Authors: Anne McCaffrey
When that bed had been cleared, Dorotea ushered her back into the house. “Now wash your hands well, and be sure to brush your fingernails clean,” she said, nodding significantly to Tirla to oversee the process.
Dida Dorotea served warming soup because the child was quite pale from cold under the tan the sun in Bangladesh had given her. By then the new clothing had arrived and Tirla insisted on a fashion show, making certain that everything fitted correctly, giving a long lecture on how Amariyah could mix and match the various items, and helping her put them away in the drawers.
Dorotea had had the notion of logging Amariyah on to Teacher in the afternoon so that they could see just where the child stood academically. That could wait until tomorrow. Today she would consolidate her position with the child by taking her on an afternoon stroll of the grounds so she could orient herself. Dorotea also hauled a protesting Tirla away from the
monitor for more fresh air. The lawns were just beginning to green up but the trees and shrubs were bare.
“There is a great deal of gardening to be done here, dida,” Amariyah said solemnly.
“This time of year is not the busiest for gardening here in North America,” Dorotea remarked. Because it was so obvious from Amariyah’s manner that she looked forward to the challenge, she did not say that there were men who did nothing but take care of the gardens here on the old Henner estate.
“Where is the kitchen garden?”Amariyah asked
Tirla managed to turn a laugh into a gurgle.
“I will show you where the vegetables are grown another day. You’re cold. We shall go home and have a nice cup of tea.” Dorotea tightened her grip on the small hand.
“We forgot to buy gloves,” Tirla said. “I’ll get gardening gloves, too, if they make them in Maree’s size.”
“I’m sure we’ll find some,” Dorotea said.
How is our waif?
Rhyssa asked as they made their way back to the house.
If Teacher was the key to our Tirla, a garden is Amariyah’s. What worries me is that she hasn’t smiled once and I wonder if she knows how to laugh
.
That’s your department, dida
.
Dorotea imagined herself as a giant cat, tracking down a mouse of a Rhyssa with malice intended.
I couldn’t resist, dear
. Then Rhyssa’s mental tone altered.
We have got hold of Amariyah’s birth certificate. She was born five years ago in Djakarta, August 17. Tony and Nadezhda were working on some ruins upcountry. Just made it to the hospital, or so Kayankira discovered in her research. There are, as Kayankira said, no living relatives. Both parents were single children. Each had put the other down as ‘next of kin.’ We also accessed Tony’s employment application and security search lists no living relatives of any degree of kinship
.
So she’s ours?
I’ll file a formal request with the Children’s Protection League and have her legally made our ward
. Pause.
Kayan’s very interested in our Tirla
.
Ha!
was Dorotea’s response to that.
And inordinately impressed by Peter
.
As well she might be
. Dorotea had a very soft spot for Peter Reidinger.
Are you comfortable with Amariyah?
I’ll be more so when I can get her to laugh and smile
.
So how does your garden grow? I saw you two out there. Did Tirla sneak in to Teacher?
Dorotea indulged in a mental snort of disdain.
As soon as she could. Well, she was Linear-bred. I can’t expect her to be horticulturally minded. Amariyah, on the other hand, is to the manner born
.
Those tools were sheer inspiration
.
I thought so, too. But we must find her some patch somewhere on the estate, all hers. Mine is the dida’s garden. She’d take on the entire grounds if we let her
.
Maybe old Ted Comer will take her on as an apprentice
.
Him?
Dorotea and Ted were more frequently at odds over minor details of gardening than in charity with each other.
I have to get her on the Teacher program first. We’ll see just how good her orphanage tuition was
.
W
ith Tirla assisting the next morning, Amariyah Bantam was found to understand the basics that any five-year-old should know. Her spelling was the English-English variety, her vocabulary and arithmetic adequate, her handwriting the cramped little script that “saves paper,” as Dorotea remarked. She was also fluent in Bangla. She knew nothing about technical Teacher aids, such as a computer, or even how to find her way around the tri-d. She informed them almost regally that only the older girls were given technical instruction. The orphanage had a communications system and a satellite connection, donated by the Presbyterian Women’s Association. Occasionally they were all allowed to watch instructional programs and nature films.
