Alien Child Read online

  “Are you a he or a she?”

  “It does not seem to apply. What do you think?”

  Nita frowned. “I think you’re like me. But I don’t know.”

  “Does it matter? A he or a she—they are all one kind. This difference has something to do with how your kind brings young into the world. It does not seem to apply to me. You may call me what you like.” Llipel gestured to her. “What is that you hold?”

  Nita held out her hand, showing her guardian the metal object. “I found it before, in a drawer. The screen called it scissors.”

  “What does it do?”

  “It cuts things.” She had already found that out from the screen. “Watch.” She pulled a lock of her dark, curly hair over her face, then cut it off.

  “Your head fur—do you want it removed that way?”

  Nita nodded. Llipel’s fur never seemed to need trimming, while her own hair had become an unruly mass reaching to her waist.

  “Come closer, then,” Llipel said. “I will learn how to use the scissors.”

  Nita climbed up onto the table and nestled near Llipel, welcoming the feel of her guardian’s fur. It seemed unfair that she would never have such fur on her own body when she was older, that she would be like the ones inside the screen, with bare skin and a harder, more clipped voice.

  Nita had once thought of the faces as people who lived inside the screens, who looked out at her through the windows of inaccessible rooms. She learned in time that the faces were only images and not people like her, although it was easy to forget that when she spoke to them. On the small screens, she saw only faces; on the large screens, which took up nearly the space of a wall, she could almost believe that the man or woman there might suddenly stride into the room.

  The images were, it seemed, of people who had once been at the Institute. She was soon favoring two images, one of a woman called Beate and the other of a man named Ismail. Beate had short fair hair that reminded Nita of Llipel’s fur; Ismail had friendly dark eyes and a broad, smiling face. She learned that she could call them up by name, and was soon speaking to them more often than to others.

  “Why are you there?” she had asked Ismail.

  “I’m not sure I understand your question, Nita.”

  “Why do I see you in the screen?”

  Ismail’s brow wrinkled a little. “You know of the artificial intelligence that cares for this facility, don’t you?”

  Nita nodded. The intelligence’s circuits were embedded in the walls and floors of the Institute. Through the robots, the artificial intelligence maintained the Institute and the garden; she knew that this mind could see and hear whatever the robots perceived while it was directing them.

  The mind, however, had other eyes and ears and could watch and listen through the screens in the halls and rooms of the Institute. Knowing this made Nita try to behave, most of the time, since Llipel, who was authorized, could ask the mind to present a visual record of anything Nita did.

  “The mind has memories of those who were once here,” Ismail continued. “It uses these memories to make the images you see. I am the image of the man who was Ismail, but you’re speaking to the mind when you speak to me.”

  “Then you aren’t real.”

  “I’m an image, a representation of Ismail, but I’m not the man. Some preferred to see an image when addressing the mind, rather than hearing a voice from a blank screen. The mind draws on its memories to create such a face.”

  She felt a twinge of disappointment; she would have been happier to think of him as real, even if the screen would always separate them.

  She had another question for Ismail. “Why are there markings on the doors here? What are they for?”

  “They’re letters, Nita. They spell out words. Each letter is a symbol standing for one of the sounds you make when you speak. If you learn how to read them, you’ll see what the words say.”

  She wondered why Llipel had never told her this. “Can Llipel read them?”

  “No,” Ismail replied.

  “Why not?”

  “It was hard for Llipel to learn how to speak this language. She never asked about reading.”

  “Maybe she didn’t think it was a time to learn it,” Nita muttered. She could learn something her guardian did not know; that thought cheered her. “I want to learn, though.”

  “Then we shall begin.”

  Reading became a new game. With a flat, portable screen she could hold in her lap, Nita learned to read letters and then groups of words. Other games involved numbers and ways to manipulate them.

  She was soon able to read the words on the doors of the rooms in which she and Llipel lived. The room where they slept, with its long couch, chairs, and wide desk, had a sign saying ADMINISTRATOR, DEPARTMENT OF EMBRYOLOGY on the door. The room with a row of sinks, mirrors, and stalls was called WOMEN, while a similar room was called MEN. Nita washed and relieved herself in both rooms, as Llipel had taught her to do, although she still needed a chair to climb up to the sinks. Other rooms where she played were called CONFERENCE ROOM; ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT, PRENATAL SERVICES; DIRECTOR, CYTOLOGY DEPARTMENT; ASSISTANT DIRECTOR, CRYONICS; INSTITUTE PERSONNEL ONLY, and other such mysterious terms.

  One door, through which she was not allowed to pass, intrigued her most. This door hid the north wing, the section of the Institute that Llipel called “the cold place,” and was marked by a diagram of a small, curled-up creature with little hands, tiny feet, and a large head. Under the diagram were bright-red letters saying AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  Llipel had first found Nita in the cold place, behind that door.

  Nita followed Llipel to the door at the end of the east wing. Llipel’s ship was outside; Nita caught a glimpse of the large metallic globe that sat on three legs before the door closed behind her guardian.

  This door was marked with letters that spelled EXIT. Nita glared at the door resentfully; Llipel never let her go through any of the exits except the one that led to the garden.

