The Golden Space (25 page)

Emily’s green eyes glittered. For a moment, her face seemed younger in the evening light.

Thérèse spoke. “The woman can still stay alive. She can still be helped. It’s her own fault if she gives up. More is known now, isn’t it?”

Emily smiled. “You don’t understand. Hope was too painful. Even healthy ones sometimes seek death, even now; you know that. The evil hasn’t disappeared, but it, too, has its consolations, even its own beauty. Flowers are beautiful because they die, aren’t they? And isn’t there a special poignancy in thinking of something you’ve lost? It’s a mercy. That’s what people used to say about death sometimes—it’s a mercy. It was a good death. He didn’t linger, he isn’t suffering now, he’s gone to meet his Maker, he’s cashed in his chips, he didn’t overstay his welcome, he’s gone to his reward. Many of the old expressions were quite cheerful.” She lowered her chin. “There is little new knowledge now, only tinkering, little workshops where they play with genes and make things like those.” She waved a hand at one of the kobolds. “Something else died when we decided to live, and that was the possibility of great change. There is no hope for the woman, but it doesn’t matter. There is a happy ending, you see. There, I’ve told you a story. Now you can tell me one.”

Silas looked up at Andrew apprehensively. Andrew lifted his head, unable to gaze directly at Emily. “We don’t have a story,” he mumbled.

“Come, now. Of course you do, all alone in the middle of nowhere without your Bonds.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Maybe your girl friend has one, then. Don’t you, Terry? Why don’t you tell it?”

Thérèse held out her glass. “Give me a drink first.”

“You’ve had quite enough,” Emily said, but she poured more wine anyway. Thérèse rose and walked over to the window; the dark-haired kobold moved closer to the woman. Thérèse turned around.

“All right. I’ll tell you a story.” She took a breath. “A girl was living with a man. She’d lived with him all her life. He wasn’t her biological father, but he was the only parent she had ever known. He’d brought her home and cared for her ever since she’d been born.” Her voice shook a bit as she spoke.

“A rather abrupt preface,” Emily said. “But do go on.”

“At first, he was kind. Then he changed. He began to come to her room at night. He’d make her do things, and sometimes he hurt her. It got to where she sometimes even liked the pain, because he’d be sorry for a while afterward, and he’d be nicer when he was sorry, and do what she wanted. But then it would start again. She tried to run away, but he hurt her badly, and she was afraid to try again. It was all her fault. That’s what he made her think. Everything he did was her fault, because something in her led him to do it.”

Thérèse’s voice did not tremble now; it was flat and toneless. She perched on the windowsill; her face was shadowed.

“She was still growing. She began to change. The man didn’t like that, because he didn’t like women, only girls. So he began to give her the same thing that kept him young. It was tricky, but he managed. No one found out. They lived alone, and not many people saw her. He was only doing what the biologists do, wasn’t he? He was shaping a body to be what he wanted, that’s all; that’s how he looked at it. The years went by, and the girl grew older, while still remaining a child. The man began to forget that she wasn’t what she seemed.”

Thérèse gulped the rest of her wine and set the glass on the sill. “The girl was careful. She watched the man and bided her time. One day, she was able to escape, and she did. My story has a happy ending, too.”

Andrew realized that he was digging his fingers into his thighs. He tried to relax. Emily was watching the girl out of the sides of her eyes.

“You didn’t tell the whole story,” the woman said at last. Thérèse shook her head. “Tell the rest. The girl didn’t just run, did she? She killed the man while making her escape, didn’t she?”

Thérèse did not reply.

“They’re looking for her. She’s still missing. She killed someone. You know what they’ll do when she’s found? They’ll send her up.” Emily pointed at the sky. “They’ll exile her. They’ll send her to a prison asteroid, with all the other murderers. She’ll have to stay there. After a year of low gravity, she’ll need an exoskeleton to live on Earth again. There won’t be a happy ending if she’s caught.”

