Orson Card - Maps in a Mirror - The Short Fiction of Orson Scott Card

They won’t put any more babies out to orphanages now, though. They’re not that dumb.

But now we have you . Maybe we can learn how to block what they do. Or how to heal the people they attack. Or how to identify sparkiness, as you call it, from a distance. All kinds of possibilities. But sometime in the future, Mick, you may be the only weapon we have. Do you understand that?

I don’t want to.

I know.

You wanted to kill me?

I wanted to protect people from you. It was safest. Mick, I really am glad it worked out this way.

I don’t know whether to believe you, Mr. Kaiser. You’re such a good liar. I thought you were so nice to me all that time because you were just a nice guy.

Oh, he is, Mick. He’s a nice guy. Also a damn fine liar. We kind of needed both those attributes in the person we had looking out for you.

Well, anyway, that’s over with.

What’s over with?

Killing me. Isn’t it?

That’s up to you, Mick. If you ever start getting crazy on us, or killing people that aren’t part of this war of ours—

I won’t do that!

But if you did, Mick. It’s never too late to kill you.

Can I see her?

See who?

The lady from Roanoke! Isn’t it about time you told me her name?

Come on. She can tell you herself.

Mother could kill with her hands. Father could fly. These are miracles. But they were not miracles then. Mother Elouise taught me that there were no miracles then. I am the child of Wreckers, born while the angel was in them.

This is why I am called Saint Amy, though I perceive nothing in me that should make me holier than any other old woman. Yet Mother Elouise denied the angel in her, too, and it was no less there.

Sift your fingers through the soil, all you who read my words. Take your spades of iron and your picks of stone. Dig deep. You will find no ancient works of man hidden there. For the Wreckers passed through the world, and all the vanity was consumed in fire; all the pride broke in pieces when it was smitten by God’s shining hand.

Elouise leaned on the rim of the computer keyboard. All around her the machinery was alive, the screens displaying information. Elouise felt nothing but weariness. She was leaning because, for a moment, she had felt a frightening vertigo. As if the world underneath the airplane had dissolved and slipped away into a rapidly receding star and she would never be able to land.

True enough, she thought. I’ll never be able to land, not in the world I knew.

“Getting sentimental about the old computers?”

Elouise, startled, turned in her chair and faced her husband, Charlie. At that moment the airplane lurched, but like sailors accustomed to the shifting of the sea, they adjusted unconsciously and did not notice the imbalance.

“Is it noon already?” she asked.

“It’s the mortal equivalent of noon. I’m too tired to fly this thing anymore, and it’s a good thing Bill’s at the controls.”

“Hungry?”

Charlie shook his head. “But Amy probably is,” he said.

“Voyeur,” said Elouise.

Charlie liked to watch Elouise nurse their daughter. But despite her accusation, Elouise knew there was nothing sexual in it. Charlie liked the idea of Elouise being Amy’s mother. He liked the way Amy’s sucking resembled the sucking of a calf or a lamb or a puppy. He had said, “It’s the best thing we kept from the animals. The best thing we didn’t throw away.”

“Better than sex?” Elouise had asked. And Charlie had only smiled.

Amy was playing with a rag doll in the only large clear space in the airplane, near the exit door. “Mommy Mommy Mamommy Mommy-o,” Amy said. The child stood and reached to be picked up. Then she saw Charlie. “Daddy Addy Addy.”

“Hi,” Charlie said.

“Hi,” Amy answered. “Ha-ee.” She had only just learned to close the diphthong, and she exaggerated it. Amy played with the buttons on Elouise’s shirt, trying to undo them.

“Greedy,” Elouise said, laughing.

Charlie unbuttoned the shirt for her, and Amy seized on the nipple after only one false grab. She sucked noisily, tapping her hand gently against Elouise’s breast as she ate.

“I’m glad we’re so near finished,” Elouise said. “She’s too old to be nursing now.”

“That’s right. Throw the little bird out of the nest.”

“Go to bed,” Elouise said.

Amy recognized the phrase. She pulled away. “La-lo,” she said.

“That’s right. Daddy’s going to sleep,” Elouise said.

Elouise watched as Charlie stripped off most of his clothing and lay down on the pad. He smiled once, then turned over, and was immediately asleep. He was in tune with his body. Elouise knew that he would awaken in exactly six hours, when it was time for him to take the controls again.

Amy’s sucking was a subtle pleasure now, though it had been agonizing the first few months, and painful again when Amy’s first teeth had come in and she had learned to her delight that by nipping she could make her mother scream. But better to nurse her than ever have her eat the predigested pap that was served as food on the airplane. Elouise thought wryly that it was even worse than the rnicrowaved veal cordon bleu that they used to inflict on commercial passengers. Only eight years ago. And they had calibrated their fuel so exactly that when they took the last draft of fuel from the last of their storage tanks, the tank registered empty; they would burn the last of the processed petroleum, instead of putting it back into the earth. All their caches were gone now, and they would be at the tender mercies of the world that they themselves had created.

Still, there was work to do; the final work, in the final checks. Elouise held Amy with one arm while she used her free hand slowly to key in the last program that her role as commander required her to use. Elouise Private, she typed. Teacher teacher I declare I see someone’s underwear, she typed. On the screen appeared the warning she had put there: “You may think you’re lucky finding this program, but unless you know the magic words, an alarm is going to go off all over this airplane and you’ll be had. No way out of it, sucker. Love, Elouise.”

Elouise, of course, knew the magic words. Einstein sucks, she typed. The screen went blank, and the alarm did not go off.

Malfunction? she queried. “None,” answered the computer.

Tamper? she queried, and the computer answered, “None.”

Nonreport? she queried, and the computer flashed, “AFscanP7bb55.”

Elouise had not really been dozing. But still she was startled, and she lurched forward, disturbing Amy, who really had fallen asleep. “No no no,” said Amy, and Elouise forced herself to be patient; she soothed her daughter back to sleep before pursuing whatever it was that her guardian program had caught. Whatever it was? Oh, she knew what it was. It was treachery. The one thing she had been sure her group, her airplane would never have. Other groups of Rectifiers—wreckers, they called themselves, having adopted their enemies’ name for them—other groups had had their spies or their fainthearts, but not Bill or Heather or Ugly-Bugly.

Specify, she typed.

The computer was specific.

Over northern Virginia, as the airplane followed its careful route to find and destroy everything made of metal, glass, and plastic; somewhere over northern Virginia, the airplane’s path bent slightly to the south, and on the return, at the same place, the airplane’s path bent slightly to the north, so that a strip of northern Virginia two kilometers long and a few dozen meters wide could contain some nonbiodegradable artifact, hidden from the airplane, and if Elouise had not queried this program, she would never have known it.