Six Moon Dance Part 3

Which evidently gave her pause, for she said nothing more as she tapped away, Simon prowling after her as silently as a cat.

This was not the first time Mouche had heard discussions about taking younger boys at House Genevois. All the Consort Houses were licensed by the Panhagion. The financial end of things, however, was supervised by Men of Business, and financially, as Madame had mentioned on more than one occasion, taking younger boys made sense. Younger boys were cheaper to buy, for one thing; a good-looking nine-year-old could be had for eight or ten vobati and the initial annuity costs were lower. Then too, the early years were better for forming graceful habits, the eradication of lower caste accents, and the inculcation of both the superficial learning that would pa.s.s for sophistication and the rigorous physical training that allowed the student to emulate spontaneity. There was also less correction to do in the breaking of bad behavior, which saved staff time. This saving alone more than offset the cost of feeding and housing for a few extra years. There would be little risk, for as the population grew, though slowly, the market for Hunks grew with it. Even women who did not make much use of them wanted them as status symbols.

All of which explained why more dormitory s.p.a.ce was needed, and also why Simon was so equivocal about it. Simon didn't like the idea of taking younger boys. He said it was too difficult to pick good candidates much before age twelve because cherubs could turn into gargoyles, though whatever Madame did or did not do, she was not answerable to him.

Nonetheless, the conversation disturbed him. Something about it stirred a memory in Mouche, one he couldn't shake. It had something to do with Duster dog, but he couldn't quite remember what, though it had something to do with their wanderings. He mused a good deal on that.

Back on the farm, when ch.o.r.es were done, Mouche and Duster had often wandered away to visit some of the mysterious places in the lands round about. They had found their first cave when Mouche was seven and Duster was only a pup, and by the time he was nine, they'd found a dozen of them some of them very deep and dark and too frightening to go into very far. Mouche's favorite cave was the one he'd found when he was nine, where water leaked through the roof to fall musically into a quiet pool lit by rays that thrust through the odd rift or cleft in the rocks, where small pale plants grew in abundance, and where a fairly biggish sort of furry creature lived who did not mind sharing Mouche's lunch or his knee in order to be petted and scratched about the ears and on the stomach. The furry thing was violet, the color of late sunset, and it had large hands and short though strong little legs and a long, fluffy tail. After the first tense meeting, Duster and the furry thing settled into a kind of companions.h.i.+p as well. The creature spoke, though only a few words, which delighted Mouche.

"Mouchidi," it said, putting his lips to Mouche's face, nipping him with his sharp little teeth-only a love bite, Mouche said to himself-and giving him a long, measuring look. "Twa, Mouchidi."

Mouche was well aware of his family's poverty, so he never suggested, even to himself, that he take the creature home and adopt it as a pet. Duster was given house room only because he guarded against roving supernumes and caught most of his own meals from among the small food the early settlers had released into the wild: rabbits, ground squirrels, wild hens. Besides, the furry thing seemed well established where it was, and the cave was close enough to visit from time to time, over a s.p.a.ce of some three or four years.

On a particular day, however, Mouche had to convince Duster to come along, for the dog had been busy digging a large hole in the bottom pasture in pursuit of something only Duster could identify. Mouche took a chunk of bread, with a lump of b.u.t.ter already inserted in it, a couple of winter apples, and his share of the piece of cheese set aside for that day's consumption. Darbos usually kept his share to add to the evening grain, and Eline ate hers at bedtime, but Mouche ate his cheese at noon because he could sneak bites of it to Duster, as he could not do if Eline was watching.

Usually Mouche's approach to the cave was quiet, if not silent, but today when he came within hearing distance, he heard the small furry thing screaming. He had heard it scream before, when it was surprised, or hurt, so he gave up any pretense at secrecy and ran for the cave at full tilt, drawing up at the entrance to see two boys, arms outstretched, attempting to catch the furry thing, whom they had already wounded with a thrown rock. Mouche saw the rock, the wound in the furry thing's side, the boys intent and l.u.s.tful faces, and without even thinking about it, he launched himself at the larger boy while Duster, following suit, took on the smaller.

Mouche and Duster had the advantage of surprise and at least one longer set of teeth. Though Mouche was somewhat battered in the fray, he and Duster prevailed. The two interlopers fled, though the larger paused at the top of the slope to shout, "You and your dog better watch it, farm-boy. I'll get you. You count on that."

