

       Kristine Kathryn Rusch: Echea                   
       This story first appeared in Asimovs         
       Science Fiction, July 1998. Nominated for   
       Best Novelette.
                                                  
       ------------------------------------------
	 From Asimov's

	 Echea, by
	 Kristine Kathryn Rusch

       I can close my eyes and she appears in my    
       mind as she did the moment I first saw      
       her: tiny, fragile, with unnaturally pale    
       skin and slanted chocolate eyes. Her hair    
       was white as the moon on a cloudless      
       evening. It seemed, that day, that her        
       eyes were the only spot of color on her      
       haggard little face. She was seven, but      
       she looked three.                           
                                                    
       And she acted like nothing we had ever        
       encountered before.                           
                                                    
       Or since.                                    
                                                    
       We had three children and a good life. We
       were not impulsive, but we did feel as if   
       we had something to give. Our home was
       large, and we had money; any child would     
       benefit from that.                          
                                                   
       It seemed to be for the best.

       It all started with the brochures. We saw
       them first at an outdoor caf near our
       home. We were having lunch when we
       glimpsed floating dots of color, a           
       fleeting childs face. Both my husband and
       I touched them only to have the displays     
       open before us:                              
                                                     
       The blank vista of the Moon, the Earth        
       over the horizon like a giant blue and        
       white ball, a looming presence, pristine     
       and healthy and somehow guilt-ridden. The   
       Moon itself looked barren, as it always       
       had, until one focused. And then one saw     
       the pockmarks, the shattered dome open to     
       the stars. In the corner of the first         
       brochure I opened, at the very edge of the    
       reproduction, were blood-splotches. They    
       were scattered on the craters and            
       boulders, and had left fist-sized holes in   
       the dust. I didnt need to be told what      
       had caused it. We saw the effects of high     
       velocity rifles in low gravity every time    
       we downloaded the news.                      
                                                    
       The brochures began with the Moon, and      
       ended with the faces of refugees: pallid,    
       worn, defeated. The passenger shuttles to
       Earth had pretty much stopped. At first,     
       those who could pay came here, but by the
       time we got our brochures, Earth passage   
       had changed. Only those with living
       relatives were able to return. Living        
       relatives who were willing to acknowledge  
       the relationshipand had official hard       
       copy to prove it.                            
                                                    
       The rules were waived in the case of          
       children, of orphans and of underage war     
       refuges. They were allowed to come to        
       Earth if their bodies could tolerate it,
       if they were willing to be adopted, and if
       they were willing to renounce any claims
       they had to Moon land.

       They had to renounce the stars in order to
       have a home.

       We picked her up in Sioux Falls, the
       nearest star shuttle stop and detention
       center to our home. The shuttle stop was a
       desolate place. It was designed as an
       embarkation point for political prisoners
       and for star soldiers. It was built on the
       rolling prairie, a sprawling complex with
       laser fences shimmering in the sunlight.
       Guards stood at every entrance, and
       several hovered above. We were led, by men
       with laser rifles, into the main compound,
       a building finished almost a century
       before, made of concrete and steel,
       functional, cold, and ancient. Its halls
       smelled musty. The concrete flaked,
       covering everything with a fine gray dust.

       Echea had flown in on a previous shuttle.
       She had been in detox and sick bay;
       through psychiatric exams and physical
       screenings. We did not know we would get
       her until they called our name.

       We met her in a concrete room with no
       windows, shielded against the sun,
       shielded against the world. The area had
       no furniture.

       A door opened and a child appeared.

       Tiny, pale, fragile. Eyes as big as the
       moon itself, and darker than the blackest
       night. She stood in the center of the
       room, legs spread, arms crossed, as if she
       were already angry at us.

       Around us, through us, between us, a
       computer voice resonated:

       This is Echea. She is yours. Please take
       her, and proceed through the doors to your
       left. The waiting shuttle will take you to
       your preassigned destination.

       She didnt move when she heard the voice,
       although I started. My husband had already
       gone toward her. He crouched and she
       glowered at him.

       "I dont need you," she said.

       "We dont need you either," he said. "But
       we want you."

       The hard set to her chin eased, just a
       bit. "Do you speak for her?" she asked,
       indicating me.

       "No," I said. I knew what she wanted. She
       wanted reassurance early that she wouldnt
       be entering a private war zone as
       difficult and devastating as the one she
       left. "I speak for myself. Id like it if
       you came home with us, Echea."

       She stared at us both then, not
       relinquishing power, not changing that
       forceful stance. "Why do you want me?" she
       asked. "You dont even know me."

       "But we will," my husband said.

       "And then youll send me back," she said,
       her tone bitter. I heard the fear in it.

       "You wont go back," I said. "I promise
       you that."

       It was an easy promise to make. None of
       the children, even if their adoptions did
       not work, returned to the Moon.

       A bell sounded overhead. They had warned
       us about this, warned us that we would
       have to move when we heard it.

       "Its time to leave," my husband said.
       "Get your things."

       Her first look was shock and betrayal,
       quickly masked. I wasnt even sure I had
       seen it. And then she narrowed those
       lovely chocolate eyes. "Im from the
       Moon," she said with a sarcasm that was
       foreign to our natural daughters. "We have
       no things."

       What we knew of the Moon Wars on Earth was
       fairly slim. The news vids were
       necessarily vague, and I had never had the
       patience for a long lesson in Moon
       history.

       The shorthand for the Moon situation was
       this: the Moons economic resources were
       scarce. Some colonies, after several years
       of existence, were self-sufficient. Others
       were not. The shipments from Earth, highly
       valuable, were designated to specific
       places and often did not get there.
       Piracy, theft, and murder occurred to gain
       the scarce resources. Sometimes skirmishes
       broke out. A few times, the fighting
       escalated. Domes were damaged, and in the
       worst of the fighting, two colonies were
       destroyed.

       At the time, I did not understand the
       situation at all. I took at face value a
       cynical comment from one of my professors:
       colonies always struggle for dominance
       when they are away from the mother
       country. I had even repeated it at
       parties.

       I had not understood that it
       oversimplified one of the most complex
       situations in our universe.

       I also had not understood the very human
       cost of such events.

       That is, until I had Echea.

       ***

       We had ordered a private shuttle for our
       return, but it wouldnt have mattered if
       we were walking down a public street. I
       attempted to engage Echea, but she
       wouldnt talk. She stared out the window
       instead, and became visibly agitated as we
       approached home.

       Lake Nebagamon is a small lake, one of the
       hundreds that dot northern Wisconsin. It
       was a popular resort for people from
       nearby Superior. Many had summer homes,
       some dating from the late 1800s. In the
       early 2000s, the summer homes were sold
       off. Most lots were bought by families who
       already owned land there, and hated the
       crowding at Nebagamon. My family bought
       fifteen lots. My husbands bought ten. Our
       marriage, some joked, was one of the most
       important local mergers of the day.

       Sometimes I think that it was no joke. It
       was expected. There is affection between
       us, of course, and a certain warmth. But
       no real passion.

       The passion I once shared with another
       mana boy actuallywas so long ago that I
       remember it in images, like a vid seen
       decades ago, or a painting made from
       someone elses life.

       When my husband and I married, we acted
       like an acquiring conglomerate. We tore
       down my familys summer home because it
       had no potential or historical value, and
       we built onto my husbands. The ancient
       house became an estate with a grand lawn
       that rolled down to the muddy water.
       Evenings we sat on the verandah and
       listened to the cicadas until full dark.
       Then we stared at the stars and their
       reflections in our lake. Sometimes we were
       blessed with the northern lights, but not
       too often.

       This is the place we brought Echea. A girl
       who had never really seen green grass or
       tall trees; who had definitely never seen
       lakes or blue sky or Earths stars. She
       had, in her brief time in North Dakota,
       seen what they considered Earththe brown
       dust, the fresh air. But her exposure had
       been limited, and had not really included
       sunshine or nature itself.

       We did not really know how this would
       affect her.

       There were many things we did not know.

       Our girls were lined up on the porch in
       age order: Kally, the twelve-year-old, and
       the tallest, stood near the door. Susan,
       the middle child, stood next to her, and
       Anne stood by herself near the porch. They
       were properly stair-stepped, three years
       between them, a separation considered
       optimal for more than a century now. We
       had followed the rules in birthing them,
       as well as in raising them.

       Echea was the only thing out of the norm.

       Anne, the courageous one, approached us as
       we got off the shuttle. She was small for
       six, but still bigger than Echea. Anne
       also blended our heritages perfectlymy
       husbands bright blue eyes and light hair
       with my dark skin and exotic features. She
       would be our beauty some day, something my
       husband claimed was unfair, since she also
       had the brains.

       "Hi," she said, standing in the middle of
       the lawn. She wasnt looking at us. She
       was looking at Echea.

       Echea stopped walking. She had been
       slightly ahead of me. By stopping, she
       forced me to stop too.

       "Im not like them," she said. She was
       glaring at my daughters. "I dont want to
       be."

       "You dont have to be," I said softly.

       "But you can be civil," my husband said.

       Echea frowned at him, and in that moment,
       I think, their relationship was defined.

       "I suppose youre the pampered baby," she
       said to Anne.

       Anne grinned.

       "Thats right," she said. "I like it
       better than being the spoiled brat."

       I held my breath. "Pampered baby" wasnt
       much different from "spoiled brat" and we
       all knew it.

       "Do you have a spoiled brat?" Echea asked.

       "No," Anne said.

       Echea looked at the house, the lawn, the
       lake, and whispered. "You do now."

       Later, my husband told me he heard this as
       a declaration. I heard it as awe. My
       daughters saw it as something else
       entirely.

       "I think you have to fight Susan for it,"
       Anne said.

       "Do not!" Susan shouted from the porch.

       "See?" Anne said. Then she took Echeas
       hand and led her up the steps.

       That first night we awakened to screams. I
       came out of a deep sleep, already sitting
       up, ready to do battle. At first, I
       thought my link was on; I had lulled
       myself to sleep with a bedtime story. My
       link had an automatic shut-off, but I
       sometimes forgot to set it. With all that
       had been happening the last few days, I
       believed I might have done so again.

       Then I noticed my husband sitting up as
       well, groggily rubbing the sleep out of
       his eyes.

       The screams hadnt stopped. They were
       piercing, shrill. It took me a moment to
       recognize them.

       Susan.

       I was out of bed before I realized it,
       running down the hall before I had time to
       grab my robe. My nightgown flapped around
       me as I ran. My husband was right behind
       me. I could hear his heavy steps on the
       hardwood floor.

       When we reached Susans room, she was
       sitting on the window seat, sobbing. The
       light of the full moon cut across the
       cushions and illuminated the rag rugs and
       the old-fashioned pink spread.

       I sat down beside her and put my arm
       around her. Her frail shoulders were
       shaking, and her breath was coming in
       short gasps. My husband crouched before
       her, taking her hands in his.

       "What happened, sweetheart?" I asked.

       "III saw him," she said. "His face
       exploded, and the blood floated down."

       "Were you watching vids again before
       sleep?" my husband asked in a sympathetic
       tone. We both knew if she said yes, in the
       morning she would get yet another lecture
       about being careful about what she put in
       her brain before it rested.

       "No!" she wailed.

       She apparently remembered those early
       lectures too.

       "Then what caused this?" I asked.

       "I dont know! " she said and burst into
       sobs again. I cradled her against me, but
       she didnt loosen her grip on my husbands
       hands.

       "After his blood floated, what happened,
       baby?" my husband asked.

       "Someone grabbed me," she said against my
       gown. "And pulled me away from him. I
       didnt want to go."

       "And then what?" My husbands voice was
       still soft.

       "I woke up," she said, and her breath
       hitched.

       I put my hand on her head and pulled her
       closer. "Its all right, sweetheart," I
       said. "It was just a dream."

       "But it was so real," she said.

       "Youre here now," my husband said. "Right
       here. In your room. And were right here
       with you."

       "I dont want to go back to sleep," she
       said. "Do I have to?"

       "Yes," I said, knowing it was better for
       her to sleep than be afraid of it. "Tell
       you what, though. Ill program House to
       tell you a soothing story, with a bit of
       music and maybe a few moving images. What
       do you say?"

       "Dr. Seuss," she said.

       "Thats not always soothing," my husband
       said, obviously remembering how the
       Houses Cat in the Hat program gave Kally
       a terror of anything feline.

       "It is to Susan," I said gently, reminding
       him. In her third year, she played Green
       Eggs and Ham all night, the Houses voice
       droning on and on, making me thankful that
       our room was at the opposite end of the
       hall.

       But she was three no longer, and she
       hadnt wanted Dr. Seuss for years. The
       dream had really frightened her.

       "If you have any more trouble, baby," my
       husband said to her, "you come and get us,
       all right?"

       She nodded. He squeezed her hands, then I
       picked her up and carried her to bed. My
       husband pulled back the covers. Susan
       clung to me as I eased her down. "Will I
       go back there if I close my eyes?" she
       asked.

       "No," I said. "Youll listen to House and
       sleep deeply. And if you dream at all,
       itll be about nice things, like sunshine
       on flowers, and the lake in summertime."

       "Promise?" she asked, her voice quavering.

       "Promise," I said. Then I removed her
       hands from my neck and kissed each of them
       before putting them on the coverlet. I
       kissed her forehead. My husband did the
       same, and as we were leaving, she was
       ordering up the House reading program.

       As I pulled the door closed, I saw the
       opening images of Green Eggs and Ham
       flicker across the wall.

       The next morning, everything seemed fine.
       When I came down to breakfast, the chef
       had already placed the food on the table,
       each dish on its own warming plate. The
       scrambled eggs had the slightly runny look
       that indicated they had sat more than an
       hournot even the latest design in warming
       plates could stop that. In addition, there
       was French toast, and Susans favorites,
       waffles. The scent of fresh blueberry
       muffins floated over it all, and made me
       smile. The household staff had gone to
       great lengths to make Echea feel welcome.

       My husband was already in his usual spot,
       e-conferencing while he sipped his coffee
       and broke a muffin apart with his fingers.
       His plate, showing the remains of eggs and
       ham, was pushed off to the side.

       "Morning," I said as I slipped into my
       usual place on the other side of the
       table. It was made of oak and had been in
       my family since 1851, when my mothers
       people brought it over from Europe as a
       wedding present for my many-great
       grandparents. The housekeeper kept it
       polished to a shine, and she only used
       linen placemats to protect it from the
       effects of food.

       My husband acknowledged me with a
       blueberry-stained hand as laughter made me
       look up. Kally came in, her arm around
       Susan. Susan still didnt look herself.
       She had deep circles under her eyes, which
       meant that Green Eggs and Ham hadnt quite
       done the trick. She was too old to come
       get usI had known that when we left her
       last nightbut I hoped she hadnt spent
       the rest of the night listening to House,
       trying to find comfort in artificial
       voices and imagery.

       The girls were still smiling when they saw
       me.

       "Something funny?" I asked

       "Echea," Kally said. "Did you know someone
       owned her dress before she did?"

       No, I hadnt known that, but it didnt
       surprise me. My daughters, on the other
       hand, had owned only the best. Sometimes
       their knowledge of lifeor lack
       thereofshocked me.

       "Its not an unusual way for people to
       save money," I said. "But itll be the
       last pre-owned dress shell have."

       Mom? It was Anne, e-mailing me directly.
       The instant prompt appeared before my left
       eye. Can you come up here?

       I blinked the message away, then sighed
       and pushed back my chair. I should have
       known the girls would do something that
       first morning. And the laughter should
       have prepared me.

       "Remember," I said as I stood. "Only one
       main course. No matter what your father
       says."

       "Ma!" Kally said.

       "I mean it," I said, then hurried up the
       stairs. I didnt have to check where Anne
       was. She had sent me an image along with
       the e-mailthe door to Echeas room.

       As I got closer, I heard Annes voice.

       "didnt mean it. Theyre old poops."

       "Poop" was Annes worst word, at least so
       far. And when she used it, she put all so
       much emphasis on it the word became an
       epithet.

       "Its my dress," Echea said. She sounded
       calm and contained, but I thought there
       was a raggedness to her voice that hadnt
       been there the day before. "Its all I
       have."

       At that moment, I entered the room. Anne
       was on the bed, which had been carefully
       made up. If I hadnt tucked Echea in the
       night before, I never would have thought
       she had slept there.

       Echea was standing near her window seat,
       gazing at the lawn as if she didnt dare
       let it out of her sight.

       "Actually," I said, keeping my voice
       light. "You have an entire closet full of
       clothes."

       Thanks, Mom, Anne sent me.

       "Those clothes are yours," Echea said.

       "Weve adopted you," I said. "Whats ours
       is yours."

       "You dont get it," she said. "This dress
       is mine. Its all I have."

       She had her arms wrapped around it, her
       hands gripping it as if we were going to
       take it away.

       "I know," I said softly. "I know,
       sweetie-baby. You can keep it. Were not
       trying to take it away from you."

       "They said you would."

       "Who?" I asked, with a sinking feeling. I
       already knew who. My other two daughters.
       "Kally and Susan?"

       She nodded.

       "Well, theyre wrong," I said. "My husband
       and I make the rules in this house. I will
       never take away something of yours. I
       promise."

       "Promise?" she whispered.

       "Promise," I said. "Now how about
       breakfast?"

       She looked at Anne for confirmation, and I
       wanted to hug my youngest daughter. She
       had already decided to care for Echea, to
       ally with her, to make Echeas entrance
       into the household easier.

       I was so proud of her.

       "Breakfast," Anne said, and I heard a tone
       in her voice Id never heard before. "Its
       the first meal of the day."

       The government had fed the children
       standard nutrition supplements, in
       beverage form. Echea hadnt taken a meal
       on Earth until shed joined us.

