Vale of Stars (27 page)

Yallia watched Emme’s approach and knew exactly what her truedaughter was thinking. Emme did not know what effect the news of Jene Halfner’s death would have on her onlymother. No one except an Original could understand the death of an ancestor due to old age.

“How are you, onlymother?” Emme said when Sirra was out of earshot.

Yallia looked at her truedaughter and smiled crookedly. “‘How are you, onlymother?’” she repeated with sarcasm. “You think I’m so fragile as to burst into hysterical tears at the thought that my fifty-seven year old grandmother, one of my family who sent me here twenty-three years ago, has finally died?”

Emme said soothingly, “Now, Yallia, no need to get mean about it. I just thought we’d bring some of your grandkids along to see you. They haven’t visited you in a few weeks.”

Yallia softened. “Thank you, Truedaughter,” she said, this time using the honorific as a gentle barb. “Whom else did you bring?” She squinted into the distance where the other adults were rounding up the children preparatory to entering the farmhouse.

“All your trues.”

Yallia nodded. She could see the tall, spare figures of her three truesons organizing the children while her other two truedaughters talked and laughed with one another. Yallia snorted. Poene and Voer had always been talkers instead of doers.

“Just them, eh?” Yallia knew she was being difficult. It must have taken considerable effort to organize the twenty-six grandchildren and six truechildren as it was. There was no need to expect Emme to bring the rest of her family as well. Still, the whole thing smacked of favoritism—Yallia loved all her children, whether they had come from her alone or from a union with another.

“I should probably see the rest soon too. I don’t want them to feel neglected.”

“Sure, Only.” Emme said it with just enough condescension to irritate Yallia.

“Look, Emme,” Yallia said, rounding on her truedaughter, “I know you think you are somehow better than my other children because you’re a clone,” Yallia used the taboo word on purpose to see her truedaughter’s gasping reaction, “but everyone on the Outside is equally important. As soon as we start deciding who is better or more worthy of respect and love, we might as well move back into the Domes.”

Emme did not answer immediately. Yallia could see her truedaughter’s eyes searching her, looking for herself in her onlymother’s face. When she did speak, she matched Yallia’s anger with softness. “As you wish, Onlymother.”

“And that’s another thing. I’m tired of everyone treating me like I’m some kind of goddomed prophet. Argue with me, tell me I’m a crazy old woman, but don’t just bow your head and say ‘as you wish, Onlymother’ like I’m a saint.”

Emme sighed. “I know you’re upset about your grandmother. If you want us to leave, we can come back later.”

“Domeit, I’m not upset!” Yallia shouted, the lie almost refusing to come out.

Emme looked at her, waiting.

Yallia felt a smile creep onto her face. “All right. But I tell you one thing. I’m not going to let those children eat all the cookies. Come on,” she said and headed towards the farmhouse.

The farmhouse, like all structures the Family built, seemed to rise naturally out of the ground. There was a certain amount of inefficiency in the sloping curves of the house, but the aesthetic effect was well worth it. The house looked as if it had been produced by the planet itself, and indeed the house had been constructed largely with materials already nearby—stone, saltclay bricks, pieces of dead wood cured naturally—so as to minimize the impact on the environment. The farmhouse, like the Family themselves, sought to make only the lightest stamp upon the world on which they lived.

“Lawson!” Yallia called and waved. A burly man filled the farmhouse doorway, holding a bucket in one hand and a cloth in the other. He waved back. Yallia and Emme approached him.

“Your brood just went inside,” Markh Lawson said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I think I heard them talking about salgar cookies?” He looked at Yallia with bushy, grey, raised eyebrows. He glanced at Emme. “Hello, Emme.”

Emme nodded at him, lowering her eyes for a full second before looking up again, paying him the respect due an Original.

“Thanks, Law,” Yallia said. She moved towards the doorway and patted his brawny arm as he moved aside.

“Yallia,” he said hesitantly.

“I’m okay, Law,” Yallia said, not meeting his gaze.

“The household wants to call a Session.”

“About Jene?” Yallia said, this time turning to look at him.

“Well, sort of. I think Kahlman wants to bring up some policy issues.”

Yallia grunted. “All right. Go ahead and call the Session. I’ll be there in a few minutes, ok?”

“Sure.” Lawson glanced at Emme with an unreadable expression and disappeared through an interior doorway to Emme’s right.

Emme and Yallia proceeded to their left to the dining area. The farmhouse was home to eighteen Originals, but as one or more generally had lines visiting them, much space had been dedicated to common gathering areas. Emme heard the sounds of children playing in the next room. Yallia and Emme entered the dining hall to see a bedlam of children running, playing, chasing one another, knocking down chairs, and otherwise keeping their five adult supervisors very busy.

“All right! Who is making a big noise in my house?” Yallia shouted with mock-seriousness. The nearest children flocked to her and hugged her about the legs. Others laughed and shouted back, “We are!”

“Everyone who is staying for the night raise your hand,” Yallia said. A forest of arms waved frantically in front of her. Her eyes widened in pretend horror. “All of you? Where will you sleep? I know—you can sleep with the piggies!”

Laughter and a chorus of “no’s” greeted that suggestion.

“No? Well, then, you’d better find rooms and put away your things. Your mommies and daddies and onlies and birthers will help you. Off you go, now.”

The children scattered every which way to the nearest parent. It did not matter if the person they latched onto was a genetic donor in their makeup—all were equal partners in their upbringing.

Sirra stayed near Yallia. “Where are you going, Gramma?” Yallia smiled behind a straight face. She alone saw through Yallia’s ruse.

“I have a meeting to go to. But it won’t take long, so you just wait for me, okay?”

“Okay,” Sirra said, but Yallia saw the uncertainty in her face. “Why are you angry at your own Gramma?”

The question caught Yallia off-guard. She recovered quickly, though, and managed to smile reassuringly at the child.

“I’m not, Sirra. Now you go find a bed to put your things on.” She swatted her playfully on the rump and Sirra giggled, then moved away.

Yallia watched her go with interest. Sirra’s question had been a most penetrating one—it had cut deep into Yallia, through the insulating years and experiences, almost to the knot of bitter resentment that still gnawed at her.

Perceptive as Sirra was, however, she was still a child. She could not know that she had overshot the mark by one generation.

Session was of course not underway when Yallia entered the bare room. The other seventeen Originals sat at their places, talking quietly to one another. The Presiding chair had been pulled back for Yallia, and she slid smoothly into it, glancing at the others ranged around her.

“All right. What’s so domed important that it has to pull me away from my children?”

The other Originals shifted in their seats. Without turning more than a few degrees, sixteen individuals managed to give the floor to a handsome man three seats to Yallia’s left.

“I apologize, Yallia. I’d have spoken to you about it personally, but I thought a Session would be more…official.” Franc Kahlman had a resonant voice and a youthful appearance although he was in fact a year older than Yallia. Like all the other Originals, he had joined Yallia already in exile, but he had been expelled from the Dome at an older age.

“Official?” Yallia snapped.

“Yes. We’ve received word that your mother wishes to see you.”

Yallia gripped the table edge to keep the room from spinning. She had not expected that, although as soon as she heard the news, she realized such was inevitable.

“I haven’t seen her in six years,” Yallia said quietly, half to herself. She ruminated for a moment, then jerked her head up to meet Kahlman’s level gaze. “Why is this a matter for Session? Are you planning to call a Grand Session too? Why not? Let’s make this open to all. Ask the Family—should Yallia meet with her mother?” Yallia saw the effect her sarcasm had on the rest of the Originals. None of them looked at her—they simply stared at the table and fidgeted with their fingers. Kahlman was the only one to respond, his eyes never leaving Yallia’s.

“Yallia, this is a Family issue. Your mother is the only direct source of intelligence left to us for Domer activity.”

Yallia stood up slowly. “Is there anything else? Am I excused to see my grandchildren, or do I need Session permission for that, too?”

“Oh, sit down and stop acting like a fool,” came Lawson’s voice from the far end of the table. There was not quite a gasp from the other members of the table at this outburst of disrespect from their most junior member. Lawson had only joined the Outside four years ago, having manifested his mutation at the remarkably old age of twelve, and was still not quite ensconced into Original favor. Yallia herself, however, had taken a liking to the outspoken man and had extended him every kindness.

“I’m not the fool here, Lawson,” Yallia said, but there was a glint in her eye as she sat back down.

“You know very well that a visit from your mother was coming, and you knew a Session would be called to convince you to see her.”

“I have nothing to say to her,” Yallia said, her voice maintaining a warning tone.

Kahlman said, “But she brings with her information about the Domers. We need that information.”

“Why?” Yallia asked, turning to him. “All we do is collect data. I’ve wanted to strike at the Research Enclave for over a year now, and Grand Session just keeps voting to delay, to collect more information. And you usually lead that faction, Lawson.” Yallia swiveled her head and pointed an accusing finger at him. “What’s the current census report?” She asked the table in general.

A woman named Marbe spoke up. “There are ten thousand, nine hundred and eighty-four Family members as of this morning,” she said in precise tones.

“How many have reached Age?” Yallia asked.

Marbe did not hesitate. “One thousand, one hundred and two.”

Yallia surveyed the table, silently allowing the numbers to sink in. The number of battle-ready Family had remained almost constant for several years, but rarely was the exact number mentioned. “We are ready to attack the Enclave. We’ve been ready. We don’t need any more information, and we don’t need to wait seven years for our grandchildren to come of Age.”

“We can always use more information. There’s no such thing as too much intelligence,” Lawson rumbled.

“By that so-called logic, we’ll never attack,” Yallia shot back.

“I submit that this argument can wait,” Kahlman interjected. “Right now, I put the question to you directly, Madame Prime”—Kuhlman used her official title without rancor or irony—“will you speak to your mother?”

Yallia had not moved her eyes from Lawson’s even as Kalhman spoke.

“Yes. But I’m going alone. No braintap this time.”

Kuhlman seemed satisfied at this and sank back deeper into his chair. Yallia saw Lawson shift his weight.

“You don’t like that, Lawson?”

“No, but I suppose I’ll have to live with it.”

“Dome right you will. When does she want to come?” Yallia asked the table itself, looking around at the Originals around it.

“Tomorrow, just after daybreak,” Kuhlman answered. “Standard procedure—she’ll meet you in the Enclave. She made the usual request to see her grandchildren—”

“She doesn’t have any grandchildren,” Yallia mumbled.

Kulhman swept on as if she hadn’t spoken. “—but did not indicate she would venture Outside. The Enclave is ready for the visit.”

Yallia got up, suddenly tired. The rest of the Originals got to their feet.

“All right,” Yallia said. “If there’s nothing else, I’m adjourning this Session.” She gave a cursory look around the table, then waved the other Originals away. They left hurriedly.

“Law,” Yallia said to the muscled young man as he passed her to leave the chamber. She reached out and seized his arm.

He looked at her expectantly.

Yallia hesitated the barest second before speaking. He was a good man, despite his youth and inexperience—no, because of it. He was what the Family needed, a reminder that they were pioneers in every sense of the word. These Sessions were becoming staid. They were robbing the Family of the initiative to act. Lawson, and people like him, were their best hope. She had to convince him, above all the others, to abandon passivity and act.

“I’ve been thinking about having another child. A boy, this time. I’d like you to be the father.” She looked at him without irony, without any of the hardness she displayed in Session. Lawson had fathered one of her children already—a girl named Renne who had gone into the arts and was a moderately successful poet. Yallia knew he knew that she had had six children and had been cloned six times.

“Me, again?” Lawson was taken by surprise.

“I know. It’s unusual, but I like what we made in Renne. I’d like to see what comes of a boy between us.” Yallia knew what Lawson must be thinking. It was indeed highly unusual, and somewhat indecent, to have multiple children with the same partner, but Yallia was the Prime Original. She did not only follow fashion, she helped shape it. Besides, there was something fascinating in Lawson that drew her to him. He himself had only had four children so far—two by female Originals, one by a native Family woman, and one by an Original man from a different farmhouse. The latter had had minor difficulties during its gengineering process, but Yallia had managed to pull it through without too much trouble. All four children were shaping up to be excellent Family citizens of superior stock. But Yallia knew that was not all that drove her to seek another union with Lawson. He was different. He did not bow unquestioningly to her whims but stood in disagreement with her on many points. Yallia found herself inexplicably drawn to that facet of his personality.