Nancy Kress - Nothing Human

Scott’s nag wasn’t in the barn. No one had noticed, since all the other horses were in use out on the range. DeWayne’s truck, which he had purchased in lieu of the fancy little car he’d arrived in, had gone to Wenton. The bus was finally dead, and the new one Lillie had ordered last year had had to be sold as the farm funds dwindled.

Theresa smacked her fist against the barn wall in frustration. She could have gone back to the house and Net-paged Jody out on the range, the pagers being another innovation due to DeWayne. But God knew where Jody was. He could be halfway to the El Capitan mountains with their cattle. The arroyo was only a little over a mile away. She put on the wide-brimmed hat with neck curtains that the high UV made necessary, filled a canteen, and started to walk.

By the time she reached the arroyo, Theresa’s legs felt wobbly. She didn’t walk much anymore on the open range. She had a canteen with her but wanted to save the water for Cord. The arroyo was completely dry, and the gray rough bark of the cottonwoods looked tired and dusty. Cord wasn’t there.

She sat in the welcome shade, panting. Hoof tracks led away from the arroyo. But there was nothing in that direction but desert. Desert that a year ago had just begun to be prairie, its greening now cut off like an execution.

Theresa took three long swallows of water and started walking. If Cord hadn’t thought to bring a hat… it had been night when he’d run off. And he’d been too angry to think straight or he wouldn’t have started this stupid trek in the first place.

A few miles out, Theresa came across Scott’s horse. It had found a semi-living green bush and was chomping at it eagerly. The saddle was empty.

Now she was genuinely afraid. How far had Cord gotten before he fell off, or let the horse wander away, or whatever had happened? The child could be laying injured in the hot sun, dehydrated, alone…

Theresa took two more swallows of water—her last, she promised herself—and kept on walking. How soon before someone followed her? They would, of course. Senni would have the sense (and the remorse) to Net-page Jody or Spring. Lillie and DeWayne would come home from town. Someone would come.

Meanwhile, she kept walking, kept calling. “Cord! Cord, can you hear me? Cord, answer me! Cord!” Her throat grew hoarse.

The wind was picking up. Sand started to blow against her face, into her eyes. Oh, God, no, not a dust storm, no one would ever find Cord or her, and alone out here in a dust storm… “Cord! Cord!”

The wind blew harder.

Was that him? She ran forward, her legs aching, but it was only an unusually large prickly pear, vaguely shaped like a prone boy.

She was sobbing from frustration and fear when she finally spotted Cord. Lurching, stumbling forward, she fell on her knees beside his crumpled little body, lying beside a clump of thorny mesquite.

She gasped, inhaling a mouthful of dust.

It was Cord… and it wasn’t. He crouched on his stomach, head tucked forward as much under his chest as possible, facing away from the wind. His arms and legs were drawn under him. His thin shirt had torn, and Theresa could see that over his back and neck and head had grown a sort of… shell. A thin membrane, tough and flexible as plastic when she touched it.

Water. He had grown a temporary shell to keep water from evaporating.

The sand was blowing harder now. Theresa closed her eyes against its sting and groped for Cord’s pulse along his neck. She found it through the membrane and counted: ten pulses per minute, slow and even. Her fingers groped underneath the boy, and touched something hard and thin at his belly. She felt it, dug with her nails where it entered the soil. She knew what it was, had encountered it her whole life on the range. All cacti had them. A taproot, sent deep into the soil to tap whatever water might be buried far down.

Behind the membrane, Cord’s eyes were closed. His child’s face had evened out in his deep sleep, hibernation, estivation, whatever the right word was. Or maybe there was no right word for this.

The storm was building fiercely now. Theresa drank the last of her water, feeling it mix with the grit in her mouth and scrape down her throat, knowing it wouldn’t make much difference. Everything depended now on how long and hard the wind blew, obscuring visibility, accelerating dehydration. She lay down beside Cord and put her arms around him.

Scott , I know what all the extra genes are for. They’re for adapting to whatever we do to fuck up the planet.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Grit ground under the lids, making her gasp with pain and open them. A mistake. Now she could barely see the mesquite a foot away.

Was Cord human? Yes, yes, yes, her fading mind said. She didn’t know why or how she knew, but she did. Cord, all of the children engineered on that alien ship, were human. She would bet her life on it.

Which was pretty funny, actually—

The wind mounted in fury. Theresa’s arms loosened, unable to hold their grip.

Her last thought was for Cord: Pribir, wherever you are, thank you.

The storm blew till night fell. The winds brought clouds in their wake, fierce black clouds like a tarp under the sky. Clouds, but no rain. It was twenty-four hours before they could find and retrieve Theresa’s body. By that time, there wasn’t much left of it. Weather and coyotes.

Lillie spent the twenty-four convinced that both Cord and Theresa were dead. Theresa, who had been first a friend and then a mother to Lillie, far more of a mother than Barbara had ever been. Theresa, who had taken Uncle Keith’s place so naturally, so unobtrusively that Lillie had hardly even noticed.

For those two days Keith and Kella had clung to her, crying for their brother. Awkwardly she held them to her, struggling with her own pain. Cord, dead out on the range somewhere in this terrible storm. Cord, her little boy… oh, God, at least let them be together. Let him have Theresa in his last hours. He’d never had his mother.

Keith and Kella slept with her, for the few hours she could sleep. Lying in the narrow bed with a child pressed up close to her on either side, clutching at her even in sleep, Lillie realized for the first time the terrible burden of being a real parent. It was not that she didn’t love her children, but that she did. She was hostage to their fortune, her life’s outcome dependent on theirs, as Keith’s had been on Lillie’s. She had never known. She had never understood, not any of it.

Theresa had known. Theresa had always known.

When Spring found Cord, he was still “dormant.” That’s what Scott called it. Scott, fascinated and grateful and appalled, took cells from all of Cord’s adaptations, including the “taproot” that Spring had sliced through because it went too deep to pull up. Then, holding his breath, he’d poured water over Cord.

As Scott and Lillie watched, the membrane around the child dissolved. The base of the taproot fell off as easily as an outgrown umbilical. Cord’s breathing quickened. He opened his eyes, saw his mother’s face, and started to cry.

Lillie gathered him into her arms, wet and filthy and smelling of what Scott would later determine was a skin repellent against predators. She held him tightly against her, and for the first time in years she cried, too. Scott left the room with his collected samples, softly closing the door. Lillie cradled her pribir-created son and knew for the first time not only what he was, but also that through him she, too, was becoming, finally, fully human.