H.M. Hoover - Lost Star (11 page)

"You're not going to leave us?" Scotty said as she caught up to Lian and Dr. Farr at the ramp. "You're not going home now?"

"I ... I suppose I am." Lian felt a sudden sharp sense of loss. Her mother's appearance was so unexpected an intrusion in the midst of the morning's excitement that she had not truly absorbed its meaning until now. "I guess so," she repeated numbly.

Dr. Farr looked equally surprised by the idea. "I hadn't thought of that," he admitted. "How stupid of me. Of course that's why she's here . . . why you look so . . . it's not a courtesy call."

"No," said Lian. "Well, maybe in a sense. Otherwise they would have sent Max to get me."

"Oh?" said the man, but Lian hurried off without an explanation.

Lian was a good fifty yards ahead of Dr. Farr
and Scotty when she caught sight of her mother standing alone at the edge of the meadow. Perhaps it was the woman's look of indecisien, or the fact that she appeared physically diminished by the wild, that dissolved Lian's resentment. She called a glad hello and ran up the slope to meet her.

Dr. Webster submitted to the exuberant hug, but Lian could feel the woman's body tighten as if there were a steel armature supporting that softness. The embrace was not quite returned; instead her mother lightly gripped Lian's arms, which made stepping away easier, more graceful, and the girl's clutch seem gauche. Dr. Webster was, her child would realize in years to come, an unconscious expert in the art of inflicting small disappointments.

"You look well—except for that"—her finger not quite touched the nearly healed lip—"and a general state of grime."

Lian could see her own reflection in the sunglasses

her mother wore. There were smudges on her face and clothing from being in the dome. Reduced to the ranks of childhood for the first time since coming here, she automatically began brushing off.

"Your father and I were shocked when we saw the mechanic's on-screen report from the hangar at Limai.
I
'm relieved to see you are safe. The aircar is almost a total wreck."

"I'm sorry." Lian apologized for the loss of the expensive car as automatically as she had brushed off her clothing. And for the same reasons.

"I was lucky," she said, "in more ways than one." Her face lit up as she remembered. "Do you know what we've found?"

"You must see the supernova, Lian." Dr. Webster smiled to soften her dismissal of youthful enthusiasms for the unimportant. "That's why I came. It's quite an extraordinary experience to see the death of a massive star in so spectacular an explosion. We had never seen a supernova before, Ben and I, only remnants of the blast. To see it bloom from a dull red ball into ever-expanding brilliance—"

For want of a better focal point, Lian was still watching her reflection in the left lens of Dr. Webster's glasses, one part of her mind listening, another aware of a sense of unreality. Why had she apologized for wrecking the car? Things that needed feeling were not being felt; things that needed saying were not being said. They were going to be ignored again. Yet they were as real as starlight.

Some old patience snapped in her and she cried out, "Mother, I nearly died! Can't you picture that? Can't you let that be real to you for just a moment?"

In the human silence a bird sang a liquid song. Lian would remember that sound, that stillness broken by her mother's voice. "Yes, I can. And I have. But you did not die. That is the reality. For me to experience your fear would be an exercise in voyeurism— which would in no way alter what happened to you."

"But don't you feel anything?" said Lian, who did not understand.

Dr. Webster took a deep breath. When she spoke, her voice was reasoned, distant. "If I felt nothing, I wouldn't be here, feeling awkward, not knowing how to comfort you."

Without quite believing, but wanting to, Lian impulsively reached out, and her mother eluded a second embrace by catching the girl's wrists and holding them. "Touch does not cross the barrier. Besides, we have an audience," Dr. Webster murmured. "We can discuss this later on the way home."

In honor of the approaching strangers, she flipped up her glasses. Her face wore its public mask. Lian made the necessary introductions.

"Thank you both for your help and kindness to Lian," said Dr. Webster, "and for arranging for the car's salvage. We will, of course, reimburse your expedition for all expenses you've incurred, Dr. Farr, and replace any clothing or supplies Lian has used."

"That's not necessary," he said, "but we would like one favor, a very large one—if Lian agrees. We would like to keep her with us for a time. She's made a great discovery here, and we need her help to take full advantage of it."

"Do you mean it?" Lian said before Dr. Webster could speak. "You'd like me to stay?"

"Very much!" Dr. Farr assured her. "We need your help, your good mind, your rapport with the lumpies—"

"Because of Lian we've accomplished more in two days than we had in the previous six weeks," Scotty explained to Dr. Webster. "Heaven knows we need her if we're going to get any cooperation from the lumpies. They trust her. Not us."

"I wonder why that is," Dr. Farr said thoughtfully and frowned. "We haven't harmed them at all. Have we?"

"No. We've either ignored them or condescended to be amused by them. But Lian looks on them as interest-

ing equals. If you were a sentient alien, to which attitude would you respond?"

"The latter—even if I were human." Dr. Farr laughed at his own joke.

"I think your remaining here is out of the question," Dr. Webster said to Lian after listening to this exchange. "Your training doesn't equip you for this sort of work. And if you've been controlling the animals by making pets of them, surely the same effect could be achieved with tranquilizers. Fm sure that sort of thing is available at Limai—"

"You don't understand," Dr. Farr said. "Hasn't Lian told you?"

"I started to—"

"But we didn't have much time to talk." Dr. Webster glanced at her watch. "It will be nearly dark by the time we get back."

Lian took a deep breath and plunged. "I'm not going back with you today." She had not planned to say that, but once it was said, she felt a great weight roll off her chest. "I think I want to stay here if I can—for a little while—anyhow." It was her first major defiance of authority, and it was scary. "You'll understand when I explain."

