Voices of Chaos (3 page)

One of the outsiders stirred then: a woman of her mother's age and size, though she appeared younger, petite in a businesslike dark green skirt and jacket. The man next to her-- not much older than a boy, really--sat back in his chair, one ankle hiked up on his other knee, gazing around him with keen interest. "Solomon--Father Saul," the woman began, her voice was almost as smooth as the big priest's, "you say this is the girl, Magdalena Perez?"

"Her Family Name is Abigail," Father Saul corrected in his soothing rumble.

"But Magdalena was her--Worldly name, yes." He gave Magdalena a deceptively gentle-looking shake. "You need not be afraid of them, Abigail, your Family is here to protect you from the sins outside our walls. Tell them."

Magdalena nodded and kept her voice low and humble. "I am Abigail, who was Magdalena Perez. What the Holy Father tells you is true."

The woman fumbled in the large bag next to her chair and drew out a long, narrow sheet of flimsy. "Now, Mr. Smith-- Father Saul, your pardon, sir." A faint smile twitched the corners of her mouth. "Of course your equipment is outmoded, so we know you'll want printed proof of the girl's test results.

Magdalena," she added gently, "there's nothing to fear from us. We've come to seek you out because of those results. You can tell us the truth, and if need be, we'll protect you. You recently took the StarBridge exams, did you not?"

Her mouth was very dry, but Father Saul's thumb dug into

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her shoulder, an unsubtle reminder. "There was a language section, and I thought I could try that, see how good I'd be. It was--like a game," Magdalena finished lamely. The outsider woman's eyes flicked from the too-thin girl to the vibrant elder, back again.

"Magdalena--Abigail, I beg your pardon, Father Saul." Magdalena caught her breath painfully as the hand on her shoulder tightened. The woman was misnaming them both on purpose, she could tell--and Father Saul didn't like it. "Well, young woman, I am impressed by your scores, whatever you intended."

"It was quite a game," Father Saul interposed neatly, "I am certain, finding such tests on our aged computer system." She could hear the undercurrent in his voice and knew he'd have hard questions to put to her later, just how she
had
tapped into any outside data on the old machine. It was strictly forbidden to even think of reading outside news reports, let alone what
she
had done. "Of course, we give all your required examinations to our school-age children, and the tests for outside universities and academies are available, once the children are old enough for them. I fear," he said with a gentle laugh, "we still think of our daughter here as a child, but even so, she's a year short of age--"

"She's fourteen, according to this," the woman broke in, the flimsy crackling as she waved it at him.

He won't like that,
Magdalena thought in a panic. Being contradicted by an outsider who was also female--one who bared her hair and legs and spoke like anybody's equal.
But he'll never let me go, I was mad to think he would.

And to StarBridge, of all places. She bit back tears and swallowed, hard, as her world began to close in on her before it had ever properly opened.

The silence inside the hall stretched; an odd cough, almost a snort, broke it.

Father Saul glared at the young male outsider, who gave him an apologetic smile, then transferred the glare to the woman. "Ms. Sayners, her years upon this world count for little, since we have kept her safe from its influences; she is a very young, innocent child."

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"But she passed the tests--and with a very impressive score," Ms. Sayners protested.

"Oh, the child has talents," Father Saul countered. "Though it would seem she neglected her duties..." She could hear the anger in his voice. He coughed, smiled. ''Your pardon, it is my fault if the child is delinquent in the execution of the few tasks we require of her."

"The tests, sir--"

"Oh, tests for an
outside
school. You know, Ms. Sayners, that children do so many things in mischief and a computer would certainly provide temptation to--hack, isn't that the word you outsiders use?" He actually laughed; Magdalena started despite herself, and the hand tightened on her shoulder.

"Now and again, one of the children with a talent for the machine decides to find the forbidden areas, and certain of them explore--''

"What--the daily news reports?" the man demanded.