  She turned to her left and gazed at the red letters of the door that hid the cold place. The screens had told Llipel what to feed her and how to care for her. Llipel had brought her out of the cold place to raise her. Her guardian had told her little more than that. Perhaps there was time to learn more while Llipel was outside.

  Nita looked up at the small screen near the door and said, “I want to talk to Beate.”

  The image appeared. “Greetings, Nita.”

  “Why was I in the cold room?” Nita asked.

  Beate smiled, as all the images did before they replied in their kindly, even voices. “You were placed there because a man and a woman wanted a child. Perhaps they were not yet ready to raise you, or could not have a child in another way. You were an embryo, created from the seed of a man and a woman, and were stored in the cryonic facility until it was time for your parents, or someone else, to revive you.”

  “My parents?”

  “Those who gave their seed to create you.” The image of Beate had learned to reply in ways that Nita could understand, but still occasionally used words Nita did not know.

  “Did my parents send Llipel for me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What happened to my parents?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But why was I there?” Nita persisted. “Why didn’t the man and woman come here? Where are they now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Nita stepped back so that she could see the screen more clearly. “Who were they? Did they have names? Can’t you tell me about them?”

  Beate tilted her head; she was still smiling. “I can’t tell you anything about them. Those records are confidential, and you’re not authorized. Only those who are authorized and who may enter the cryonic facility have access to those records.”

  “Can’t you tell me more about the cold place?”

  “No,” Beate replied. “Because of its importance, the cryonic facility is controlled by a separate mi
nd, and this mind is not linked to that one.”

  “But you must know something about the cold place, anyway.” Nita heard the exit door open as she spoke; Llipel’s hand was suddenly on her shoulder.

  “Enough,” Llipel said. “You do not speak of the cold place to her. She is not authorized.”

  Beate’s image vanished. Nita shook off her guardian’s hand. “You never let me do anything.”

  “That is not so.” Llipel reached toward her shoulder and adjusted the mesh sling, which held her supplies; she could not eat the Institute’s food and had to bring provisions inside from her ship. “You have the garden, you have all of these rooms. The screen teaches you about signs and symbols. You have what the screen calls its games.”

  Llipel began to walk down the hall; Nita hurried after her. “Ismail told me there’s a place called the library in the west wing,” Nita said. “He says there are lots of writings in it. Why can’t I read any of them?”

  “The west wing is Llare’s place.”

  “But I don’t have to go there. The screens here could show me those writings.”

  “You are not authorized.”

  “I’m sick of not being authorized! I can read now, and you can’t. Someday I’m going to learn things you don’t know, and maybe I won’t tell you any of them. I’ll tell you it isn’t time to know.”

  Llipel halted. “You push, you are always reaching, you cannot wait. Can you not see that some answers must come later?”

  Nita sighed. Llipel did not seem angry, only puzzled. “I must speak to Llare now,” her guardian continued. “We will go to the garden after that.”

  “Why do you always use the screen to talk to Llare? Why don’t you ever meet? Don’t you like Llare?”

  “Like?” Llipel fluttered her clawed fingers. “I have told you—it is not liking or disliking. There is a time of togetherness, and then a long time apart, and, only later, a time of togetherness again. It is not a time of togetherness for me; it is not that time for Llare.”

  Llipel turned toward the nearest door and pressed her hand against it; as she stepped inside, the door closed behind her. Nita sank to the floor, knowing that the door would not open to her until Llipel and Llare were finished with their conversation.

  She felt loneliest whenever Llipel was talking to Llare. Llipel could have been with another of her own kind, yet she and Llare never met; they spoke to each other only infrequently over the screens in the strange, whistling, mewling speech Nita had never been able to comprehend. Nita was never allowed to see Llare, and was usually sent into the corridor or another room whenever her guardian spoke to Llare. She wondered why; she could not understand what they were saying, anyway.

  At least Llipel could occasionally talk to one who was not simply an image created by the mind. Nita wondered if she would ever see another being like herself, one who wasn’t an image. She had a faint memory, one she could hardly grasp, of another small, bare-faced, unfurred creature, but maybe that was only a dream.

  It was useless to long for others of her kind. Llipel had told her that no such beings lived in the world outside the Institute, and she had to know that was so; her guardian had explored many of those strange lands before coming here.

  It will never be a time of togetherness for me, Nita thought. She felt guilty as soon as that unhappy notion came to her. Why should she need other companions when Llipel clearly did not? She pushed the thought away, but could not repress a hope that others would someday come to the Institute and show Nita that she was not alone.

  3

  Nita was swimming in the pool when Llipel entered the garden, carrying a tray of fruit in her furry hands. “This day is important,” Llipel said as she set the tray down on the tiles. “It is special. I brought you these from the food room.”

  “The cafeteria,” Nita murmured; that was the word that the letters on the food room spelled out.

  “You move easily in that water now,” Llipel said.

  “The screens show me different strokes and kicks. I’ve been practicing.” She swam toward the nearest ladder and climbed out of the pool as Llipel seated herself on the grass. “Why is today special?”

