Tilda looked up, startled. Laura recalled a favorite picture book from her childhood, full of cute Terran animals: with her big eyes open wide, Tilda resembled the baby owl.
“Yes, that sounds just like him. How do you know him?”
“Oh, he rescued me from some lukewarm soup at lunchtime. Quite chivalrous of him. He seemed friendly.”
“Yes, isn’t he? And so easy to talk to.” Tilda looked down at her cocoa.
“Tildie — did he say anything about his work?”
Tilda looked confused. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He talks a lot about things he used to do — exciting things.” Was she blushing?
First Laura, now Tilda. Or the other way round —- it rather sounded as if Mannie and Tilda had met more than once. And he’d made quite an impression. Under her breath, she recited: “She loved me for the dangers I had passed,/and I loved her that she did pity them.”
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing. Just a bit of Othello intruding.”
Well, Mannie had said the security staff wanted the mothers and their twins to get to know them. But she was still uneasy, without knowing why.
She would talk to Veda. If there was a pattern to be seen, Veda was likely to see it. And she had a nose for secrets.
“Jealous?”
Laura waved away the question. “That’s not the point. Oh, it’d be nice to think a good-looking fellow wanted my company especially — but I’d love to see Tilda have a romance. I just have a funny feeling about this.”
Veda took a bite of muffin. “Mmmmm, these are good.” She devoured the rest of the muffin and brushed the crumbs off her hands. “All right. Let’s try to uncover what’s behind your funny feeling. This good-looking security man told you that it was part of his job to get to know the host mothers.”
“Yes. Well, not exactly. But he implied it, I think.”
“And he doesn’t seem to have said anything of the sort to Tilda.”
“No. But maybe I seemed less — less easily spooked. He couldn’t get to know Tilda if she knew it was part of his job.”
“Are you afraid Tilda will get her hopes up? And end up getting hurt? She’s a big girl, you know. A bit of a mouse, but she probably wouldn’t want you trying to protect her.”
Laura knitted her forehead. “It’s not just that. I guess I’m not sure I buy Mannie’s reasons for — for chatting with me, for getting so cozy with Tildie. I don’t know enough about security to know what else it could be. I just have the feeling there’s a missing piece somewhere.”
Veda stood and carried their dishes to Laura’s sink. She started washing them, speaking over the running water. “You could be right. And missing piece or no, it’s somewhat offensive. I don’t much fancy being examined under cover of friendship, or flirtation.”
“Do you think we should say anything to Tildie? Or, for that matter, to any of the other mothers?”
Veda turned off the water and dried her hands on her skirt with a decisive gesture. “I do believe I’ll have a word. It shouldn’t take much to put them on their guard. Mannie will just have to protect the Project without our burbling all our girlish secrets in his ear.”
Councilman Kimball ended the call and shook his head. After a promising beginning, his security operative seemed to be stymied. The host mothers were no longer interested in talking to him, let alone confiding in him. Ah, well. The man could still be of use. And the others might have better fortune.
Chapter 14
The alarm bell broke into the various small noises of contented four-year-olds, human and Tofa, modeling electrical circuits out of colored clay. The teacher gathered his pupils together, checked the door for heat, poked his head out the door, and herded them down the approved escape route to the sunshine outside.
They milled around, mingling with other classes, chattering in their childish Terran and Tofar, while inside Project staff scurried around the corridors and checked monitors. When they found the malfunctioning alarm circuit, heads were shaken, shoulders were shrugged, a few curses were muttered or declaimed more wholeheartedly. The teachers separated out their classes and led the children back inside.
Thirty minutes later, a lab tech was startled to hear an abnormally quiet alarm bell coming solely from the classroom she was passing on her way to lunch. She ran to the door and opened it. La-ren and Judy were standing by the window, Judy’s face lit with glee as their pitch-perfect imitation of the alarm bell sang forth. As the tech and the teacher watched in chagrin, the tone swelled louder: one by one, all the children joined in the chorus, interrupted by a few stray whistles.
The preschool teacher sat in his supervisor’s office. The latter was clearly trying to fix on an appropriate attitude. Her expression wavered between prim rebuke and self-important concern.
The supervisor cleared her throat in an elaborate rolling sequence. “I assume La-ren started it. The alarm bell is a good deal closer to a normal Tofa sound.”
“Yes, and Judy picked it up, and then the rest. All the Twin-Bred are good at mimicking each other.”
“What do you think they were trying to accomplish?”
The teacher suppressed the urge to snort; then the temptation to describe a dangerous conspiracy. “What were they up to? Nothing much. Kids that age like to mimic things, especially when there’s something new. I doubt there was more than that, at least for La-ren. Judy did it because La-ren did. The others saw something fun starting and joined in. As it got louder, some of them may have thought they’d get to go outside again if they kept it up.”
“And what have you done about it?”
“I told them that they’d had their fun, and now they shouldn’t do it any more. That alarm bells were something to take seriously, because next time it might mean a real fire and we wouldn’t want anyone to think it wasn’t real and ignore it. That sobered them, or some of them. Judy almost cried.”
“What about disciplinary action?”
This time he did snort, and turned it into a cough.
“Ma’am, I hope we can keep in mind that we are raising and training children who will, we hope, go out into potentially dangerous situations and to some extent take charge of them. They’ll need creativity, spontaneity, and self-assurance. Nervous conformity to rules, or worse, fear of trying anything new that might be against some rule they haven’t seen yet, is not what we need to foster.”
The supervisor picked up her tablet and pecked out a reminder to see about the teacher’s reassignment.
Mara opened the request forwarded by the Pre-Elementary Department. Another waste of time from that self-important bureaucrat! Fortunately she had heard about the incident from other channels. She keyed “Denied,” and punched the send button with unnecessary vigor.
Today the twins had a different modeling assignment. They were making smaller copies of the large globe at the front of the classroom, showing the one massive continent and the scattered large and small islands in the single Tofarna sea.
“All right, children, put away your clay and form a circle for story time!”
The children hurried to comply. Story time would be special today: Jerry’s host mother, Hit-ron-fa, had consented to read. A few of the adult Tofa had by now learned to read some Terran, but this was the first time that one of them would be reading aloud.
When the children were all in place, standing or sitting or leaning together as some of the Tofa liked to do, Hit-ron-fa held up the reading for the day. It was an actual book, printed large enough to be seen throughout the classroom. It was fortunate that Hit-ron-fa had an adequate number of hands for holding the book and turning its pages.
The teacher thanked Hit-ron-fa for coming, and by way of introduction asked, “Who can tell me what the title is?” He chose from the forest of hands, making the effort to find a human’s; it was all too easy to call on the Tofa more often than fairness required, as their hands reached higher and obscured their human classmates’. Even if they refrained from ra
ising several at a time.
Jamar studied the cover. “Blue-berries for Sal!”
“What’s a blue-berry?” Suzie whispered to Mat-set.
“Hush. The story may explain. If not, you can ask later.”
Wendy Jergensen, Literature Coordinator, stood in the corridor, just beyond the doorway, enjoying the scene. "Isn't it nice how interested the children are!" she commented to Andrew Smollen, Primary Education Supervisor, who stood beside her.
Mr. Smollen snorted, just audibly. “You arranged the reading, didn't you? I take it you consider this an appropriate fable.”
“Indeed I do. Little Sal and Little Bear don’t think the differences between them — or between their mothers, at least — are anything to be frightened of. They’re just out there enjoying the blueberries.”
“While their mothers find the confrontation frightening. Not so edifying.”
Ms. Jergensen smiled. “Ask any parent, Robert. Children love stories where the children teach their parents a thing or two.”
Mr. Smollen did not recall any such resolution in the book in question. But he had to admit the drawings were delightful.
Hit-ron-fa closed the book with a stately flourish. The children clapped and clapped. The teacher took the book, thanked the visitor and sent the children out to recess. Jerry did not join them. He lingered near his host mother. “Mama Fa?” He tipped his head back to look at her.
Hit-ron-fa scooped Jerry up and stood him on one of the desks. “This may be more comfortable. What is your question?”
“The book you read to us. Did you have books like that, when you were my age? What books did you like?”
Hit-ron-fa stood for a moment, buzzing almost inaudibly. Jerry wondered if she would simply turn and walk away, as she sometimes did. Instead, she picked up the book again and leafed through the pages. Then she laid it on the teacher's desk, picked Jerry up and set him on the floor. “Come and see.”
Jerry followed Hit-ron-fa out the door. They crossed the playground and kept walking. Several of Jerry’s classmates noticed them and stared or pointed. Would the teacher disapprove of this unscheduled expedition? Jerry put the matter out of his mind and hurried to keep up.
It had been years since Jerry had seen Hit-ron-fa’s quarters. Little had changed. The windows in the prefabricated structure were still covered. On the floor was the light yellow mat, with color variations like the shadows of leaves. The scent from the lighted candle stung Jerry’s nose slightly. There were no clothes, and thus no furniture meant to contain clothes. On one wall was a metal engraving of an unfamiliar creature peering out behind tall plants.
Hit-ron-fa paused in the doorway and looked up at a spot on the ceiling. Jerry could barely see the lens of a camera. Hit-ron-fa closed the door, dipped a finger in the melted wax of the candle, reached up and spread the wax over the lens. Then she took a box from the shelf and opened it, removing what at first looked like a pile of thin metal sheets. She pulled at one end and showed that it was one continuous sheet of metal folded like a thick square fan. Its surface was covered in symbols, all etched in thin lines.
“This is like your books. In some ways. It can be used to teach children about things that happened long ago, in case there is no adult available to explain them.”
Jerry reached out a tentative finger to stroke the metal. “Can you read it to me?”
Hit-ron-fa put the book back in the box, the box back on the shelf. She opened the door and beckoned to Jerry. “I will take you back to your class.”
Jerry followed Hit-ron-fa as slowly as he dared, dragging his feet on the mat as he headed for the door.
Mara stared at the screen, with its frozen image of the metal object in Hit-ron-fa’s hands. Ron Keller from Tofa Relations and Sarah Cunningham from Linguistic Analysis waited for her reaction.
“Apparently the Tofa underestimate our cameras. Let’s try to keep it that way. . . . So they do have writing. How do you transcribe telepathy?”
“Their written language must take a different approach.” Sarah divided the screen into multiple parts and called up a series of images: a bull’s head, a series of numbers, a black simplified silhouette of a walking human figure. “It’s probably ideographic — using symbols for ideas, based on various conventions or associations. The symbols needn’t have any connection to the sounds of spoken Tofar, or to whatever language components are conveyed telepathically.”
Ron pounded his thigh with his fist. “Which means we could learn to read it. We have got to get our hands on that book!”
Mara massaged her forehead. “I gather you’ve ruled out simply asking any of them to teach us. Because of Hit-ron-fa’s furtive behavior? Do we even know that’s what it was?”
Ron bit his lip and released it again. “Dr. Cadell. If we assume otherwise, if we reveal what we’ve seen, then we could lose not just our chance at this artifact, but the chance of gathering other crucial information in the future. Please, let me set something up, some time when she’ll be busy elsewhere . . . .”
“It had better be a time when all the Tofa are elsewhere. Which could be tricky. Let me know what you come up with — before you proceed. And have Security keep an eye on that camera feed until further notice.”
Three days later, while Ron and his staff worked on their plans, Security informed Mara that Hit-ron-fa had removed a metal object from a box on the shelf and walked into the woods. She emerged a few minutes later without it. A guard was sent to investigate. He found a lump of fused metal in a puddle of acid.
Chapter 15
Brian stared at Veda in disbelief. He looked around the room as if searching for clues. It had changed since he first saw it, years before. Few of the expensive ornaments remained. One that did, given pride of place, was a broken vase, pieced back together with obvious though inexpert care.
“You want to get pregnant? Again??”
Veda laughed. “I know! I have to look in the mirror to be sure it’s still me. But I really want this.”
Brian walked over and hugged her, then stepped back. “I think I need a bit of convincing. Not about doing it, but about you wanting it. I’d hate to see you have regrets about something like this, later.”
“I’ll try to explain. . . . We both know I didn’t get involved in the Project out of overflowing maternal instinct! We were hoping it’d help you, eventually, at the Bureau. And Daddy had his visions of breeding a ruling class. And you know I had my own — issues to work out, where the Tofa were concerned. But little by little, carrying the babies, being with them, I learned what it was to be a mother. I am a mother now. And I want to be more of one than I can be to Jimmy and Peer-tek. I want a child who’s allowed to be a child, and doesn’t have any great mission, and isn’t being studied every minute.” She looked self-conscious for a moment. “And I must admit, I’d rather like to have a child that looked like me a bit.” She smiled archly. “Even more than Peer-tek does.”
Brian declined to be diverted. “But what would it be like, for this child? None of the staff has young children, not yet anyway, and most of the other mothers don’t have a man around. We’d be making a child who wouldn’t have playmates.”
“Maybe not playmates the same age — but lots and lots of older children. He —”
“Or she!”
“All right — he-or-she would get loads of attention. And there are all sorts of games and educational materials around — no one throws anything away if it was mentioned in any kind of report.”
Brian pulled her close again. “Let’s think about this just a little longer. And while we’re at it, let’s practice.”
The offerings in the dining hall had expanded somewhat. In an attempt “to increase the opportunities for prandial bonding,” the dieticians had been asked to find more foods that both human and Tofa Twin-Bred could consume. Some viral genetic manipulation of both species of twins had been necessary, and had required some fine-tuning. There was a close call when human Twin-Bred became unexpectedly
and violently unable to tolerate oatmeal. The adjustment that solved that problem rendered a few of the children temporarily allergic to eggs. But in the end, it was all sorted out.
Dietician Julie Tran earned the undying gratitude of the Twin-Bred by inventing what everyone called Julie’s Jelly. Made by boiling a Tofa-cultivated grain with pectin and combining it with chocolate and various seasonings, the jelly was so evidently satisfying a treat that many staff members took special catalysts in order to digest it.
Laura and Veda made their way through the lunch line, both eying the Julie’s Jelly as the medical technician ahead of them took a large portion.
“Have you tried it yet?”
Laura reached for a dish of chocolate pudding. “I’m a bit timid about new foods, even when they’re made entirely of traditional ingredients. I suppose I’ll try it eventually. I assume you’ll need to wait?”
Veda nodded. “No catalysts or alien grains for me these next few months! Not to mention that it looks seriously fattening. I am putting on as much weight as I’m told to, and nothing more.”
They made their way to a table. Veda sat down with relief. “I’ll be glad when I’m walking for one again. . . . I am rather enjoying the process, though, this time around. For one thing, I’m doing it entirely for my own satisfaction. Brian’s all for it, after a bit of persuasion, but this little girl is my ‘project’.”
“Oh, it’s a girl! You hadn’t told me. How lovely. Do you have a name for her yet?”
Veda laughed. “You make it sound so simple! We’ve been debating for weeks. We’ve analyzed the character and fortunes of dozens of relatives. Brian was holding out for naming her after his Great-Aunt Betty, who supposedly never got a bad hand of cards. But I believe I’ve brought him around to my favorite.” She smiled her most evil smile. “Actually, I like the name enough that I invented a relative. Dear Cousin Melanie — Melly for short — who never makes it to family gatherings, but I gave her quite the impressive resume.”