Mouche paid little attention for he was busy attending to the furry thing that lay in his lap and sobbed like a baby.

"Borra tim ti'twa, Mouchidi. Borra tim ti'twa."

The wound was not deep, and after a time, the thing sat up and sighed for a time, holding tight to Mouche the while and allowing Duster to lick the blood away, while the small creature took a tuft of its own fur and bent forward to clean up the abrasions Mouche himself had incurred, wiping the blood and loose skin away and then secreting the soiled tuft somewhere upon its body. It put its lips to the wound giving Mouche another love bite, only this one stung a little, and Mouche drew away with a little gasp. The creature murmured at him, patting his face.

It was only then, when things had quieted down a bit, that Mouche noticed the odor, a rancid, moldy, feculent stench with more than a hint of burnt feathers to it. A little breeze came up and blew the smell away. Though the small furry thing might have emitted some smell in its fear, Mouche thought it more likely the smell had come with the intruders. Perhaps, he thought, they had been cleaning out a cow byre and forgot to wash. Though the smell was, come to think of it, worse than even several cows could manage.

Mouche was feverish for the next few days, as though he might have picked up a bug, so his father said, roaming around when he should be working. It didn't amount to anything, and he was well again in no time, well enough to have another look at the cave.

When he and Duster got there, the small furry thing was gone, but the smell was all over the place. There were no displaced rocks or signs of struggle, and Mouche a.s.sumed the furry one had very intelligently gone elsewhere. He decided he would look in some of his other caves to see if his friend had taken up residence, and left it at that until a few days later when Duster set up a terrible howl, then thrashed and panted and tried to vomit and eventually, after a terrible afternoon of agony, died in Mouche's arms. All those hours, while Mouche tried to hold him, to comfort him, that same smell was on him, and Mouche knew that Duster had died of poison, that the intruder boys had kept their word.

"What boys?" his Papa had asked.

Mouche had described them.

"The Dutter boys," Papa remarked, with distaste.

The Dutter boys. Well. So, that was what had made him remember. It was unlikely there would be more than two with that name, and Madame didn't like the Dutter boys either.

6.

On Old Earth: The Dancing Child.

Come chickies, chickies," cried Mama One. "Come lapsit, storytime."

Ellin heard the call, although she told herself she didn't. She couldn't hear it, she was too far in the woods, dancing, dancing. Her feet had taken her too far away, and she couldn't hear Mama One or Benjamin or Tutsy or any of them. She whirled and whirled, high on her toes, hearing only the music, the drums, the strings, the harp....

"There you are, chickie!" And she was seized up, kicking silently, feet still pointed as they had been when she danced away.

"Where was she?" asked Papa One, in his furry big bear voice.

"Out in the atrium, by the tree," Mama One answered in her kindly middle bear voice, tucking Ellin tighter against her cus.h.i.+ony self. "She's always out by the tree, whirling around."

"Dancing," said Ellin, defiantly, hoping she would make Mama One listen. "Inna woods."

"Dancing," laughed Mama One, paying no attention at all. "Here, Ellin on the lap and Benjamin on this side and Tutsy on the other side, and big brother William in that chair, and here's Papa with the book."

Story time was always by the holo-fire, with big brother William in the chair nearest the fire, staring at Ellin and Benjamin and Tutsy with his nose pinched up. Breakfast was always by the kitchen window with the holo-view of sun s.h.i.+ning in through green or red leaves, and William already gone away to school. Dinnertime was lamp glow, with everybody at the table, even Tutsy in her high chair, and bedtime was always open the window in Ellin's room, with the holo-moon outside, sailing, sailing, and the leaves on the trees dancing, dancing.

"What story tonight?" asked Papa One. "What story, Benjamin?"

"Engine," said Benjamin. "Little Engine."

Ellin stuck her thumb in her mouth and shut her eyes. She was tired of the little engine, tired of being like the little engine, think I can, think I can, think I can. It wasn't thinking anymore. It was knowing. Ellin knew she could, but Mama One didn't care. Papa One didn't care. She could be making mud pies for all they cared.

Instead of listening to Papa One's furry voice, she went away inside, somewhere else, that place she'd seen on the holo-stage, the beautiful room where the little girl was, not a grown-up girl, a little girl like Ellin, dancing, dancing under the huge Christmas tree, not a tiny tree like the potted one in the atrium. Ellin's toes pointed, her free hand turned on the wrist, like a flower opening. She could feel all the muscles in her legs tightening. There was the wicked mouse king, and she ran, like a little wind runs, so quick, so smooth and pretty.

