Paul Collins - Earthborn The

She didn't think so. Could the other families? The answer to all her tumbling questions was simply yes.

She had a good feeling about the kid. And her hunches usually paid off.

Stumbling and at times barely saving himself from falling, Welkin let himself be dragged along. He refused to complain about his feet, about the tiredness that was even now gnawing at him like some squirming bug. He found that talking took away the stress from walking through the darkness and kept his thoughts away from his rapidly deteriorating worldview. "Why did you ask if I knew anything about technical stuff?"

"I have a plan to restore the TV towers in the Dandenong Ranges. Right now they're just a pile of scrambled junk. The two guys we lost the other night were our mekanics. They knew tech stuff." "What are Dandenongs?"

"Hills twenty miles east of here. They used to house two of Melbourne's main water storage reservoirs. More importantly, we'd get a good reception of radio waves up there and put out better signals. We need to contact others, get the right kind of people together, so we can get things up and running. Carry on like we are and we're heading nowhere fast."

"They'll think you're building an army. They won't like that." "I don't give a toss what Colony likes or doesn't." Her face was grave. "Earth is divided right now among dozens of tribes and families all warring one another. Each has its own turf, but resources are scarce, which means raiding someone's else's patch. But that doesn't have to go on. We can work together and rebuild."

"You've had a hundred and fifty years to rebuild. If it was going to happen, it would have by now."

"Ordinarily, I might agree. But you don't have all the facts. What brought down civilization wasn't the war or the radiation. It was what happened afterward. Nuclear winter."

"That's why the sky is like that?"

"Yeah. And that's what has changed. I noticed it about four years ago. There's more sunlight now, and it seems to be increasing at a cumulative rate. You see what that means? Earth is healing itself. We can plant crops again, build farming communities. For the first time in a century and a half, the human race has a chance!"

For a moment Welkin was caught up in her bold vision. Then he remembered. "Until we came."

She eyed him speculatively. "Yeah. Until you came." Her voice dropped. "You could have arrived as heroes, extending the hand of brotherhood, helping us to get on our feet. Instead, you're bent on exterminating us. Well, we don't go easy, mark my words. And for all your shiny advantages, you're the

'aliens' here, and you're on alien turf. Our turf. I wouldn't count us out yet."

Welkin was silent for a long moment. "Will your family hate me?"

"No. Well, not exactly. They'll just take some time getting used to you."

Welkin's face held no expression, though his lower lip quivered for an instant. "I'm not wanted by anyone."

All of a sudden it hit Sarah. For all his posturing and pride, Welkin was just a fourteen-year-old boy thrust into the rigors and demands of early adulthood. And he was very scared. She had to make this right, and quickly. For good or ill, he was her responsibility now.

"It's going to be all right, Welkin. I promise."

He looked stricken for a moment. At last he said quietly, "That's what my mother said. Just before she died."

Sarah sighed. The boy was an emotional minefield. She'd have to be careful. "Listen to me, Welkin. I know I'm just an Earthborn in your eyes, probably not worth spitting on. But I want you to listen to me. I pledge myself to you and your well-being. I will protect you and succor you to the best of my ability. You are my family, my family is you. Eyes open!"

Welkin stared at her. He didn't really know the meaning of what she said, but he recognized the simple powerful mantra of ritual when he heard it. For no reason he could put his finger on, he was immediately comforted. The lost, bleak feeling that had swept over him a moment ago was gone.

All his life he had belonged to some kind of social unit. Now he belonged again, even if it was just some Earthborn fraternity. Yet he didn't fool himself. These were primitive rituals; the Earthborn could not possibly understand the true nature of belonging, of family, of destiny. How could they? Perhaps one

day he would teach them. For now, it was enough that he did feel safer. And that, he supposed, was just one more puzzle to file away for the future.

Welkin's stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten for some time. "What will you do for food in the mountains?"

Sarah almost burst out laughing. "Food? The ranges are full of it. Trick is to find it. Which is why we had a deal with Mundine, that gimp I told you about. He was teaching my kid sister, Gillian, all about food gathering. He's gone now," she said as an afterthought.

Mundine. Another Colony victim! "Food's usually in concentrates on Colony," Welkin said awkwardly. "Nothing like you've been eating, I bet."

"Neither is the Dandenong food like our usual food. You ever hear of Australia's Aborigines?"

"Not that I remember," Welkin said.

"Well, their diet consisted of large insects like cicadas and witch-etty grubs, and root vegetables such as yams and water lilies. Had some once."

"Water lilies?" Welkin said incredulously, further confirming his belief that these people were barbarians. "Plants?"

"Sure. Tastes like celery. And their seeds can be ground into dough that you can bake like bread in the ground over hot rocks."

"Are there still birds and fish? You can eat birds' eggs," he said helpfully.

"Gimps aren't terribly good at trading that stuff with us," Sarah said. "But there are wild fruits and berries. Read somewhere that because of the volcanic soils and high rainfall, all that good stuff grows like wildfire. Should be bees up there, too. With any luck we could track them to their nests for honey."

Welkin gave her a faint smile. It was good the Earthborn still had plans in all this carnage.

"Tell me something of your lineage. Your parents." At Welkin's sudden distrust, she added,

"Curiosity—that's all."

"The original Quinns, dating back to Colony's, launch, were neuro-cybernetics experts. The prime Quinn was responsible for the sky-world's techmates."

"Sounds like a dating service for computer nerds," Sarah laughed.

"Dating—?"

"Never mind. That's a thing of the past. Carry on."

"They were semi-intelligent plastiroids that maintained Colony's communication system. My father, Howard Quinn," he said proudly, "revolutionized nanofiber optics." At Sarah's blank face, he added, "It made all the old wiring on Colony completely redundant."

"Just like us," Sarah said. "A wireless society."

"Nothing like—"

"A joke," Sarah said quickly. Watch him. He's on the edge. "A stupid joke."

"What were you doing when Colony landed?" he asked suddenly.

She turned briefly but kept walking. "Luckily I was miles away." Her voice became choked. "I was supposed to be with my two mek-anics, Kenny-H and Bilbo, working on a wireless. Colony crashed slap-bang on top of their dugout."

"They were your technicians," Welkin said awkwardly.

"You got it in one, damn them," Sarah spat. "Caused a bit of a bust-up with my team." She paused by a ladder and rested her foot on the first rung. "I've been collecting homeless waifs all my life. Street kids, really. You build a team, you know? Because some people need a family."

Welkin knew exactly what she meant.

"That's something I hope to achieve. Make ourselves available to anyone who needs us. But first, we need to get set up, stabilize ourselves. But a family needs the right ingredients. If you don't get it right, it'll fall apart just like that!" She snapped her fingers. "Without certain members the team's dysfunctional.