       "You name your meals?" she asked Anne.
       "You have that many of them?" Then she put
       a hand over her mouth, as if she were
       surprised she had let the questions out.

       "Three of them," I said, trying to sound
       normal. Instead I felt defensive, as if we
       had too much. "We only have three of
       them."

       The second night, we had no disturbances.
       By the third, we had developed a routine.
       I spent time with my girls, and then I
       went into Echeas room. She didnt like
       House or Houses stories. Houses voice,
       no matter how I programmed it, scared her.
       It made me wonder how we were going to
       link her when the time came. If she found
       House intrusive, imagine how she would
       find the constant barrage of information
       services, of instant e-mail scrolling
       across her eyes, or sudden images
       appearing inside her head. She was almost
       past the age where a child adapted easily
       to a link. We had to calm her quickly or
       risk her suffering a disadvantage for the
       rest of her life.

       Perhaps it was the voice that upset her.
       The reason links made sound optional was
       because too many people had had trouble
       distinguishing the voices inside their
       head. Perhaps Echea would be one of them.

       It was time to find out.

       I had yet to broach the topic with my
       husband. He seemed to have cooled toward
       Echea immediately. He thought Echea
       abnormal because she wasnt like our
       girls. I reminded him that Echea hadnt
       had the advantages, to which he responded
       that she had the advantages now. He felt
       that since her life had changed, she
       should change.

       Somehow I didnt think it worked like
       that.

       It was on the second night that I realized
       she was terrified of going to sleep. She
       kept me as long as she could, and when I
       finally left, she asked to keep the lights
       on.

       House said she had them on all night,
       although the computer clocked her even
       breathing starting at 2:47 a.m.

       On the third night, she asked me
       questions. Simple ones, like the one about
       breakfast, and I answered them without my
       previous defensiveness. I held my emotions
       back, my shock that a child would have to
       ask what that pleasant ache was in her
       stomach after meals ("Youre full, Echea.
       Thats your stomach telling you its
       happy.") or why we insisted on bathing at
       least once a day ("People stink if they
       dont bathe often, Echea. Havent you
       noticed?"). She asked the questions with
       her eyes averted, and her hands clenched
       against the coverlet. She knew that she
       should know the answers, she knew better
       than to ask my older two daughters or my
       husband, and she tried ever so hard to be
       sophisticated.

       Already, the girls had humiliated her more
       than once. The dress incident had
       blossomed into an obsession with them, and
       they taunted her about her unwillingness
       to attach to anything. She wouldnt even
       claim a place at the dining room table.
       She seemed convinced that we would toss
       her out at the first chance.

       On the fourth night, she addressed that
       fear. Her question came at me sideways,
       her body more rigid than usual.

       "If I break something," she asked, "what
       will happen?"

       I resisted the urge to ask what she had
       broken. I knew she hadnt broken anything.
       House would have told me, even if the
       girls hadnt.

       "Echea," I said, sitting on the edge of
       her bed, "are you afraid that youll do
       something which will force us to get rid
       of you?"

       She flinched as if I had struck her, then
       she slid down against the coverlet. The
       material was twisted in her hands, and her
       lower jaw was working even before she
       spoke.

       "Yes," she whispered.

       "Didnt they explain this to you before
       they brought you here?" I asked.

       "They said nothing." That harsh tone was
       back in her voice, the tone I hadnt heard
       since that very first day, her very first
       comment.

       I leaned forward and, for the first time,
       took one of those clenched fists into my
       hands. I felt the sharp knuckles against
       my palms, and the softness of the fabric
       brushing my skin.

       "Echea," I said. "When we adopted you, we
       made you our child by law. We cannot get
       rid of you. No matter what. It is illegal
       for us to do so."

       "People do illegal things," she whispered.

       "When it benefits them," I said. "Losing
       you will not benefit us."

       "Youre saying that to be kind," she said.

       I shook my head. The real answer was
       harsh, harsher than I wanted to state, but
       I could not leave it at this. She would
       not believe me. She would think I was
       trying to ease her mind. I was, but not
       through polite lies.

       "No," I said. "The agreement we signed is
       legally binding. If we treat you as
       anything less than a member of our family,
       we not only lose you, we lose our other
       daughters as well."

       I was particularly proud of adding the
       word "other." I suspected that, if my
       husband had been having this conversation
       with her, that he would have forgotten to
       add it.

       "You would?" she asked.

       "Yes," I said.

       "This is true?" she asked.

       "True," I said. "I can download the
       agreement and its ramifications for you in
       the morning. House can read you the
       standard agreementthe one everyone must
       signtonight if you like."

       She shook her head, and pushed her hands
       harder into mine. "Could youcould you
       answer me one thing?" she asked.

       "Anything," I said.

       "I dont have to leave?"

       "Not ever," I said.

       She frowned. "Even if you die?"

       "Even if we die," I said. "Youll inherit,
       just like the other girls."

       My stomach knotted as I spoke. I had never
       mentioned the money to our own children. I
       figured they knew. And now I was telling
       Echea who was, for all intents and
       purposes, still a stranger.

       And an unknown one at that.

       I made myself smile, made the next words
       come out lightly. "I suspect there are
       provisions against killing us in our
       beds."

       Her eyes widened, then instantly filled
       with tears. "I would never do that," she
       said.

       And I believed her.

       As she grew more comfortable with me, she
       told me about her previous life. She spoke
       of it only in passing, as if the things
       that happened before no longer mattered to
       her. But in the very flatness with which
       she told them, I could sense deep emotions
       churning beneath the surface.

       The stories she told were hair-raising.
       She had not, as I had assumed, been
       orphaned as an infant. She had spent most
       of her life with a family member who had
       died, and then she had been brought to
       Earth. Somehow, I had believed that she
       had grown up in an orphanage like the ones
       from the nineteenth and twentieth
       centuries, the ones Dickens wrote about,
       and the famous pioneer filmmakers had made
       Flats about. I had not realized that those
       places did not exist on the Moon. Either
       children were chosen for adoption, or they
       were left to their own devices, to survive
       on their own if they could.

       Until she had moved in with us, she had
       never slept in a bed. She did not know it
       was possible to grow food by planting it,
       although she had heard rumors of such
       miracles.

       She did not know that people could accept
       her for what she was, instead of what she
       could do for them.

       My husband said that she was playing on my
       sympathies so that I would never let her
       go.

       But I wouldnt have let her go anyway. I
       had signed the documents and made the
       verbal promise. And I cared for her. I
       would never let her go, any more than I
       would let a child of my flesh go.

       I hoped, at one point, that he would feel
       the same.

       As the weeks progressed, I was able to
       focus on Echeas less immediate needs. She
       was beginning to use Househer initial
       objection to it had been based on
       something that happened on the Moon,
       something she never fully explainedbut
       House could not teach her everything. Anne
       introduced her to reading, and often Echea
       would read to herself. She caught on
       quickly, and I was surprised that she had
       not learned in her school on the Moon,
       until someone told me that most Moon
       colonies had no schools. The children were
       home-taught, which worked only for
       children with stable homes.

       Anne also showed her how to program House
       to read things Echea did not understand.
       Echea made use of that as well. At night,
       when I couldnt sleep, I would check on
       the girls. Often I would have to open
       Echeas door, and turn off House myself.
       Echea would fall asleep to the drone of a
       deep male voice. She never used the vids.
       She simply liked the words, she said, and
       she would listen to them endlessly, as if
       she couldnt get enough.

       I downloaded information on child
       development and learning curves, and it
       was as I remembered. A child who did not
       link before the age of ten was
       significantly behind her peers in all
       things. If she did not link before the age
       of twenty, she would never be able to
       function at an adult level in modern
       society.

       Echeas link would be her first step into
       the world that my daughters already knew,
       the Earth culture denied so many who had
       fled to the Moon.

       After a bit of hesitation, I made an
       appointment with Ronald Caro, our
       Interface Physician.

       Through force of habit, I did not tell my
       husband.

       I had known my husband all my life, and
       our match was assumed from the beginning.
       We had a warm and comfortable
       relationship, much better than many among
       my peers. I had always liked my husband,
       and had always admired the way he worked
       his way around each obstacle life
       presented him.

       One of those obstacles was Ronald Caro.
       When he arrived in St. Paul, after getting
       all his degrees and licenses and awards,
       Ronald Caro contacted me. He had known
       that my daughter Kally was in need of a
       link, and he offered to be the one to do
       it.

       I would have turned him down, but my
       husband, always practical, checked on his
       credentials.

       "How sad," my husband had said. "Hes
       become one of the best Interface
       Physicians in the country."

       I hadnt thought it sad. I hadnt thought
       it anything at all except inconvenient. My
       family had forbidden me to see Ronald Caro
       when I was sixteen, and I had disobeyed
       them.

       All girls, particularly home-schooled
       ones, have on-line romances. Some progress
       to vid conferencing and virtual sex. Only
       a handful progress to actual physical
       contact. And of those that do, only a
       small fraction survive.

