Child of Earth (31 page)

During the days, the moms made everyone practice their lessons, we all had our sewing to do, and we took turns cooking. We experimented with different recipes to see what we could do with Linnean food; but we also had to practice making the traditional meals too.

And we had to exercise too. Mom-Trey insisted on that. Not just our fitness and stretching exercises, but also our aerobics and our Tae Kwon Do. Mom-Trey wouldn't let us quit until we had worked up a serious sweat. Everyone had to participate, no exceptions. Gamma and Gampa grunted a lot and the little-uns giggled too much, but everybody did their numbers every day.

The news from the other side of the gate trickled off. We knew that six choppers had crossed over, and three dozen scouts and volunteers. On the evening news, Administor Rance told us that the High Council had accepted Callo City's petition for an Inquiry, but instead of the Council coming to Callo City, the prisoners were ordered east. That didn't sound good. She didn't say anything at all about our
observers
. And that worried us even more. The not-knowing hurt the worst.

Meanwhile, the snow kept coming down.

We'd reached the point where there was little more to say, so we said nothing and did our work in silence, each retreating into our own winter-soul. We had our work to keep us busy, and sometimes in the evening we played games, but it seemed as if our lives were slowing down to zero—a little slower every day, until one day we wouldn't be moving at all.

Most of us hadn't been outside in over a week—and even though there was nothing to see upstairs except snow in all directions, it was still a chance to get away from the sometimes-oppressive closeness of the house. I wished for a window, someplace where I could just stand and look out at the world. Even that would have made a difference.

Auncle Irm said it best one night. He was bitter and frustrated and complaining about being locked in a hand-built sensory deprivation hole. He said, “It doesn't matter how large a hole you dig, or how deep, if all you want to do is jump in and pull the dirt over you. We've dug our own grave here and all we can do is sit and wait to die.”

Under ordinary circumstances, that would have started a fearful argument. But instead, Mom-Woo apparently ignored his outburst and moved quietly and calmly around the room, hustling all the children off to bed. “You too, Kaer, Rinky.”

We complained of course, but it didn't do any good; it never did. So Rinky and I went and made our bed up in the tub. We pulled the curtains closed and tried to hear what the parents were talking about, but it was all an indistinct mumble. We whispered together for a little bit, like we always did, and then eventually, we fell asleep.

The next day, it snowed some more. And the day after that too.

AUNCLE IRM

AFTER THAT, THINGS IN THE BURROW WERE TENSE. All the adults seemed to know something, but nobody was saying anything, so we just sort of moved through the next few days like zombies. We were deep into our winter-souls. It wasn't just the world that was freezing—it was our hearts. We were hardening inside ourselves.

The moms weren't talking, Auncle Irm and Aunt Morra and Uncle Bhetto had gone bitter and snappish, the little-uns were restless and cranky—and I felt like a caged rat. I went back and forth from room to room, up the ladder and down again, back and forth. I felt cramped and angry. My stomach hurt. I missed my da. I wanted to cry. I even kicked the wall, but that made my foot hurt, so I said some maizlish words. Finally, Auncle Irm looked over at me and said, “For the Old Woman's sake, Kaer—stop it! Park yourself in one place or I'll shove you into the potato bin.”

I made a face, I stuck out my tongue. “Thbfffpt.”

Auncle Irm didn't hesitate. Before I could turn and run—there was no place to run to anyway—he scooped me up into the air, and a moment later I came plopping down on Auncle Irm's lap wrapped in a basket hug. There was no escape.

“No,” said Irm. “No. You will learn to manage yourself. No matter what. Whatever it takes.” And then added. “Just like the rest of us.”

“Let me go,” I said. “I don't want to stay here anymore.” I didn't know if I meant Irm's lap, the burrow, the dome or the entire program. I just
didn't want to be
here.
“I'm hungry, I'm cold, I hurt all over. I want to go home.” By now, everybody was looking at me. All three of the moms, Morra and Bhetto, Gamma and Gampa, Rinky, the little-uns, everyone. “Why are we doing this? Why? This isn't any fun anymore. I want to go home.”

