The Child Goddess by Louise Marley Page B

after her, or even as if she had strength for it. She was very thin, and she had bony white fingers, the hands of a skeleton.
    Warily, Oa walked across the soft carpet, keeping the low table between her and the pale lady. She bent to pick up the glass of juice.
    Gretchen watched her hungrily. Oa pulled back her hand.
    Gretchen’s trembling lips parted. “Come on, Oa,” she hissed. “The juice is fine. Drink!”
    Oa’s thirst overwhelmed her. She watched to see if the lady would get up, reach for her. She didn’t. Oa put out her hand again, picked up the glass. The juice was red and tart, tasting of sunshine and soil. She drank it all, and set the glass back on the tray.
    Gretchen snatched up the glass with her sharp white fingers. She turned it upside down, letting the drops Oa had left trickle past her vivid lips. She put a finger inside to wipe up two or three more, and then she sucked her finger clean. She put her tongue out, and licked the rim of the glass, inside and outside, all the way around. Oa stared at her, mystified.
    Gretchen set the glass down at last, and rose. Oa took a step backward, but Gretchen was no longer looking at her. Instead, she glanced around the room. “I think you have everything you need,” she said offhandedly. “There’s a bathroom just through there.” She pointed to a side door. “I guess you should brush your teeth and so forth. I’ll be back later.”
    She crossed the room, the narrow high heels of her shoes making no sound on the thick carpet. She passed the medicator without glancing at its array of drooping wires and tubes, its lifeless readout screen, its scanning hood. She disappeared through the door, and Oa listened to the snick of the lock. It was a familiar sound. She had learned it very well on the ship.
    *
    SIMON FOLLOWED COLE Markham through the carpeted corridors of the Multiplex, and up to the General Administrator’s office. Markham was new to him, but Gretchen Boreson was not. He remembered her as an intense, driven woman with a quick mind and a burning ambition. He was shocked, when he entered her office, to see how thin she had become, to notice the tremors that marred her features. Then he saw Isabel, and for the moment, he forgot everything else.
    She stood by the mullioned windows, her slight figure framed by the rain-blurred view of the city. “Simon,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”
    He stood still for a moment, drinking in the sight of her. Her collar gleamed white against her black shirt. The carved wooden cross with its twisting flame hung on her breast as always. Her eyes—her magnificent eyes—shone like gray crystals in her slender face.
    “Isabel,” Simon said huskily. “Are you all right?”
    Boreson stepped forward before Isabel could answer, holding out her thin white hand. “Dr. Edwards,” she said. “It’s always a pleasure to have you here in Seattle.”
    Isabel’s eyes flashed something, and Simon turned abruptly to Boreson. “What’s the meaning of all this. Administrator?” he demanded.
    Boreson’s extended hand trembled. She withdrew it hastily, and pressed it to her stomach. “Dr. Edwards, I had hoped . . .”
    He cocked one eyebrow. “Evidence suggests that ExtraSolar has committed actionable offenses against Mother Burke and against a child, in direct violation of its charters. To say nothing of the guidelines set up by World Health and Welfare.”
    “We can explain,” she protested. “There are reasons for everything. There’s been a misunderstanding.”
    “Misunderstanding? You mean you did not restrain Isabel Burke against her will? You did not transport an indigenous child away from her home world without demonstrable cause? If not, then, yes, there has been a misunderstanding.” The anger Simon had been containing made his voice hard. He was ready for a fight.
    Boreson, though, was not strong enough. Faintly, she protested, “She’s not indigenous,” before her face colored, and then paled,