Unexpectedly, her IQ testing ranged toward the genius level but her schooling so far had not been in the least bit challenging. Concurring with Carmen Stein’s assessment, Dorotea could also feel the spark that so often blossomed into Talent.
It was Tirla, to whom such an item meant so much, who reminded Dorotea that Amariyah had no identification band.
“She’ll hardly need it,” Dorotea began. “She’s not likely to go anywhere yet without an adult.”
“You haven’t even stranded her!” Tirla cocked her arms at her waist and glared accusingly at Dorotea. “We don’t want another incident, do we?” she added, tilting her head, her eyes wise beyond her years as she obliquely referred for the first time to being kidnapped.
“Yes, you’re quite right.” Dorotea was prompt to admit mistakes. Even those she made. “If you’d just go up to the main house and get Sascha to give you some strands, you can weave them into her hair yourself.”
“Yes, Sascha would have strands, wouldn’t he?” Tirla said and, flipping her own long black hair with its security strand over her shoulder, briskly strode out of the house on her errand. “And I’ll make him get an ID bracelet for Maree. Like an hour ago!”
“S
he’s mute right now as far as telepathy is concerned,” Dorotea told Rhyssa when she dropped by after Amariyah had gone to bed, exhausted by an exciting day. Dorotea pursed her lips. “We have, however, come to a compromise about how she will address me. Dida Tea is formal enough for her convent-trained sensibilities and it at least sounds like my name.” Then Dorotea went on more thoughtfully. “She
might
have some kinetic ability although she didn’t display any while we were weeding. She’d never seen daffodils. She’s been poring over garden encyclopedias like the print would fade.” She beamed over having another ardent plant lover as a companion. “Never thought those old printed books would be more than a curiosity. I noticed today that some of the print
is
fading. Or at least some of the color ’graphs in them. I’ve tried to explain to Amariyah about common and Latin designations of flowers. My Latin’s rusty but Tirla and I did show her how to access Dictionary. She’s been looking up all the big words as if her life depended on it. I think we’ll plan a little trip to the Botanical Gardens once she’s more acclimated to this part of the world.”
“D’you think she’s homesick for Bangladesh or the Sisters?”
Dorotea shook her head. “She may be later on when the novelty wears off. She asked to write to the Sisters. I must get the address from you. Oh, and she did smile at Peter tonight. Just a little smile but enough to reassure me that she knows how.”
“Don’t fret that, Dorotea. She must be a little overwhelmed by her change in circumstance. Have you told her about her … lack of blood kin?”
“No, I didn’t. She’s far too involved with differentiating asphodilus, which is Latin, from narkissos, which is Greek, in case you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t,” Rhyssa said, rising and beating a strategic retreat.
W
hen, four months later, the earth warmed in spring sunlight, Dorotea and her new ward had become fast friends, despite the age difference.
Ted Comer was also taken with the solemn little girl and was cajoled into giving her a garden plot all her own. He’d planned to put it into zinnias, which were not Dorotea’s favorite flower, but Amariyah had endeared herself to him by naming every single shrub, tree, and greening plant by their Latin names.
“I couldn’t stop her learning. She’s inhaling gardening terms,” Dorotea said in an aside to the surprised groundsman.
“I’ve some seeds I can give her.”
“Any vegetables?” Dorotea asked, eyeing him. “She seems to feel that we are lacking in kitchen garden space.”
Ted looked stunned.
“I do plan to take her to the greenhouses,” Dorotea went on. “She wasn’t that impressed with flowers and trees and shrubs being stuck indoors in the conservatory but she took the point that some of them wouldn’t flourish in the open.”
Ted nodded with the vigor of someone who doesn’t quite understand what he has just been told.
“We can let her have both, can’t we? Vegetables and flowers?”
“If it makes the little girl happy, I ain’t agin it,” Ted replied.
Only after she had planted it to her satisfaction did Amariyah show Tirla
her
garden. Tirla pretended a keen interest that took Dorotea by surprise.
“When did you start learning anything about gardening?” she asked Tirla when she had a chance.
The Linear-bred girl shrugged. “I gotta keep in touch.”
Peter also feigned interest. He was able to make an escape from his horticulturally determined housemate because Rhyssa allowed him to
accompany Lance Baden back to Adelaide, to continue their experiments in assessing his limits.
“If he has any,” Lance amended when he discussed the resettlement with Rhyssa and Sascha.
