Pandora's Genes (25 page)

The room was so darkened that it was difficult to see more than an arm’s-length ahead. The old woman lay heavily covered, despite the late summer heat, her frail body nearly swallowed up by thick coverings.

The stench of sickness hung in die air like morning fog, and the Principal resisted an impulse to throw open the windows. The two women at the bedside stepped away, then left the room, and he approached her, feeling nauseated.

“I’m here, Mother,” he said.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, not quite focusing. He sat by the side of the bed. She was impossibly thin. He didn’t know how she had managed to stay alive for so long. Possibly a wild deena was in her. Her hand rested on the coverlet beside her, so frail that it seemed to have no weight. For just a moment he had an impulse to cover her hand with his own.

“Will,” she said, her voice only a whisper, I asked you to come, because . . . you must think of the future.”

“The future is assured now,” he said. “Because of you and your work.”

“Nothing is assured,” she said.

He realized that she must be referring to his struggle with the Traders, and for a moment he thought of telling her all that had happened with the Trader leader, but she was speaking again.

“There’s much to accomplish yet,” she went on. “More, perhaps, than you will be able to do. I mean to say, you must provide for succession.”

He stared at her, startled. How could she have known that had been on his mind, ever since the first attack by the Trader spies? “I know it,” he said.

She seemed not to hear him. “No matter what your personal feelings,” she went on, “you must take a wife. One who is not susceptible to the sickness.”

Again he nodded, astonished. At one time the old woman would have done anything in her power to keep him away from all women. Did she understand that he had changed? More likely the future of her project was more important to her even than her feelings about him.

“I will do it, old woman,” he said.

“A wife,” she said, with some intensity. “A companion, a helpmeet, someone who understands what must be done. Not . . . as you have done in the past.”

He took a deep breath, and stood. “Is it your plan, then, to control my actions from the grave?”

She was silent a moment, then spoke, her weak voice full of disgust. “It has always been my hope,” she said, “that you would learn to control your own actions.”

Again he drew in air and held it. His anger was not lessened by the knowledge that she was right.

“Will,” she said, when he did not speak again. “Sit down. Don’t you think it’s hard for me to say this? For a long time I believed that our work at the Garden was all that mattered. And in a sense it is. But I know now that it is meaningless without a structured society. Without your society. I don’t want to see anything happen to it. The future of my work depends on the future of yours. And that depends on a stable succession.”

He looked down at her, astonished. He knew what it had cost her to say these words. A flame of anger still licked at the corners of his mind, but it was mixed with the beginnings of respect. He let out a deep breath, then sat beside her again.

“I understand you,” he said. “I have been thinking the same way for a long time now.”

Her lips smacked together two or three times, then she gave a profound, exhausted sigh. “I wish,” she said. He leaned closer to her, but then she began to cough, deeply and heavily. Her eyes rolled up until the whites showed. Alarmed, he opened the door and called for the women who had been attending her.

Several women rushed in and crowded around the bedside, their voices low and heavy with sobs. The Principal scarcely realized that Evvy was among them until his eyes met hers across the bed of the dying woman. She acknowledged him with a widening of her plum-colored eyes, then bent over the old woman, gripping her hand and stroking her hair. The Principal stood by the window, not wanting to be there, yet unable to leave. The Mistress looked once at him and seemed about to speak, then she closed her eyes and her breathing became more labored. After nearly an hour of struggle, during which she no longer seemed aware of anything, she again opened her eyes. She stared at the foot of the bed as if seeing something there. She lifted her head off the pillow, then murmured a word. Suddenly she became rigid, then fell back, her eyes open, at last gone.

The sobbing of the women in the room became louder now. The Principal lifted a corner of curtain. Outside the sky was bright with summer sun. He felt a tug at his sleeve. He turned to see Evvy, her face streaked with tears, her eyes red and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” he said to her.

“I know you are,” she said. “I know she was your mother.”

