“We need her here,” Basia said, his tone hard and definitive. The conversation was over. Except that it wasn’t.
“I don’t regret coming here,” Lucia said. “And you didn’t force me to come. The months after Ganymede when we were all living like rats packed too tight? All the ports that wouldn’t take us in? I remember that. When Mao-Kwikowski was dissolved, I was the one who helped Captain Andrada draw up the salvage papers. I made the Barbapiccola our ship.”
“I know.”
“When we took the vote, my voice was with yours. Maybe living so long as refugees made us wild or brave. I don’t know, but to come here. To begin everything again under a sky. Under some new star. I thought it was as obvious as you did, and I don’t regret coming.”
Her tone was fierce now. Her dark eyes glittered and flashed, daring him to disagree. He didn’t.
“If we spend the rest of our lives mining lithium and trying to grow carrots, I will be delighted with that,” she went on. “If I never reattach another ligament or regrow a lost thumb, then fine. Because I chose it. Jacek and Felcia didn’t make that choice.”
“I’m not sending my children back,” Basia said. “What would they get back there? With all the work that needs to be done here, with all the things there are to be learned and discovered here, how is going backward a good idea?” His voice was getting louder than he’d meant, but he wasn’t shouting. Not really.
“Being here is our choice,” Lucia said. “Felica’s choice is where her choice is. We can stand in the way or we can help.”
“Helping her back into that isn’t helping,” Basia said. “She belongs here. We all belong here.”
“Where we came from —”
“We came from here. Nothing that happened before matters. We are from here now. Ilus. I will go down dying before I let them bring their wars and their weapons and their corporations and their science projects here. And I will be damned if they get any more of my children.”
“Dad?”
Jacek stood in the doorway. He had a soccer ball on his hip and an expression of concern in his eyes.
“Son,” Basia said.
The moaning of the wind was the only sound. Basia stood up, took his canister and then Lucia’s. Taking her leavings to the recycler was a small olive branch, but it was all he had. The sense of impotent rage and shame boiled up in his throat and found to release there. Katoa, the landing pad, the concern in Jacek’s eyes. The years they had spent fleeing only to land in a brick palace that his daughter wanted to leave. All of it mixed into a single emasculating anger as hot as solder.
“Is everything okay?” Jacek asked.
“Your mother and I were just talking.”
“We aren’t from here,” Lucia said as if Jacek hadn’t come in, as if the adult conversation could go on with the boy there. “We’re making it that way, but it isn’t true yet.”
“It will be,” Basia said.
Chapter Six: Elvi
Elvi sat in the high meadow, her legs stretched out before her, and watched quietly. The plant analogs – she couldn’t really call them plants – lifted up above the dry, beige soil, straining toward the sunlight. The tallest stood hardly more than half a meter with a flat corrugated top that shifted to follow the sun and glittered the iridescent green of a beetle’s carapace. A gentle breeze shifted the stalks and cooled Elvi’s cheek. She didn’t move. Four meters away, a mimic lizard cooed.
This time, the answering coo was closer. Elvi fought not to bounce with excitement. She wanted to wave her hands in glee, wanted to giggle. She stayed still as a stone. The prey species waddled closer. About the size of a sparrow, it had a soft rill of something like feathers or thick hair that ran down its sides. It had six long, ungainly legs, each ending in a doubled hook. She wanted to see them as fingers or toes, but she hadn’t seen any of the little things use the hooks to manipulate anything. It cooed again, a soft guttural chuffing halfway between a dove’s call and a tambourine. The mimic lizard waited a moment, its wide-set eyes shifting toward the little animal. Elvi watched for the tremor in the lizard’s side, an almost invisible fluttering of its scalelike skin.
With the speed of a gun, the lizard’s mouth unhinged and a mass of wet pink flesh shot out. The prey animal didn’t so much as squeak as the lizard’s inverted stomach drove it to the ground. Elvi’s fists wriggled in delight as the mimic lizard began hauling its internal organs back across the dry ground. The prey species was dead or paralyzed, adhering to the pink flesh. Dirt and small stones stuck to the stomach too. Eventually the whole mass reached the mimic lizard’s too-wide jaw, and it began the long process of drawing the messy complex back through its mouth. From her previous observations, Elvi knew it would take the better part of an hour before the mimic lizard’s newly concave sides filled out again. She stood up, dusting herself off, and hobbled over.
Her foot was still in the cast she’d gotten on that terrible first night. The pain from the broken bone was only a dull ache now, more an annoyance than a problem, but the cast made mobility an issue. She opened her satchel, the black lattice fabric ticking under her fingers, then gently lifted the feeding lizard into it. Its gaze flickered across her, untrusting. That was fair.
“Sorry, little one,” she said. “It’s in the name of science.”
She closed the satchel and triggered the collection sequence. The lizard died instantly, and the internal assay sequence began, cataloging the gross structures of the animal’s body, firing hair-thin needles through the corpse to gather samples at every boundary between tissues and feeding the data up to the dedicated system in the satchel’s strap. By the time she got back to her little hut and took the corpses out for storage and cataloging, the mimic lizard and its prey would be modeled in her computer, terabytes of information ready to stream up to the Edward Israel and from there back to the labs on Luna. It would take the signal a few hours to travel the distance that had taken her eighteen months, but for those hours, she and her workgroup would be the only people in all the billions of humans scattered throughout the planets who would know this little being’s secrets. If God had come and offered her the Library of Alexandria in exchange, she wouldn’t have taken the trade.
As she tramped down the gentle slope toward her hut, the mining village spread out before her. It was tiny. Two parallel streets with a gap in the middle that passed for a town square. The buildings were cobbled together from the supplies they’d brought and what they could find on the planetary surface. Everything stood at slightly wrong angles, like a handful of dice had been scattered there. She was used to the strict rectilinear architecture that came from living where space was precious. That didn’t apply here, and it made the little town seem more organic, like it had simply grown there.