"Of course not!" Father Saul replied easily. "Mr. Daffyd, you must be aware how much offensive matter is out there! Foul language, revealing apparel--

things we do not condone here." He shrugged. "Still, we know they, ah, hack. But early training tells, doesn't it? Because in all our years here, in this sanctuary, no child of ours has embraced your ways once they are old enough to choose. They reject you utterly." He released Magdalena's shoulder, patted her back.

Only because they're all too afraid to do anything else,
Magdalena thought miserably,
or too lost to hope to care.

"Never mind the other children," Mr. Daffyd said easily. "We are talking about this girl."

''I fail to see why. She has already told you she was curious how good her language skills were. Why, I doubt she even meant to actually
take
the tests, did you, child?''

Momentarily, she couldn't speak; she shook her head. Silence.
He's getting
angry again, say something! Tell them no, go with them, they 'll...!
What could they do, two people against the entire Church? Through a tight throat, she managed, "I didn't know they would be sent anywhere. Truly. It was--just for myself." Tears blurred her vision as the woman's mouth tightened.

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"That's the truth?" she demanded. Magdalena hesitated, but Father Saul was right there, the woman an unknown and across the long room. "You are telling me that we came all this way for--for a child's game?" Magdalena nodded, swallowed as the woman viciously tore the computer printout in half, spun on one heel, and strode to the door, the younger man on her heels.

She opened her mouth to scream, "It's a lie! Don't leave me here!" But her voice wouldn't work and then Father Saul had her by both arms, pulling her back against him, enfolding her in his iron grasp, his hand clamped hard across her mouth to keep her from breathing. Then the outsiders were gone.

The outer door closed with a crash that echoed....

Magdalena frantically fought swaddling, smothering blankets, then sat up, gasping for air.
I'm awake this time. Really awake, not just the other bad
dream where you think you're awake, but the nightmare still has you.
All too often, one of those followed the Church dream.
Something made a loud
noise ...
what had wakened her? She clung to the side of her bed, concentrated on breathing deeply until her heart slowed to a more normal rate.

Eyes closed, she fell back onto her pillow and felt cautiously along the floor until her fingers hit metal: the heavy little brass chest David Esterhazy had given her after their final performance the previous night. Apparently she'd fallen asleep before she remembered to move it off the foot of the bed. She shoved it aside so she wouldn't step on it when she got up, then eased onto her back with a long, relieved sigh. The covers were twisted, the sheet under her felt sticky, and wet tendrils of brown-black hair clung to her face.

Not just a nightmare, but one of the bad ones.
It's all right,
she whispered to herself automatically--the words Dr. Rob Gable had taught her to use her first few days here.
You 're on StarBridge. Where you belong. You've been here
three years, it's all right. The compound on New Am is behind you, you don't
ever have to go there again, your mother can't tear at your emotions, the
elders can't bully you. Father Saul--no, Solomon Smith, who took his
church--his cult--and left Earth

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when I was eight because there were already complaints against him for
stealing money like he took Mother's, and for abusing children--Solomon
Smith can't hit you ever again. He can't make you marry him at fifteen, like he
would have if you'd stayed there. It's over and done with.

But what had brought this on? She hadn't had a Church dream in more than a year. "Okay," she murmured. "Work it out, just like Dr. Rob taught you."

The mental exercise he'd given her made bad dreams a puzzle to solve, instead of a terror to keep her from sleeping again.

But her comp was beeping at her, a soft, insistent sound: It was almost time to get up, and the blinking green light on the small screen indicated messages. She sighed and sat up reluctantly. Who'd have left messages this early? "Probably David, wanting to apologize or to argue again, after last night. Great." Just now, she didn't want to talk to David.

First things first, anyway. She stretched cautiously, then sat up, pointing and flexing her feet. The dance recital of the night before had been strenuous, and a wrong move the morning after often brought on muscle cramps.

Nothing hurt, just now; a hot shower would take care of the minor stiffness in her calves, and if she got up and washed now, there'd be plenty of time for a good breakfast.

