Annah and the Children of Evohe

by Clay Gilbert

  -assuming they’ve got someone who knows how—-and do what they want. Unless we stop them. Right here, and right now.

  Outside the observation window, the flash-fires of repulsor cannons had stopped, and the station was no longer shaken by shockwave blasts. There’d been casualties on both sides. Homesec was used to the old ways of “shock and awe”, but the Ghost Knives, not to mention the people of Holdfast, weren’t shocked or awed very easily. And Goodman knew Homesec didn’t have much experience in dealing with enemies who had no fear of them. To make matters worse, Goodman knew that back on Earth, Homesec would be pitching this as a holy war; firing the homo sapiens (“human” was becoming a word Goodman was hesitant to apply to many of them) up with a mix of quasi-religious fervor, rage, and fear.

  “What kind of energy readings are we getting from the Homesec fleet?” Goodman heard Bey asking from the ‘com.

  “Half-power on the flagship, three-quarters on most of the smaller craft,” Goodman answered.

  “And on our birds?”

  “More than half at full power. The station cannons, too.” “They’re wearing themselves out,” Bey said. “Going for the kill. Fighting like soldiers.” Goodman could hear the grin in the older man’s voice. “You unlearn that, in our line of work.”

  Just then, a voice that wasn’t Bey’s cut across the stillness on the ‘com. “Station Aurora-One, this is Commander Stelson of the Earth Preservation Force flagship Everlasting. The Portal you’re squatting at, and the station you’ve commandeered, are the rightful property of the Homeland Security branch of Earthgov. Stand down and surrender them, or prepare to face the consequences.”

  “Stelson,” Goodman said, “we’ll be doing no such thing. Holdfast”-the planet hadn’t been referred to as Aurora-One since it had withdrawn from Earth control a few decades earlier and Goodman knew his use of its current, and proper name would piss Stelson off—-“Holdfast hasn’t been an Earth colony for a while now. And Portals have never been any one government’s property—or is the Treaty being revoked as part of that other stupid law you’ve just rammed through the Congress?”

  “I’m losing my patience, Captain Goodman,” said Stelson, as if to intimidate Goodman by emphasizing his Homesec rank. “Oh yes, I know you. The Commander is very disappointed that such a good officer has turned traitor.”

  “The Commander, and your whole government, are the real traitors here,” Goodman said. “ We are just protecting our own race,” Stelson thundered. “Don’t you remember what happened at Headquarters? Those bugs killed the Commander. That was an act of war.”

  “It was an act of two half-cocked jackasses from out on the Edge,” Goodman said. “One of ‘em had had his brainpan fried fighting for our side in the last Big War. Probably figured we owed him something. Maybe we did. The other one was just some hotheaded kid; some kind of amateur anarchist.”

  “You call thatfilth-a kid?” Stelson spat through the ‘com. “I sure do. Kid’s a kid. Person’s a person. No matter what color their skin is or how weird they might look to you or me.” He thought of the young Evoetian girl, Irie, who had seemed so taken with him. Then he thought of Annah, still out there waiting for Holder.

  “They hate Earth,” Stelson said. “They all hate us.” Perfect, Goodman thought. He’s still listening. He knew Bey would be monitoring the conversation from on board the Entropy Rose. Right about now, thought Goodman, he’ll be sizing up the Homesec fleet formations; figuring out how to take as many of their birds out as he can. Stelson’s voice still droned away on the ‘com. It was a standard Homesec tactic, using sound and voice to disorient an opponent—either with anger, if they understood what was being said, or with fear, if they didn’t.

  “Surrender the Portal,” Stelson said again. “It’s too important to the defense of Earth.” “Is the Treaty broken, then?” Goodman heard Bey ask. Goodman thought of his ancestor; how he’d done his best to bridge the gaps in understanding between Earthers and Offworlders, not blow them wide open like this asshole wanted to do.

  There was no answer to Bey’s question from the Homesec flagship.

  “You can’t have Holdfast, or the Portal,” Goodman said finally. “It doesn’t belong to you. And my best friend died making sure it’d stay that way.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, and his,” Stelson said, sounding nothing of the kind. “And maybe it doesn’t belong to us, technically. But it’s too big a threat to homeland security now.”