The Principal looked at her in surprise. The old woman had never wanted that known, even among the women of the Garden. The other women were now doing the necessary things, all except Katha, who still sat at the side of the bed, her face dry, but rigid in mourning.

“Did you hear her last words?” asked Gunda, rubbing the back of her friend’s neck.

“I heard,” said Katha. “She said just one word.” She looked up and caught the Principal’s eye. She fixed him with a look of hatred so intense that he felt it to the soles of his feet, then said, “The word was
Zach
.”

T
HE WOMEN AND CHILDREN OF
the Garden stood quietly at the grave while Gunda spoke of the Mistress’s life and work. Evvy stood dreamily, tears silently sliding down her cheeks, while Katha was pale as a December sky, her feelings hidden.

The Principal himself felt numb. There was a feeling like sorrow in the pit of his stomach, but the only sense of loss he felt was for Zach, as if his mother’s death had renewed his mourning for his brother. He felt regret too, that he and the old woman had not communicated more, particularly in these last years; but even at the end they had not been able to speak two words to each other without anger and misunderstanding arising. There was a great deal between them that would now remain forever buried.

He thought again of her last words to him. In many ways that conversation had been typical of her; despite her recognition of all that he had accomplished, there was no least hint of affection or forgiveness.

After the ceremony there was a simple breakfast. The Principal took part impatiently. He was staying only because Evvy had asked to talk to him. At last they went into the laboratory together. Despite her mourning, she looked lovely, her dark hair gathered at her neck and spilling down the back of her white lab coat.

I have good news for you,” she said without preamble. “We may have solved the major puzzle of the sickness . . . the reason the trait doesn’t extinguish itself. Before she died, the Mistress examined our evidence and reasoning, and asked me to submit it to you.”

He wondered if this were a form of posthumous flattery; the old woman had never asked his opinion on scientific matters while she lived. He frowned, trying to remember the crux of the problem. “The difficulty,” he said, “was that men who pass on the trait would in theory produce fewer offspring than those who do not. Is that right?”

Evvy nodded. “We have a great deal of statistical information from the testing in the District, and more from your soldiers in the field camp. We think the answer must be that the sperm that carry the trait are more mobile or in some other way more viable than normal sperm.”

The Principal thought a moment. Of course. “And with polyandry the prevailing form of marriage . . .”

“Yes. Since each woman has at least two or three husbands, a carrier is more likely to father any children. What’s exciting is that we should now be able to discover which men are carriers, once we’ve devised a test. If only we had more and better equipment . . .”

“It’s only a matter of time till you work it out,” said the Principal.

“I think so too.” She gestured, happy and enthusiastic. “Within a few years there will be no reason why any woman should ever die of the sickness. Once we have our test, that can be added to the work already being done at the clinic. And, of course, we’ll have to open more clinics – and a training school for technicians.”

The Principal had never seen her so animated. He caught her enthusiasm, envisioning a clean, well-fed, and literate population streaming in and out of the great centers of learning that would spring up around his clinics. Of course, the problem of the Traders would still have to be solved, but all at once he felt that nothing was beyond him. Evvy was speaking again, and he had to ask her to repeat what she had said.

“I have a present for you.”

He laughed, startled and pleased. “What sort of a present?”

She rose, smiling oddly, as if she were trying to keep from laughing, and led him to the back of the long room, where he could hear the squeaking and scuffling sounds of caged animals. She stopped at a crate on the floor and knelt. “Come look,” she said.

He knelt beside her and peered over the edge. Inside, Baby, Evvy’s fox-cat, lay stretched on her side while three tiny replicas of her drank hungrily from her teats.

“Baby’s babies,” Evvy said proudly. “I want you to take one of them.” Before he could protest that he had no time for a pet, she said quickly, “Listen to me. The day the Traders first attacked the clinic, Baby was agitated and wild. I finally had to take her home. I’m sure she knew what was going to happen. There have been other times when she acted to protect me. I think that if you keep a fox-cat near you, you’ll be safer from Trader spies.”