Two small white lines appeared at the corners of Dr. Webster's mouth. Surprise, anger, and confusion flickered around her eyes before she could control that self-betrayal. For a long moment she studied Lian with almost clinical appraisal, then turned to Dr. Farr and Dr. Scott.

"This is something Lian and I must discuss privately. If she will walk with me to my car. I won't take any more of your time."

After proper good-byes were said, the archaeologists watched the other two walk away; Lian earnestly talking, explaining; Dr. Webster listening without comment.

Where the path curved and trees threatened to obscure the view, Lian turned and waved. She meant the wave to reassure them of her return and interpreted

their worried expressions as a compliment. "So you see," she told her mother, "we've just begun to understand what happened to the lumpies and why. I'm the first person they've trusted. If I leave now, they won't have a friend. They—•"

"But they are not your responsibility," said Dr. Webster. "In no way does astrophysics qualify you to do social work among regressed aliens. What can you possibly do for them?"

"Understand them. Interpret until we can break their language codes on the computer—"

"You speak their language?" The sunglasses stared at Lian.

"No. ..." Lian hesitated, knowing what her mother's reaction would be. "They are telepaths and I—we can understand each other sometimes."

"You are now a telepath?"

"No . . . yes, a little."

"I see."

"I am not ill, Mother, and I didn't hit my head in the crash. Dr. Scott suspected them of being telepathic long before I came."

"Then why didn't they trust her?"

"I don't know," she said.

"Nor do I." They walked in uncomfortable silence for a time; then, "I don't know what's prompted all this, Lian. Possibly it's an effect of trauma from your accident. The thought of our own death, even when that thought is repressed, does strange things to the mind. But I suspect you are still young enough to be immune from that. I do think it has something to do with your age, with your tendency to be emotional. I don't remember being fourteen—"

"I'm almost sixteen."

"Whatever. But I remember always knowing what I was, what I wanted to be. You have chosen to be an astrophysicist—"

Maybe it was the wrong choice, Lian thought, wondering if a decision made at nine locked her forever into an observatory.

When Lian did not respond, Dr. Webster started to speak, shook her head, as if thinking it would be useless, then decided to try anyhow. "Have you considered this situation objectively?" she said. "Have you considered what the outcome of your involvement might be? You feel compassion for these creatures—and that is commendable. But it could also be very destructive to you. Suppose you find malnutrition has made them as simple as they are reputed to be? There are few things more heartbreaking than an endearing idiot. If wealth of any form exists in that ruin, they may become the victims of whoever tries to take it from them. Historically, lost tribes have had tragic endings once so-called civilized man found them. The same potential for tragedy exists here."

Lian knew from past experience that, given the chance, her parents could convince her of almost anything—and with sound, logical reasoning. She also knew she wanted to stay here and that if she listened too closely to her mother, she would capitulate and go with her. And so she did not listen.

When Dr. Webster finished speaking, the uncomfortable silence returned. The woman admitted defeat. "Perhaps this current interest of yours will soon lose its charm," she said. "I suspect it will. Possibly it will have educational value. More than I would like it to have."

They were within sight of the camp now. The familiar blue executive aircar flashed in the sun, and somehow this gleaming reminder of home made Lian feel guilty. Her mother stopped and turned to her. "I can find my way from here," she said. "To keep our records straight, as an aspiring doctoral candidate employed by the observatory, you have several vacation days earned. Or perhaps we should count this as sick leave." With what could have been shyness, she reached out and patted Lian's cheek, her fingers cool and dry. "I'll keep in touch," she said, and left. She did not look back or wave.

Lian was halfway back to the dome when she heard

the aircar lift off. She looked back to see it rise at full power, swing toward the north like a compass needle, and shoot away over the mountains. The trees around the camp lashed in the jet wind.

The girl grinned in spite of her mood. She had made her mother angry, and the car was suffering for it. "Poor car," she said.

Anger hit the Counter's sensors like static. Narration paused. Glitches marred the viewing screen for several seconds while the Counter analyzed this remarkable energy burst. The Guardian was aware of it, yet did not seem frightened by it. The Counter was impressed. Perhaps such energy could be used. The angry mind receded in the distance, and the static faded.

as she stood watching the aircraft become a

speck in the sky, leaves rustled and Poonie appeared. Immediately behind came Naldo and Cuddles. All three looked very pleased ... and something else, Lian thought.

"Did you follow me?" There was some hesitation, and then to her delight Poonie nodded "yes," as a human would. "You were afraid I was leaving?" Again came the nod. "What would you have done if I had?" she asked and in response saw tears form in Poonie's eyes and spill down the gray cheeks.

This mute grief made sympathetic tears well in her own eyes before she could stop them. "But I can't stay with you forever," she said. "Only for now. Only until . .

But the lumpies wanted to hear none of that, even if they truly understood what she was saying. They gently grabbed hold of her hands and tugged, impatient to get back to the dome.

When they walked in, the big display screen was still

holding an audience of lumpies and tolats enthralled (the lumpies because they understood it, the tolats because they did not). Only Dr. Farr and Scotty remained of the humans.

"You're back!" Dr. Fair's smile exposed both gums. "I'm so glad!"

"What was your mother's reaction to all this?" Dr. Scott's eyes searched lian's face.

«§he—I'm on vacation or sick leave," said Lian, and saw Scotty's face assume a noncommittal expression.

"Oh," was all Scotty said.

"Where did the others go?"

"The novelty of this film wore off, and they went to explore what they can of the ship. So quickly we become bored with wonder and search for new wonder." Dr. Farr sighed. "It's getting a bit tedious."

"I passed the photographer and another man on the meadow. Where do you think they were headed?" said Lian.

"Vincent? Maybe after another camera. I don't know."