Several minutes later, dry once more, she sat on the edge of the bed to comb her hair before plaiting it into one thick, long braid, and considered the dream. Ms. Sayners and her companion getting up to leave--that hadn't happened.
See it,
she ordered herself as she flipped the braid over her shoulder and felt along the foot of her bed for the jumpsuit she'd simply dropped there the night before.

Even after so long and all Dr. Rob's help, it still wasn't that easy. Her stomach hurt, and her hands were cold.
It's past, it can't touch you,
she reminded herself. She gave the black one-piece garb most students wore a hard shake and pulled it on.

Of course, Ms. Sayners and her companion knew Father Saul had made her tell that lie; they hadn't believed a word of it. But rather than confront him and risk him pulling her from the room and beyond their reach, they had ignored the man's visibly rising anger and questioned her at length: about 19

the computer, the tests--and to her astonishment, about her age.
They knew
Church law allowed fifteen-year-old girls to marry--within the Church, of
course.
"My fifteenth birthday was less than a month away, they knew I'd be legally out of their reach once one of them married me. Father Saul was going to make me his third wife." They hadn't known about the man's specific plans; Magdalena herself hadn't known-- except the inner certainty she'd had when he looked at her.

"I just knew, like always." She straightened one sleeve and straightened the cuffs, then knelt to find her boots. That sixth sense that had warned her so often, which of the compound adults to avoid, when her mother could be approached....

The sense had kept her from getting caught at breaking Church rules and taking outsider tests, as well. Just like it had told her to trust the two outsiders. "Bless you, Adelicia Sayners," she added softly. When the woman had finally beckoned, Magdalena had eluded Smith's grasp and run straight to her. Sayners left at once, a protective arm around the girl's shoulders.

And she'd had the foresight to bring that young man along: Solomon Smith and his elders knew better than to argue with an official of the New Am Child Endangerment Department. She learned later that John Daffyd had drawn an ugly little pistol and backed out of the room, to make certain no one tried to snatch her back.

Past and done with. With luck, maybe she'd never have another of those awful dreams. "List messages," she said aloud; her voice was rough from talking too much at the after-recital party, trying to be heard over the general roar of conversation.

The first was from Ladessa Phillips, the fifth-year translator she'd been tutoring in Arekkhi manners and dance; the second, noted as urgent, from Dr. Rob Gable, the school's director and psychologist. But when she played it, the only message was, "Call me as soon as you wake up, please."

"No visual," she ordered as she keyed his number. After a moment, his familiar, warm--but sleep-blurred--voice came back to her.

"Magdalena? Oh, good, I was afraid you might still be out

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with David, celebrating last night. I need to see you soon-- no," he added soothingly as she broke in, "there's nothing wrong, it's a message from Khyriz, from Arekkhi."
Khyriz!
Magdalena smiled as she pictured her tall, cheetah-like royal friend. The smile faded almost immediately, though.
Why
would he send word to Dr. Rob, if it's for me?
All Khyriz's letters came to her directly.

But Rob's next words put Khyriz completely out of her thoughts. "That will keep, though. Ladessa's been injured, a silly freak accident in the gym.

She's not in any danger, before you ask, just--well, why don't you go see her? She's out of intensive and I'll okay you to miss your first two classes."

"Intensive! Rob! You're certain she's not--?"

She could hear the smile in his voice; as always, she felt her nerves and muscles relax as she tugged the jumpsuit straight and began fastening the front. "Go on, she's hurting and worried and she needs a friend. That's your job, for now. I'll see you whenever you can get here afterward."

"Of course, sir," she replied demurely, knowing her reply and demeanor would make him laugh.

"All right, Magdalena. I know you're a full test ahead of the rest of your study group in astronomy, so I don't think it will hurt anything if you and I talk instead. I'll program the servo for lemon grass tea and poppy-seed biscuits."

"Thanks, I'll be there." The breakfast combination was a rare happy memory of her mother--the two of them sipping from thick pottery mugs filled with honey-sweetened clear red tea, and eating warm biscuits.

She knelt to clip her boots, as the second message played. Ladessa's normally resonant alto voice was tight with pain. "Hey--lady, I messed up.