The Anything Box

isn't a-miliar with cake."
Serena laughed. "A certain little Splinter is a-miliar with cake, though!
You run along, greedy!" And she boosted him out of the door with a slap on the
rear.
" 'By, Mommie," he called back.
" 'By, dear. Be good."
"I will."
Serena watched until he disappeared down the slope of the hill, then she
smoothed her hair and ran her tongue over her lips. She started for the
bedroom, but turned suddenly and went to the front door. If she had to face
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even her own eyes, her resolution would waver and dissolve. She stood, hand onknob, watching the clock inch around until an interminable fifteen minutes hadpassed—Splinter safely gone—then she snatched the door open and left.
Her smile took her out of the Quarters Area to the Administration Building.Her brisk assumption of authority and destination took her to the conferencewing and there her courage failed her. She. lurked out of sight of the guards,almost wringing her hands in indecision. Then she straightened the set of herskirt, smoothed her hair, dredged a smile up from some hidden source ofstrength, and tiptoed out into the hall.
She felt like a butterfly pinned to the wall by the instant unwinkingattention of the guards. She gestured silence with a finger to her lips andtiptoed up to them.
"Hello, Turner. Hi, Franiveri," she whispered.
The two exchanged looks and Turner said hoarsely, "You aren't supposed tobe here, ma'am. Better go."
"I know I'm not," she said, looking guilty—with no effort at all. "ButTurner, I—I just want to see a Linjeni." She hurried on before Turner's openmouth could form a word. "Oh, I've seen pictures of them, but I'd like awfullyto see a real one. Can't I have even one little peek?" She slipped closer tothe door. "Look!" she cried softly, "It's even ajar a little already!"
"Supposed to be," rasped Turner. "Orders. But ma'am, we can't—""Just one peek?" she pleaded, putting her thumb in the crack of the door."I won't make a sound." She coaxed the door open a little farther, her hand creeping inside,
fumbling for the knob, the little button.
"But ma'am, you couldn't see 'em from here anyway."
Quicker than thought, Serena jerked the door open and darted in, pushingthe little button and slamming the door to with what seemed to her a thunderthat vibrated through the whole building. Breathlessly, afraid to think, shesped through the anteroom and into the conference room. She came to a scaredskidding stop, her hands tight on the back of a chair, every eye in the roomon her. Thorn, almost unrecognizable in his armor of authority and severity,stood up abruptly.
"Serena!" he said, his voice cracking with incredulity. Then he sat downagain, hastily.
Serena circled the table, refusing to meet the eyes that bored intoher—blue eyes, brown eyes, black eyes, yellow eyes, green eyes, lavender eyes.She turned at the foot of the table and looked fearfully up the shining expanse.
"Gentlemen," her voice was almost inaudible. She cleared her throat."Gentlemen." She saw General Worsham getting ready to speak—his face harshlyunfamiliar with the weight of his position. She pressed her hands to thepolished table and leaned forward hastily.
"You're going to quit, aren't you? You're giving up!" The translators bentto their mikes and their lips moved to hers. "What have you been talking aboutall this time? Guns? Battles? Casualty lists?We'll-do-this-to-you-if-you-do-that-to-us? I don't know! . . ." she cried,shaking her head tightly, almost shuddering, "… I don't know what goes on athigh level conference tables. All I know is that I've been teaching Mrs. Pinkto knit, and how to cut a lemon pie . . ." she could see the bewilderedinterpreters thumbing their manuals ". . . and already I know why they're hereand what they want!" Pursing her lips, she half-whistled, half-trilled in herhalting Linjeni, "Doovie baby. No more Linjeni babies!"
One of the Linjeni started at Doovie's name and stood up slowly,his lavender bulk towering over the table. Serena saw the interpretersthumbing frantically again. She knew they were looking for a translation ofthe Linjeni "baby." Babies had no place in a military conference.
The Linjeni spoke slowly, but Serena shook her head. "I don't know enoughLinjeni."
There was a whisper at her shoulder. "What do you know of Doovie?" And a
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pair of earphones were pushed into her hands. She adjusted them with trembling
fingers. Why were they letting her talk? Why was General Worsham sitting there
letting her break into the conference like this?
"I know Doovie," she said breathlessly. "I know Doovie's mother, too.
Doovie plays with Splinter, my son— my little son." She , twisted her fingers,
dropping her head at the murmur that arose around the table. The Linjeni spoke
again and the metallic murmur of the earphones gave her the translation. "What
is the color of Doovie's mother?"
"Pink," said Serena.
Again the scurry for a word—pink—pink. Finally Serena turned up the hem of
her skirt and displayed the hem of her slip—rose pink. The Linjeni sat down
again, nodding.
"Serena," General Worsham spoke as quietly as though it were just another
lounging evening in the patio. "What do you want?"
Serena's eyes wavered and then her chin lifted.
"Thorn said today would be the last day. That it was to be 'no' on both
sides. That we and the Linjeni have no common meeting ground, no basis for
agreement on anything."
"And you think we have?" General Worsham's voice cut gently through the
stir at the naked statement of thoughts and attitudes so carefully concealed.
"I know we do. Our alikenesses outweigh our differences so far that it's
just foolish to sit here all this time, shaking our differences at each other
and not finding out a thing about our likenesses. We are fundamentally the
same—the same—" she faltered. "Under God we are all the same." And she knew
with certainty that the translators wouldn't find God's name in their books.
"I think we ought to let them eat our salt and bread and make them welcome!"
She half smiled and said, "The word for salt is shreeprill."
There was a smothered rush of whistling from the Linjeni, and the lavender
Linjeni half rose from his chair but subsided.
General Worsham glanced at the Linjeni speculatively and pursed his lips.
"But there are ramifications—" he began.
"Ramifications!" spat Serena. "There are no ramifications that can't
resolve themselves if two peoples really know each other!"
She glanced around the table, noting with sharp relief that Thorn's face
had softened.
"Come with me!" she urged. "Come and see Doovie and Splinter
together—Linjeni young and ours, who haven't learned suspicion and fear and
hate and prejudice yet. Declare a—a—recess or a truce or whatever is necessary
and come with me. After you see the children and see Mrs. Pink knitting and we
talk this matter over like members of a family—Well, if you still think you
have to fight after that, then—" she spread her hands.
Her knees shook so as they started downhill that Thorn had to help her
walk.
"Oh, Thorn," she whispered, almost sobbing. "I didn't think they would. I
thought they'd shoot me or lock me up or—"