“Larry, Til-sal — I’ve just called the Project, and they sent you out. Someone make a noise like a helicopter!” Poo-lat obliged, to the applause of his classmates.
“All right, team. Go to work!” She stepped back and yielded the stage with a flourish.
Larry and Til-sal looked at each other, clearly at a loss. Ms. Wilson suppressed a smile. “Would you like me to give you some hints?” Both of them nodded, in their different directions.
“Larry. Do you think you’d do better talking to the humans or the Tofa? Remember, these aren’t Twin-Bred.”
Larry shuffled his feet and said, “I guess I’d start with the humans.”
“Right you are! And Til-sal, what about you? Would you go with him, or would you talk to the Tofa?”
Til-sal’s posture suggested stubbornness. “I believe you want me to go talk to the Tofa. But I think we should go together and talk to everyone at once.”
“Hmmm. Stand aside for a moment, over there. I’m going to talk to the two groups.” Ms. Wilson beckoned the builders and protesters closer. She murmured to them for a few moments, then stepped back. “All right. Give it a try!”
Larry and Til-sal came back, once again hand in hand. As they approached, all the other children immediately started shouting, the humans in Terran, the Tofa in Tofar, pointing and shaking fists. Larry looked ruefully at Ms. Wilson. He held up his hands. Then he spoke as loud as he could without seeming to yell — in Tofar. “Silence, please!”
His choice of language caught the children by surprise, and the hubbub subsided. Before it could resume, Til-sal spoke in his most careful Terran. “Please let us be of service.”
Ms. Wilson rubbed her chin. Almost inaudibly she said to herself, “Well, what do you know.” She pulled up a chair and sat down to watch as the mediators calmed the humans and coaxed the Tofa into revealing their secret. Apparently all the construction had sloshed the water in the Tofa’s giant bathtub.
The humans apologized. The Tofa were gracious. Then everybody went back to the bathtub and jumped in. Much imaginary splashing ensued.
They were reluctant to move on to their calculus lesson. But Ms. Wilson insisted.
The next lesson, it was Rose and Fel-lar’s turn to mediate. Til-sal was allowed to decide the Tofa activity, which proved to be fishing in the river. Larry chose the reason for the humans to interfere. The interference got rather too enthusiastic, and Li-sen ended up with a sprained finger.
Acting on Ms. Wilson’s instructions, the human crowd took no interest in a Tofa trying to speak Terran; and they refused to explain to Rose what they insisted should have been obvious to any right-thinking human. Rose and Fel-lar returned, crestfallen, to Ms. Wilson and asked for guidance.
“Not so easy, is it?” she said, in a tone of some sympathy. “You’ll need to bring more in your bag of tricks. And we’ll all be learning about it. But it’ll take some time.”
Now that Henry Abuto was teaching full-time, he was busier than ever, fine-tuning lesson plans, grading papers. He sometimes resented the way the work encroached on his evenings. But the biweekly discussion groups were different. Sharing his favorite historical fiction with eager youngsters was a joy, an indulgence.
He had not expected any Tofa to join. At first it was hard to lose himself in literary discussion with aliens present. But uneasy as it made him when he drew back and contemplated, he had gotten used to them. He could hardly help it, seeing so much of them. And some of them, he had to admit, were passionate and perceptive readers.
A knock on his office door scattered his thoughts. It was still his habit to keep the door closed, although he rarely seemed to work on confidential matters these days. “Come in!”
The visitor was a Tofa Twin-Bred. He was wearing the usual Tofa rain cape, leaving his arms free to move, and his tablet was in its waterproof case. H announced his identity, as Henry had asked the Tofa students to do. “La-ren.”
Henry motioned him in and gestured toward a convenient corner where La-ren could lean. “Is that a suggestion for the group?”
“It is. I propose that we read this book. Diary of a Young Girl, by Anne Frank. It is an absorbing and moving tale. And I thought we could explore whether a girl in her circumstances would in fact retain the belief that ‘people are really good at heart.’”