       At sixteen, I ran away from home to be
       with Ronald Caro. He had been sixteen too,
       and gorgeous, if the remaining snapshot in
       my image memory were any indication. I
       thought I loved him. My father, who had
       been monitoring my e-mail, sent two police
       officers and his personal assistant to
       bring me home.

       The resulting disgrace made me so ill that
       I could not get out of bed for six months.
       My then-future husband visited me each and
       every day of those six months, and it is
       from that period that most of my memories
       of him were formed. I was glad to have
       him; my father, who had been quite close
       to me, rarely spoke to me after I ran away
       with Ronald, and treated me as a stranger.

       When Ronald reappeared in the Northland
       long after I had married, my husband
       showed his forgiving nature. He knew
       Ronald Caro was no longer a threat to us.
       He proved it by letting me take the short
       shuttle hop to the Twin Cities to have
       Kally linked.

       Ronald did not act improperly toward me
       then or thereafter, although he often
       looked at me with a sadness I did not
       reciprocate. My husband was relieved. He
       always insisted on having the best, and
       because my husband was squeamish about
       brain work, particularly that which
       required chips, lasers, and remote
       placement devices, he preferred to let me
       handle the childrens interface needs.

       Even though I no longer wanted it, I still
       had a personal relationship with Ronald
       Caro. He did not treat me as a patient, or
       as the mother of his patients, but as a
       friend.

       Nothing more.

       Even my husband knew that.

       Still, the afternoon I made the
       appointment, I went into our bedroom, made
       certain my husband was in his office, and
       closed the door. Then I used the link to
       send a message to Ronald.

       Instantly his response flashed across my
       left eye.

       Are you all right? He sent, as he always
       did, as if he expected something terrible
       to have happened to me during our most
       recent silence.

       Fine, I sent back, disliking the personal
       questions.

       And the girls?

       Fine also.

       So, you linked to chat? Again, as he
       always did.

       And I responded as I always did. No. I
       need to make an appointment for Echea.

       The Moon Child?

       I smiled. Ronald was the only person I
       knew, besides my husband, who didnt think
       we were insane for taking on a child not
       our own. But I felt that we could, and
       because we could, and because so many were
       suffering, we should.

       My husband probably had his own reasons.
       We never really discussed them, beyond
       that first day.

       The Moon Child, I responded. Echea.

       Pretty name.

       Pretty girl.

       There was a silence, as if he didnt know
       how to respond to that. He had always been
       silent about my children. They were links
       he could not form, links to my husband
       that could not be broken, links that
       Ronald and I could never have.

       She has no interface, I sent into that
       silence.

       Not at all?

       No.

       Did they tell you anything about her?

       Only that shed been orphaned. You know,
       the standard stuff. I felt odd, sending
       that. I had asked for information, of
       course, at every step. And my husband had.
       And when we compared notes, I learned that
       each time we had been told the same
       thingthat we had asked for a child, and
       we would get one, and that childs life
       would start fresh with us. The past did
       not matter.

       The present did.

       How old is she?

       Seven.

       Hmmm. The procedure wont be involved, but
       there might be some dislocation. Shes
       been alone in her head all this time. Is
       she stable enough for the change?

       I was genuinely perplexed. I had never
       encountered an unlinked child, let alone
       lived with one. I didnt know what
       "stable" meant in that context.

       My silence had apparently been answer
       enough.

       Ill do an exam, he sent. Dont worry.

       Good. I got ready to terminate the
       conversation.

       You sure everythings all right there? he
       sent.

       Its as right as it always is, I sent, and
       then severed the connection.

       That night, I dreamed. It was an odd dream
       because it felt like a virtual reality
       vid, complete with emotions and all the
       five senses. But it had the distance of VR
       toothat strange sense that the experience
       was not mine.

       I dreamed I was on a dirty, dusty street.
       The air was thin and dry. I had never felt
       air like this. It tasted recycled, and it
       seemed to suck the moisture from my skin.
       It wasnt hot, but it wasnt cold either.
       I wore a ripped shirt and ragged pants,
       and my shoes were boots made of a light
       material I had never felt before. Walking
       was easy and precarious at the same time.
       I felt lighter than ever, as if with one
       wrong gesture I would float.

       My body moved easily in this strange
       atmosphere, as if it were used to it. I
       had felt something like it before: when my
       husband and I had gone to the Museum of
       Science and Technology in Chicago on our
       honeymoon. We explored the Moon exhibit,
       and felt firsthand what it was like to be
       in a colony environment.

       Only that had been clean.

       This wasnt.

       The buildings were white plastic, covered
       with a filmy grit and pockmarked with time
       and use. The dirt on the ground seemed to
       get on everything, but I knew, as well as
       I knew how to walk in this imperfect
       gravity, that there wasnt enough money to
       pave the roads.

       The light above was artificial, built into
       the dome itself. If I looked up, I could
       see the dome and the light, and if I
       squinted, I could see beyond to the
       darkness that was the unprotected
       atmosphere. It made me feel as if I were
       in a lighted glass porch on a starless
       night. Open, and vulnerable, and
       terrified, more because I couldnt see
       what was beyond than because I could.

       People crowded the roadway and huddled
       near the plastic buildings. The buildings
       were domed too. Pre-fab, shipped up
       decades ago when Earth had hopes for the
       colonies. Now there were no more
       shipments, at least not here. We had heard
       that there were shipments coming to Colony
       Russia and Colony Europe, but no one
       confirmed the rumors. I was in Colony
       London, a bastard colony made by refugees
       and dissidents from Colony Europe. For a
       while, we had stolen their supply ships.
       Now, it seemed, they had stolen them back.

       A man took my arm. I smiled up at him. His
       face was my fathers face, a face I hadnt
       seen since I was twenty-five. Only
       something had altered it terribly. He was
       younger than I had ever remembered him. He
       was too thin and his skin filthy with
       dust. He smiled back at me, three teeth
       missing, lost to malnutrition, the rest
       blackened and about to go. In the past few
       days the whites of his eyes had turned
       yellow, and a strange mucus came from his
       nose. I wanted him to see the colonys
       medical facility or at least pay for an
       autodoc, but we had no credit, no means to
       pay at all.

       It would have to wait until we found
       something.

       "I think I found us free passage to Colony
       Latina," he said. His breath whistled
       through the gaps in his teeth. I had
       learned long ago to be far away from his
       mouth. The stench could be overpowering.
       "But youll have to do them a job."

       A job. I sighed. He had promised no more.
       But that had been months ago. The credits
       had run out, and he had gotten sicker.

       "A big job?" I asked.

       He didnt meet my gaze. "Might be."

       "Dad"

       "Honey, we gotta use what we got."

       It might have been his motto. We gotta use
       what we got. Id heard it all my life.
       Hed come from Earth, hed said, in one of
       the last free ships. Some of the others we
       knew said there were no free ships except
       for parolees, and I often wondered if he
       had come on one of those. His morals were
       certainly slippery enough.

       I dont remember my mother. Im not even
       sure I had one. Id seen more than one
       adult buy an infant, and then proceed to
       exploit it for gain. It wouldnt have been
       beyond him.

       But he loved me. That much was clear.

       And I adored him.

       Id have done the job just because hed
       asked it.

       Id done it before.

       The last job was how wed gotten here. Id
       been younger then and I hadnt completely
       understood.

       But Id understood when we were done.

       And Id hated myself.

       "Isnt there another way?" I found myself
       asking.

       He put his hand on the back of my head,
       propelling me forward. "You know better,"
       he said. "Theres nothing here for us."

       "There might not be anything in Colony
       Latina, either."

       "Theyre getting shipments from the U.N.
       Seems they vowed to negotiate a peace."

       "Then everyone will want to go."

       "But not everyone can," he said. "We can."
       He touched his pocket. I saw the bulge of
       his credit slip. "If you do the job."

       It had been easier when I didnt know.
       When doing a job meant just that. When I
       didnt have other things to consider.
       After the first job, my father asked where
       I had gotten the morals. He said I hadnt
       inherited them from him, and I hadnt. I
       knew that. I suggested maybe Mother, and
       he had laughed, saying no mother who gave
       birth to me had morals either.

       "Dont think about it, honey," hed said.
       "Just do."

       Just do. I opened my mouthto say what, I
       dont knowand felt hot liquid splatter
       me. An exit wound had opened in his chest,
       spraying his blood all around. People
       screamed and backed away. I screamed. I
       didnt see where the shot had come from,
       only that it had come.

       The blood moved slowly, more slowly than I
       would have expected.

       He fell forward and I knew I wouldnt be
       able to move him, I wouldnt be able to
       grab the credit slip, wouldnt be able to
       get to Colony Latina, wouldnt have to do
       the job.

       Faces, unbloodied faces, appeared around
       me.

       They hadnt killed him for the slip.

       I turned and ran, as he once told me to
       do, ran as fast as I could, blasting as I
       went, watching people duck or cover their
       ears or wrap their arms around their
       heads.

       I ran until I saw the sign.

       The tiny prefab with the Red Crescent
       painted on its door, the Red Cross on its
       windows. I stopped blasting and tumbled
       inside, bloody, terrified, and completely
       alone.

       I woke up to find my husbands arms around
       me, my head buried in his shoulder. He was
       rocking me as if I were one of the girls,
       murmuring in my ear, cradling me and
       making me feel safe. I was crying and
       shaking, my throat raw with tears or with
       the aftereffects of screams.

       Our door was shut and locked, something
       that we only did when we were amorous. He
       must have had House do it, so no one would
       walk in on us.

       He stroked my hair, wiped the tears from
       my face. "You should leave your link on at
       night," he said tenderly. "I could have
       manipulated the dream, made it into
       something pleasant."

       We used to do that for each other when we
       were first married. It had been a way to
       mesh our different sexual needs, a way to
       discover each others thoughts and
       desires.

       We hadnt done it in a long, long time.

       "Do you want to tell me about it?" he
       asked.

       So I did.

       He buried his face in my hair. It had been
       a long time since he had done that, too,
       since he had shown that kind of
       vulnerability with me.

       "Its Echea," he said.

       "I know," I said. That much was obvious. I
       had been thinking about her so much that
       she had worked her way into my dreams.

       "No," he said. "Its nothing to be calm
       about." He sat up, kept his hand on me,
       and peered into my face. "First Susan,
       then you. Its like shes a poison thats
       infecting my family."

       The moment of closeness shattered. I
       didnt pull away from him, but it took
       great control not to. "Shes our child."

       "No," he said. "Shes someone elses
       child, and shes disrupting our
       household."

       "Babies disrupt households. It took a
       while, but you accepted that."

       "And if Echea had come to us as a baby, I
       would have accepted her. But she didnt.
       She has problems that we did not expect."

       "The documents we signed said that we must
       treat those problems as our own."

       His grip on my shoulder grew tighter. He
       probably didnt realize he was doing it.
       "They also said that the child had been
       inspected and was guaranteed illness
       free."

       "You think some kind of illness is causing
       these dreams? That theyre being passed
       from Echea to us like a virus?"

       "Arent they?" he asked. "Susan dreamed of
       a man who died. Someone whom she didnt
       want to go. Then they pulled her away
       from him. You dream of your fathers
       death"

       "Theyre different," I said. "Susan
       dreamed of a mans face exploding, and
       being captured. I dreamed of a man being
       shot, and of running away."

       "But those are just details."

       "Dream details," I said. "Weve all been
       talking to Echea. Im sure that some of
       her memories have woven their way into our
       dreams, just as our daily experiences do,
       or the vids weve seen. Its not that
       unusual."

       "There were no night terrors in this
       household until she came," he said.

       "And no one had gone through any trauma
       until she arrived, either." I pulled away
       from him now. "What weve gone through is
       small compared to her. Your parents
       deaths, mine, the birth of the girls, a
       few bad investments, these things are all
       minor. We still live in the house you were
       born in. We swim in the lake of our
       childhood. We have grown wealthier. We
       have wonderful daughters. Thats why we
       took Echea."

       "To learn trauma?"

       "No," I said. "Because we could take her,
       and so many others cant."

       He ran a hand through his thinning hair.
       "But I dont want trauma in this house. I
       dont want to be disturbed any more. Shes
       not our child. Lets let her become
       someone elses problem."

       I sighed. "If we do that, well still have
       trauma. The government will sue. Well
       have legal bills up to our eyeballs. We
       did sign documents covering these things."

       "They said if the child was defective, we
       could send her back."

       I shook my head. "And we signed even more
       documents that said she was fine. We
       waived that right."

       He bowed his head. Small strands of gray
       circled his crown. I had never noticed
       them before.

       "I dont want her here," he said.

       I put a hand on his. He had felt that way
       about Kally, early on. He had hated the
       way an infant disrupted our routine. He
       had hated the midnight feedings, had tried
       to get me to hire a wet nurse, and then a
       nanny. He had wanted someone else to raise
       our children because they inconvenienced
       him.

       And yet the pregnancies had been his idea,
       just like Echea had been. He would get
       enthusiastic, and then when reality
       settled in, he would forget the initial
       impulse.

       In the old days we had compromised. No wet
       nurse, but a nanny. His sleep undisturbed,
       but mine disrupted. My choice, not his. As
       the girls got older, he found his own ways
       to delight in them.

       "You havent spent any time with her," I
       said. "Get to know her. See what shes
       really like. Shes a delightful child.
       Youll see."

       He shook his head. "I dont want
       nightmares," he said, but I heard
       capitulation in his voice.

       "Ill leave my interface on at night," I
       said. "We can even link when we sleep and
       manipulate each others dreams."

       He raised his head, smiling, suddenly
       looking boyish, like the man who proposed
       to me, all those years ago. "Like old
       times," he said.

       I smiled back, irritation gone. "Just like
       old times," I said.

       The nanny had offered to take Echea to
       Ronalds, but I insisted, even though the
       thought of seeing him so close to a
       comfortable intimacy with my husband made
       me uneasy. Ronalds main offices were over
       fifteen minutes away by shuttle. He was in
       a decade-old office park near the
       Mississippi, not too far from St. Pauls
       new capitol building. Ronalds building
       was all glass on the river side. It stood
       on stiltsthe Mississippi had flooded
       abominably in 45, and the city still
       hadnt recovered from the shockand to get
       to the main entrance, visitors needed a
       lift code. Ronald had given me one when I
       made the appointment.

       Echea had been silent during the entire
       trip. The shuttle had terrified her, and
       it didnt take long to figure out why.
       Each time she had traveled by shuttle, she
       had gone to a new home. I reassured her
       that would not happen this time, but I
       could tell she thought I lied.

       When she saw the building, she grabbed my
       hand.

       "Ill be good," she whispered.

       "Youve been fine so far," I said, wishing
       my husband could see her now. For all his
       demonizing, he failed to realize she was
       just a little girl.

       "Dont leave me here."

       "I dont plan to," I said.

       The lift was a small glass enclosure with
       voice controls. When I spoke the code, it
       rose on air jets to the fifth floor and
       docked, just like a shuttle. It was
       designed to work no matter what the
       weather, no matter what the conditions on
       the ground.

       Echea was not amused. Her grip on my hand
       grew so tight that it cut off the
       circulation to my fingers.

       We docked at the main entrance. The
       buildings door was open, apparently on
       the theory that anyone who knew the code
       was invited. A secretary sat behind an
       antique wood desk that was dark and
       polished until it shone. He had a blotter
       in the center of the desk, a pen and
       inkwell beside it, and a single sheet of
       paper on top. I suspected that he did most
       of his work through his link, but the
       illusion worked. It made me feel as if I
       had slipped into a place wealthy enough to
       use paper, wealthy enough to waste wood on
       a desk.

       "Were here to see Dr. Caro," I said as
       Echea and I entered.

       "The end of the hall to your right," the
       secretary said, even though the directions
       were unnecessary. I had been that way
       dozens of times.

       Echea hadnt, though. She moved through
       the building as if it were a wonder, never
       letting go of my hand. She seemed to
       remain convinced that I would leave her
       there, but her fear did not diminish her
       curiosity. Everything was strange. I
       suppose it had to be, compared to the Moon
       where spacewith oxygenwas always at a
       premium. To waste so much area on an
       entrance wouldnt merely be a luxury
       there. It would be criminal.

       We walked across the wood floors past
       several closed doors until we reached
       Ronalds offices. The secretary had warned
       someone because the doors swung open.
       Usually I had to use the small bell to the
       side, another old-fashioned affectation.

       The interior of his offices was
       comfortable. They were done in blue, the
       color of calm he once told me, with thick
       easy chairs and pillowed couches. A
       childrens area was off to the side,
       filled with blocks and soft toys and a few
       dolls. The bulk of Ronalds clients were
       toddlers, and the play area reflected
       that.

       A young man in a blue worksuit appeared at
       one of the doors, and called my name.
       Echea clutched my hand tighter. He noticed
       her and smiled.

       "Room B," he said.

       I liked Room B. It was familiar. All three
       of my girls had done their post-interface
       work in Room B. I had only been in the
       other rooms once, and had felt less
       comfortable.

       It was a good omen, to bring Echea to such
       a safe place.

       I made my way down the hall, Echea in tow,
       without the mans guidance. The door to
       Room B was open. Ronald had not changed
       it. It still had the fainting couch, the
       work unit recessed into the wall, the
       reclining rockers. I had slept in one of
       those rockers as Kally had gone through
       her most rigorous testing.

       I had been pregnant with Susan at the
       time.

       I eased Echea inside and then pulled the
       door closed behind us. Ronald came through
       the back doorhe must have been waiting
       for usand Echea jumped. Her grip on my
       hand grew so tight that I thought she
       might break one of my fingers. I smiled at
       her and did not pull my hand away.

       Ronald looked nice. He was too slim, as
       always, and his blond hair flopped against
       his brow. It needed a cut. He wore a
       silver silk shirt and matching pants, and
       even though they were a few years out of
       style, they looked sharp against his brown
       skin.

       Ronald was good with children. He smiled
       at her first, and then took a stool and
       wheeled it toward us so that he would be
       at her eye level.

       "Echea," he said. "Pretty name."

       And a pretty child, he sent, just for me.

       She said nothing. The sullen expression
       she had had when we met her had returned.

       "Are you afraid of me?" he asked.

       "I dont want to go with you," she said.

       "Where do you think Im taking you?"

       "Away from here. Away from" she held up
       my hand, clasped in her small one. At that
       moment it became clear to me. She had no
       word for what we were to her. She didnt
       want to use the word "family," perhaps
       because she might lose us.

       "Your mother" he said slowly and as he
       did he sent Right? to me.

       Right, I responded.

       "brought you here for a check-up. Have
       you seen a doctor since youve come to
       Earth?"

       "At the center," she said.

       "And was everything all right?"

       "If it wasnt, theyd have sent me back."

       He leaned his elbows on his knees,
       clasping his hands and placing them under
       his chin. His eyes, a silver that matched
       the suit, were soft.

       "Are you afraid Im going to find
       something?" he asked.

       "No," she said.

       "But youre afraid Im going to send you
       back."

       "Not everybody likes me," she said. "Not
       everybody wants me. They said, when they
       brought me to Earth, that the whole family
       had to like me, that I had to behave or
       Id be sent back."

       Is this true? he asked me.

       I dont know. I was shocked. I had known
       nothing of this.

       Does the family dislike her?

       Shes new. A disruption. Thatll change.

       He glanced at me over her head, but sent
       nothing else. His look was enough. He
       didnt believe theyd change, any more
       than Echea would.

       "Have you behaved?" he asked softly.

       She glanced at me. I nodded almost
       imperceptibly. She looked back at him.
       "Ive tried," she said.

       He touched her then, his long delicate
       fingers tucking a strand of her pale hair
       behind her ear. She leaned into his
       fingers as if shed been longing for
       touch.

       Shes more like you, he told me, than any
       of your own girls.

       I did not respond. Kally looked just like
       me, and Susan and Anne both favored me as
       well. There was nothing of me in Echea.
       Only a bond that had formed when I first
       saw her, all those weeks before.

       Reassure her, he sent.

       I have been.

       Do it again.

       "Echea," I said, and she started as if she
       had forgotten I was there. "Dr. Caro is
       telling you the truth. Youre just here
       for an examination. No matter how it turns
       out, youll still be coming home with me.
       Remember my promise?"

       She nodded, eyes wide.

       "I always keep my promises," I said.

       Do you? Ronald asked. He was staring at me
       over Echeas shoulder.

       I shivered, wondering what promise I had
       forgotten.

       Always, I told him.

       The edge of his lips turned up in a smile,
       but there was no mirth in it.

       "Echea," he said. "Its my normal practice
       to work alone with my patient, but Ill
       bet you want your mother to stay."

       She nodded. I could almost feel the
       desperation in the move.

       "All right," he said. "Youll have to move
       to the couch."

       He scooted his chair toward it.

       "Its called a fainting couch," he said.
       "Do you know why?"

       She let go of my hand and stood. When he
       asked the question, she looked at me as if
       I would supply her with the answer. I
       shrugged.

       "No," she whispered. She followed him
       hesitantly, not the little girl I knew
       around the house.

       "Because almost two hundred years ago when
       these were fashionable, women fainted a
       lot."

       "They did not," Echea said.

       "Oh, but they did," Ronald said. "And do
       you know why?"

       She shook her small head. With this idle
       chatter he had managed to ease her passage
       toward the couch.

       "Because they wore undergarments so tight
       that they often couldnt breathe right.
       And if a person cant breathe right,
       shell faint."

       "Thats silly."

       "Thats right," he said, as he patted the
       couch. "Ease yourself up there and see
       what it was like on one of those things."

       I knew his fainting couch wasnt an
       antique. His had all sorts of diagnostic
       equipment built in. I wondered how many
       other peopl

       Certainly not my daughters. They had known
       the answers to his questions before coming
       to the office.

       "People do a lot of silly things," he
       said. "Even now. Did you know most people
       on Earth are linked?"

       As he explained the net and its uses, I
       ignored them. I did some leftover
       business, made my daily chess move, and
       tuned into their conversation on occasion.

       "and whats really silly is that so many
       people refuse a link. It prevents them
       from functioning well in our society. From
       getting jobs, from communicating"

       Echea listened intently while she lay on
       the couch. And while he talked to her, I
       knew, he was examining her, seeing what
       parts of her brain responded to his
       questions.

       "But doesnt it hurt?" she asked.

       "No," he said. "Science makes such things
       easy. Its like touching a strand of
       hair."

       And then I smiled. I understood why he had
       made the tender move earlier. So that he
       wouldnt alarm her when he put in the
       first chip, the beginning of her own link.

       "What if it goes wrong?" she asked. "Will
       everybodydie?"

       He pulled back from her. Probably not
       enough so that she would notice. But I
       did. There was a slight frown between his
       eyes. At first, I thought he would shrug
       off the question, but it took him too long
       to answer.

       "No," he said as firmly as he could. "No
       one will die."

       Then I realized what he was doing. He was
       dealing with a childs fear realistically.
       Sometimes I was too used to my husbands
       rather casual attitude toward the girls.
       And I was used to the girls themselves.
       They were much more placid than my Echea.

       With the flick of a finger, he turned on
       the overhead light.

       "Do you have dreams, honey?" he asked as
       casually as he could.

       She looked down at her hands. They were
       slightly scarred from experiences I knew
       nothing about. I had planned to ask her
       about each scar as I gained her trust. So
       far, I had asked about none.

       "Not any more," she said.

       This time, I moved back slightly. Everyone
       dreamed, didnt they? Or were dreams only
       the product of a linked mind? That
       couldnt be right. Id seen the babies
       dream before we brought them here.

       "When was the last time you dreamed?" he
       asked.

       She shoved herself back on the lounge. Its
       base squealed from the force of her
       contact. She looked around, seemingly
       terrified. Then she looked at me. It
       seemed like her eyes were appealing for
       help.

       This was why I wanted a link for her. I
       wanted her to be able to tell me, without
       speaking, without Ronald knowing, what she
       needed. I didnt want to guess.

       "Its all right," I said to her. "Dr. Caro
       wont hurt you."

       She jutted out her chin, squeezed her eyes
       closed, as if she couldnt face him when
       she spoke, and took a deep breath. Ronald
       waited, breathless.

       I thought, not for the first time, that it
       was a shame he did not have children of
       his own.

       "They shut me off," she said.

       "Who?" His voice held infinite patience.

       Do you know whats going on? I sent him.

       He did not respond. His full attention was
       on her.

       "The Red Crescent," she said softly.

       "The Red Cross," I said. "On the Moon.
       They were the ones in charge of the
       orphans"

       "Let Echea tell it," he said, and I
       stopped, flushing. He had never rebuked me
       before. At least, not verbally.

       "Was it on the Moon?" he asked her.

       "They wouldnt let me come otherwise."

       "Has anyone touched it since?" he asked.

       She shook her head slowly. Somewhere in
       their discussion, her eyes had opened. She
       was watching Ronald with that mixture of
       fear and longing that she had first used
       with me.

       "May I see?" he asked.

       She clapped a hand to the side of her
       head. "If it comes on, theyll make me
       leave."

       "Did they tell you that?" he asked.

       She shook her head again.

       "Then theres nothing to worry about." He
       put a hand on her shoulder and eased her
       back on the lounge. I watched, back stiff.
       It seemed like I had missed a part of the
       conversation, but I knew I hadnt. They
       were discussing something I had never
       heard of, something the government had
       neglected to tell us. My stomach turned.
       This was exactly the kind of excuse my
       husband would use to get rid of her.

       She was lying rigidly on the lounge.
       Ronald was smiling at her, talking softly,
       his hand on the lounges controls. He got
       the read-outs directly through his link.
       Most everything in the office worked that
       way, with a back-up download on the
       offices equivalent of House. He would
       send us a file copy later. It was
       something my husband insisted on, since he
       did not like coming to these appointments.
       I doubted he read the files, but he might
       this time. With Echea.

       Ronalds frown grew. "No more dreams?" he
       asked.

       "No," Echea said again. She sounded
       terrified.

       I could keep silent no longer. Our
       familys had night terrors since she
       arrived, I sent him.

       He glanced at me, whether with irritation
       or speculation, I could not tell.

       Theyre similar, I sent. The dreams are
       all about a death on the Moon. My husband
       thinks

       I dont care what he thinks. Ronalds
       message was intended as harsh. I had never
       seen him like this before. At least, I
       didnt think so. A dim memory rose and
       fell, a sense memory. I had heard him use
       a harsh tone with me, but I could not
       remember when.

       "Have you tried to link with her?" he
       asked me directly.

       "How could I?" I asked. "Shes not
       linked."

