The Margarets (4 page)

The linguist was going to be me, myself, I decided. I loved words. Learning words was the best part of learning anything, so plain Margaret was the linguist. The healer was young and very kind. She wasn’t as clear as the others. I supposed she would come into being later, as I learned more about her particular talents, because a healer
would be very useful.

Together, we were friends and companions. Wilvia the queen occupied a throne and meted out justice. Margy sent her mind to distant places to see what was happening, while the spy sneaked about and learned specific things about people. Naumi built barricades against the dreaded mind-worm, a creature I had run across in a footnote and could define only by implication. Deadly, certainly. Horrid in some unspecified way, and directed always by some malign and inhuman intelligence. This was enough to make me oppose it, or them, for all my people were on the side of good, always. As warrior, shaman, telepath, healer, spy, linguist, and queen we lived each day among wonders and marvels and were for the most part contented with our lives.

Shortly before my ninth birthday, one of those days came along that goes wrong from wakeup! My hair had horrid knots in it, my clothes wouldn’t fasten, my head hurt, I spilled my breakfast on some of Father’s papers, and he yelled at me. Halfway through the morning, I grew frustrated over something and heard, with dismay, my own mouth spewing a few of the words I had always kept secret! The result was worse than I had imagined. My mother washed out my mouth with Filth-away and told me I could not go down to the Mars surface on the birthday expedition I had been promised for over a year.

That trip had been my beacon, my lighthouse of hope, my only chance to see and do something new and interesting. I can’t explain what happened then, though I suppose it was a tantrum. I had read of tantrums, I’d just never had one myself; but this time, I did. I screamed and threw myself on the floor and shrieked all my hatred and boredom, and I was so completely savage that both Mother and Father were frightened. They were no more frightened than I was, but at least they withdrew the punishment. When I got control of myself, more or less, I was servile in my thanks and fulsome in my promises of better behavior in the future.

Over the following days, however, my abject groveling gave way to an unfamiliar resentment, though only one of my people, Queen
Wilvia, felt it deeply. My parents had forced Queen Wilvia to lower herself, to give in to them, and Queen Wilvia had done nothing to merit it. She didn’t like them anymore.

Wilvia didn’t hate them. Wilvia knew the word
hate
because I knew it, but experiencing it required a stomach-hurting, churning kind of feeling, the way I had felt during the tantrum. I labeled it carefully. It had been a very strong emotion, the first strong emotion I had ever felt except the arms-from-my-stomach feeling that I got sometimes at night, as though I had arms reaching out of my middle toward something I wanted terribly but had no name for.

Considering the matter calmly, over several days and wakeful nights, I decided what I wanted more than anything was simply to be somewhere other than Phobos Station. I didn’t say any of this or even convey it by being sulky. I was docile. My “Yes, ma’am”s and “No, sir”s poured forth with honeyed smoothness. On the promised day, the excursion to Mars took place, beginning with a shuttle ride down into the great canyon, where my parents were welcomed by acquaintances of theirs who worked in the hydroponic gardens. In the gardens, I stood transfixed while a green leaf fell, lazily turning, spinning almost purposefully to land by my foot. I was allowed to take it, a souvenir of all that was alive and lovely-smelling. I saw the commissary, which had thick windows looking out over the dramatically shadowed canyon walls. The shadows moved entrancingly as luncheon and birthday cake were served. Then, while the adults talked (about nothing, using the same words, over and over), I excused myself politely and pressed close to the window. Farther down the canyon stood a magical building where Queen Wilvia might live, the ruby dome and golden towers of Dominion Central Authority, the governing body for all free humans who lived off-Earth: us on Phobos and Mars, the people on Luna Station, and those in the six colonies.

One of the commissary workers happened by and took a few moments to point out several outstanding features in the landscape, including the dome.

“Who’s in Dominion?” I asked.

The worker stopped, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean,
who?”

“Is it humans?”

“Some,” he said thoughtfully. “Some Gentheran, so I’ve heard.”

“What are they like, Gentherans?”

He laughed shortly. “They’re little, about your size, and that’s all anybody knows. They wear full suits and helmets that cover their faces.”

“But they’re part of Dominion.”

“Well, they found us, and they helped us…”

“Why did they help us?” I asked. I’d been wondering about this for a long time.

