appearance, their attenuated limbs in proportion to their swollen bellies and domed heads, all bespoke neglect. What had the poor things done to deserve such treatment?
The boy could never be made right. He had retreated from the sun to a nest of shade under a bush, and sat there rocking to and fro, silent, keeping his hands clapped tight over his eyes. Probable mental retardation, too—severe alopecia with only the barest traces of clumps of hair on his pale scalp.
The girl showed more promise, was even pretty in a terrible sort of way. Her hair was fine as floss and stood up like flames all over her head. She had picked a double handful of poppies and was playing some inexplicable game with them, sweeping them back and forth, crooning to herself in a thin voice. She might be mad; she might simply be a child absorbed in play. She had great pale blind-looking eyes, enormous eyes in her tiny weak face.
No, this was no abuse; some sort of chromosomal damage. Sad, but it happened amongst mortals. I couldn’t fathom what these two imps of misfortune were doing at a Dr. Zeus base, however.
“Their names are Fallon and Maeve. I wanted you to see them, Victor,” Aegeus told me.
Wanted me to see them? “Who rescued them?” I inquired, trying to keep the horror out of my voice. Aegeus turned to regard me.
“No one rescued them, my boy. They’ve spent their whole lives here, at Eurobase.” He watched me closely to see what my reaction would be. Under the circumstances, frank honesty seemed advisable.
“Sir, I confess myself to be utterly baffled,” I said, sitting down abruptly. My movement drew the little girl’s attention—apparently she wasn’t blind—and she came wafting toward us, waving her poppies our way. I found myself drawing back, hating the thought of her touching me, and felt prompt shame. “These are genetic defectives! