Blaine Institute, New Caledonia, 3049
“But it’s not fair,” whinged Ali Baba. Glenda Ruth Fowler, a human child raised by a Motie Mediator nanny, marveled at this, a Motie Mediator child raised by—well, by nobody, really, at the moment. By her, if anyone. If Ali Baba had been a human, she’d call his—her—its—behavior acting out. Clearly, Bury’s death had deeply upset the—she was about to think child again, but aside from the fact that Ali Baba was not human, Ali Baba also was no longer really a child. Moties grew, and matured, very quickly.
On that horrible day on Sinbad, when Bury had died, during the final jump out of the Mote system and into the red star that meant home, in the midst of the panic—Sinbad hot on Atropos’ stern; Moties hot behind; Sinbad forced to stand alone against the Motie Khanate fleets; the Flinger going on and on and on, tossing nukes into the hearts of dozens, maybe hundreds of Motie ships still too jump-shocked to respond—on that horrible, horrible day, Glenda Ruth’s heart breaking, had Cynthia known? She’d charged the paddles, shouted “Clear!,” then “Glenda Ruth! Take Ali Baba!”
Ali Baba was howling then; ranting; furious that Bury was gone. But Glenda Ruth’s heart was breaking too, for a different reason, as the killing went on, and on, and on. She knew it then; couldn’t understand it then: the baby mediator willed and willed and willed Sinbad to win, while part of her willed that they would not. She did not wish Sinbad to lose, but she could not bear that all those Moties would die. So, it wasn’t at all that Ali Baba clung to her, it was that she clung to Ali Baba. Had Cynthia known? That on board that ship, the closest thing to her, a Motie-raised human, was Ali Baba, a human-raised Motie? Or was it just the off chance that she’d stood nearby?
He was not howling now. With the fluid shift of a Mediator-in-the-making, Ali Baba changed tactics, ceased to whine, and momentarily caught her off guard. She knew what was happening, but that did not change the flutter in her hindbrain as she responded to the summation of posture, pitch and tone that no longer signaled you have power, but instead signaled you have none, despite the paucity of words.
“Excuse me,” said Ali Baba, who, with a slight bow, left the room. To any other observer, the exit would have seemed a polite apology and graceful exit. To Glenda Ruth, it was a clear, and final, dismissaclass="underline" of her; of her own desperate wish to be, if not a mother, then at least a friend, to this fragile, alien child.
Glenda Ruth’s lips narrowed to a white slash, and she closed her eyes. Her blunder was absolute. She had been forewarned, and ignored the warning. She had made the arrogant human presumption that she wasn’t meant to see Ali Baba’s personal log; that Ali Baba had been too young; too naive to adequately hide a babyish what-I-did-on-my-first-trip-to-space schoolbook exercise.
Well, she had seen it, which actually left little doubt that she was meant to see it, even if it was designed to look as though she wasn’t. If Ali Baba, or any Motie, didn’t want a log read by Glenda Ruth, Glenda Ruth was hardly likely to even become aware of its existence, let alone break into the file. So how much more arrogant to presume that what she’d read indicated childish misunderstanding; that it was something she could fix with patience and time. Babyish it might look, but it wasn’t a confessional cry for help. It had been written with intent. That she’d been allowed to read it meant—what?
She replayed the text in memory. She willed a clearer mind. She opened her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It was not a lonely cry for social contact. It was a declaration of allegiance. Only she, Motie-raised she, could know how profound a line she had transgressed; how insulting she had been to Ali Baba’s very person in demanding allegiance to her own emotional desires.
Aboard Sinbad, Mote System, 3047
Auntie Omar took me to see Grampa Horace. He was weird. He only had two arms. He had no gripping hand. He had no ear. He was all thin and pale, like a Runner, or a Doctor. But he was warm. He scratched my ear. I liked that.
Auntie Omar said the Tatars were afraid. Auntie Omar said they “do not know what they have.” Grampa Horace said “They’re holding a wolf by the ears.” That sounded scary and strange. I was not sure about ears. I knew what my ear was. But ears was something Wolves had more-than-one of. I thought maybe it meant Warrior scythes. I thought maybe a Wolf was a kind of Warrior. Auntie Omar said I was never to go to a Warrior unless MaPa, personally, said so. Not even MaMa. Not even Auntie Omar. Only MaPa. Auntie Omar said Warriors made quick work of the likes of us. Auntie Omar said only a Master could give orders to a Warrior. Auntie Omar said only my MaPa could give orders to a Warrior that I could trust.
Then Grampa Horace said my name was Ali Baba. That’s how I knew he was a Grampa. Because Auntie Omar said only Auntie Omar, or my MaPa, or a Grampa could name me. That made me sad. Grampas are old. They always die soon. That’s what Auntie Omar said. You have to learn everything they know, as fast as you can, because Grampas will die soon.
Later, Auntie Omar took me to see Grampa Horace again. He said gravity did not make him tired. He said he was attracted to me. He said I gave him pleasure. I was very proud. Auntie Omar said it is always best when your Grampa likes you. She said it does not always happen.
Then a Runner came. It said that Tartars were coming. That’s what Auntie Omar called them: Tartars. It said the Tartars had valuable Guests. It said the guests were Humans. It said the Humans were all safe. That’s what Auntie Omar told Grampa Horace: guests, humans, safe. Then Grampa Horace asked Sir Eudoxus to send a message to Lord Blaine that his offspring are safe.” Auntie Omar called MaPa Lord Cornwallis. And Grampa Horace said this message was important. And Sir Eudoxus worried that Lord Blaine would send warships. So I knew these Humans must be young Masters! Maybe that’s why the Tartars were afraid. Maybe Wolves were enemy Warriors who would kill young Masters!
So I was very afraid, too. I wanted to go to MaMa. But I did my Duty. I watched Grampa Horace. I watched and watched him. It was very hard. His arms did not move. His hands did not move. He was in his g-force bed. It was full of water, so he would squash down into it when the ship accelerated. You had to watch and watch his face. That was hard too, because it got all squashed flat. But that’s when I noticed that Grampa Horace had two ears. They were very small. They were hard to see. They were flat against his head. At first, I thought he was afraid.
But then Auntie Omar speaked to MaPa! And Sir Eudoxus speaked to their Master! And I could hear: their Master was afraid! Their Master was very afraid that Lord Blaine would send many warships. But even when Auntie Omar speaked to MaPa, Grampa Horace was not afraid. I was very proud. My Grampa must have been a very powerful Master, and Auntie Omar and MaPa had given him to me!
And then I thought: If Wolves have two ears, then maybe they are like Grampa Horace. Maybe Wolves are a special kind of Humans. Maybe Wolves are very powerful young Masters. Maybe Wolves are Lord Blaine’s children. Not just his get, like me. If Lord Blaine had many warships, I was very afraid for the Tartars. I should have been afraid for us.