Mary Caraker: Suffer the Children

The pheromone was affecting her, too, Moigan thought. She fought against it, forced herself to think, “minimal contact,” and rose to her feet. She glared at Regina. “You tricked me.”

The doctor was unrepentant. “So? Was it so awful? At least that’s one more child that won’t starve. If I could, I’d get someone to do the same for all of them.”

“And the Salassans—I gather they don’t know what you’re doing?”

“I certainly haven’t told them. And once we’re in hyperspace, there’ll be no more helexes. We’ll be on our own.”

Morgan looked from Regina to the children, her gaze lingering on the sleeping one. Already, it seemed to her, the child had a better color.

Regina was right—she had no reason to reproach herself. And the Salassans couldn’t fault her, either, for simply seeing that one of their youngsters had enough to eat.

The doctor was clearly exceeding her duty, though, in her hands-on fostering of Daisy. Morgan watched worriedly as the other woman paced the small room carrying the child, petting her and murmuring endearments and even singing in a tuneless warble.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do.”

Daisy wiggled in Regina’s arms and made a chirping sound, and Regina exclaimed in delight.

“She said it—she said her name! Did you hear?”

The child repeated something that sounded vaguely like “Daisy.” She waved her tiny arms and laughed, and Morgan couldn’t help but share some of Regina’s jubilation.

However, there were considerations that Regina seemed to have overlooked. “If she’s going to start talking,” Morgan cautioned, “shouldn’t she be learning Salassari?” She began to unfasten the voder from her belt.

Regina waved it away. “No, I don’t want it,” she said. “It’s too… impersonal. Daisy is responding to me. ”

Daisy babbled some more, and Regina’s ecstatic expression convinced Morgan that further argument was useless. She gathered up the bowls to return them to the galley, but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

It was the crewman from the airlock, the one whose muscular bare arms were covered with a mosaic of deathheads, writhing snakes and dagger-pierced hearts.

He offered a calloused hand. “Zed. Remember me?”

“Yes, of course.” With some difficulty, Morgan pulled her hand free.

Regina came over, with Daisy. “To what do we owe this pleasure? Have you changed your mind about helping us out with the children?”

“Uh, no.” Zed backed up awkwardly. “Though the… the kid does look a lot better.”

“They all would,” Regina said. “If only you’d—”

“Hey, lay off, will ya?” Zed retreated to the doorway. “Now, maybe if she’d ask me.…” He regarded Morgan with an appraisal of frank admiration.

Morgan was temporarily at a loss for words.

“Hey, I’ll drop in later,” Zed said. “Now, I just came by to let you guys know that we’ll be shifting into hyperspace in ten minutes or so. Better be sitting down. And—you know—have some slop buckets handy for the kids.”

“We know what to expect,” Regina said. “Thanks.”

Zed left, and the two women prepared their charges as best they could for the hypershift. There was always a minute or two of disorientation, and sometimes nausea, Morgan knew, but Regina declared that the children had hardly noticed it before.

Morgan rode out the shift with nothing worse than a moment of dizziness. The children appeared unaffected, except for Daisy, who threw up copiously all over Regina.

The doctor took her away to clean them both up.

“So, I guess you kids are on your way home now,” Morgan said to the remaining five. She knew they didn’t understand her, and she doubted that they even heard. They had shifted position and now leaned against one another in a lethargic, back-to-back circle, all except the one Morgan had fed. That one, whose skin definitely looked healthier, awoke from her nap and reached out beseeching arms.

Morgan stepped back. “Oh, no-sorry. I’m not going to do it.” Her own arms ached to pick up the child, but she folded them and moved across the room.

The child slid from the cot and walked stumblingly toward her. After a few steps, she fell.

God, what had she gotten into, Morgan thought as she picked up the small, light figure and returned her to the cot. She fit her into the circle and she remained there, as silent as the others, but with human-like tears trickling down her face.

Morgan mopped angrily at her own eyes. Damn the Salassans—what did they expect, anyway—that she should be made of stone? Damn Dr. Quarles and Commander Prescott and most of all, damn herself for volunteering! She knew how it would end, with her instincts overcoming her scruples, with another reprimand and her last chance of promotion quashed. Yes, she knew herself too well, but nevertheless she vowed to hold off as long as possible.

She held off for two days. She continued to lap-feed Anna (the child had to be called something, didn’t she? So what if it had been Morgan’s mother’s name—it was just a convenient handle), and each time it was a wrenching struggle to put her down. Anna cried silent tears and trailed after Morgan on spindly, unsteady legs, and Morgan’s discouraging frowns and reprimands pained her more than the child.

The worst of it was, Morgan had nowhere to go to escape. Socializing with the crew was both awkward and unwise. They had been three months in space, with no port leave, and Morgan knew that her most prudent course was to stay out of sight as much as possible.

In the bay, Regina spent most of her time with Daisy, and the other children required little attention. They slept for ever longer periods during the day, and when Regina darkened the room for evening they never once awakened from a comalike slumber in which they scarcely seemed to be breathing.

Anna and Daisy were the exceptions. Regina slept with Daisy in a cubicle next to the bay, and Morgan could hear whenever Daisy awakened with a frightened cry and Regina comforted her.

Anna awakened at times, too, during the night, and though she had not yet made a sound Morgan could sense her desperate loneliness and fear.

Morgan imagined a helpless child watching her parents sicken and die. She hadn’t asked Regina for particulars of what she had found at the colony. She hadn’t wanted to know; the condition of the children was telling enough. But now she imagined the child Anna hungry and cold and alone, crying for her mother amid horrors she couldn’t have comprehended. She imagined her retreating into shock and rescued more dead than alive by unfeeling strangers, and reaching out, now, for the healing love and comfort Morgan could give so easily.

On the first night Anna had made her way in the darkness to Morgan’s cot at the far wall. She had been crying in her silent way and trembling, but Morgan had wiped her face and carried her back to her own bed. Afterward, Morgan had lain awake for the rest of the night, hating herself.

On the second night, when Anna came again Morgan let her stay. The child curled herself into a ball against Morgan’s stomach, and the trembling stopped. Later she turned and slept with a thin arm around Morgan’s neck. Her warm breath fluttered against Morgan’s cheek like the soft beating of a bird’s wing, and Morgan put away all thoughts of angry Salassans and lost promotions.

Morgan and Regina watched with complete absorption as their two fosterlings played on the floor of the bay. The cook, Hogan, had loaned them an assortment of kitchen utensils, and Daisy crowed loudly as she banged a pot with a spoon. Anna, with one fist holding firmly to Morgan’s pants’ leg, waved another spoon and chortled with laughter.