When they spoke to her, they issued strange farts from the aorta, or wiggled eye-level fingers in frustration. Their mouths, at the ends of their arms or opening in the middle of their bodies or appearing like tattooed roses on their kneecaps, moved silently, like the mouths of fish.
Who had done these awful things to them? How did they manage to walk and talk and think when their heads and feet and mouths were every which way?
Lichen asked a woman who gave her a handout what had happened and why everyone looked so strange.
We look strange to you? said the woman. Why, my dear, to us you look a bit old-fashioned — a bit boring, if you don’t mind my saying so.
The new setup works just fine, said the woman. Ever stepped on a tack? Your feet can be pretty tender, you know. There are quite a few people whose hearts are much tougher than their feet. As for livers, well, it’s true they are complex and delicate organs, but there’s no arguing with some people. They just know they can use their livers harder than their feet.
But why, Lichen asked, have hands where your head should be?
Very simple, my dear, said the woman. Some people think better with their hands than they do with their heads, and it’s only right they should look that way. And if you’re the type to act before you think, you’re better off with your hands up there like a headdress. It’s a little clumsy, but it slows you down and gives your good sense time to catch up.
But why, asked Lichen persistently, would people walk with their arms instead of their legs or have their mouths open out of their knees?
Ah, said the woman with a shrug, there are always people who do something odd just for the sake of being different. I don’t worry much about them, myself. And she shuffled off on her little heart-shaped feet, trailing dusty purple blood vessels.
As she got to know people better, Lichen decided that their peculiar anatomy worked as well as anything for them. They loved their children and lived their lives and weren’t any more or less unhappy than people had probably ever been. And the soft, liquid sounds that issued from deformed mouths, like the rush of waves and the cooing of doves, were more beautiful than words.
IV. She Puts Her Schooling to Use
Soon, however, carp-eyed people came to the town. They went from house to house, knocking on doors. Lichen, hiding under a porch, knew they were looking for her.
She followed them, staying just beyond the range of their sensors. When night came and they still hadn’t found her, they curled up to sleep, right where they were when they got sleepy. People walked around them, giving them a wide berth.
How strange, thought Lichen, that nobody ever attacked the carp-eyed people while they slept. Perhaps if she got help….
Lichen crept back down the street, toward the busy part of town. She approached first one person, then another, but she got the same answer from each of them. There was no use in attacking the carp-eyed people, they said, waggling the fingers that grew out of their ears, because anything that slept right out in the middle of the road like that obviously had nothing to fear. Use your head, girl, they told her, mumbling from mouths concealed in the palms of their hands. Get away while the getting is good, they whispered, skittering away on dirty, callused arms.
Lichen went back to where the carp-eyed people were sleeping. At the school, they had never slept where the children could see them. In fact, she hadn’t been sure that they slept at all. But now they were definitely asleep, membranes covering their huge, gelatinous eyes, tails curled cozily around their bodies. Through gaps in their gill coverings, she could see the gold wires of their circuitry.
And it was then that Lichen realized the value of an education. She reached forward with steady hands and disconnected the leads from their external memories. Of course the carp-eyed people woke immediately, but they were very confused. They didn’t know who Lichen was, or even who they were themselves.
It’s all right, said Lichen soothingly, you are only slightly damaged. Hold still.
And she reconnected the leads just a bit differently.
You’ll be fine now, she said.
The carp-eyed people staggered to their feet. They wobbled about, taking very small steps and bumping into one another.
Best to get out of here, thought Lichen. I’ll be going now, she said. Take care of yourselves.
The carp-eyed people thanked her, bowing erratically, as she walked off down the road.
V. She Longs for Her Rock
Finally Lichen found herself on the road to her father’s village. So many things had changed along the route. The land was tough, covered with layers of pebbles and tar. There were alien plants where the evergreens and berries had grown, and the shoreline was oddly displaced and redrawn.
When she arrived in the village, she saw nothing that looked familiar. Her parents were long dead, people told her. Her father’s house was gone and the trees were much smaller than she remembered. The forest looked different, and the whale-shaped rock was not there where she remembered it. This puzzled her the most, for how could a rock go away? Where would it go? What would it do when it got there?
Suddenly, she missed the rock very much — more than her parents and brothers, in fact. She had already long since gotten used to being away from her family, but she had hardly thought of the rock at all and so was completely unprepared to lose it without notice.
The more she thought about it, the more perfect the rock seemed. The rock never scolded her, or made her do her chores. It never teased her, or snatched her toys. (Except once, when a tiny wooden doll had fallen into the crack and she couldn’t get it out.) The best part of her childhood had disappeared with the rock.
A soft rain began to fall, and Lichen sat down in the grey-brown dirt under a hemlock. The road outside the circle of tree quickly became dark and wet. She listened to birds calling and branches creaking and, looking up the trunk of the hemlock, decided to climb the tree. She climbed easily, up and up. Soon she was above the forest canopy, looking down at the tops of trees.
Lichen climbed the tree up through the top of the sky itself, and found that there was another land there, much like the land that she had grown up in. The plants were familiar, the hard road was gone, the air was steeped in the sharp incense of wet forest.
I wonder if I could find my parents’ house, she thought, and she set off in what looked like the right direction. Sure enough, it was just around a turn in the path, and her parents were standing by the door as if waiting for her.
She greeted them respectfully and asked after their health and that of her brothers. Her parents told her nothing about themselves, but said that her brothers were doing quite well, being creators of robots and possessors of property, with pleasant wives and happy children.
Lichen and her parents sat round all evening, eating fried bread and talking about old times. Finally, there came a lull in the conversation, and Lichen asked her parents why they had sent her away.
You didn’t know? they asked. It seemed obvious to us. You were the youngest and the liveliest, and yet you knew nothing but rocks and trees. To get along with the carp-eyed people, you would have to be someone very different — and you would need to know far more than we could teach you. So we sent you to their school.