Alien Nation #1 - The Day of Descent (5 page)

“And is becoming an Overseer something that is to be taken so lightly as to inspire you two to . . . playfight?” D’wayn asked.

Vornho and Buck bowed their heads as if they were wired together. “No, Watch Leader,” they mumbled.

Vornho risked looking up. “The girl . . . she said she wanted to be an Overseer so she could . . . look after her
parents.”
He shot his head down again.

“I see,” D’wayn said coldly.

Buck didn’t like the thought of the young girl being punished for something so trivial. “Please, Watch Leader,” he said, peering up without raising his head too far. “She’s just a kid. She didn’t know how any of this works.”

D’wayn stepped in front of Buck and lightly tapped him on the shoulder with her prod. Buck twitched, though the metal tube wasn’t even turned on to minimum charge.

“Are you trying to
explain
something to me, Watcher Finiksa?” she asked.

Buck dropped his head even lower. He could see no way out. Overseers
never
explained anything. In their ranks it was the equivalent of mutiny. In the Watcher Youth Brigade it was cause for expulsion. And those who were expelled by the Watchers might just as well step into the recyclers, for they would never be accepted again by either the Overseers or the cargo.

“Were you?” D’wayn demanded.

Buck’s voice was like a croak. “I was just trying to report all the details, Watch Leader.”

After a long, long moment of anticipation Buck felt the prod lift off his shoulder.

“Very good, Watcher.”

Buck was afraid to look up.

“I said very good, Watcher. Watcher Finiksa? Do you enjoy making me repeat myself?”

Buck brought his head up. Watch Leader D’wayn was smiling again. She winked at him, then turned to make sure all the others were paying attention.

“Now you all be sure to remember this, children,” she said. “As Watchers your function is to be the eyes and ears of the Overseers. But . . . the best watching in the ship is useless if you do not combine it with full and detailed reports to your superiors. Do you understand?”

A mixed chorus of young voices saying “Yes, Watch Leader” came back, almost too faintly to be heard above the background hissing and gurgling of the immense vats.

D’wayn smiled broadly and nodded her head, creating fleshy rolls under her chin. She went over to the quaking child still standing by the railing.

“Now is this the little troublemaker responsible for all this commotion?” she asked. The words would be enough to purge the flanges of any child, but the Overseer spoke them in the same way a parent spoke nonsense to a baby.

Buck watched with horrified fascination as D’wayn lifted the girl in a careful embrace. He would not be surprised to see the Overseer toss the child into a meatgrowth vat below.

But D’wayn affectionately brushed her knuckles against the girl’s temple. “What’s your name, little spotty head?”

“Hambli,” the child whispered.

“Well, Hambli, I understand that you want to help your parents. Is that true?”

By now Hambli had her hands pressed tight against her mouth and could only nod in the Overseer’s embrace. That’s it, Buck thought. She’s used protein for sure.

“Well, that’s an admirable thing to want to do,” D’wayn said earnestly. “It’s a good thing to care for your family.” She glanced at the rest of her charges. “Isn’t it, boys and girls and
binnaum-ta?”

The children nodded, and Buck relaxed. Hambli wasn’t going to end up in the vats after all. He could see the lesson that D’wayn was about to teach. It was taught to all in the Watcher Youth Brigade.

“But you know,” the Overseer continued to the little girl lost in her arms, “I don’t think you know just who your real family is. Take your parents, for example. They aren’t your
real
parents.”

Hambli’s eyes looked as if they might explode.

“No, no, no,” the Overseer said kindly. “We just found out about it a few shifts ago. Your real parents were brave Overseers who fought valiantly in the Tromus IV mine rebellion. The bad male and female who you
think
are your parents
killed
your real mother and father and then
stole
you when you were no more than a podling.”

Buck could see drool running down Hambli’s chin from her open mouth. She had stopped shaking, completely enraptured by the Overseer’s melodious voice.

“And you know why that bad male and female did that, spotty head? Do you?”

Hambli bowed her head quickly.

“Because . . . they wanted to
trade your protein for extra food rations!”

