Stephen Baxter - Coalescent

Lucia forced a smile. “You are an American,” she said. “You made deserts bloom. You put people on the moon. Surely you can help me—”

But he was staring past her.

Pina was standing silently at the end of the pew.

Daniel stood up and confronted Pina. “Oh, it’s you. The ugly sister.”

“This is a church,” Pina said levelly. “Let’s not make a scene.” She turned to Lucia. “Rosa is waiting outside, with a car.”

Daniel said, a little wildly, “Are you going to drag her out of here, the way you dragged her out of that coffee shop?” He was guessing, Lucia saw, but he was hitting the mark.

Pina glared at him, calculating. Then she said, “I’ll sit down if you will.”

Daniel hesitated, then nodded curtly. They both sat.

Pina touched Lucia’s arm, but Lucia flinched away. “Oh, Lucia. What are we going to do with you?”

“How did you find me this time?”

“This boy can’t do anything for—”

“How did you find me?”

“There’s a tracer chip in your cell phone. It wasn’t hard.”

Lucia glared at her. “You bugged me?”

“For your own good.” Lucia still wouldn’t let Pina touch her, but she leaned forward, and Lucia could smell a milky Crypt scent on her clothes. “Come home, sister.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here,” Daniel said. “But she isn’t going anywhere, except with me.”

Pina laughed, softly, but in his face. “I believe sex with minors is known as statutory rape in your country. Do you want to find out about the Italian equivalent?”

It was an obvious ploy, but it made him hesitate. “I haven’t touched her.”

“Do you think that will matter?”

Lucia said, “Daniel, she won’t go to the police.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s not the way the Order does things.” She took a deep breath. “And besides, she would have to explain to them how come I’m pregnant.”

Daniel was puzzled. “You mean you were pregnant.”

“… No. I am pregnant. Again.”

There, she thought. I’ve said it.

Pina’s mouth tightened. “What have you told him, Lucia?”

Daniel was staring at her, a mix of horror and incredulity on his face. “Was it him again? This guy Giuliano?”

“No. Or rather …”

Lucia remembered her bafflement when her menstruation had stopped, her growing puzzlement at the strange sensations in her belly — strange, yet familiar. She had gone to Patrizia innocently, wondering if she was suffering some kind of postnatal symptom.

She hadn’t been able to believe what Patrizia had told her. But Patrizia seemed to have expected it. Patrizia called in others — Rosa, one of the younger matres , assistants from the delivery rooms and the crиches. They had clustered around Lucia, their smiles glistening wetly, touching her shoulders and back, kissing her brow and cheeks and lips, overwhelming her with their scent and taste of sweetness and milk. “It’s a miracle,” one of them had whispered in Lucia’s ear. “A miracle …”

“A miracle,” Lucia said hotly to a baffled Daniel. “That’s what they called it. A miracle. But it isn’t really, is it, Pina? Because in the Crypt it happens every week, two or three or four times.”

Daniel asked, “What miracle?”

“I hadn’t had sex,” Lucia said. “Not since the birth. Not since Giuliano — and then, only that once, before my first pregnancy. I hadn’t had sex, but I’m pregnant anyway. And it’s Giuliano’s baby again, isn’t it, Pina? Conception without sex,” she said bitterly. “Have you ever heard of such a thing, Daniel? Do they have such things in America? No, of course not. There are wonders happening in that Crypt to be found nowhere else in the world, I’m sure. Wonders in my own body.” She turned on Pina. “But it isn’t my body anymore. Is it, Pina? My body, my womb and loins, belong to the Order. My future is babies — more and more of them. My body is just a tool to be used as efficiently as possible for the Order’s purposes. And I , I don’t count for anything — my wants, my needs, my desires—”

“You never did,” said Pina gently.

Daniel was staring at one, then the other, obviously baffled, scared. “I don’t have idea one about what’s going on here. But, hey, Grizelda, if you think I’m going to stand by—”

“Lucia!” The voice was high, evoking echoes from the high marble walls. Rosa was walking across the great marble floor toward them. She wore a business suit; she looked powerful, competent, unstoppable. She would be here in seconds.

“Hide me,” Lucia said to Daniel.

“What?”

She stood. “Hide me now, or walk away.”

Rosa broke into a run. Pina reached up to hold Lucia.

Lucia said, “Pina, please—”

Pina hesitated, for a second. Then she dropped her hands, a look of utter dismay on her face.

Daniel used that second to grab Lucia’s hand. They ran together, out of the nave and across the floor. Daniel dragged her into a knot of visitors led by a woman who held an umbrella up in the air. They worked their way through the tightly packed group, toward the door.

When they had made it out into the open air, Rosa and Pina were nowhere to be seen.

They stared at each other — laughed, briefly hysterical — then fell silent. Lucia touched his cheek; it was hot. “Well, Daniel — now what?”

Brica came to her.

She stood over her mother, sullen, worn out, her face slack. There was little left of the bright, beautiful girl who had sat in the forest with the children and told them stories of the sidhe, and Regina’s heart broke a little more.

But she said huskily, “Have you forgiven me yet for saving your life?”

“When you die I will be free,” Brica said. “But it is too late for me. You should have let me go, Mother.” It was a reprise of a conversation they had had many times since their days in Londinium, and the incident of the fat negotiatore .

“Your problem was you kept falling in love. But in these times there is no room for love.”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“No, I suppose not. No more than I could help loving you.”

Brica eventually went away. There would be no farewells, no final forgiveness. Regina knew that did not matter.

Sometimes Regina wondered if she really was mad, as Brica had sometimes accused her, if she was an unnatural mother. Yes, Brica was family. Yes, in normal times a mother must protect her children. Yes, she should release them to live their own lives when they come of age.

But Regina had not lived through normal times.

When Regina was born, Roman civilization was intact. It dominated the Mediterranean and much of Europe, just as it had for five hundred years. Britain, though rebellious and troubled, was still embedded in the imperial system, its economy and society and aspirations and vision of its future fashioned by Roman culture and values. Now, as the light faded for Regina, the Empire in the west had disappeared and its possessions were in the hands of barbarians.

In her lifetime of turmoil and destruction, as the Saxons had burned across Britain like a forest fire, as even Rome itself crumbled and shuddered, Regina had come to see her family — not as something to release to freedom — but as something to preserve : a burden that had to be saved. Even if it meant burying it in a hole in the ground. It was as if she had not allowed Brica to be born at all, but had kept her in the safety of her own womb, a dark thing, bloody, resentful — but safe.