Playing God(123)

“You killed her.”

It took Praeis a moment to reconcile the words with the voice.

“We killed her.” Theia sank to her knees on the deck.

“No, Theia,” Praeis dropped down beside her daughter. My only daughter. My last daughter. “You did nothing. Nothing.” She reached out to encircle Theia with what little warmth she had to offer.

“Don't touch me.” Theia got to her feet and walked away.

After that, Praeis lost track of time. People told her things, but it was as if they spoke to her through a wall of ice. Eventually, she moved, was moved, to an administrative cabin. She sat on a bench and stared at the wall. Neys and Silv came and went, but she couldn't move to touch them. She was distant, separate, isolated. Was this the Change? No. The Change was being immersed in the here and now. This was something else. This was her own personal madness caught up with her. It had enabled her to function alone, now it kept her from reaching out.

Good, good. Let me stay in here. Theia is right. I killed them.

The door opened. Neys and Silv came in and sat, one on either side of her.

“Mother, this cannot continue,” said one. She didn't know who. Her head did not want to turn.

“Mother, we need you back with us. We won the attack, but there is much more to do,” said the other.

Arms wrapped around her shoulders. She was leaned against a chest. Her muscles did not relax. She did not weep or rage. She did not care whether these two went or stayed, and she did not want to.

After a while, they left, and she was alone again. Alone was better. Alone was right and proper and natural for her. She had always been alone, really. Always been here in this closed-in place without daughters or sisters. Always.

The door opened again and somebody small and white and glistening came in. She was Lynn, Praeis realized after a moment. She did not sit down. She stood in Praeis's field of vision and folded her hands behind her back, wincing slightly as she did.

“I've been talking to Theia,” she said, speaking English, which had always been easier for her. “She's having a rough time. Half your people are shunning her for what she said. Calling it blasphemous. Half of them are not so sure. She's really confused.” Lynn paused. “She's angry and frightened and lonely. She didn't mean it.”

No, she meant it.

“She's an adolescent. They say things they don't mean.”

Human children do that.

Lynn rocked forward on her toes and looked down at the deck. “Your people are good. One of them got a line through to the peninsula, and somebody there got a hook up to the station. Keale's sending somebody out to get us.”

Why are you here? What do you want? If anybody can recognize somebody who should be alone, it should be a Human.

“Res held up great during the whole thing. You should have seen her, Praeis. She did her Great Family proud. The first we knew about her was when they threw her in a cell with me and Arron. Our clean-suits were already days old, but Resaime wasn't frightened.” She went on and on, describing every detail: how Resaime looked, how she acted, how brave she was. Slowly, Praeis felt herself draw closer. The ice thinned, just a little. Painfully, her ears turned themselves forward to hear how Res had acted courageously under fire. How she had not complained once as they fled through the woods. How she had carried herself during the long, tense ride through the tunnels. Brave, strong daughter Resaime. Your daughter. My daughter. My daughters.

“Praeis? Are you with me? Are you hearing this? Because I want to tell you something.” Lynn squatted down until her eyes were level with Praeis's. “I blamed you, too. When I was there, in the dark, and I was the only one to hold your daughter's hand. I could feel her skin twitching and blistering and the roof creaked, and groaned and gave and she didn't even have time to scream. I knew it was you out here. I knew whose orders had done it. I knew whose fault—”

“NO!” howled Praeis.

She lunged forward to grab Lynn, but Lynn dodged sideways, and Praeis fell onto the deck. She pounded the floor with her fists, screaming wordlessly.

No! No! No!

“Mother?”

Warm, familiar hands grabbed her and pulled her back. Other hands held on to hers. Praeis kept screaming until her throat was raw and all she could do was cough and choke out her rage and sorrow. Eventually, the foul noise stopped pouring out of her. She was able to relax into the arms that held her, and to identify them as Theia's.

She blinked her eyes open and looked into her daughter's tear-streaked face.

“Ancestors Mine.” She buried her face against her daughter's shoulder and held her close, and they both wept for their hard, bitter loss.


Lynn closed the cabin door and walked out onto the deck, favoring her bad knee and worse ankle. The t'Therian caretakers had bandaged them up tightly, but they hadn't been able to give her anything for the pain.