       "Have your daughters?"

       "I dont know," I said.

       "Do you know if anyones tried?" he asked
       her.

       Echea shook her head.

       "Has she been doing any computer work at
       all?" he asked.

       "Listening to House," I said. "I insisted.
       I wanted to see if"

       "House," he said. "Your home system."

       "Yes." Something was very wrong. I could
       feel it. It was in his tone, in his face,
       in his casual movements, designed to
       disguise his worry from his patients.

       "Did House bother you?" he asked Echea.

       "At first," she said. Then she glanced at
       me. Again, the need for reassurance. "But
       now I like it."

       "Even though its painful," he said.

       "No, its not," she said, but she averted
       her eyes from mine.

       My mouth went dry. "It hurts you to use
       House?" I asked. "And you didnt say
       anything?"

       She didnt want to risk losing the first
       home she ever had, Ronald sent. Dont be
       so harsh.

       I wasnt the one being harsh. He was. And
       I didnt like it.

       "It doesnt really hurt," she said.

       Tell me whats happening, I sent him.
       Whats wrong with her?

       "Echea," he said, putting his hand
       alongside her head one more time. "Id
       like to talk with your mother alone. Would
       it be all right if we sent you back to the
       play area?"

       She shook her head.

       "How about if we leave the door open?
       Youll always be able to see her."

       She bit her lower lip.

       Cant you tell me this way? I sent.

       I need all the verbal tools, he sent back.
       Trust me.

       I did trust him. And because I did, a fear
       had settled in the pit of my stomach.

       "Thats okay," she said. Then she looked
       at me. "Can I come back in when I want?"

       "If it looks like were done," I said.

       "You wont leave me here," she said again.
       When would I gain her complete trust?

       "Never," I said.

       She stood then and walked out the door
       without looking back. She seemed so much
       like the little girl Id first met that my
       heart went out to her. All that bravado
       the first day had been just that, a cover
       for sheer terror.

       She went to the play area and sat on a
       cushioned block. She folded her hands in
       her lap, and stared at me. Ronalds
       assistant tried to interest her in a doll,
       but she shook him off.

       "What is it?" I asked.

       Ronald sighed, and scooted his stool
       closer to me. He stopped near the edge of
       the lounge, not close enough to touch, but
       close enough that I could smell the scent
       of him mingled with his specially blended
       soap.

       "The children being sent down from the
       Moon were rescued," he said softly.

       "I know." I had read all the literature
       they sent when we first applied for Echea.

       "No, you dont," he said. "They werent
       just rescued from a miserable life like
       you and the other adoptive parents
       believe. They were rescued from a program
       that was started in Colony Europe about
       fifteen years ago. Most of the children
       involved died."

       "Are you saying she has some horrible
       disease?"

       "No," he said. "Hear me out. She has an
       implant"

       "A link?"

       "No," he said. "Sarah, please."

       Sarah. The name startled me. No one called
       me that any more. Ronald had not used it
       in all the years of our reacquaintance.

       The name no longer felt like mine.

       "Remember how devastating the Moon Wars
       were? They were using projectile weapons
       and shattering the colonies themselves,
       opening them to space. A single bomb would
       destroy generations of work. Then some of
       the colonists went underground"

       "And started attacking from there, yes, I
       know. But that was decades ago. What has
       that to do with Echea?"

       "Colony London, Colony Europe, Colony
       Russia, and Colony New Delhi signed the
       peace treaty"

       "vowing not to use any more destructive
       weapons. I remember this, Ronald"

       "Because if they did, no more supply ships
       would be sent."

       I nodded. "Colony New York and Colony
       Armstrong refused to participate."

       "And were eventually obliterated." Ronald
       leaned toward me, like he had done with
       Echea. I glanced at her. She was watching,
       as still as could be. "But the fighting
       didnt stop. Colonies used knives and
       secret assassins to kill government
       officials"

       "And they found a way to divert supply
       ships," I said.

       He smiled sadly. "Thats right," he said.
       "Thats Echea."

       He had come around to the topic of my
       child so quickly it made me dizzy.

       "How could she divert supply ships?"

       He rubbed his nose with his thumb and
       forefinger. Then he sighed again. "A
       scientist on Colony Europe developed a
       technology that broadcast thoughts through
       the subconscious. It was subtle, and it
       worked very well. A broadcast about hunger
       at Colony Europe would get a supply
       captain to divert his ship from Colony
       Russia and drop the supplies in Colony
       Europe. Its more sophisticated than I
       make it sound. The technology actually
       made the captain believe that the
       rerouting was his idea."

       Dreams. Dreams came from the subconscious.
       I shivered.

       "The problem was that the technology was
       inserted into the brain of the user, like
       a link, but if the user had an existing
       link, it superseded the new technology. So
       they installed it in children born on the
       Moon, born in Colony Europe. Apparently
       Echea was."

       "And they rerouted supply ships?"

       "By imagining themselves hungryor
       actually being starved. They would
       broadcast messages to the supply ships.
       Sometimes they were about food. Sometimes
       they were about clothing. Sometimes they
       were about weapons." He shook his head.
       "Are. I should say are. Theyre still
       doing this."

       "Cant it be stopped?"

       He shook his head. "Were gathering data
       on it now. Echea is the third child Ive
       seen with this condition. Its not enough
       to go to the World Congress yet. Everyone
       knows though. The Red Crescent and the Red
       Cross are alerted to this, and they remove
       children from the colonies, sometimes on
       penalty of death, to send them here where
       they will no longer be harmed. The
       technology is deactivated, and people like
       you adopt them and give them full lives."

       "Why are you telling me this?"

       "Perhaps your House reactivated her
       device."

       I shook my head. "The first dream happened
       before she listened to House."

       "Then some other technology did. Perhaps
       the government didnt shut her off
       properly. It happens. The recommended
       procedure is to say nothing, and to simply
       remove the device."

       I frowned at him. "Then why are you
       telling me this? Why didnt you just
       remove it?"

       "Because you want her to be linked."

       "Of course I do," I said. "You know that.
       You told her yourself the benefits of
       linking. You know what would happen to her
       if she isnt. You know."

       "I know that she would be fine if you and
       your husband provided for her in your
       wills. If you gave her one of the houses
       and enough money to have servants for the
       rest of her life. She would be fine."

       "But not productive."

       "Maybe she doesnt need to be," he said.

       It sounded so unlike the Ronald who had
       been treating my children that I frowned.
       "What arent you telling me?"

       "Her technology and the link are
       incompatible."

       "I understand that," I said. "But you can
       remove her technology."

       "Her brain formed around it. If I
       installed the link, it would wipe her mind
       clean."

       "So?"

       He swallowed so hard his Adams apple
       bobbed up and down. "Im not being clear,"
       he said more to himself than to me. "It
       would make her a blank slate. Like a baby.
       Shed have to learn everything all over
       again. How to walk. How to eat. It would
       go quicker this time, but she wouldnt be
       a normal seven-year-old girl for half a
       year."

       "I think thats worth the price of the
       link," I said.

       "But thats not all," he said. "Shed lose
       all her memories. Every last one of them.
       Life on the Moon, arrival here, what she
       ate for breakfast the morning she received
       the link." He started to scoot forward and
       then stopped. "We are our memories, Sarah.
       She wouldnt be Echea any more."

       "Are you so sure?" I asked. "After all,
       the basic template would be the same. Her
       genetic makeup wouldnt alter."

       "Im sure," he said. "Trust me. Ive seen
       it."

       "Cant you do a memory store? Back things
       up so that when she gets her link shell
       have access to her life before?"

       "Of course," he said. "But its not the
       same. Its like being told about a boat
       ride as opposed to taking one yourself.
       You have the same basic knowledge, but the
       experience is no longer part of you."

       His eyes were bright. Too bright.

       "Surely its not that bad," I said.

       "This is my specialty," he said, and his
       voice was shaking. He was obviously very
       passionate about this work. "I study how
       wiped minds and memory stores interact. I
       got into this profession hoping I could
       reverse the effects."

       I hadnt known that. Or maybe I had and
       forgotten it.

       "How different would she be?" I asked.

       "I dont know," he said. "Considering the
       extent of her experience on the Moon, and
       the traumatic nature of much of it, Id
       bet shell be very different." He glanced
       into the play area. "Shed probably play
       with that doll beside her and not give a
       second thought to where you are."

       "But thats good."

       "That is, yes, but think how good it feels
       to earn her trust. She doesnt give it
       easily, and when she does, its
       heartfelt."

       I ran a hand through my hair. My stomach
       churned.

       I dont like these choices, Ronald.

       "I know," he said. I started. I hadnt
       realized I had actually sent him that last
       message.

       "Youre telling me that either I keep the
       same child and she cant function in our
       society, or I give her the same chances as
       everyone else and take away who she is."

       "Yes," he said.

       "I cant make that choice," I said. "My
       husband will see this as a breach of
       contract. Hell think that they sent us a
       defective child."

