by D M Arnold
“It's not the point.” Rayla put her hand on Grott's shoulder. “We disagree on this. I think the BSS are as anxious to stay the course as are the breeders and brokers. The Termination Act makes it easier for an old and tired-out farmworker to live out his twilight years, all right -- as a servant to some mid-level bureaucrat. Why not give him a pension and a home, and let him live out those years in leisure, instead? That's what the bureaucrats expect -- and receive from this society.”
“Rayla -- I don't know what to say...”
“I'm sorry, Nykkyo. It's not my place to be spouting such.” She collected the bowls. Nyk watched as she lit more lanterns made from tins that had held the pink paste.
“What do you burn in your lamps?” Nyk asked.
“Discarded grease from fry shops outside the Zone,” Rayla replied. “There are a few things still free in this city.”
A rap came on the door above the interior staircase. Rayla climbed the steps and cracked it open. She gestured to her husband.
“Behind here,” Grott said and Nyk crouched behind a hanging blanket.
He heard the door open and heavy footfalls. “Grott,” a man's voice said. “Are you coming to the meeting?”
“You know my feelings.”
“We need you. The others respect you.”
“I do not wish to get involved. I have a family.”
“Grott...” Nyk heard a different voice. “The word is a white's been seen in the area -- maybe a bounty hunter. Watch out for Lise.”
“Lise,” Grott called. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes, Father...”
“We'll keep her inside. Thanks for the warning.”
“You're sure you're not coming,” the first voice repeated.
“I am not. Now, be gone.”
Nyk heard the door close. He peeked from behind the blanket. Grott eyed him. “They're looking for a white. We'll hide you here tonight.”
Rayla approached him. “What did they want?”
“A meeting tonight -- they wish me to attend.”
“You won't,” Rayla replied.
“No.” He looked in Nyk's direction. “Some of the younger ones believe we should ... show the Varadans we're not a force to be trifled with. It's a fools' mission. We don't have enough numbers.”
“Some day,” Rayla added, “the numbers will be there. There are more and more unregistereds. And those unregistereds will have unregistered children.”
“How many live in this sector?” Nyk asked.
“Hard to say,” Grott replied. “This sector was designated to house us a hundred years ago when we were first brought from the farms into the cities. The Varadans turn a blind eye to what goes on within our perimeter.”
“Out of sight -- out of mind,” Nyk remarked. “Tell me, Grott -- are we in the Green Zone?”
Grott nodded. “Once in a while a bounty hunter comes through...”
“Looking for unregistereds?”
“Mostly looking for registereds who've bolted. They seek sanctuary here.”
“Grott is an elder,” Rayla explained. “That's why they wanted him for the meeting.”
Another rap came from the door. Again, Rayla mounted the steps and cracked it open. A number of novonid children descended the stairs. They formed a semicircle on the basement floor. Watching from behind the blanket, Nyk counted a baker's dozen of them.
Rayla passed out booklets. He watched as the children took turns reading aloud from them.
Nyk approached Grott. “I'm amazed. Rayla teaches them to read?”
“Yes,” Grott whispered.
“I was told you ... that ...”
“You were told we can't be taught to read. You were told wrong.”
“Where do the children come from? It's after curfew.”
“From other families living upstairs.”
“How did Rayla learn...”
Grott looked into Nyk's eyes. “Rayla was born on a pomma farm. Like other females, she was being groomed for breeding. The farm's owner had a single child, a little girl of the same age, who became fond of Rayla.”
“And, she taught Rayla to read.” Grott nodded. “And, Rayla has been passing it on to others. Will this help them in finding work?”
Grott shook his head. “No.”
“Why do it, then?”
“Because knowing is better than not knowing.”
“Do you know how, Grott?” He shook his head. “Why not have Rayla teach you?”
“I'm too old.”
“You're never too old to learn, Grott.”
He watched as Rayla's lesson switched to arithmetic. The class ended with her reading a story. She collected the books, hugged and kissed each child and sent them back up the stairs.
Nyk approached Rayla. “May I see one of those?” She handed him one of the little books.
He examined it. The book was hand made, the text hand lettered onto polysheet pages. These had been folded and gathered, then sewn through the sides to form a spine. Pieces of scrap cloth had been pasted on to form covers. “Rayla -- did you make these?”
“Yes...” She opened a basket and withdrew the pattern -- a tattered primary school text book. She touched it to her lips and handed it to Nyk.
He opened it and realized she had copied everything -- the text, illustrations, and page numbers -- from the original. He also realized how she had used the skills and tools available to her to fabricate her copies. He looked inside the front cover and found an inscription. To Rayla love Kimmi.
“Kimmi was the farmer's daughter?” Nyk asked.
“Yes. I imagine by now she has forgotten I existed.”
“She gave this to you. This was hers.”
“Even when I was a child these had fallen out of use.”
“They don't print books any more?”
“It's all gone over to the media screens. Of course we can't afford those. This book belonged to Kimmi's grandmother. She used it to teach me.”
“It's very precious, then,” Nyk said.
“It's precious to me. No one else wants them. You can buy books at some of the junk shops. They sell them by the kilogram.”
“Then, buy some for your students.”
“We can't afford them,” Grott interjected. “Our owner is banking our wages...”
“Toward Lise's registration.”
“He gives us enough to buy our food. I've been using it instead for writing pads for the children. Lise was scavenging expired food when you encountered her.”
“It's stale but edible,” Lise added.
“We really require little to live on,” Rayla continued. “I think it's important to teach our children.”
“I agree,” Nyk replied. “What do others think? Obviously some agree.”
“The whites think it's pointless -- that we can't learn.”
“So, it's not a crime?” he asked.
“A waste of time is what they think.”
Nyk dug into his pockets and retrieved the scrip cards. He handed them to Rayla. “Here. Take these. Go to the junk shops and buy books.”
“I can't accept this.”
“I insist.” He held up a card. “I have enough for my fare home. He slipped the one card back into his pocket. You take the rest. I can't imagine it better spent.”
“Thank you.”
“It's late and I'm very tired,” Nyk said. “I don't know about you, but I need sleep.”
Rayla gestured behind a sheet hanging from the ceiling. “You may bed down there.” I must make my rounds.”
He watched her climb the steps. “Rounds?”
Grott's eyes narrowed. “There are so many more men here than women -- we decided to share them. It helps keep the peace.” He looked toward Lise. “I refuse to share her. A pregnancy would kill her. I'll kill anyone who lays a hand on her ... and they know I will.”
“You love your child. I understand -- I have a little boy at home. I'll turn in -- thanks for the hospitality.”
Ny
k lay on a bare mattress on the floor. He closed his eyes. His exhaustion soon overtook him.
* * *
Daylight streaming through a basement sill window roused him. “Good morning.” He heard Lise's voice.
“Good morning. How's your foot?”
“I still can't walk on it.”
He sat up and saw her sitting nude and cross-legged on the floor by the mattress. He involuntarily scanned her from head to toe, then forced his gaze between her forehead and her collarbone.
What Ogan had told him about the novonids swirled through his mind. What lies they had been told. Why, he wondered, had their designers so carefully crafted them in the human image? Certainly, for field work other patterns would've been more efficient -- a model with multiple arms and hands, perhaps. Or, one with appendages designed to strip pomma kernels.
They had started with a blank slate, free to create from any pattern they imagined. The ones they had used were not based in human reality, but human ideals.
Lise, like Laida, was a beautiful young woman. Rayla, and even Laida's mother had aged gracefully, retaining pretty features and lean, firm bodies. Their street clothes left little to the imagination to begin with. The sex appeal Lise's green, naked figure exuded was not lost on Nyk. Even novonid men were more muscular, more physical ... more masculine than Floran or even Varadan natives. In spite of himself, he appreciated the beauty and sensuality of their bodies, too.
Then, he recalled Ogan's response to his question about a novonid sex industry. Another lie...
And -- something else bothered him... Grott, Rayla and Lise all exhibited cognitive abilities far beyond what Ogan, Alvo and even Ramina had attributed to them. Ramina believed Laida to be exceptional. Now, Nyk didn't know if Grott and his family were also exceptional; or if Laida was merely typical. His suspicions tended toward the latter. He wondered about the so- called conditioning. And, he pondered if they were smart enough to behave in a certain way in front of their masters; and in a very different way around their families and peers. It would be behavior that certainly had its precedents. Lies -- All the lies they had been told...
“Nykkyo,” Lise said, her voice taut and with a trace of a quiver in her lip. “My mother and father have agreed.” She swallowed hard. “I'm yours if you want.”
“Why would they? Why would you?”
She swallowed again. “We are in your debt, and I'm all we have to give.” Her eyes brimmed. “You could've turned me in. You could've shouted and waved your arms at that security cam, or pressed the panic button on the callbox. I'm unregistered, but of age.”
“The authorities would regard you as feral.”
“I'm not. I was born on a pomma farm to a registered female.”
“But, try explaining that. You'd suffer a fate like that girl in the news.”
“There's a bounty on such as me. You'd have received ... twenty times the value of the scrip you gave my mother. You didn't ... instead you gave her money.”
“Lise -- do you agree with this decision?”
She nodded. “Yes -- I do.”
“But -- you're not keen on it, are you?”
A tear beaded down her cheek. “No...”
“Grott said he forbid anyone...”
“He knows it's safe with you -- you can't make me pregnant. He wants to pay his debt. Besides, Grott says my only job will be in the brothels on the edge of the Zone, anyway. I might as well practice.”
“Why would he say something so cruel?”
“Because it's the truth. He is preparing me -- for what lies ahead.”
“Lise -- it need not be that way. A surgeon could tie your tubes. You need not fear pregnancy. You could live a normal life -- pair with a man. Maybe you couldn't bear a child, but I'm sure there are orphaned children here who need someone like you.”
“What surgeon would do this?”
“One like the one who saved your mother.”
“He only did so to appease the farmer's daughter. If I could find one -- how could I afford it?”
“Wouldn't the BSS...” She shook her head. “If I had the money, I'd give it to you.”
