She had begun sobbing as she realized just what a crushing defeat this was. The trees would not give her a second chance. She didn’t understand what was wrong with her, didn’t know why the trees had not accepted her. She was the daughter of Peter and Estarra, Father and Mother of Theroc… yet the trees had cast Arita out.
She had sat shuddering on the forest floor, where the weeds and plants now seemed prickly and unwelcoming. She had pulled her knees up to her chest and waited, trying to control her tears. When Collin bounded through the underbrush to find her, calling her name and grinning, she looked up through reddened eyes to see how he had changed: now bald, his skin a beautiful green, and his eyes filled with a new wisdom.
And when he saw her, Arita felt worse than ever. They were supposed to be together, partners, lovers, laughing with the wonder of the forest…
Now among the Whistlers Arita felt a fresh pang of loss. She released her grip on the spiny branch, looked at the blood on her hands. Though feverish and dizzy, she didn’t sense anything from the cacti. Their fluting sounds and low tones no longer held the promise of sentience, of shared thoughts. Maybe they were just noises after all.
Or maybe the Whistlers had rejected her too.
Arita staggered away back toward the camp, finding it hard to keep her balance. Her vision was blurred, and her head pounded with the aftereffects of the toxin. This was different from when the worldforest had been inside her brain. Back then, something had altered in her thoughts, something Arita had never understood.
Tonight she merely felt disappointed. No, the Whistlers did not have what she was searching for.
Gradually, as she walked, her breathing grew less labored. The exposure was diminishing. It was deep night by the time she reached her tent. She crawled inside and collapsed, hearing a roar in her ears, listening to the pulse pounding in her temples.
The other research teams were asleep, and Arita wanted to be alone. She lay back, waiting for the night to end. She had finished her work here on Eljiid.
In the morning, she decided it was time to go home to Theroc.
THIRTY-TWO
TAMO’L
The breeding camp on Dobro had changed in immeasurable ways since her childhood there, but the old memories could not be erased with rebuilt homes and resettled colonists. Tamo’l approved of the changes. The humans and Ildirans had a tighter bond now—scar tissue was tougher than untouched flesh.
As she looked around her, Tamo’l saw humans and Ildirans chatting, working side by side, engaged in spirited debates as well as laughter. Children played together, climbing the girders of a new meeting hall under construction. Some were viable halfbreeds, whose bodies were not twisted, not genetic practical jokes like the ones she nursed in the sanctuary domes on Kuivahr. She let out a wistful sigh.
Tamo’l and her four halfbreed siblings were products of the secret breeding program—the culmination of that program. Tamo’l’s father had been a lens kithman, a philosopher who saw visions from the Lightsource and could feel the thism more clearly than other Ildiran breeds. Her mother’s human and green priest genes had increased Tamo’l’s sensitivity.
Tamo’l was one of the most successful halfbreeds from the Dobro program, but not all of the offspring were so fortunate.
She was thin and tall, with short feathery hair, large eyes that held the star reflection characteristic of her Ildiran bloodline. Her nose was smaller than her mother’s, her face more narrow. One young human man had said that her eyes and face were haunting, and Tamo’l took the comment literally, much to his embarrassment. Only later did she understand that he had been flirting with her. Even with lens kith insight, she often didn’t comprehend personal subtleties…
Dobro’s air was dryer than she liked. On Kuivahr, she was used to kelp and saltwater, sour plankton flats, and skies that were shrouded in cloud. She was anxious to return as soon as she retrieved her new volunteers. On Kuivahr, so many lives depended on her, although there wasn’t much they could do for the worst misbreeds, except to offer them care and understanding, make them comfortable, and keep them as healthy as possible. She hoped Shawn Fennis and Chiar’h were up to the task.
Tamo’l studied the couple as they came forward to meet her. Chiar’h had striking regal features, from the noble kith. She held her husband’s arm and laughed when he said something that Tamo’l couldn’t hear. Shawn Fennis was a grinning man with red hair, green eyes, and pale skin with a dash of freckles that Tamo’l found fascinating. She wondered if these spots had once been a form of racial camouflage…
Fennis had been born on Dobro, and Chiar’h had been assigned here during the years of reconstruction. They had fallen in love and married, a mixed couple by choice who understood each other.
Fennis extended a hand to shake Tamo’l’s. “You’re doing such important work on Kuivahr. We want to be part of it.”
“The work has its own rewards.” Tamo’l tested them, wanting to be sure. “Your wife does not belong to the scientist or medical kith. Do either of you have expertise in genetics or medicine?”
“I spent three years off-planet studying basic biology on New Portugal, and I’ve assisted the medical kithmen here on Dobro. I met Chiar’h when we both worked in the hospital. We’re used to hard work. But we’re not volunteering just because of the medical aspect. We accept what it means to be different.”
Chiar’h said, “We understand how fortunate we were to find love together, despite our differences. We want to share some of that love with others who need it. That is what we have to offer. The rest we can learn.”
Tamo’l softened her expression. “I wanted to be certain you were prepared. The misfits can be… disconcerting. They are not like those ones.” She nodded toward the healthy halfbreed children playing nearby.
“Uniqueness is not a disadvantage. My patients may not be aesthetic, but they are still worthy.” She paused, then added, “I do what I can to mitigate the suffering of those people who paid a much higher price than I did.”
Tamo’l and her two new volunteers rode down from Kuivahr orbit in a cutter loaded with food, equipment, and medical supplies. Fennis and Chiar’h were eager but Tamo’l could also sense their nervousness. Shoulder to shoulder, they peered through the windowports at patches of cloud cover, rough seas, flooded mudflats, and the sketchy outlines of reefs.
The cutter flew in past the outcropping that held the Klikiss transportal wall, then the Kellum distillery towers, and soared low over the water.
“The tides are high during this part of the cycle, so the sanctuary domes will be submerged,” Tamo’l said. Only the tops of the hemispheres rose above the waves like blisters. An upraised landing platform had been ratcheted up on stilts as the seas rose.
“I see figures in the water down there,” said Shawn Fennis.
“Swimmer kith. They have raft settlements out in the open sea and work on the kelp and plankton beds. They harvest the ocean and deliver supplies to the sanctuary domes.”
The cutter landed in the rain. Tamo’l and her two companions emerged into the windblown dampness. She smelled the iodine air, felt the drizzle on her face. Home.
Shivering, Chiar’h looked up at the gray clouds. “The sky is so dim.”
Tamo’l said, “The laboratories and living quarters are bright and sterile.”
Fennis took his wife’s hand. “Let’s see what we’ve gotten ourselves into, love.”