       "Read the fine print in your agreement,"
       Ronald said. "This one is covered. So are
       a few others. Its boilerplate. Ill bet
       your lawyer didnt even flinch when she
       read them."

       "I cant make this choice," I said again.

       He scooted forward and put his hands on
       mine. They were warm and strong and
       comfortable.

       And familiar. Strangely familiar.

       "You have to make the choice," he said.
       "At some point. Thats part of your
       contract too. Youre to provide for her,
       to prepare her for a life in the world.
       Either she gets a link or she gets an
       inheritance that someone else manages."

       "And she wont even be able to check to
       see if shes being cheated."

       "Thats right," he said. "Youll have to
       provide for that too."

       "Its not fair, Ronald!"

       He closed his eyes, bowed his head, and
       leaned it against my forehead. "It never
       was," he said softly. "Dearest Sarah. It
       never was."

       "Damn!" my husband said. We were sitting
       in our bedroom. It was half an hour before
       supper, and I had just told him about
       Echeas condition. "The lawyer was
       supposed to check for things like this!"

       "Dr. Caro said theyre just learning about
       the problem on Earth."

       "Dr. Caro." My husband stood. "Dr. Caro is
       wrong."

       I frowned at him. My husband was rarely
       this agitated.

       "This is not a technology developed on the
       Moon," my husband said. "Its an Earth
       technology, pre-neural net. Subject to
       international ban in 24. The devices
       disappeared when the link became the
       common currency among all of us. Hes
       right that theyre incompatible."

       I felt the muscles in my shoulders
       tighten. I wondered how my husband knew of
       the technology and wondered if I should
       ask. We never discussed each others
       business.

       "Youd think that Dr. Caro would have
       known this," I said casually.

       "His work is in current technology, not
       the history of technology," my husband
       said absently. He sat back down. "What a
       mess."

       "It is that," I said softly. "We have a
       little girl to think of."

       "Whos defective."

       "Who has been used." I shuddered. I had
       cradled her the whole way back and she had
       let me. I had remembered what Ronald said,
       how precious it was to hold her when I
       knew how hard it was for her to reach out.
       How each touch was a victory, each moment
       of trust a celebration. "Think about it.
       Imagine using something that keys into
       your most basic desires, uses them for
       purposes other than"

       "Dont do that," he said.

       "What?"

       "Put a romantic spin on this. The child is
       defective. We shouldnt have to deal with
       that."

       "Shes not a durable good," I said. "Shes
       a human being."

       "How much money did we spend on
       in-the-womb enhancement so that Annes
       substandard IQ was corrected? How much
       would we have spent if the other girls had
       had similar problems?"

       "Thats not the same thing," I said.

       "Isnt it?" he asked. "We have a certain
       guarantee in this world. We are guaranteed
       excellent children, with the best
       advantages. If I wanted to shoot craps
       with my childrens lives I would"

       "What would you do?" I snapped. "Go to the
       Moon?"

       He stared at me as if he had never seen me
       before. "What does your precious Dr. Caro
       want you to do?"

       "Leave Echea alone," I said.

       My husband snorted. "So that she would be
       unlinked and dependent the rest of her
       life. A burden on the girls, a sieve for
       our wealth. Oh, but Ronald Caro would like
       that!"

       "He didnt want her to lose her
       personality," I said. "He wanted her to
       remain Echea."

       My husband stared at me for a moment, and
       the anger seemed to leave him. He had gone
       pale. He reached out to touch me, then
       withdrew his hand. For a moment, I thought
       that his eyes filled with tears.

       I had never seen tears in his eyes before.

       Had I?

       "There is that," he said softly.

       He turned away from me, and I wondered if
       I had imagined his reaction. He hadnt
       been close to Echea. Why would he care if
       her personality had changed?

       "We cant think of the legalities any
       more," I said. "Shes ours. We have to
       accept that. Just like we accepted the
       expense when we conceived Anne. We could
       have terminated the pregnancy. The cost
       would have been significantly less."

       "We could have," he said as if the thought
       were unthinkable. People in our circle
       repaired their mistakes. They did not
       obliterate them.

       "You wanted her at first," I said.

       "Anne?" he asked.

       "Echea. It was our idea, much as you want
       to say it was mine."

       He bowed his head. After a moment, he ran
       his hands through his hair. "We cant make
       this decision alone," he said.

       He had capitulated. I didnt know whether
       to be thrilled or saddened. Now we could
       stop fighting about the legalities and get
       to the heart.

       "Shes too young to make this decision," I
       said. "You cant ask a child to make a
       choice like this."

       "If she doesnt"

       "It wont matter," I said. "Shell never
       know. We wont tell her either way."

       He shook his head. "Shell wonder why
       shes not linked, why she can only use
       parts of House. Shell wonder why she
       cant leave here without escort when the
       other girls will be able to."

       "Or," I said, "shell be linked and have
       no memory of this at all."

       "And then shell wonder why she cant
       remember her early years."

       "Shell be able to remember them," I said.
       "Ronald assured me."

       "Yes." My husbands smile was bitter.
       "Like she remembers a question on a
       history exam."

       I had never seen him like this. I didnt
       know he had studied the history of neural
       development. I didnt know he had opinions
       about it.

       "We cant make this decision," he said
       again.

       I understood. I had said the same thing.
       "We cant ask a child to make a choice of
       this magnitude."

       He raised his eyes to me. I had never
       noticed the fine lines around them, the
       matching lines around his nose and mouth.
       He was aging. We both were. We had been
       together a long, long time.

       "She has lived through more than most on
       Earth ever do," he said. "She has lived
       through more than our daughters will, if
       we raise them right."

       "Thats not an excuse," I said. "You just
       want us to expiate our guilt."

       "No," he said. "Its her life. Shell have
       to be the one to live it, not us."

       "But shes our child, and that entails
       making choices for her," I said.

       He sprawled flat on our bed. "You know
       what Ill chose," he said softly.

       "Both choices will disturb the household,"
       I said. "Either we live with her as she
       is"

       "Or we train her to be what we want." He
       put an arm over his eyes.

       He was silent for a moment, and then he
       sighed. "Do you ever regret the choices
       you made?" he asked. "Marrying me,
       choosing this house over the other,
       deciding to remain where we grew up?"

       "Having the girls," I said.

       "Any of it. Do you regret it?"

       He wasnt looking at me. It was as if he
       couldnt look at me, as if our whole lives
       rested on my answer.

       I put my hand in the one he had dangling.
       His fingers closed over mine. His skin was
       cold.

       "Of course not," I said. And then, because
       I was confused, because I was a bit scared
       of his unusual intensity, I asked, "Do you
       regret the choices you made?"

       "No," he said. But his tone was so flat I
       wondered if he lied.

       In the end, he didnt come with Echea and
       me to St. Paul. He couldnt face brain
       work, although I wished he had made an
       exception this time. Echea was more
       confident on this trip, more cheerful, and
       I watched her with a detachment I hadnt
       thought I was capable of.

       It was as if she were already gone.

       This was what parenting was all about: the
       difficult painful choices, the
       irreversible choices with no easy answers,
       the second-guessing of the future with no
       help at all from the past. I held her hand
       tightly this time while she wandered ahead
       of me down the hallway.

       I was the one with fear.

       Ronald greeted us at the door to his
       office. His smile, when he bestowed it on
       Echea, was sad.

       He already knew our choice. I had made my
       husband contact him. I wanted that much
       participation from Echeas other parent.

       Surprised? I sent.

       He shook his head. It is the choice your
       family always makes.

       He looked at me for a long moment, as if
       he expected a response, and when I said
       nothing, he crouched in front of Echea.
       "Your life will be different after today,"
       he said.

       "Momma" and the word was a gift, a first,
       a never-to-be repeated blessing"said it
       would be better."

       "And mothers are always right," he said.
       He put a hand on her shoulder. "I have to
       take you from her this time."

       "I know," Echea said brightly. "But youll
       bring me back. Its a procedure."

       "Thats right," he said, looking at me
       over her head. "Its a procedure."

       He waited just a moment, the silence deep
       between us. I think he meant for me to
       change my mind. But I did not. I could
       not.

       It was for the best.

       Then he nodded once, stood, and took
       Echeas hand. She gave it to him as
       willingly, as trustingly, as she had given
       it to me.

       He led her into the back room.

       At the doorway, she stopped and waved.

       And I never saw her again.

       Oh, we have a child living with us, and
       her name is Echea. She is a wonderful
       vibrant creature, as worthy of our love
       and our heritage as our natural daughters.

       But she is not the child of my heart.

       My husband likes her better now, and
       Ronald never mentions her. He has
       redoubled his efforts on his research.

       He is making no progress.

       And Im not sure I want him to.

       She is a happy, healthy child with a
       wonderful future.

       We made the right choice.

       It was for the best.

       Echeas best.

       My husband says she will grow into the
       perfect woman.

       Like me, he says.

       Shell be just like me.

       She is such a vibrant child.

       Why do I miss the wounded sullen girl who
       rarely smiled?

       Why was she the child of my heart?