  “I count the days, and mark the passage of the star called the sun.” Nita had watched the sun from the garden and had learned of its movements from Beate; she knew that its arc moved north, then south, then north again. “The sun has passed through nine cycles since I took you from the cold room. This day marks the beginning of your tenth cycle.”

  “Year,” Nita said. “Beate and Ismail call it a year.”

  “I mark your years,” Llipel said. “Now you may mark them yourself, to remember that day when your life began.”

  Nita dried herself, then tied her towel around her waist as she sat down in front of the tray. “You want me to remember this day,” she said. “Why can’t you tell me more about how I began?”

  Llipel plucked at her silver authorization. Much as Nita loved her only companion, she was growing more impatient with Llipel. “There is a time when one must know a thing,” Llipel would say, “and is ready to hear it, and a time when one does not need to know.” Llipel seemed curious only when she had to be. Nita was curious about many things all the time, and wondered if that meant something was wrong with her.

  “You know how you began,” Llipel said at last. “I found you in the cold place. The voices of the screens told me how to care for you and gave me images of a small one of your kind.”

  “But why? Why was I left here for you? Why aren’t there others of my kind? Where did they go?”

  “You ask how you began. Now you ask many other questions.”

  “Why did you come here for me?” Nita asked. “And don’t tell me it isn’t a time for me to know. I’m old enough now to hear more.”

  Llipel scratched at her facial fur with one hand, a sign that she was distressed. Nita had learned not to confront Llipel too often; the possibility of alienating her only companion was usually enough to make her behave. But she had a right to know more about herself.

  Llipel let her hand fall; her large black eyes seemed calm as she gazed at Nita. “Perhaps it is a time to tell. You know that this is not my world. You know that I came here with Llare in my ship from another place.”

  Nita nodded; she had always known that. Llipel and Llare had come to Earth long before Nita was revived, but this world was not theirs. Llipel had never spoken of her world, and Nita had learned not to ask about it.

  “I have no memory of my world,” Llipel continued. “My ship has stored knowledge of this world and of what we found here, but it cannot tell me of my own. I feel that there was a time of togetherness before, but my mind sees only my ship, my companion Llare, and then our first sight of this world. There was some togetherness for me and Llare, but only forgetfulness of the time before.”

  Nita considered these words. She could not recall her own earliest days. Perhaps times of forgetfulness, as well as times of separateness, came to all kinds of beings.

  “We felt—” Llipel put a hand to her mouth, a sign that she was considering what to say. “But you have no words for it. It was our time to explore this world. We went from place to place until we had seen all of your world, all that our ship could see. We saw strange beasts, and giant creatures in the wide waters of this world. On this world’s lands, we found some places of walls, screens, images made from stone or metal, and other objects, but no sign of those who made them. We did not find your kind anywhere.”

  “Then why did you come to the Institute?”

  “We had seen this place,” Llipel replied. “In some parts of Earth, the air grows cold, the water stiffens, and a white substance covers the ground. In others, we could not leave our ship without growing so warm under our fur that we feared our flesh would burn away. We came here because we could live here more easily.”

  “You could have stayed in your ship most of the time,” Nita said. “It carried you here, and you still take your food from it.”
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  “It was a time to live outside our ship. We were here. We did not know where our world was or when a time for togetherness with others of our kind might come. It was a time to learn of this world. There may never be another home for us.”

  Llipel was speaking in her usual steady tone, but Nita felt a sudden surge of sympathy for her guardian. Llipel touched her mouth again; although she was more fluent in the language of the screens, Nita knew that her companion still had to search her mind for certain words.

  “Our ship sits where it landed,” Llipel went on. “We tried to enter this place, but only the doors in front of the tower opened to us. We searched through a large room there and found these.” She touched the silver rectangle on her chest. “We thought they were ornaments of your kind and no more, and then we found that they could open this place to us.”

  Nita frowned. Why couldn’t she go to the tower and become authorized as well? She bit her lip. It wasn’t time for that question, and she was afraid Llipel might fall silent if she asked it.

  “Many cycles passed before we could understand the words the screens spoke,” Llipel murmured, slurring and whistling the words more than usual. “I do not understand many even now. Many of the images I saw were strange and I could not know what words they showed. I cannot look at the signs you call letters and see the words in them, but I listened and repeated what I heard and saw pictures of what the words meant. When more cycles passed, we knew some of the speech of your kind. We also knew more of the workings of this place. We learned why the mind was beginning to fail.”

  Nita tensed. “The mind was failing?” She could hardly believe it. Even if the mind was always watching her, there was some security in knowing that it was there to tend to her needs.

  “This place was not as it is now,” Llipel said. “Some of the garden was untended. The lights sometimes did not shine, and a grayish substance covered the floors of many rooms.”

  “What did you do?” Nita asked.

  Her guardian was silent for a moment. “That which feeds the mind, what the images call a fusion power generator, was not feeding the mind what it needed.” Nita nodded; Beate had told her about the Institute’s power source, which was housed in a thick-walled room under the tower. “We needed only to replace a few circuits to restore the mind.”