Henry was confused. “But La-ren — we read historical fiction. That is autobiography.”
“Autobiography? You mean — the Anne in the book —”
“Anne Frank who wrote the book is the Anne Frank who lived it. It started as her diary. When she thought the war would be over soon, she edited the earlier portions, in the hope it would be published someday. As it was, though she did not live to see it.”
“I thought — I thought the name — was a rhetorical device.”
La-ren was no longer leaning in the corner. He stood very straight, and then started to rock, swaying forward and back, humming softly. Henry had heard of this before and discounted it, but now he believed: the alien child was crying.
Henry sat and waited for La-ren to gain control of himself. An idea struck him, and he pulled his tablet to him and called up a file.
“La-ren — you might be interested in this. It’s Anne’s original diary, before she rewrote it. It’s quite interesting. In a way, it’s more impressive than the diary as published. You can see how she grew, in those two years, from a thoughtless and carefree little girl to the young woman whose voice has captivated so many.”
La-ren had stopped swaying. Silently he held out his tablet. Henry touched the tablets together to transfer the file.
“And La-ren — you have your answer. It was possible for her to believe in goodness, even with all the evil she saw around her.”
La-ren tilted his head in the sideways Tofa nod. It no longer troubled Henry as it once had. “I will remember that. When we are older and go out into the world, we may see much disturbing behavior. I will try to keep in mind the possibility that Anne was correct. Thank you, professor.”
La-ren turned and left. Henry sat staring at his desk for a long time.
Chapter 25
Siri O'Donnell was accustomed to calibrating her curiosity. She might be Kimball’s confidential assistant, but it was his prerogative to set the limits of that confidence.
It was, nevertheless, unusual for him to exclude her from the details of a long-running operation. She had assumed that sooner or later, Kimball would choose to tell her what he was trying to achieve by inserting moles in the LEVI Project. It was certainly later. Kimball had been re-elected twice. One of those campaigns had been a close one. He might have wondered if his opponent would dig up any of his covert activities, or what would become of those projects if he lost. He might have talked to her about such things, some late night as they sat running poll numbers and calculating tactics. He had not.
It was becoming difficult not to speculate about just what was going on.
Siri heard the buzz of the secure phone line. She shook her head as if to dispel inappropriate thoughts, and took the call. It was Dr. Annabelle Bloom, Kimball’s contact in the Project’s biogenetics department. No visual, but Siri could hear her excitement as she asked to speak to Kimball immediately.
“The Councilman is out of the office, Dr. Bloom. He is due back in approximately three hours, and should be here for another two hours after that. Can you call during that time, or should we set a time later in the week?”
“I can’t call back today. And believe me, Kimball is going to want to hear about this as soon as possible. And not just on the phone. He’s going to want a written report this time. I have one ready, and I’m going to send it.”
Siri frowned. “I’m not sure —”
“Damn it, this can’t wait! It’s fully encrypted, of course. And I have the secure address to send to. Tell him to get all his questions ready for my next call. This time next week. Believe me, he’ll be there, if he has to blow off a stadium full of voters to do it.”
r /> Dr. Bloom ended the call before Siri could respond. Moments later, she heard the ping as the file arrived.
Sighing, Siri called up the appropriate phone log. She was about to enter the time and caller when she paused. This might be her only opportunity, after years of waiting. Could she really ignore it and wait for who knows how much longer?
Siri had never found it necessary to inform Kimball of her own expertise with decryption software. Or with using software and hiding all traces of its use. Even a confidential assistant had a right to a few secrets of her own.
Siri closed the office door, set the scramble field, and got to work.
Kimball called out cheerily to Siri as he came through the door. It took her a beat longer than usual to respond. She didn’t seem quite her usual imperturbable self.
“Siri? Is something wrong? Family troubles?” She had a large extended family from whom she normally kept her distance, but occasionally some domestic storm would grow large enough to engulf her.
