.
*
ISABEL AND SIMON spread the medicator reports on the table, the couches, the chairs, t
he floor of her suite. For two hours, Simon pored through them, while Isabel unpacked her things in one of the two bedrooms and then stood by the window, holding Oa’s teddy bear. The little soft, inanimate thing felt lonely in her hands. She set it in the windowsill, face turned out to the flat roofs and narrow streets. The rain had closed in again. She could barely make out the outlines of the Seattle hills rising beyond the Multiplex. It lent a feeling of intimacy to the room. If she hadn’t been so worried about Oa, it would have been a perilous feeling, she and Simon alone together. But at this moment, Oa was all she could think of.
In the late afternoon, she ordered coffee and a plate of sandwiches. When they arrived, she set them on a small side table and went to touch Simon’s shoulder.
“Simon, you’d better take a break. You must be exhausted.”
He was bent over a sheaf of flexcopies laid out on a chair. “You’re right,” he said, straightening, rubbing his back. “In any case, just as you said, the figures hardly change.”
“What do you think is happening?” Isabel poured coffee for both of them as Simon came to sit across from her. Isabel avoided Simon’s eyes, aware of their closeness. “Oa is well, Simon, isn’t she.”
“I don’t find anything to indicate otherwise.” He took a sip of coffee, and leaned back with a sigh of fatigue. “Your instincts were right about the hormone levels. They’re remarkably stable. And look at this—” He reached behind him to snag one of the flexcopies, and ran down it with his forefinger. “This designation—” He tapped an entry that was a mix of letters and numbers. “It’s an antibody the medicator doesn’t recognize. Monoclonal, apparently, so I would guess it’s a specific immunological response, undoubtedly to a virus native to Virimund. It could be the reason Adetti kept the girl in quarantine. You were with her for four days, right?”
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