Alien Child (10 page)

Sven had finished his food; he gazed past her, then picked up his coverall as he got to his feet. “I think I’ll go to the courtyard. If you want, you can come over for our evening meal later.” He paused and looked down at his feet. “I mean—well, I’d like it if you did.”

“Then I will. I mean, I’d like to.”

“Uh, excuse me.”

He wandered off, obviously wanting to be alone at the moment. She sighed, wondering what he thought about when he wasn’t with her, then stood up.

Llipel was standing by the entrance to the east wing. Nita felt a twinge of annoyance; how long had her guardian been watching them? She forced herself to smile as she walked toward Llipel.

Nita looked up from a text on microbiology and noticed that Sven had left the library. She had joined him there right after her morning meal; he had apparently crept from the room before she became aware of his absence.

Maybe he was tiring of her company. In recent days, he had seemed distracted during their talks or the meals they sometimes shared. He often wandered off to the walled-in courtyard, where he was usually exercising or running over the grass when she found him. She had seen him glance toward the wall, as if anxious to see what lay on the other side.

She lowered her eyes to the screen. There seemed to be more that she could not discuss with Sven lately. According to the records, those called women and those called men had led very different lives for much of their history. Often, the men had not even seen the women as people like themselves, and much of the violence the writings mentioned seemed to have been committed by men. Did that mean that men had more times of violence than did women? She could not be sure, but the records also showed that women were capable of abetting men in their violence, and in the end, both had brought about the war. Some stories had told her of women who had urged their mates and sons to fight; a time had come when women and men fought together. The women had become like the men; surely, if her people had possessed more control of their actions, it would have been the other way around.

Sven had to know this; he had read more records than she. But if she spoke to him about it, he might be hurt or angered and think she was comparing him to men of the past. He might even suppose that she was trying to escape her own shame over their kind’s deeds by blaming them on his half of their species. She had seen enough of Sven by now to know that he was much like her, with the same questions, worries, and feelings. She did not want to believe that a difference that existed only so that their people could reproduce themselves could create more barriers between them.

The door slid open. She looked up, expecting to see Sven. Llare entered and sat down on the floor near the catalogue.

Nita lowered her reading screen to her lap. She had not yet spoken to Sven’s guardian except in the boy’s presence. “Greetings, Llare,” she said.

“Sven is not with you.” The fur on Llare’s body was paler and less golden than Llipel’s, but otherwise the two looked much the same. “There was a time when he came here more often. I had to remind him of his time for food or physical movement.”

“The library’s still newer to me than to him,” Nita responded. “He’s seen more records than I have.”

“Perhaps that is the reason he is absent now, even in this time of more togetherness for you.” Llare combed the fur of one arm, then retracted his claws. “Have you learned much from this place?”

Nita nodded. “Yes, but—” She wasn’t sure of what to say to Llare.

“What is it, Nita? Does this remain a time of more questions?”

“I think it’s always a time of questions for us,” she said. “It’s just that so much is missing. Do you know what I mean? There were other places besides this Institute where people studied different things, but I haven’t found much information about them here.”

“Perhaps they had no need to keep such knowledge in this place.”

“It isn’t just that,” Nita said. “I’ve read a lot about what our people did and thought, but I keep feeling that there’s more about them that I don’t see, that isn’t here.”

Llare gazed at her steadily. “And what does this bring you to think?”

“I don’t know. They were driven to do such terrible deeds, but at least some of them seemed to think they could change. I can’t see why they would have tried to accomplish so much if they knew it would be destroyed. And maybe they didn’t all die in their last war. Maybe they were able to stop it before that happened.”

“We saw none of your kind anywhere on this world.”

“You and Llipel came here. Maybe they went to another world.” She was still trying to cling to that hope—that they might have changed and found another home elsewhere.

Llare waved one arm gracefully. “We saw no signs of that, no places that might have held such vessels. That does not mean that there were no ships, only that signs of them are not here. There is a crumbling that comes to things here—a decay. We know that your kind could launch vessels into space. You have seen images of such ships.”

“Yes, I have,” Nita replied. “Some of them were used to send weapons into orbit around Earth.”

“And so perhaps they destroyed themselves completely, before they could leave this world. It is hard to know what to think. Most of their structures are gone, or are only ruins. Perhaps—”

“I keep telling myself that they would have left a message here if they were going off to fight, but the war could have come with no warning. If there had been survivors, they should have come here eventually. I tell myself that, and then I look at the mind’s maps and see how far the Institute was from other places.” She sighed. “I know what they were like, and yet I keep hoping some of them lived. That must seem strange to you.”

“Much about your kind has always seemed strange.” Llare gazed past Nita, eyes unreadable and blank, as Llipel’s were when she was deep in thought. “I shall say my thoughts now. Llipel and I saw many records here. They seemed to say that a time of destruction came to your kind, one that they made for themselves. Then the time came for raising you and Sven, to devote ourselves to caring for you. I believed that watching you grow and seeing how you acted would answer some of our questions.”

“And has it?”

“It has brought more questions. When Sven came to this room of records and learned of his kind, he felt what you call a despairing, but that made it easier for him to bear his life here. He did not long for other companions who might show the violence of your people.” Llare paused. “But Sven could read records I could not, and learned more than I had seen. I saw from what he told me that much about your kind seemed unsaid or was missing. Now I wonder if we have a true picture of your people.”