  “Whose homeland, and whose security?”

  “Mine,” Stelson said, “and yours.”

  “Not mine,” Goodman said. “Not anymore.” “I’m going to give you all one last chance, Goodman,” said Stelson. “You’ve got a good record in the service. I’d hate for you to throw all that away. Give Earth what we need to win this war.”

  Bey, thought Goodman, you’d better know what you’re doing. All at once, through the station’s observation window, Goodman watched as the Ghost Knives’ entire fleet disappeared, like a whole sector of stars going dark without warning.

  “Well, at least your friends have some sense,” Stelson said. Then the ‘com went dead. Goodman opened the station cannons on a small group of Homesec ships he knew Stelson must have ordered to stay out of the mass now circling and preparing to seize the ruined Portal. In another instant, though, that was no longer an option. The Ghost Knives fell upon the Homesec fleet like hawks with talons of fire, tearing them out of the sky one by one, until only the flagship remained.

  “Go home, Stelson,” Goodman said. “You’re not going to win here. And one more thing,” he added. “You let the Commander know that this Portal is protected, and that any of his men who come here after today won’t be coming home.”

  “All right, I’ll tell him. But there may be some people you care about who won’t be coming home, either. You know how that feels, though, don’t you? Yes, we know what happened to Holder. And we’ve learned some things. Keep this up, Goodman, and there’ll be a lot more on both sides not coming home.” In another moment, the flagship’s thrusters fired and it sped away, bound on its course back to Earth.

  “We won that one,” Bey told Goodman over the ‘com when the last of the Homesec ships had been swallowed by the black. “But barely.”

  “They’ll be back,” Goodman said. “I don’t think they’re done with Holdfast yet. But if they’re really looking into Holder’s case, there’s something else they’re going to be looking into. Two things, probably. And one of them, I need to tell you about now. I probably should have mentioned it a long time ago.”

  * * * Goodman was not sure how to gauge the expression in Bey’s eyes when he’d finished telling him the story of how the ‘marble’ had come to be in his possession, and how he and Holder had ended up on the run together. What Goodman thought he saw there was a look both of surprise and understanding—at least he hoped so. Goodman held the tiny blue orb up between two fingers, so that Bey could get a better look at it.

  “There was an old Earth poet,” Bey said, “who wrote once about showing someone ‘terror in a grain of sand.’”

  Goodman smiled. “William Blake, right. Bein’ out in space gives a man a lot of time to read, if he’s so inclined.” Bey laughed. “Aye, it does. I think this little bauble is pretty close to what ol’ Bill Blake was talkin’ about. From what you tell me, it’s a molecular poison, meant to bond to non-human DNA. Correction. Most non-human DNA. Even the HPF aren’t smart enough killers to figure out how to do the whole job yet. It’d still be an ugly business if this had gotten to Earth like that goon Caminos had wanted it to.”

  “Caminos wasn’t even the real ‘goon’,” Goodman said. “It’s the fuckin’ Commander of Homesec who wanted this made.”

  “We’ll have to hope he only had one,” Bey said. “In any case, we’ve got this one now. We’ve got some guys around here who really know their shit with chemistry. And this little killer-with a bit of modification-could be a lifesaver for Holdfast. It could be a protect
or, not a killer. But we may have to wait to see. Thanks, man.”

  Goodman smiled, then grew somber again. “What’s the situation around here?” he asked. “I mean, I want to stay. I want to help out-this is something I really believe in. But there’s something I need to do. Can you guys do without me for a week or so?” He laughed. They’ve been doing without me for years, of course. But he didn’t know any other way to say it, and he didn’t want to just go without a word.

  “If there’s something you need to do,” Bey said, “take care of it. We’ll be here when you get back.” “All right,” Goodman said. “And thanks.” It was not even first-light when Annah awoke, the dream of Holder still filling her senses.

  Her skin still tingled where he had touched her. It had felt as strong and real as her Visions did now, but she knew it had not been a Vision, not even one of those that came at night, and had felt like dreams until she had learned to tell the difference. The realization made her feel as though it were again the day Holder had left Evohe with Goodman and, as though it were a dying star falling up into the great darkness instead of coming to the ground to find its final sleep, she had watched the receding light of their ship until it was gone. She had not felt his touch now—-not even the touch of his mind—-for three dances of the moon from full to dark and back again. It was as if something had hidden him from her—perhaps, she thought with a flash of fear, something stronger than distance. She was learning so many things she wished she could share with him. Just the other morning, in the learning-circle, they had talked of Memory

  “Come, Annah,” Serra said, sitting down on a stone near the place where Annah lay. “Come and have a bite to eat. I have been picking sweetglobes this morning, and they are very ripe. It will be first-light soon, and we have much to do.”

  “Very well,” Annah said, stretching and rubbing the last of her sleep, and the dream, from her eyes.

  Serra glimpsed the troubled expression in the seedmaiden’s eyes. “You dreamed of him again.”

  “Yes,”Annah said.

  “How long has it been since you talked to him in truth, in your Visions?”

  “Quite a while,” Annah admitted.

  “You have told me that there have been times before when, due to distance, you could not hear each other.”

  “That is so,” Annah said.

  “And the closeness you feel for him, in your heart—it is not diminished?”

  “No,” Annah said, without hesitation.

  “Then keep your hope, child,” Serra said, “despite what others-despite what even I-may say.

  Trust your bond with him. Trust what your senses tell you when your heart is calm, and still.” “I will,” Annah said, smiling a little. The connection was still there, and her resolve remained. I do not believe he is gone, whatever anyone may say. I will not believe it.

  Annah let the taste of the sweetglobe she chewed soothe her. In the learning-circle the day before, Serra had spoken to the group about the legends of their people. One of the others, a seed-youth with reddish hair and eyes brown as the leaf-showers in the season of Evenfall, had said his family called sweetglobes by another name-’memory fruit’, a speech-melodyAnnah found as pleasant as the taste of the fruit itself. His name was Keleth, and his family was strange, he said. “My mother and father were lore-keepers in the High Country, from families of lore-keepers before them.”

  “The High Country?” Annah had exclaimed, so that the others laughed—all but Keleth himself, who only smiled. She had heard stories of the High Country; it bordered the grasslands and hills of her own Grove to the North, while the flatlands lay to the east. She had sometimes imagined it; mapping it in her mind the way she did all the places of the world she had never seen. She thought it must be a place where the First Ones had pulled the very ground into the sky. She had heard it said that they had done this so that those who lived in those eastern lands might be closer to them. Annah did not believe this. The First Ones loved all their children equally. Still, she thought she would like to see the great mountains. She had seen them in Vision, once or twice.

  “Let him finish,” Serra said.

  “I am sorry, Keleth,” Annah told the brown-haired seedyouth.

  “It is all right,” he said. “You are Annah, are you not?” She stared at him in surprise. “I am. But how did you know?”

  “I am a number of cycles younger than you, and when I was a bloomling, my mother and father told me there was a strange seed-maiden living alone in the homeground closest to the Elder Grove. They called you”-Keleth voiced a series of notes that were plaintive and discordant, like a scale of sobs-’Girl who walks with no one.’ I asked around, and one of the Elders told me your name. They’re not all the same.”

  Annah glanced at Serra, smiled, then looked back to Keleth. “Finish your story. I would like to hear.” She found herself oddly drawn to the younger boy. It was not the sort of affection or attraction one felt for one’s mate—it was not at all like what she felt for Holder, even in his absence, nor was it even that tingling that accompanied the mere attraction of one body to another. Instead, it was as if she had recognized a member of her own family.

  “My parents were lore-keepers, as I said,” Keleth continued. “My whole family, in fact.” Keleth looked at Annah, who was still listening in fascination.

  “There are those who claim that each family has a Talent for a certain craft, and that it cannot be changed. But I know they are wrong.”