The younger children gasped. To encourage full reuse of all supplies, everyone on the ship was entitled to get as many extra ration credits as they could by bringing unclaimed waste to the recycling stations. For some reason Buck had yet to understand, that led many parents to make jokes about trading in misbehaving children at the stations the same way they might trade in uneaten meatgrowth for fresh slabs. And Buck had heard from many other kids who claimed that they knew someone who had a brother or a sister who had been recycled by desperate parents. He had never really believed those stories, but if an Overseer said it was true . . . who really knew?

“And that’s why we asked you to come out on this tour,” D’wayn said to the girl. “Because we know that you’re much better than your pretend parents. And you deserve to know who your real family is.” She let the child slide gently from her arms and deposited her safely on the catwalk. “So you’re absolutely right to want to look after your family. That’s a very good thing. But—you have to know who your
real
family is.” D’wayn gazed down at the small child. “Do you know who your real family is now?” she asked.

Hambli nodded.

“Then tell me,” D’wayn said.

“The Overseers,” Hambli whispered, barely making the click at the end of the word.

D’wayn clapped her hands, and some of the children around her jumped up and down excitedly, making the catwalk rattle and tremble. Just as there were few things worse than an angry Overseer, there were few things better than a happy Watch Leader.

“Very good, little Hambli! Very, very good!” D’wayn slipped a hand into the opening of her tunic, looking for something. “I just knew you were so much smarter than those bad, bad people who stole you from your real parents. I just knew it.” With a flourish she drew out a small green wriggling form that Buck recognized as a
tadlin.
He had loved those when he had been a child, and, like all real, unprocessed food on the ship, they were only available to the Overseers.

“Go ahead,” D’wayn said to the child. “Take this treat for being such a good good girl, and we’ll have a long talk about your parents later. Okay?”

Hambli tentatively brought the twitching creature to her lips. Buck saw her whisper a few quick words to thank Celine for this gift and bless the
tadlin,
and then she hungrily placed it in her mouth and sucked hard. Her delighted grin was contagious, and the other children began asking for treats as well.

As D’wayn doled them out Buck wondered how it could come to pass that people so evil as to steal a podling would then turn out to be the type of parents who would teach their child to say the blessings of Celine. It was a big ship, and there was still a great deal he didn’t understand.

Vornho nudged Buck as the
tadlin-ta
were passed out. “I thought she was going to be tomorrow’s extrusion,” Vornho said.

“Me, too,” Buck agreed.

Vornho kept his eyes on the young girl. “I wonder if we’re related.”

“You and Hambli?” Buck asked.

“Yeah. My real parents were Overseers. They got killed on Tromus IV, too.” Vornho nodded at the thought, even though Buck quickly realized that the math didn’t work out. Hambli was eight. Vornho was eleven. Surely he’d remember if his parents had been killed when he was three. After all, if they had been Overseers, he would have been raised in better quarters, with better food and—

“So, have you two calmed down a bit?” D’wayn asked as she came over to them again. The rest of the children happily sucked and chewed their
tadlin-ta.
A few leaned over the railing and spit bones into the vats, laughing as the workers desperately tried to fish them out with stirring paddles. If the contamination levels were too high on any batch, the workers had to go without food rations until a replacement batch had been cultured—a process that could take up to twenty shifts.

Vornho squared his shoulders. “I apologize for disturbing the tour, Watch Leader.”

Buck said the same.

But D’wayn waved her hand, dismissing their words. “There’s nothing wrong with a little boisterousness from time to time. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your duties, correct?”

Buck and Vornho nodded, two bodies with a single mind.

“And how are those duties progressing, boys?” Her smile left her. “Anything to report?”

Before Buck could speak, Vornho jumped in. “I overheard two water workers talking about diverting some flow to . . . uh, level fifty-seven,” he said.

D’wayn looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fifty-seven? You’re sure about that?” Vornho nodded. “Do you know their names?”

“No, but I’d recognize them again. Their quarters are near the
sawtel
hall by my crèche.”

“You two like to play
sawtel,
do you?” the Overseer asked.

“A lot!” Vornho said.