The worker shrugged. “They told us they owe us a debt, but they didn’t go into any detail. Just said they owed us, take what they were offering and be grateful. That’s what we’re doing, I guess. We are grateful they’ve kept us out of the grip of ISTO, so far…”

“Isstow?” I had never heard it spoken.

“Interstellar Trade Organization,” he whispered, with a glance over his shoulder to the table where the adults were sitting. “ISTO has given Earth a provisional membership because the Gentherans asked them to. So long as we have that, the Mercans can’t cut up Earth for scrap.”

“Margaret,” my father called.

The worker hurried away. My brain spinning, I went back to the table to learn that one of the maintenance staff had offered to take me up onto the lip of Valles Marineris when she did her routine maintenance visit to a wind generator. It took a moment to take this in, because I was still lost in what the worker had told me.

“Well, Margaret?” said Mother impatiently.

“Oh, yes, ma’am, yes, please.” I said, daring to say nothing more than that.

While my parents remained below with their acquaintances, I was outfitted for the excursion. I wore the helmet and air supply unit I had worn during the shuttle trip, an item owned by every person on Mars or Phobos, just in case, and I was inserted into a dust suit that was actually quite a good fit, as it was owned by a “little person” on the maintenance staff, one Chili Mech, who had been hired, so I was told, at least partly for her ability to get in and out of tight places. Thus clad, I rode beside the worker in the elevator that took us to
the rim.

When we emerged, I followed the worker to the “stem tower,” which is what the upright part of the windmill was called, and was told to stay there while the worker climbed the ladder to the rotor. I was not to wander away or go near the rim, even though there was a protective railing along it. Accordingly, I looped my arm through an upright of the ladder and stared ecstatically at the surroundings, relishing the differences from everything I had known before. There was a real horizon; there was distance and perspective; there was wind sound; there were dust storms moving about like whirling dancers. There were colors in the rocks and hills, new colors!

I turned to peer along the length of the canyon to the shining dome. There were Gentherans there, Gentherans who had helped Earth so the Mercans couldn’t cut Earth up for scrap. Why would they want to cut up Earth for scrap?

This train of thought was interrupted by a metallic shriek from above, and I looked up to see that the worker had opened a large door into the rotor housing. The door closed behind her with another shriek, and for a little time, I watched the dust devils that formed out of nothing and engaged in wild dances that carried them halfway to the distant mountains before they vanished. The dance was accompanied by soft, barely heard wind song that subsided into a momentary and unusual calm.

Out of nowhere, silent as the dried leaf drifting down in the greenhouse, a whirling thing came out of the sky and landed in the dust not fifty feet from where I was standing.

It looked like a dragonfly, or rather, like the pictures of dragonflies I had seen in my book about the wetlands Earth once had. A hatch opened in the side of the golden thing. A woman came out, unhelmeted, unmasked, her movement stirring the flowing robes she wore into crimson billows.

“You, girl,” she called in a glorious, glad voice. “Come with me!”

I felt…I felt something I had never felt before. Joy! Ecstasy! I felt…I felt the arms-reaching feeling, that this was it, the thing I’d needed, that I must go (that I must obey and stay where I was), that the woman was calling me (that I was probably imagining it).
Standing there, with my arm thrust tightly through the stanchion, I felt my legs pounding, I saw the back of myself running away, not wearing a helmet or a suit, just free as air. I reached the woman, saw myself seized up by the woman, was seized up, saw myself taken, was myself taken into the dragonfly, and felt it go.

Then I swayed with dizziness, my eyes fell shut, and everything slipped away.

Aboard the dragonfly, I was seized with shyness. No one else was there but the red-robed woman and a boy about my age. He was the first young person I had ever seen, and he was looking at me just as curiously as I was at him. His hair was dark as the shadows on the canyon walls. His eyes glittered, as though they had lights in them. I liked the way his lips moved, the upper one curving and straightening, like a bow, I thought, one of those bows ancient desert horsemen had used, that same curve.

The woman lifted me into a seat, murmuring, “Girl, this is Prince Joziré. I am taking him to a place of safety. Joziré needs a companion, and we have chosen you to accompany him.”

The boy reached out a brown hand to touch my paler one. I felt…I felt the arms-from-my-stomach reaching, and it was almost as though the boy had taken those invisible hands in his own and held them tight. “What’s her name?” he asked the lady.

“What is your name, girl?” She smiled at me.

It took only a second before I realized who I was. “Prince Joziré, my name is Wilvia.”