  Annah knew the tales of the Talents, and how the First Ones had planted them in the spirits of all Evohe’s people. The stories were sung to every bloomling in their mother’s womb, and heard again in the learning-circles. “How do you know such a thing?” Annah asked Keleth. The lore about the Talents, and their presence around her, had both fascinated and frightened her when she was very young. It seemed every other bloomling of Laughing Waters Grove had a clear talent that fit the patterns in the song-tales she knew so well, but she herself had none of these. Annah had always, and only, loved to sing, from the time she had learned she could. It hurt her that something which gave her such joy and which was so seemingly rooted in even the short notes of melody in which her people spoke-was thought of as impractical or even dangerous. She wondered if Keleth might have felt something like this once; felt as though something he could do had no value-at least none recognized by others. “Tell me,” she asked again, “how did you know?”

  “My parents,” Keleth said. “They were Lorekeepers, like I said, in the High Country. But after the Stillness came to their part of the world, they learned to be Greenworkers, and to call life and seed out of even soil thought to be barren.” He laughed. “History means little without seeds to sustain a future-or the present.” Greenworkers, thought Annah, hearing the unfamiliar tones spill from Keleth’s lips. Greenworkers are, if not exactly Shapers, still, they are very, very close. Memory opened within her, like the very seeds she imagined Keleth’s parents planting. It was all one Path once, a long time ago. All the Talents had a common Pattern, and we were all Shapers, then—before we even had a word to call it. We did not need such words, then.

  “Are you all right, Annah?” Keleth asked. She looked at him, only then realizing how deeply the trance had drawn her. She smiled. “Yes, I am fine. It is good to know that change can happen, is it not?”

  Keleth nodded. “Indeed, it is.”

  What other Talents do we have among us?” Serra asked the rest of the gathered seed-youths and seed-maidens. “I am a Word-weaver,” said a dark-haired, dark-eyed seedmaiden seated across the circle from Annah. She looked embarrassed at the confession, and Annah felt a rush of sympathy. Word-weaving was as dimly regarded by most in the Grove as songcraft was. Annah had never even seen a written sheaf of words before she met Holder, and certainly could not write, herself.

  “My name is Liara,” the seed-maiden said. “I am sorry. I know that my Talent is a strange and impractical one, since our language is seldom set down to be seen. I do not
know why it ever was. It is so beautiful to hear, among ourselves, and surely others do not care to know of our world or ways in our own telling. My Memories of the Breaking have shown me this.”

  Annah reached out to touch Liara’s hand. Liara was much younger than Annah herself was; all of these in the circle were. But her Memories! I did not remember the Breaking until only a short time ago.

  “I know I must seem strange,” Liara said. “Even my parents, who love me greatly, do not see the value in a Talent such as mine.”

  “There is value in all Talents,” Serra said. “Those that are not common are no less useful. We merely have to find what they are for. How old are you, Liara?”

  “I am thirteen cycles old,” the seed-maiden said, “and I have just begun my Becoming. But my Talent began very early.”

  “Age is not a sign of worth,” Serra said.

  Annah was trying to be quiet and merely listen, but her curiosity burst inside her like spark-showers from a hearthfire. Just as Keleth had, Liara stirred a feeling of kinship within her. In fact, the younger girl seemed a great deal like she herself had been when she was a bit younger. “Do you mean that you are, or will be, a Lore-Keeper? My friend Moren-”

  Liara giggled. “I know Moren. Laughing Waters is not a large Grove. But no, I do not think that the First Ones want me to be a Lore-Keeper.” Liara pulled her small body up straight, and Annah could not help noticing the curves of her hips and budding breasts; the evidence of her Becoming already clear even at this young age. She will be beautiful, Annah thought. She already is. There will be no need for her to feel set apart; no reason for her to look beyond this Grove for her happiness.

  “But I already have felt set apart,” Liara said. “So many words crowding my head; so many thoughts that are mine but not-mine all at once, all calling to be set free. There are few who feel such things. I can only imagine what it must feel like to feel such things, and be alone.”

  Annah smiled. “I do not feel so alone, anymore. But even being alone has its purpose. Perhaps if I had never been alone, I would not be here now. But why do you think you will not be a Lore-keeper?”