“A little,” Buck confessed. Using a stick to hit a ball through an overhead net struck him as a waste of time, but he didn’t want to appear too different from the others. Moodri had told him that that was important, too—not standing out.

“Maybe this will help your games go a bit better, then,” D’wayn said. She pulled two small packets from her tunic and handed one to each boy.

Vornho and Buck took the packets with trembling hands. Though they had never seen it before, from the distinctive iridescent purple luster of the small lozenges that lay within the crinkly transparent wrap they knew exactly what it was.

“What do you think?” D’wayn asked them. “Are you old enough?” Then she laughed as they earnestly nodded. “Well, don’t take it here. You run off now. Give it a try, see what you think. Maybe find yourself a good game of
sawtel.
Or a girl who’s . . .
sleema.
You understand
sleeeema,
don’t you?”

Buck had never heard an adult use the word with that intonation before. He assumed it was play hall talk. Just for kids. But he knew what it meant—a girl who would couple for reasons other than those that had to do with bonding. It was hard to imagine that such females existed, but Vornho said he had a friend who knew someone who—

“So what are you waiting for?” D’wayn said, pointing back along the catwalk with her prod. “I can handle these podlings on my own. You two go enjoy yourselves, and I’ll see you at the
luff
crèche in two shifts.”

The boys turned to leave, both clutching their crackling packets in tight fists.

“Oh, and Vornho,” D’wayn said abruptly. “Level fifty-seven? You’re certain that’s where the flow was to be diverted?”

“Yes, Watch Leader.”

“Good work,” D’wayn said. Then she looked directly at Buck. “We could use more of it.”

The boys bowed, uncertain what other response might be expected. But apparently nothing else was required. D’wayn waved her prod again and then went back to her charges, who were busily tormenting the vat workers below.

As one, Buck and Vornho ran back along the catwalk. They didn’t stop running till they came to a ’ponics hall and ducked into a passageway that ran between two towering walls of transparent crystal. Beyond the walls multicolored
sleefa
plants grew from an intricate network of crystal pipes that carried water and nutrients. The soft rush of the water and the transparent walls made this a good place to have private conversations—no one could get close enough to overhear a whispered exchange without being seen. Only here did Buck and Vornho dare unclench their fists and gaze at the prizes their Watch Leader had given them.

Vornho tightened his lips and gave off a short ultrasonic whistle. Buck tapped the packet in his palm, feeling the shape of the purple lozenge, wondering if he had the courage to unseal it.

But Vornho had no doubts. He split the packet and held the lozenge between two fingers. It glittered in the bright life-giving lights that flooded the ’ponics hall. The pure ultraviolet blended in with the other frequencies was beginning to make Buck feel light-headed.

“This is amazing, Finiksa. This is . . .” Vornho’s teenage vocabulary apparently was exhausted as he contemplated the wonders that the lozenge could bring.

“Eemikken\
.” Buck said quietly.

The Overseers’ drug. That which gave them their power. The antidote to the holy gas of obedience.

“Open yours,” Vornho said. “Let’s take it together.”

Reluctantly Buck split the packet.

Vornho stared at his friend in amazement. “What’s wrong with you,
siiks?
Don’t you know what this means? It means the holy gas will have no effect on us. It means we can say no if we want to. It means we can do whatever we choose whenever we choose to do it. Andarko! We can even do what D’wayn said—find some
sleema
females and
couple,
Finiksa.” He waited for some indication that Buck might share the excitement he felt, then frowned, stuffed the lozenge in his mouth, and swallowed.

Vornho took some deep breaths, looking around the ’ponics hall. His dry scalp almost glowed pink and brown under the intensity of the
sleefa
feeding lights. He gestured at the lozenge in Buck’s hand. “If you don’t take that, I will.”

“It’ll only last for half a shift or so,” Buck said.

“We’re only Watcher Youth,” Vornho sighed greedily. “When we get to be Overseers, we can take it all the time. They all do.”

“Not ‘when,’ ” Buck said as he brought the lozenge to his lips. “By taking this, we
are
Overseers.”

“Then act like one.”

Buck placed the lozenge on his tongue. It had no taste.

“Tastes great, doesn’t it?” Vornho asked.