“Does Llipel wonder the same thing?”

“I do not know,” Llare said. “We do not speak of such matters. We shared some observations of you and Sven, little more—it is not time for more. But Llipel has not gazed at the library’s images for much time, or called them up on a screen. I would not have these new thoughts now if Sven had not shared what he learned with me.”

“And what thoughts have you had?” Nita leaned forward, curious, but also afraid of what she might hear.

“There may be more to your people than this room of records shows. This room does not hold all knowledge about them, and we could not seek out other records in other places while we were caring for you. We thought your kind destroyed themselves. We believed that they must have been compelled to that, as Llipel and I seem compelled to stay apart. We feared the violence that might lie inside you and the boy when you met. But now that you are together with him, I wonder. Perhaps the wars of your people were not actions they had to follow.”

“That’s even worse,” Nita said bitterly. “To think they couldn’t help themselves is bad enough, but to think they chose—”

“This is a world where living things struggle and die and prey upon others, as the creatures in the forest outside still do. Your people were of this world. Your records say that long ages passed until their time of knowing themselves and their thoughts—even then, some of what they once were remained. They might have passed their time for fighting. They might be here, but hidden from us somehow. Perhaps they know Llipel and I are here, and will not show themselves until they know why. I cannot see how they could be hidden, but I do not know all about them. They might have a way.”

Nita shivered, wondering if that could be true.

“And perhaps there is a purpose in the journey that brought me here,” Llare continued. “Was there a struggle for us on our world? Is the space beyond this world a place of struggle? Perhaps destruction has come to other worlds. Perhaps this violence comes to all creatures. Llipel and I do not know our kind, what they are, or what our purpose might be. Another time is coming, Nita—I feel this without knowing why I do. Llipel and I will pass to another time, and I do not know what it will be—togetherness, perhaps, or—” Llare’s claws scratched at the floor.

Nita was afraid to move. Llare suddenly stood up, in one fluid movement. “But this talk brings no answers. I leave you to your records now.”

Nita stared after Llare until the door closed, then shrank back against the couch. Llare had said another time was coming. Perhaps the people of Earth weren’t the only ones who sought the death of others; maybe Llare’s people did as well. She could understand why Llare’s kind might fear Earth’s people; those who could kill so many of their own kind might be merciless toward others. Llare’s people might want to make certain Earth could threaten no one else. Such a goal might have been hidden from Llipel and Llare until they learned more about Earth and any dangers they might face here—or else they knew and had kept their secret. Their gentleness might only be a deception.

Nita imagined other furred beings waiting in ships beyond Earth, waiting for the time when they could at last erase any remnant of Earth’s people, when Llipel and Llare might come to see their purpose. Llare had spoken of a struggle. She thought of Llare’s claws and seemed to feel them digging into her chest.

9

Dusky and Tanj were in the courtyard, prowling near the wall. Nita walked along one tree-lined path, calling out Sven’s name, then saw that he was not there. She hurried back inside and went to the screen near the door.

“Where’s Sven?” she asked.

“He is in the residential quarters on the fourteenth floor of the tower,” the mind replied.

Turning away from the screen, she walked toward the corridor that led to the tower. She had been so preoccupied with the library’s records that she had not yet bothered to explore much of the Institute.

As she strode between the walls of closed doors, she pondered what Llare had said. Nita’s people couldn’t be hidden here in the Institute or Llare and Llipel would have found them long ago. Neither did she imagine that they were lurking outside in the forest; vast as the woods were, there would have been some sign of their presence. But they might have found a way to conceal themselves elsewhere while Llipel and Llare were exploring this world.

She sighed. Perhaps she should not hope that her people would suddenly appear, or come to the Institute to fetch her and Sven. If they were as violent as the records showed they had been, and if they had reason to be suspicious of the alien visitors, they might not welcome two who had grown up with those who could be Earth’s enemies.

Satisfying her curiosity had led her to this—revulsion at the acts of her kind and fear of Llipel and Llare.

She would have to tell Sven of her suspicions; she could not hide her thoughts from him. They might have to leave the Institute if what she suspected was true. But where could they go? How could they hide from the ship if Llipel and Llare pursued them? Where could they even begin to look for others of their kind? What would they do if more of Llipel’s people came to Earth?

The door to the lobby slid open. She walked toward the lifts and entered one, so lost in her musings that she did not notice that the lift had stopped until a voice announced that she had reached the fourteenth floor.

A hallway stretched before her. A door opened; Sven wandered into the hall. She was surprised to see him in a pale brown shirt and loose dark brown trousers.

“Your clothes,” she said.

He started, then came toward her; he was frowning. “If you knew I was here, couldn’t you have told the screen you were coming?”

Stung, she stepped back. “I didn’t think it mattered. If you wanted to be by yourself, you could have left a message on the screen saying so. I always do.”

“It’s all right.” He lowered his eyes. “I’m just not— I’m still used to being by myself a lot of the time.”

“I know,” she said a little more gently. “I’m the same way sometimes.”

“You can stay if you want. I mean, it’s all right with me.”

Sven was holding two objects in his hand that seemed like the foot coverings some of the screen images wore. “Where did you get those?” she asked. “And the clothes—where’d you find them?”

“In here.” He pressed a door open; she followed him into a room. Two small couches and three chairs were grouped together near a window; he led her into an adjoining room, where a platform with two pillows stood against a wall.