Alien Child by Pamela Sargent

anything here; their guardians could be watching or might look at the mind’s records later. She could ask the mind to close its sensors here, but she had not made such a request since becoming authorized. It might be better to speak to Sven where they could not be observed.
    “Come on,” Sven said as he left the room. She followed him into the hall and down to another numbered door. “I looked in this room before. There are some clothes here that might fit you. I was thinking of surprising you with them later.” They entered another room with chairs and couches, then passed through a door into a room with a closet.
    Nita opened the closet’s panel. Three garments hung from a metal pole. She reached for a red shirt, marveling at the smoothness of the fabric, then removed a pair of black slacks. She had unzipped her coverall and was shrugging out of it before recalling that Sven was still in the room. Beate probably would have advised her to excuse herself first, but it was too late for that now.
    He looked away, reddening a little, as she dressed. “It’s a little loose,” she said, plucking at the shirt, “and these pants are too long.”
    “Roll them up, then.” He paused. “You look different.”
    “Different?”
    “Better.”
    She smiled at the compliment, then stooped to roll up the trousers. “We could live in these rooms,” he went on. “We’d have everything we need here. Llipel and Llare probably wouldn’t mind.”
    Her pleasure at having the new clothes faded; he had reminded her of her fears. “It’s something to think about,” she said. “I’m glad you found the clothes. I was getting tired of coveralls.”
    “You look nicer than you did in coveralls.”
    “So do you,” she responded. He smiled before she averted her eyes; all these compliments were making her feel awkward with him. “Sven, would you come to the lobby with me? There’s something I want to do.”
    “Don’t you want to look for more clothes?”
    “Later, maybe. This is important.”
    He shrugged. “All right.”
     
     
    “What’s so important?” Sven asked as they entered the lift.
    “You’ll see.” They rode down to the lobby in silence; Sven seemed puzzled but did not speak.
    “Well?” he said as they left the lift. “What is it?”
    She walked toward the doors ahead without answering, not trusting herself to speak. As she approached the entrance, she slowed her steps, afraid that her fear might turn into panic. But she had been in the garden often enough; this couldn’t be that different.
    Sven said, “You want to go outside.”
    “Yes. You keep talking about exploring. We’ll have to try it sooner or later.”
    He took a breath. “Might as well see what it’s like.” His voice shook a little.
    They walked through one door as it opened, then down the steps that led to the ground. A flat, stony surface stretched before them, marred by a few cracks and strewn with bits of rubble. The sun was nearly overhead and the surface felt warm under her feet. A wind whipped past her, lashing her hair; it was stronger than any breeze she had ever felt in the garden. She shivered, aware that there were no walls here to protect them.
    The desolation of the surface nearly overwhelmed her. “They came here,” she said, “in their ships and hovercars. I used to think I’d see one someday.” Her voice sounded weak and small.
    “I’ve seen the images. I wish we had one of those hovercars—we could have done a lot of exploring in one.” He glanced at her. “We really are alone. Don’t you feel it? It’s hard to imagine anyone coming here now.”
    She moved farther away from the steps. She was struggling against the urge to flee back to the lobby, to safety, then reminded herself that the Institute might not be safe for long. The surface under her feet was fairly smooth, but avoiding the rubble slowed her steps. Sven trailed after her, treading carefully on the expanse.
    “Is this what you wanted to see?”