“Traveling is a good idea,” Sascha said, “especially since we’ve got to keep him busy until he’s old enough to be put on the roster.”
“I must get ahold of Dirk Coetzer,” Lance said. “Peter keeps harping on that promise to tour the spaceship.”
“I’ll check with Dirk,” Rhyssa said.
“And nudge Johnny Greene about it, too,” Sascha suggested.
“That’s not a problem,” Rhyssa said. “The outfitting of the
Andre Norton
is still on schedule.”
“So Barchenka’s not the only one to make good,” Lance said slyly.
“And I’ll make sure Peter’s on the first tour available. There are promises that must be kept.”
“And miles to go before I sleep,” Lance quoted, surprising them all.
T
he Space Station Commander Admiral Dirk Coetzer did not forget his promise to young Peter Reidinger. Without any reminder from General John Greene, just before Peter’s sixteenth birthday in September, the admiral extended a special invitation to the young kinetic and to anyone else from the Eastern Parapsychic Center who wished to come. Rhyssa was coping with her colicky son, Eoin, but insisted that Dave go along with Peter, Sascha, Lance, and Boris Roznine. It turned out to be the first tour of the nearly completed spaceship and the Talents were the only guests. Johnny Greene was present, too; he knew the great ship almost as well as her designers.
“ ‘Every rivet and girder in it.’ ” Johnny’s grin was malicious as he quoted Ludmilla Barchenka.
“That’s enough of that,” Dirk Coetzer said and the others guessed that Johnny Greene was not above trying the admiral’s patience with occasional references. The former etop pilot remained the only other Talent who had sussed out and could effect Peter Reidinger’s gestalt in telekinesis.
The colony spaceship was still moored in the construction quadrant, with access tunnels to the various hatches, and was surrounded by small rigs, with nets of supplies attached by tethers. For this visit, all but the
engine and fuel storage segments had been aired up and the artificial gravity turned on so the guests could move about more freely. The tour started in one of the levels in which cryogenically suspended astronauts would be stored in racks of specially engineered “cradles.”
“We prefer ‘cradle’ to ‘coffin’ or ‘tank,’ ” the admiral said, patting the nearest empty container.
Peter eyed it speculatively. “Like a single-passenger carrier,” he said to Johnny Greene. Carefully, with well-rehearsed control, he was able to lay his hand, but not his fingers, flat against the container. John and Lance, knowing how difficult it was for Peter to make small motor gestures, exchanged glances over that little triumph.
“There are nine levels so we can accommodate a suitable colonial gene pool,” Coetzer went on.
He showed them one of the storage holds, already half full of supplies, and demonstrated how the locks would operate to prevent oxygen leakage from any hull penetration.
“No
Titanic
disaster in space,” Coetzer said with satisfaction. “The
Andre Norton
has been built to survive. The ship is separated into units, each one self-sufficient. From the bridge, the captain can remotely initiate the revival of passengers should that be necessary.”
“Let’s hope it isn’t,” murmured Dave.
The admiral took his guests further forward, into the living levels where the skeleton crew—Coetzer grinned at Peter—would be running the immense colony ship. Each crew member was to serve two years’ duty on rotation for as long as the journey would last.
“Not that the
Andre Norton
will get to Altair any faster but certainly eventually.” Of that the admiral was certain.
“Some degree of privacy is essential to crew well-being,” he said, showing them one of the cabins, where he demonstrated how cleverly furnishings had been built into the wall spaces. “They also afford shielding,” and he nodded to Lance and Johnny. “We learned that lesson even if we aren’t likely to ship any psychics in the crew.”
“Why not?” Peter asked, jerking his head around to the admiral.
“None have volunteered, Pete.”
“I would,” Peter said firmly, almost belligerently.
“I know, son, I know,” the admiral said, a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder. Coetzer thought he’d fleshed up a bit, had lost the bony look he’d
had at the Inauguration. He was taller as well and had an unmistakable but modest confidence about him now. Nothing succeeds like success, Coetzer thought, remembering the comments on young Reidinger’s progress that Johnny Greene was always dropping. Which was why Coetzer had never forgotten his promise to the boy. “But your future is linked with this planet. God knows I’d give anything to sail this ship out of our system, on her way to Altair.”