“Wilvia,” said the boy, returning my smile with a companionable one of his own. “I like that very much.” He turned to the pilot to ask, “And where is it we are going, again, ma’am?”

“Look there,” said the woman, turning to the controls of her vessel. “Look there, Wilvia. See the road?”

I, Wilvia went to stand behind the woman, looking across her shoulder in the direction they were going. “It is a road,” I gasped. There it was, stretching ahead of us in long, curving lines, translucent lines so the ones farther away could be seen through those nearer, the whole reaching on and on into unfathomable distance. “Where does it go?”

“This road goes to B’yurngrad, then on and on until it comes to the center of things and the edge of things. There’s a little town on B’yurngrad, so buried in the grasslands that no one ever goes there. It doesn’t even have a name. People just call it The Town. Some very wise people live there, and you’ll both find friends among them. The two of you will be longtime friends and good companions.”

The next thing I knew, the worker was muttering to herself as she carried me to the elevator: “Never checked the flow valve, stupid people, don’t they teach their children that they have to check the flow valve every time they put the helmet on…”

When I fully wakened, they told me I had been briefly unconscious because of oxygen deprivation. Momentarily off my guard, I mentioned the dragonfly, only to be told quite firmly that I must have been delirious. I was quite, quite certain the dragonfly had not been the result of delirium, any more than the way my body felt was the result of delirium. I felt as though I had been split in two. I kept reaching in my mind for some other part of me. When I was well enough to stand, I searched the mirror for someone else standing behind or beside me, but there was no one there.

This episode, all of it, beginning with the tantrum and having my mouth washed out with soap, up to and including the departure of the dragonfly, began as simple confusion and ended by changing me forever. From that time on I was absolutely sure of two things: The first one was that somewhere else, there was another me named Wilvia. I knew this because she was no longer with me and because I had seen her go; the second thing was that I had become a mutineer. Until then I had been a curious but
customarily compliant child. From that time on, I became a confirmed and silent rebel and simply refused to take part in chirrup tweet caw cwaup. I was determined to learn real language, many of them, all the ones there were! Didactibots were good at teaching people real things. I would get it to teach me the language of the ancient Pthas, a language no one alive spoke anymore!

And that is what I did and it did, except during those times spent in my own worlds, with my other selves. I still had five of them as my companions, all of them but Wilvia, who had gone away and left me behind. Sometimes I thought she had been treacherous or faithless, but I knew that wasn’t so. She hadn’t forgotten me. Sometime…someday, I would find her again.

I was almost twelve in 2096, when the personnel of Mars and Phobos Stations were told the stations were to be closed. For several hours following this incredible announcement, people actually communicated with one another! They disagreed, yelled, orated, hectored, became variously rancorous, anxious, insulting, and grief-stricken. I learned more about them in that brief time than I had learned in the twelve years before. The focus on reality was brief, however. Very soon the Phobos habit of evasive reticence reasserted itself, and everyone turned to their assigned duties. Machinery was wrapped, lines were drained, equipment was secured, personal belongings were packed, and finally the entire staff was shuttled down to the green ravine that held the headquarters of Mars Surface Colony. There we awaited the ship that would take us to Earth.

Oh, how I loved Mars Surface Colony! There were new things everywhere. Despite Mother’s sporadic attempts to keep an eye on me, there were simply too many people and too many things going on to keep me shut up. I met Chili Mech, the woman who had lent me her Mars suit for my trip to the rim, and I began to follow her about.

“You’re like those old-timey pets,” said Chili Mech. “Some little cat or dog. Every time I turn around, there you are. What’s the attraction?”

“You know things,” I told her. “You talk about things.”

“What things?”

“The Gentherans. Tell me about the Gentherans.”

“Hasn’t your didactibot taught you about the Gentherans?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, let’s see. When the Gentherans discovered us, they told us the Earth biome was terminal, they told us how we could save it; but they didn’t think we would, so they gave us some spaceships so Earth could set up a few colonies to preserve our species.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“I mean, what was their reason for helping us? Did they just like us humans, or what?”

“The Keeper knows, kid, I don’t.”

“Who’s the Keeper?”

“It’s just a saying the Gentherans have. Anything nobody knows, they say, ‘The Keeper knows.’ Then you say, ‘Well, ask the Keeper,’ and they say, ‘You can only reach the Keeper by walking seven roads at once.’

“Nobody can do that,” I said.

“That’s the point. It’s like saying, when hell freezes over or when pigs fly. Pigs are extinct animals that didn’t have wings…”

“I know that,” I said, somewhat offended.

“Anyhow, the Gentherans insisted we set up one government for Earth, and one government for the off-Earth humans, because if some predatory race found us, all our political subdivisions would get eaten for lunch. ISTO only deals with one government per planet or group of planets, and if a planet doesn’t have one government, the Combines just swallow all the local governments up. That threat scared people badly enough that Earthgov got voted in very quickly, and as soon as the colonies were running, they set up Dominion Central Authority. DCA has representatives from each of the six colonies plus one each from the little stations on Luna and Mars, plus a bunch of Gentherans, because they were responsible for helping set up the colonies.”

“Someone told me you’re the Mars delegate to Dominion.”

“I am that. I’ve been here since the Gentherans picked Mars as the site for Dominion Central Authority and offered to build the DCA structure, around 2067.”

“That’s the same year my mother went to Phobos, with her parents.
She was ten years old. My father got to Phobos fifteen years later, and I was born in 2084.”

Chili Mech shuddered. “Lucky man. He got out just in time. The eighties were bad years!”

“How do you mean?” I sat on the floor and crossed my legs, looking up at the little woman. “I never heard about that?”

“Well, 2080 was the year the Mercan Combine discovered the human colony on Thairy. They showed up in Earth orbit. You’ve seen the ships. Compared to the little Gentheran ships, they’re enormous, like planetoids! They said they were from Interstellar Trade Organization. I can remember Earth people being all bug-eyed like kids at a carnival, here the splendid ETs were, come to solve our problems.

“Well, that didn’t last long, just until the Combine and the Federation had a chance to examine Earth and decide it wouldn’t be worth their while to negotiate a trade agreement because we had nothing to trade. Earth was falling apart, and it was too late to fix anything.”

She pursed her lips, as though about to spit. “Then they dropped the bomb. Since we were out on the edge of nowhere, a very expensive destination to get to, they were planning to hang around in orbit until the imminent collapse occurred and mine the wreckage for scrap after everyone was dead.”

My mouth was open, as it had been for some time. “They said it just like that?”

Chili Mech looked over my head into space, slowly nodding. “Just like that, with nine-tenths of Earth’s population watching and listening. After we died, their retrieval robots would take the dead humans to make protein meal for their livestock, and their scavenger robots would take all metals.”

“What happened?”

“What do you think happened with half a dozen huge ships, blocking off half the sky! Those prancing K’Famir with all the extra arms and legs! The dirty, hissing Hrass, the boneheaded Frossians, the sneery Elos? Arrogant as all hell, while Earthgov’s people practically licked their feet! Nobody on Earth had done anything about Earth’s situation for at least two centuries, but now everyone was scared spitless.”

I waited, finally urging, “Then?”

“Earthgov sent a delegation to ask if there wasn’t something, anything the Combine or Federation would do to help us. The Federation and the Combine just hung up there, acting totally uninterested for a while, but finally, when we were just about to give up hope, they offered to stave off our collapse by buying the only surplus produce Earth had: people. They said they’d buy healthy ten-to-fifty-year-old people from us on fifteen-year labor contracts, and they’d even transport them to human colonies once the contracts expired.

“By that time, everyone on Earth was so scared that any way out would have seemed like a good idea. Earthgov consulted with the Gentherans and accepted the offer.” She stared at me, really looking at me. “By all that’s holy, you’ve seen their ships going back and forth to Earth, girl. Didn’t you ever wonder what the ships were carrying?”

I flushed. I hadn’t. It was just about the only thing I had never wondered about. “No. I didn’t. What did they buy people with? Money?”

“What good would that do? They buy humans with water.”

I thought about that. “What happened then?”

Chili regarded me doubtfully, eyes half-lidded. “Well, that’s a touchy subject. You better ask your mom about that.”

“She doesn’t talk to me.”

“Ask her anyhow. You got a right to know.”

Later, even though Chili wouldn’t say anything more about the eighties, she did talk about other things. She said the Mars program was being phased out because there wasn’t enough water on Mars to support a real colony, much less enough to relieve Earth’s water shortage.

“Didn’t people find out how much water there was when they first came up here?” I asked her.