He looked at her quickly, then down at the animals. Two were identical in coloring to Baby’s golden orange, while the third was lighter, with dark brown stripes streaking its flanks and limbs, and radiating from its eyes like a mask. The kittens’ fringed, pointed ears were so large that they resembled wings. “Which one shall I take?” he asked, laughing.

“Whichever one pleases you,” she said. “They’re all males, and they’re all healthy.”

The striped fox-kitten rolled onto its back, then suddenly twisted and pounced on Baby’s tail, which had been slowly twitching. Baby gently cuffed her child and shook the others off, then stood and stretched. She put her paws up on the edge of the box and yawned loudly before sniffing the Principal’s outstretched hand.

“It’s as if she knows what we’re here for,” he said.

“I think she does,” said Evvy seriously, her voice full of pleasure.

“
Mowr
?” said Baby, jumping out of the box as if to give the Principal a better view. The striped kitten and one of its brothers had begun to wrestle with each other, rolling over and over, batting at one another with their tiny paws. The striped kitten fastened its teeth on the other’s ear, and with a cry the golden baby pulled away. His brother followed for a moment, then abruptly turned and looked up at the Principal, its clear green eyes open in challenge.

“
Owr
?” it squeaked. “
Owr
?”

The Principal chuckled and tentatively reached his hand into the box. “Won’t Baby be upset if I take one of her children?”

“I don’t think so. She’s been weaning them. I’ve watched her training them to hunt for small creatures. They’re nearly as big as she was when I found her.”

The striped kitten sniffed the Principal’s hand, then suddenly turned and snapped at its own tail. The Principal withdrew his hand, startled. At that moment Baby leapt back into the box and held the striped kitten down with one paw, then began vigorously to wash it, her rough tongue moving over the kitten’s face, back and tail. Her son squirmed and squealed in protest, but she didn’t stop until its fur was damp and gleaming. She then looked quizzically up at the Principal and took the baby in her mouth by the back of its neck. With a gentle leap, she again left the box and set the baby at the Principal’s feet. The little fox-cat shook itself, then stretched its legs up to the Principal’s knees.

“I think,” said Evvy, “that Baby and her son have chosen you.”

The Principal put a tentative hand down toward the furry little creature at his knees. It took the tip of his thumb in its mouth and bit gently, then let go and began to buzz contentedly, rubbing against his legs.

“I name him Napoleon,” said the Principal, smiling. “Thank you, Baby. And thank you, Evvy. I’m touched.”

“I can’t help worrying about your safety,” Evvy said, rising. “And besides, you always seem so lonely.”

The Principal felt his heart turn over. Suddenly he understood the old woman’s last words to him. He took the baby fox-cat in his arms and followed Evvy to a nearby bench. “Come to the Capital with me,” he said.

She nodded. “I want to help found a permanent school for technicians.”

“I mean now,” he said. “Today. Come with me.”

Evvy looked at him. Her face was soft, and there was something more behind her eyes. Was it fear? She took a long time to answer. “I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“My work is here.”

“Bring it with you.”

“I need a month or two more.”

“Evvy, I want to marry you.” He was almost as startled at his words as she appeared to be, but he realized he had been thinking of this for some time. Her dark eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, then shook her head.

T
HE
P
RINCIPAL GLOWERED DOWN AT
the hearth. On it lay two large pieces of marble and some chips, ruined forever. A chunk of splintered wood dangled from the carved ledge of the mantel. Lindy, the young serving boy, was cowering in a corner, while the baby fox-cat stood on the window ledge, growling in distress.

The Principal was ashamed of himself. His temper had again resulted in unnecessary destruction, but he couldn’t stop it. “Send someone to clean this up!” he shouted at the boy. “And bring me another pitcher of brew.”

He walked to the other end of the room, then back again. He had been unable to relax for a minute since leaving the Garden. He had left his men far behind, driving his mount so hard that she began to stumble, unable to catch her breath. But the faster he rode, the more clearly he could see the image of Evvy as she gazed at him with her troubled eyes and said: