Butler, Octavia - Dawn

"We won't provide food for much longer," one of them told the group. "You'll learn to live on what grows here and to cultivate gardens."

No one was surprised. They had already been cutting hands of green bananas from existing trees and hanging them from beams or from the porch railing. As the bananas ripened, the humans discovered they had to compete with the insects for them.

A few people had also been cutting pineapples and picking papayas and breadfruits from existing trees. Most people did not like the breadfruit until Lilith showed them the seeded form of the fruit, the breadnut. When they roasted the seeds as she instructed and ate them, they realized they had been eating them all along back in the great room.

They had pulled sweet cassava from the ground and dug up the yams Lilith had planted during her own training.

Now it was time for them to begin planting their own crops.

And, perhaps, now it was time for the Oankali to begin to see what they would harvest in their human crop.

Two men and a woman took their allotted tools and vanished into the forest. They did not really know enough yet to be on their own, but they were gone. Their ooloi did not go after them.

The group of ooloi put their head tentacles and sensory arms together for a moment and seemed to come to a very fast agreement None of them would pay any attention to the three missing people.

"No one has escaped," Nikanj told Joseph and Lilith when they asked what would be done. "The missing people are still on the island. They're being watched."

"Watched through all these trees?" Joseph demanded.

"The ship is keeping track of them. If they're hurt, they'll be taken care of."

Other humans left the settlement. As the days passed, some of their ooloi seemed acutely uncomfortable. They kept to themselves, sat rock still, their head and body tentacles drawn into thick, dark lumps that looked, as Leah said, like grotesque tumors. These ooloi could be shouted at, rained on, tripped over. They never moved. When their head tentacles ceased to follow the movements of those around them, their mates arrived to tend them.

Male and female Oankali came out of the forest and took charge of their particular ooloi. Lilith never saw any of them called, but she saw one pair arrive.

She had gone alone to a place on the river where there was a heavily laden breadnut tree. She had climbed the tree, not only to get the fruit, but to enjoy the solitude and the beauty of the tree. She had never been much of a climber even as a child, but during her training, she had developed climbing skill and confidence-and a love of being so close to something so much of Earth.

From the tree, she saw two Oankali come out of the water. They did not seem to swim in toward land, but simply stood up near shore and walked in. Both focused on her for a moment, then headed inland toward the settlement.

She had watched them in utter silence, but they had known she was there. One more male and female, come to rescue a sick, abandoned ooloi.

Would it give the humans a feeling of power to know that they could make their ooloi feel sick and abandoned? Ooloi did not endure well when bereft of all those who carried their particular scent, their particular chemical marker. They lived. Metabolisms slowed, they retreated deep within themselves until called back by their families or, less satisfactorily, by another ooloi behaving as a kind of physician. So why didn't they go to their mates when their humans left? Why did they stay and get sick?

Lilith walked back to the settlement, a long crude basket filled with breadnuts on her back. She found the male and female ministering to their ooloi holding it between them and entangling its head and body tentacles with their own. Wherever the three touched, tentacles joined them. It was an intimate, vulnerable position, and other ooloi lounged nearby, guarding without seeming to guard. There were also a few humans watching. Lilith looked around the settlement, wondering how many of the humans not present would not come back from their day of wandering or food gathering. Did those who left come together on some other part of the island? Had they built a shelter? Were they building a boat? A wild thought struck her: What if they were right? What if they somehow were on Earth? What if it were possible to row a boat to freedom? What if, in spite of all she had seen and felt, this was some kind of hoax? How would it be perpetrated? Why would it be perpetrated? Why would the Oankali go to so much trouble?

No. She did not understand why the Oankali had done some of what they had done, but she believed the basics. The ship. The Earth, waiting to be recolonized by its people. The Oankali's price for saving the few remaining fragments of humanity.

But more people were leaving the settlement. Where were they? What if-The thought would not let her alone no matter what facts she felt she knew. What if the others were right?

Where had the doubt come from?

That evening as she brought in a load of firewood, Tate blocked her path.

"Curt and Celene are gone," she said quietly. "Celene let it slip to me that they were leaving."

"I'm surprised it took them so long."

"I'm surprised Curt didn't brain an Oankali before he left."

Nodding in agreement, Lilith stepped around her and put down her load of wood.

Tate followed and again planted herself in Lilith's path.

"What?" Lilith asked.

"We're going too. Tonight." She kept her voice very low-though no doubt more than one Oankali heard her.

"Where?"

"We don't know. Either we'll find the others or we won't. We'll find something-or make something."

"Just the two of you?"

"Four of us. Maybe more."

Lilith frowned, not knowing how to feel. She and Tate had become friends. Wherever Tate was going, she would not escape. If she did not injure herself or anyone else, she would probably be back.

"Listen," Tate said, "I'm not just telling you for the hell of it. We want you to go with us."

Lilith steered her away from the center of the camp. The Oankali would hear no matter what they did, but there was no need to involve other humans.

"Gabe has already talked to Joe," Tate said. "We want-"

"Gabe what!"

"Shut up! You want to tell everyone? Joe said he'd go. Now what about you?"

Lilith stared at her hostilely. "What about me?"

"I need to know now. Gabe wants to leave soon."

"If I leave with you, we'll leave after breakfast tomorrow morning."

Tate, being Tate, said nothing. She smiled.

"I didn't say I was going. All I mean is that there's no reason to sneak away in the night and step on a coral snake or something. It's pitch black out there at night."

"Gabe thinks we'll have more time before they discover we're gone."

"Where's his mind-and yours? Leave tonight and they'll notice you're gone by tomorrow morning-if you don't wake everyone on your way out by tripping over something or someone. Leave tomorrow morning and they won't notice you're gone until tomorrow night at dinner." She shook her head. "Not that they'll care. They haven't so far. But if you want to slip away, at least do it in a way that will give you a chance to find shelter before nightfall-or in case it rains."

"When it rains," Tate said. "It always rains sooner or later. We thought. . . maybe once we were clear of this place, we'd cross the river, head north, keep heading north until we found a dryer, cooler climate."

"If we are on Earth, Tate, considering what was done to Earth and especially to the northern hemisphere, south would be a better direction."

Tate shrugged. "You don't get a vote unless you come with us."

"I'll talk to Joe."

"But--''

"And you ought to get Gabe to help you with your acting. I haven't said a thing you and Gabe hadn't already thought of. Neither of you is stupid. And you, at least, are no good at bullshitting people."