Siri's smile seemed forced. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid so. It’s nothing important. I’ll be sure not to let it affect my work. I’m sorry.”
Kimball waved away her apology. “To work, then. Any calls? I expect Dr. Bloom checked in?”
Siri nodded, looking down at her tablet. “Yes, per usual. Nothing special to report. She’ll call at the same time next week, if she can.”
Kimball picked a leaf off a plant on Siri’s desk and twirled it. “I’m rather hoping for more from her. It should be soon. Well, we’ve both been at this game long enough to learn patience, haven’t we?”
Siri hesitated a moment. “Yes, sir. You would think so, sir. Councilman, I believe I’ve gotten everything done for tomorrow. Would it be all right if I left a bit early? I am a little distracted just now.”
“Certainly, my dear. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Tell the uncles and cousins to work things out. I can’t do without my Siri — at full capacity. Until tomorrow, then.” Kimball went on into his inner office and closed the door.
Siri wandered through the large park in the center of the city. It was called Central Park, a name she found unoriginal, though she understood it to be a historical reference of some kind. It was unusual in containing both benches for sitting and stands for leaning, and picnic tables both low and high. A river cut diagonally through the park; the bridges spanning it had elaborate metal handrails with three alternating heights.
It was good weather for walking, for lingering, for playing, for an early outdoor supper. The slanting sunlight turned the yellow bushes lining the walkways into glowing gold. Siri climbed a hill commanding a view of a larger river. A single Tofa sailboat was just visible, the sun catching its multiple small sails.
Siri descended and walked onto one of the bridges. She stood and watched as three Tofa children played a game of tossing pebbles. It looked like the old game of Tic-Tac-Toe, but more complex. She moved on, then stopped again near a group of adult Tofa using one of the tall picnic tables. The Tofa nearest to her was telling a story, gesturing with three hands and holding some sort of vegetable stalk with the fourth. The others were whistling in appreciation.
Which of them would die, when Dr. Bloom’s — when Kimball’s — plan came to fruition? And which would survive, for a time, but irretrievably sterile?
It was such an ironic scheme. Use the Tofa Twin-Bred, born to bring peace, as bringers of death. Use their spores, the seeds of new life, to put an end to life present and future.
Siri had been party to extreme measures before. She had, not long since, helped Kimball procure substances lethal to humans, substances that would not be detected in any normal autopsy. She knew he had found other ways to deal with Tofa who posed — he believed — some particular threat. And of course, she had known for years that he disagreed with that long-ago decision to settle an inhabited world without removing its inhabitants. She had not considered it necessary to judge that view. It was a matter of history. She need not agree with her employer on whether history was regrettable.
History. She remembered lessons about cultural clashes that had ended in the near obliteration of one culture and its people. As she recalled, it had been accident as much as intention, or more so.
And now she had one week, at most, to decide whether her inaction, her obedience, her competent job performance, would kill or sterilize every Tofa on the planet.
Kimball was relieved to hear Siri tapping away on her tablet as he entered the office. She had been absent the day before, for perhaps the second time in all the years he had employed her. He hoped the annoying family fracas was at an end; he had become almost dependent on her efficiency and intelligent anticipation of his needs.
“Good morning, sir. I’m so sorry about yesterday. I found your notes, and I’m getting everything updated. I’ve made tea — shall I bring some in to you? Oh, and I stopped on my way in for some pastry. Orange and cinnamon rolls. If you’d like one.”
Kimball was in no great need of tea, but he did not want to reject her gesture. And it would go well with the pastry. “Yes, thank you, Siri. You spoil me. It’s good to have you back.”
Siri said nothing, but rose to pour the tea and fetch a plate for the pastry. She placed them on his desk as he hung up his hat. She left and closed his door, considerate as always.
Henry Abuto had not been watching the news. He was confused, at first, by Siri’s reception of his monthly call. She had not had to explain before: the others had known already.
“Yes, Mr. Abuto. A great shock. It was just three days ago. He came into the office, sat down at his desk, and had a stroke. There was nothing anyone could do — too much of his brain was irretrievably damaged. I’ve been here almost nonstop, ever since, getting his affairs in order, handling loose ends — but you don’t want to hear about me.
“Yes, of course I know that you’ve been reporting to him in a confidential capacity. I hope you won’t mind my saying — the Councilman had the impression, lately, that you’d rather lost your enthusiasm for the job. Yes, he was a very perceptive man.
“It’s really quite simple, Mr. Abuto. Mr. Kimball never involved anyone else on the Council, or on its staff, in his, ah, side projects. They’re over, Mr. Abuto. All of them. You will receive a proper severance amount — in fact, it’s already been deposited in your account. And I wish you, and your students, the very best.”
Siri hung up. That made all of them except for Dr. Bloom. Could she afford to wait? If Dr. Bloom was as oblivious to news coverage as her colleague, it might be dangerous to delay. She turned on the news. The story was playing again, complete with the expected ponderous tributes from the dead man’s political allies and enemies. Siri was relieved to see the call coming in, only moments after the broadcast moved on to other matters.
“Dr. Bloom. Yes, it’s terrible. We’re all devastated. I was thinking of calling you, to make sure you’d heard the news.
“Yes, I believe Mr. Kimball did read your report, the day you sent it. In fact, he was working on a response. Yes, in writing. It would be encrypted, of course, and it might not be complete, but under the circumstances, I’ll send it at once. Yes, he did give me some general idea of what was in it. It seems he’d changed his mind about something. He was telling you to stop work on some special project. Yes, to stop altogether. And to destroy all notes and materials.
“What was that? Doctor, I really don’t believe he’d go to the trouble of writing a reply contrary to his actual intentions. It’s not as if anyone else would be in a position to read it. I believe he didn’t want to wait for the next opportunity to speak on the phone. He had me standing by to send what he’d written as soon as he finished.
“Oh, Dr. Bloom, I hope you aren’t thinking of carrying on, in spite of his decision. That would be — I have to say, that would be disrespectful of his memory. And, if I may speak pragmatically — you know, don’t you, that he had other, ah, operatives on the premises? I believe there was one whose standing orders were to ens
ure that all the others adhered strictly to his instructions. And yes, that operative called just a little while ago. He or she — I’m sorry, I can’t be more specific — is aware of the Councilman’s last request where your work is concerned. I really wouldn’t take the chance of ignoring it.
“Yes, of course. Given how close you were, it’s only fair that your final payment should reflect your status. It’s already in your account. Do keep in touch, Dr. Bloom. Especially if you decide to leave the Project. Mr. Kimball would want me to make sure that you were well provided for. In fact, he left a fund for just such purposes. Until then, Dr. Bloom. Take care.”
Siri hung up, reflecting that it was just as well that Kimball had not been quite so thorough as she had suggested. She would do her best to keep tabs on the good doctor. And if Bloom left the protection of the Project, Siri would find her and bring her a housewarming present. Including tea.
PART TWO
Chapter 26
Chief Nurse Harriet Gaho looked around at the adolescent Twin-Bred crowding into the room. They were more or less evenly mixed, human and Tofa. Many were there with their twins, but some had come separately, or were singletons.
“All right, everyone, let’s get organized. If you've come from outside, hang up your slicker or your cape over there, and try not to sprinkle everyone else.” She waited for the chaos to subside. "Now, then, let's get started. First, I want to hear from you what you hope to get out of this class. What good is first aid training? Oh, and say your name first.”
Poo-lat was the first to raise a hand. “Poo-lat. I have never forgotten my first visit to this infirmary. I found it fascinating. I wish to learn as much as I can about medical science.”
Harriet’s mouth twitched. “Well, this will be a pretty humble beginning, but talk to me later about what else you can study. Next?”
A human hand this time. “Jimmy. If I can do something for myself, I don’t have to find someone else to do it for me. So why not learn?”