Chili grinned. “Somehow the Gentherans ‘made a mistake’ in their calculations. They told us there was a lot more water than we’ve ever found. Some say the Gentherans always meant to have Dominion headquarter on Mars, so they phonied the data that supported the settlement effort until they got it built. We didn’t find out the truth
about the water until just recently. In fact, nobody else knows the truth about the water except Earthgov, so keep it quiet, huh, kid?”

Chili’s com-link went off with a shrill whine, and that ended the conversation. After that, there were no opportunities for me to find out anything more. The arrival of the
Ninja
was announced, and everyone scrambled to be ready except those few who had volunteered to remain behind to maintain the water and power systems for Dominion Central Authority. I shut myself up in my bed cubicle and cried for hours because Chili was staying, but she’d told me I was too young to volunteer.

On Earth, during the six-month gravitational rehab program, I met quite a few Earthians. They were just like the people on Phobos. The words might be a little different: twitter twitter chirrup, chirrup twitter, perhaps, instead of caw, caw, cwaup, but otherwise, alike. No one said anything real. The daily information services spoke of a decrease in water rations, of the failure of certain algae crops, and the people said chirrup, chirrup, twitter. Or, for those of us in therapy: moan, moan, scream. Rehab was my first experience of real, sustained pain.

“What will we do if our water rations are decreased?” I asked the physical therapist who was helping me learn to walk in gravity.

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t want to talk about that. Let’s not spoil the day. Left foot now, step, step, step…”

“How much water is a ration?” I asked the technician who was measuring my bone density.

“Honeybun, I just don’t think about it,” he said with a winning smile. “Measuring it doesn’t help anything.”

Twitter, twitter, I thought. Caw, caw cwaup. Moan, moan, scream.

The therapy was almost over when Father announced that a proctor would be making a family visit. I had almost lost my trip to Mars over the word
proctor
! I had had my mouth washed out over that word, a dirty word, one no nice child ever uttered. I felt myself flushing red with hostility and embarrassment. I shivered all over and stared at my toes.

“For goodness’ sake, Louise,” said Father. “That won’t do.”

“Of course not, Harry,” Mother replied, her own cheeks red with chagrin. “It isn’t a bad word, Margaret. It’s just one we’ve avoided
using until now. You’ll have to say it to yourself. We’ll have to use it in conversation. Otherwise, the proctor will wonder why his title makes us blush.”

I considered rebellion. What had all that Filth-away business been about if
proctor
was not a dirty word? And now I was to use it in conversation? I, who had always been prevented from using any real words whatever? I felt moved to throw another tantrum (it had been over three years since the last one, after all), but I suppressed the inclination. Since I had no idea what this new freedom would entail, perhaps it would be wisest to know its limits before taking a stand.

Instead of a tantrum, I took part in conversations that were scheduled during family dinner so we could discuss the function of proctors and the circumstances which had brought us all back to Earth.

“Do you know what ISTO is, Margaret?” Father asked.

“ISTO is the Interstellar Trade Organization.” That was the right answer, but I wanted more. “We have a provisional membership, but I don’t know what it means. Provided what?”

It took Father a minute to switch from his usual frown to his recently invented fatherly look. “We have a membership provided the ISTO doesn’t declare all Earthians a barbarian people.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I persisted, even though this wasn’t strictly part of the subject.

Father gritted his teeth. “ISTO recognizes four types of creatures: civilized, semicivilized, barbarians, and animals. Civilized people know about, care about, and protect their environments. Semicivilized people know and care, but can’t do anything…”

“Why not?”

Mother said, “Because something prevents their acting in their own self-interest. Public apathy. Commercial interference. Religious opposition. Governmental corruption. The Gentherans say humans have a lot of that.”

Father frowned at her and went on. “Barbarians know but don’t care about their worlds, and animals don’t even know. Animals or barbarians aren’t treated like civilized people.”

“But what does all that mean? What have we done about it?”

Mother’s voice was dead and level. “Margaret, you know we had
lakes and rivers once. We had forests once. We had animals on land and fish in the oceans. By the time the Gentherans came, all the freshwater on Earth was confined in pipes, the ice caps were gone, the rivers were gone along with hydroelectric power. All our food came from ocean algae because we had no water to irrigate plants. Our desalinization plants ran constantly, mostly on tidal and wind power. We had nuclear plants, but the Gentherans made us shut them down because the Intergalactic Court doesn’t allow nuclear power on occupied planets. We already knew we were in trouble, and we told the Gentherans our problem was a lack of water…”