“We are home,” said Irm.

“No, we're not. Home is—home is—” I started crying uncontrollably.

Irm just held onto me, rocking me gently in those great enfolding arms. “Home is wherever we are, Kaer. You know that.”

I shook my head. I didn't want to be consoled.

“Shh, sweetheart, shh. Everything will turn out all right.”

“No, it won't,” I sobbed. “Da isn't here.”

“Will crying bring him back?”

I didn't want to answer that.

Irm repeated the question. “Will crying bring him back?”

“No,” I sniffled.

“What? I didn't hear you.”

“No.”

“Thank you. Will having a tantrum make anything better?”

Didn't reply to that one either.

“Answer the question, Kaer. Will having a tantrum make anything better?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

In that moment, I really hated Auncle Irm—for taking away all my reasons.

“Why are you doing it, Kaer?”

I didn't know.

“If it doesn't make a difference, then why not do the happy dance instead?”

That one I knew the answer to. “Because the happy dance doesn't make any difference either.”

“So what? If neither makes a difference, then it doesn't matter. Which one is more fun? Having a tantrum or doing the happy dance?”

I really wanted to answer tantrum, but there was no arguing with Auncle Irm's sideways logic.

“So why not do the happy dance with me?” Irm lowered me to the floor, turned me around so we were facing each other. “Happy, happy, joy, joy!” Irm's great belly shook like pudding. Resentfully, I copied
the moves, and despite myself, I started giggling. Shona and Nona and Mikey came running over and started dancing with us. And then Rinky and Klin. And then everybody was happy-dancing, for no reason at all. And then we were all laughing, for no reason at all. And for a moment, I actually understood. There wasn't anything else we could do; we might as well do this.

Afterwards, still laughing, still smiling, I collapsed back into Auncle Irm's ample lap. “Thank you. That was fun. I love you, Auncle Irm.”

“I love you too, Kaer.”

And then, after another little bit, I asked, “Why were you so unhappy the other day?”

Irm chuckled deeply. “For the same reason as you. I forgot to do the happy dance. Thank you for showing me what I look like when I forget.”

And then, after a longer bit, I asked, “How long do you think Da will be gone?”

“Not too long, I hope. Maybe a Nineday, maybe longer. It all depends.”

“I wish we could have gone with.”

“That might have been—” Irm didn't finish the sentence.

“—Dangerous?”

Irm didn't answer.

“I thought you said it wouldn't be—”

“Well, it shouldn't be—”

“But it is?”

“Probably.”

“I don't care. I still wish we could have gone with.”

“And what would you have done?”

“The happy dance.”

Irm laughed. “No. I mean, on the mission.”

“Whatever I could. That's the Linnean way. Families stay together. We should have all gone.”

Irm said, “Kaer, listen to me. Someday, we will separate. Someday half of this family will cross over and half of this family will stay here.”

“You could come with—”

“Kaer, listen to me. I'll tell you why I was upset. It was because I'm old enough to have learned a very sad thing—that life is about saying good-bye to the people you love, over and over and over again. Someday you'll have to say good-bye to Gamma and Gampa. Someday you'll have to say good-bye to me and Morra and Bhetto. Someday, you'll even have to say good-bye to the moms and to Da.”

“I don't want to say good-bye.”

“Nobody ever does. But that's the way life works. So what do you think we can do about it?”

“I don't know—”

“Yes, you do. You're a very smart child.”

“While we're still together ...” Was I guessing? “—we try to make our time together as special as possible?”

“That's right,” said Irm. “Absolutely right. We give each other as many good memories as possible so we can live on in each other's hearts. And that's why I was upset. Because I haven't always remembered to do that. And I was feeling bad that Da-Lorrin might have gone away without knowing how much I really love him—”

“He knows,” I said.

“I hope so,” said Irm.

“You'll tell him yourself when he gets back.”