"Ellin isn't listening," crowed Mama One. "Ellin's a sleepy head."

"Am, too, listening," said Ellin. "My eyes are bored, so I shut them."

"Poor baby," whispered Mama One, gathering Ellin in. "Are you Mama One's poor baby? Bored with the whole world? Well, a night's sleep will make it all right. And tomorrow, well, Ellin's having a surprise!"

Inside, something lurched, like it did when you stepped on one of Benjamin's marbles and had to balance quickly or fall down. "Surprise?"

"Ellin's six years old tomorrow. A birthday! And the people from History House are coming."

Ellin told herself she hadn't heard. She was so sleepy, she hadn't heard it. William had, though. She saw the mean glitter in his eyes, saw his lips move. "Told you," his lips said. "I told you."

The little lurch inside became something worse, like a throwing up feeling. She couldn't just let it lie there, making her sick.

"Mama One," she said desperately, sitting up and opening her eyes wide. "William says you're not my mama. William says Papa One isn't my papa. William says me and Benjamin and Tutsy don't belong here."

"William," said Papa One in a threatening voice. "Shame on you. What a thing to say to the child!"

"The brats aren't yours," crowed half-grown William in his nasty voice that cracked and jumped, like the broken piano at the kindergarten. "That's the truth. Why shame on me for telling the truth?"

Mama One said something, but she choked. She had to swallow hard and try again. "Ellin and Benjamin and Tutsy do belong here. This is their infant home. Unfortunately Unfortunately, this is also William's childhood home, and he is a selfish pig about it."

"What's infant?" Ellin asked.

"It's a baby," William crowed defiantly. "It's a baby. And tomorrow you won't be a baby anymore."

"That's true," said Papa One in the heavy voice he sometimes used when he was very angry. "And next week, William won't be a child anymore. Next week, William, you will be fourteen. And when children reach fourteen, they are placed for education."

"Hey," said William uncertainly. "Hey, I didn't mean ..."

"I know what you meant," said Papa One. "You meant to hurt Ellin, to make her feel insecure. Well, now deal with it yourself. By the end of the week, you too, William, will be adapting, just as Ellin will adapt, won't you, sweetie?"

"What's adapt?" cried Ellin.

"Shhh," said Mama One, tears in her eyes. "Oh, shhh. You men. You've spoiled it all!"

She cuddled Ellin tight, picking her up and carrying her upstairs to her own bedroom, her own dollies and dollyhouse and her own shelf of books and her own holo-stage, her own things, all around.

"What's adapt?" Ellin wiped at her nose with her sleeve.

"Shh," said Mama One. "Tomorrow, the people from History House are coming. Tomorrow, you'll meet them, and they'll see what kind of sweet little girl you are. And then, then we'll talk about adapting and all the rest."

"What rest?"

"Your life, child. Just your life."

Ellin thought she wouldn't sleep at all, for she was scared and mad and hated William. When Mama One opened the window, though, the holo-moon began to peep and the music began to wander, and all the leaves danced. Ellin pointed her toes in her bed and danced with the leaves, and before she knew it, it was morning.

The baby-aide came to take Benjamin to kindergarten and Tutsy to the playground. William was at school. Ellin helped Mama One straighten up her room, then she got dressed in her best dress, the one with the full skirt, and her best shoes, the s.h.i.+ny ones, and waited.

Almost right away the bell rang, and the people came in. One man, two women. They wore funny clothes, but Ellin knew enough not to laugh or point or say anything because they were from another time and couldn't help how they looked. She curtsied and said, "How do you do," in a nice voice, and the three people said, "How do you do, Ellin," back again.

"Nordic type, clearly," said the man.

"Nordic quota clone," said one of the women, looking at the thing she was carrying, a funny flat box thing with b.u.t.tons. "This is number four of six. Silver hair, blue eyes, pale skin."

"I'm more interested in the other," said the second woman. "Mama One tells us you like to dance, Ellin. Will you dance for us?"

"I ... I need music," Ellin said.

"That's all right," the second woman said. "I brought music."

She had a box with b.u.t.tons, too, and she pushed some of them and the music came out, the same music Ellin remembered, about the girl and the nutcracker and the bad mouse king.

Ellin's feet started moving. She didn't even have to think about it. Her body did it, all by itself, the little runs and the jumps and then, then she did the other thing, the one the other dancers did, she went up on her toes, on the tips, right up, high, with her arms coming up, up, like she was flying....

"By Haraldson the Beneficent," said the second woman. "Ellin, dear, thank you. No. That's enough. You don't have the right shoes to do that, dear, and you'll hurt yourself. You can settle now."

The man was smiling, not at Ellin, but at the woman. "Well?"

"Well, it's remarkable. Quite remarkable. I want all six, if we can get them."

"Including this one."

"Of course, including this one!"

"Hush," said Mama One, almost angrily. "You're not talking about a set of dishes. This is Ellin."

"Of course," said the man. "I'm sorry, Madam. Certainly, she ... we meant Ellin."

"Would you like to come live with us, Ellin?" the woman asked. "You can dance all the time. You'll have the very best teachers. You'll learn to do the Nutcracker, the one you were copying. You'll learn lots of other pre-gravitics dances, too. Giselle, and Swan Lake, and Dorothy in Oz."

"Come?" Ellin said, breathlessly. "Come where?"

"History House, child. You're intended for History House, Old Earth America: the Arts."

"And I can dance?"

"All the time. Except when you're in school, of course. All children must go to school."

"She's allowed transition time," said Mama One, with a glare at Papa One, who just stood there. "You've seen her, now enter your letter of intent to rear, that'll make it all official, and leave her to me for a few days. I'll bring her from her own time when she's ready."

So they went, shaking Mama One's hand and Papa One's hand, turning to wave at Ellin as they went out the front door and into the street where a hole into tomorrow opened and let them through.

"Mama One," said Ellin, her eyes suddenly full of tears. "Mama One, are they going to take me away?"

"Shh," said Mama One. "Lunch time. We'll worry about taking away or not taking away later, after we're all calmed down."

After lunch, Mama One and Ellin went into the atrium, to the seat by the tree, where Ellin sat in Mama One's lap while Mama One explained it all. She wasn't Ellin's cell Mama. Papa One wasn't Ellin's cell Papa. Another, very special person who had died a long time ago had such very good cells that she left some behind to make children, and the twentieth-century experts at History House had asked for some of those children, and Ellin was one of them. Mama One and Papa One lived in a village that had been kept just like the twentieth century, and they were her infant parents so Ellin would grow up acting and talking like a real twentieth-century person. And Mama One and Papa One had taken care of Ellin because they loved her, and when Ellin grew up, she would dance for History House, just like her cell mother had.

"I'm not grown up!" Ellin said. "I'm not old enough."

"No, but you're old enough to go to school, and they want you to go to the History House ballet school, where you'll learn to dance and all about the time in history that you'll be working in. Papa One and Mama One have a license to raise children as they were raised in the twentieth century, but there's lots more to learn about it than we can teach you."

"Do all your children go away when they're as old as me?"

"Not always. Sometimes the children stay with us until they're thirteen or fourteen or even grown up. William stayed with us until now because he's only going to do set construction, and History House won't need to teach him much that he can't learn right here. But Ellin is a dancer, and she needs to learn a lot about dancing."

"Why? They knew I could dance. How did they know?"

"Because we made out such good reports on you, four times every year, and we told them what a fine dancer you were. And because your cell mama was a wonderful dancer, like both her parents. And they were nordic types, just like you."

"What's a quota clone? William said I was a quota clone!"

Mama One took a deep breath, her lips pressed tight together. "William needs his mouth zippered up! All it means is that when they make an extra special person, sometimes they make more than one. That's all. Only extra special people are cloned, so when anyone says that, it's like saying you're special."

"William isn't a clone?"

"Gracious, what an idea! Does anybody need more than one William?" Mama One laughed, the tears spilling. "Do we?"

Ellin settled into the cus.h.i.+ony lap, glad there was only one William. "Do I have to go to History House?"

"If you want to dance, sweet one, you should go as soon as you're ready. That's what you're meant to do, sure enough, and if you want to do it badly enough, you should go." And then Mama One cried for real, putting her head right down on her knees, and not stopping even when Ellin kissed her and hugged her and told her she'd never, ever go away.

She didn't want to go away. It gave her a stomach ache to think about it. And yet ... yet, everyone seemed to suppose she would go away. It was as though ... as though they had stopped looking at her. As though they didn't really see her anymore. And now there was new music and trips to see new dances and a chance to attend a cla.s.s with real dancers, and ...