Thérèse moved her arm, hitting the glass. It fell to the floor, shattering. Andrew started. Emily rose. “Enough stories for tonight, don’t you think? It’s time to rest now.”

She left. The bearded kobold remained; the blond one went out on the porch and stood in front of the screen door. Andrew got up and went to Thérèse. “It isn’t true.”

She said nothing.

“It isn’t true, Thérèse. They won’t send you away. They can’t.”

She pushed him aside and threw herself across one of the cots. He hovered at her side, wanting to touch her, but afraid to do so. She hid her face. Her body was very still.

The kobold made a sound. “Others,” it said, and Andrew started. “Others, before. Other visitors. Gone now. Go to sleep.”

The raspy voice made Andrew shiver. Silas stood. He picked up a plate and smashed it on the floor. Thérèse turned her head. Silas broke another plate. “Stop,” the kobold said.

Andrew went to his friend. “Silas.” He reached for the shadowy shape and held the other boy by the shoulders.

Silas shook his head and pushed Andrew away. “I’m all right now.” He sat down on the sofa. Thérèse was lying on her side, her hip a dark hyperbola obscuring part of the window.

Silas lifted his chin. “Did you really do it?”

“Do what?” Her voice was flat.

“What she said.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was trying to get away. He tried to stop me. He should have let me go. When it was over, I was glad. I’m glad he’s dead.” The cot squeaked as she settled herself. “Go to sleep.”

“Go to sleep,” the kobold echoed.

Silas said, “We have to get out of here.”

Thérèse did not answer. Andrew stretched out on the other cot. The girl seemed resigned. He realized that Thérèse had only exile to anticipate, more wandering or a prison world. He heard footsteps in the hall; they faded, and the back door slammed. The house was quiet. There was light just beyond the window; the moon had risen.

Silas got up and went around the cots to the window. He put his elbows on the sill. The small shape outside the screen door disappeared; a small head appeared near Silas, making him look, for a moment, like a two-headed creature.

“Come out,” the blond kobold on the porch said. It was a black shadow with a silver nimbus around its head. “Come outside.”

Silas backed away. The bearded kobold crossed to the screen door. “Go on,” it whispered, as if conspiring with them.

Silas came closer to Andrew. “They want to help us.”

Andrew shook his head. “No, they don’t. They don’t want to do anything. Emily tells them what to do. Don’t listen to them.”

“If I could get away, I could get help. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?”

“Don’t go outside, Silas.” He looked toward Thérèse. “You tell him. Tell him not to go.”

“Andrew’s right,” Thérèse said from the cot.

“They said there were others,” Silas replied. “Maybe they helped them get away.”

“You’re wrong. Kobolds can only do what they’re told; they have to be directed. They don’t have minds.” But Andrew heard the doubt in the girl’s voice.

“It’s worth a chance, isn’t it?” Silas said. “Maybe you don’t want to go because you know what’s going to happen to you when you’re caught. You don’t want help to come. You don’t care what happens to us.”

“Don’t go,” Andrew said.

Silas leaned over him; Andrew could feel his breath. “It’s your fault, too.” Andrew shrank back, puzzled. “You should have stopped me before. If you hadn’t come along, I wouldn’t be on this trip. And it’s her fault for having us stop here. I’m not going to stay because of what you say.” He walked to the door; the bearded kobold let him pass. The screen door slammed behind Silas.

Thérèse slid off her cot and stood up. The kobold made a circle with its wand. She moved closer to the creature and it pointed the wand at her. Andrew rolled off his cot toward the sofa, trying to decide what to do. Thérèse backed to the window. The android’s head turned.

Andrew’s hand was reaching for the brass lamp near him. He pulled out the cord. He felt that he was moving very slowly. Thérèse lifted a hand to her face. He picked up the lamp. The kobold was pivoting on one foot. He saw its face as he leaped, bringing the base of the lamp down on its head.

It squeaked. The wand flew from its hand, clattering across the floor. Andrew hit it again, and it was still as it fell, its limbs stiff. He dropped the lamp and began to shake.

Thérèse was breathing heavily. “You took a chance,” she said. “You really took a chance.” She knelt and began to crawl over the floor. “I have to find that weapon.”

“Use your light.”

“I lost my light.”

Andrew remembered Silas. He went to the door. Thérèse was slapping the floor. He breathed the night air and smelled dirt and pollen. Opening the door cautiously, he went out on the porch; his skin prickled as a cool breeze touched him.

The blond kobold was below, in front of the porch. Silas was running across the barren yard, kicking up dust. The troll was blocking him, leaping from side to side and waving its long arms as if playing with the boy. Silas darted to the left, but the creature was too quick for him. It herded him, driving him back toward the house. The boy hopped and danced, coming closer to Andrew.

Andrew came down the steps, pausing on the bottom one. The kobold saw him. He could hear Silas panting; there were shiny streaks on his friend’s face. The troll put its hands on the ground and swung between them on its arms, lifting its knees to its chest. It grinned, showing its crooked teeth. Then Andrew saw Emily.

The woman had come around the side of the house and now stood to Andrew’s left, watching the pursuit. Her white dress shone in the moonlight and fluttered in the breeze. She raised her hands as if casting a spell, and Andrew saw that she was holding a wand.

He opened his mouth to cry out. His throat locked; he rasped as breath left him. The woman pointed her wand. The beam struck Silas in the chest. He fell. Andrew heard a scream.

He stared numbly at his friend. A black spot was covering Silas, flowing over his chest; his eyes gazed heavenward. “Silas?” Andrew murmured. He swayed on the steps. “Silas?” The troll stood up; the kobold stood near Silas’s head. Dust had settled in the boy’s thick hair.

Emily was walking toward him, still holding the wand. She was smiling; the blue stone of her Bond seemed to wink. Andrew faced her, unable to move. His limbs were heavy; invisible hands pressed against him. He saw one white arm rise.

A beam brightened the night. Andrew gasped. Emily was falling. Andrew clutched at his abdomen and spun around, almost falling from the step. Thérèse was climbing through the window; her feet hit the porch. She came to the railing and leaned over it, firing at Emily with her weapon. The white dress was stained. The kobold raised its wand. Andrew dove for it as it fired, and heard a cry. He wrested the weapon from it and knocked the creature aside.

Thérèse was screaming. She continued to fire at Emily. One beam struck the woman in the leg; another burned through her head. One arm jerked. The stone on Emily’s Bond was black. Thérèse kept shooting, striking the ground near the body.

His vision blurred for a moment. He found himself next to the girl. “Thérèse, stop.” She cried out as he reached for her, and held out her left arm. Her hand was a burned, bloody claw; he gasped, and touched her right shoulder. She tore herself from him and went down the steps to Silas. She knelt in the dirt, patting his face with her right hand.

“I was too late,” she said, crying. The kobold sat up, rubbing its head. Andrew gripped his wand, aimed it at the android, then let his arm drop. The troll scampered to the side of its dead mistress. It lifted her in its arms and held her. A sudden gust whipped Andrew’s hair; he caught the metallic smell of blood in the summer’s dust.

IV

Joan tried to stop Andrew at the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to say goodbye to Thérèse.”

Joan frowned. “I don’t think you should.”

“She’s my friend.”

“She killed two people.” Joan’s voice tripped over the word
kill.
“She’s very ill.”

“She’s not. She did what she had to. She had to kill Emily.”

Joan stepped back. “That woman was very disturbed, Andrew. She needed help, reconditioning. She was ill.”

“She wasn’t ill. She was going to die, so she wanted other people to die, too, that’s all.” He thought of Emily’s body in the dirt, and his throat tightened; Thérèse had cursed their rescuers when they destroyed Emily’s kobold and troll. The troll had looked at Andrew before it died, and he had thought he saw awareness in its eyes.

Joan took him by the shoulders. Her eyes were narrowed; her lips were pulled back over her teeth. “You’ll forget all this. The psychologist will be here tomorrow, and that will be that. You’ll think differently about this incident.”