“Yes, I will.”

“I hope it's soon.”

“Me too.”

And then we just sat there for a while, rocking and not talking.

THE RETURN

TWO DAYS LATER, I GOT MY WISH.

The snow stopped as abruptly as if Administor Rance had flipped a switch. Maybe she had.

Then, just as suddenly, the video sprang to life and a scout we didn't know told us to dig our way to the surface, as fast as we could. She looked grim, and Mom-Woo immediately cried. “Oh, no. Something has happened to Lorrin. Hasn't it?”

The scout replied quickly, “Nothing has happened. I assure you. But we need you on the surface. Lorrin will meet you. Please get yourselves ready.” And then she blinked out.

But this worried Mom-Woo even more. If nothing had happened, why was Lorrin coming back? Mom-Lu and Mom-Trey and Aunt Morra had already started pulling out boffili robes. “We won't find out anything just standing around worrying. Come on, let's get bundled up and let's get upstairs and find out. Come on, all of you—get ready for Lorrin.”

We climbed up the ladder one after the other, little avalanches of snow tumbling down around each of us. We climbed up out of the ground, up through a tunnel of cold blue snow, and then up into the underside of the great-wagon. It was parked right over the house. Big Jes and Klin had finished the ladder Lorrin had started. It went from the bottom level of our burrow-house all the way up to the underside of the wagon. At least two or three times a day, they went upstairs to check on the wagon and shovel the snowdrifts off the ladder and the top deck and
whatever else they thought might need it. At least, that's what they said, but I figured it was also because they wanted some time to themselves, and the daisy-wagon was a good place for privacy.

All of us would have lived in the daisy-wagon if we hadn't finished the house in time, but it would have been a lot colder and a lot more cramped. With the canvas sides rolled up, we could use the wagon as a high wooden observation platform, and on Linnea that would be exactly what we'd do. The wagon would be our summerhouse. In the winter, however, it was just dark and cold and empty.

We climbed up through the great-wagon, without stopping, up to the second floor, and then from there up to the top deck, where we stamped our feet and shivered. The glare on top was dazzling, and when I stepped out into it, I was momentarily blinded. The sunlight blazed off the snow like a frozen detonation.

And silence. Except for the sounds of our own breath and the crunch of snow underfoot, the world had gone as still as a tomb. In its own bright way, it was even more oppressive than the underground solitude we'd been suffering. All we could see was white silence in every direction.

In dry weather, the daisy-wagon would tower over the landscape like a lighthouse almost five stories tall, giving us a long view over the hills—but now the snow was so deep that it completely covered the wheels of the wagon. In some places, it piled up almost all the way to the top deck. It was dry and powdery and if you fell into it, you'd probably fall all the way to the bottom. But Big Jes wouldn't let Rinky try it.

Aunt Morra shaded her eyes and squinted off toward Callo City. She worried aloud. “How are they going to get a wagon through all this?”

Something made me look at her, and then past her shoulder—toward the part of the dome called “the wilderness.” Nobody was allowed to go there without permission, because it included a lot of test areas for new arrivals, plants and animals. It wasn't officially off-limits, just sort of. That was where most of the boffili and the emmos roamed free, and even the kacks now that the Administration knew the stun-implants worked.

“Not a wagon,” I shouted. “Look—” I grabbed her arm and turned her around to see. There was a blazing orange light in the sky, flying low enough across the snow to stir up sparkling clouds of it in a swirling wake, and all the time wailing like a chorus of banshees.

As it came in closer ... we had to blink and wipe our eyes. It wasn't an aircraft at all. It flew like one, but—it wasn't like any aircraft we'd ever
seen before. It looked like a fiery chariot and it sounded like a sky of demons. And it blazed with color, all red and orange and yellow. The lights glared off of it, and bright beams swiveled and searched in all directions. Whatever it was, the air glittered around it; the snow beneath it glowed with golden reflections. For a moment, I wondered if maybe somehow a eufora had gotten through the gate—