“I think you would. What they are saying about Florans must be correct.”
“What are ... they ... saying?”
“That you are soft-hearted fools.”
“Soft-hearted? Perhaps. Fools? I think not.”
“We could've told you anything. Maybe there's nothing wrong with my womb.”
“Are you telling me you're capable of lying?”
“Anyone's capable.”
“Perhaps you can tell a lie -- I don't think you can conceal it. I think Grott and Rayla raised you with too much integrity. Your mother teaching the little ones to read -- that was no lie. I'll bet she taught you to read out of the same books.” Lise stared at the floor. “How many has Rayla taught to read? Fifty? A hundred?”
“Maybe more.”
“Let's say a hundred. I hope each of those hundred Rayla taught goes out and teaches a hundred more ... and each of those hundred, hundred does the same. No, Florans aren't fools. The fools are the ones living outside the perimeter of this zone. Lise, the pleasure of knowing that money went for a good cause is the only payment I require. I consider the debt cancelled. Go put some clothes on.”
Relief washed over her features. She stood and hobbled into another part of the basement.
Nyk arose and stepped from behind the sheet. Lise sat on a stool.
“Let me look at your ankle,” he said, kneeling. The top of her foot and her ankle were thickly swollen and discolored to a muddy brown. “You will need to keep off that for a few days.”
“It feels better than last night,” she replied.
“If you would give me directions to the bus stop -- I'll be on my way.”
She shook her head. “I'm afraid you'll get lost. The way is confusing -- and, dangerous. I dare not go out during daylight, sprained foot or not. I'm safe enough within this compound, but I'd be fair game on the streets.”
“Is there a place where I can make a call?”
She shook her head. “You must wait here until one of my parents comes home. One of them will show you the way. They both work an early shift. They'll be home by mid- afternoon
10 -- Solicitation
“I must get some sun,” Lise said.
“Is it safe for you to be outdoors?”
“Here, yes. Here it's not safe for YOU to be outdoors. Someone might mistake you for a bounty hunter -- a fool-hardy one, at that.”
She climbed the steps leading outside. Nyk followed her.
He looked around in the daylight and attempted to get his bearings. The doorway to the basement led into a courtyard surrounded on four sides by four and five story buildings. Whether they had been built as tenements or had been converted, he could not determine from the exteriors. The condition of the building left no doubt. They had been long neglected.
The courtyard itself was paved in concrete. It was broken and tufts of native plants pushed their way through the cracks. Over a low fence he could see into another courtyard. A group of novonid children played running and hiding games.
She pointed past the houses. “This sector... from there...” She pointed again. “To there... is ours. We have a sort of an agreement with the constables. So long as we stay inside, they won't bother us. And, if the body of a bounty-hunter should be found outside the perimeter...”
“He was foolish enough to violate the agreement.”
“That's right. Don't worry, Nykkyo. No one will bother us in this courtyard.”
He followed Lise to some concrete bricks stacked to form a planter. Growing there were some knee-high shrubs. He looked at the seed heads, with feathery, colored tassels. “This looks like pomma,” he said.
“It's not,” she replied. “It's related to pomma. You can't eat it, though. My mother brought seeds for these from the farm. I liked them so she gave them to me. They're pretty, don't you think?”
“I
thought the tassels looked more elaborate than the ones I saw at the pomma farm.”
“There are three sexes to these plants -- for pomma, too. You need to mate all three in order to have fertile seeds. On pomma, the three sexes grow on the same seed head.” She knelt and pointed to one of the plants. “On this plant, there are three different blossoms... See?”
“Yes... Lise, did you know I am a botanist? Do you know what that is?” She shook her head. “It's someone who studies plants. I have never seen a plant with three genders.”
“Let me show you something else...” She led him to another planting bed. “These are ones I grew from seed. Do you see this color?” She pointed to a lavender tassel. “I made this, by fertilizing a blue flower with red and yellow ones.”
“Blue, red and yellow give lavender?”
“The three genders are male, female and X. The blue has to be on the female side to give lavender.”
“Have you studied this, Lise?”
“Yes. I keep track of the ones I cross, so I can make more. I like pretty things.”
“Lise -- you are doing science. You are figuring out the genetics of this plant.”
She shrugged. “It gives me something to do. We like to be busy in the sun.”
“So I've heard.”
Lise picked up a can and limped to a standpipe. She filled it with water and poured it onto the bases of her plants. “I'll get you more water,” Nyk said, “so you don't have to be on that foot.”
“It's all right,” she replied. “Exercising helps it feel better; otherwise it stiffens up.”
“You need sun -- I need shade. I can't stay in your world's sun very long or it'll burn me.”
“We'll go inside then.”
“But, you need sun.”
“There's always more sun.”
She limped to the doorway to her basement home.
“Let me carry you. Those steps look tricky, and with your foot...”
“Nykkyo -- it isn't the first time I've twisted an ankle... All right, carry me.”
He slipped one arm behind her knees and supported her back with the other. She put her arms around his shoulders. He looked into her orange eyes. She looked into his and smiled. Then, he carried her down the steps and set her onto a stool.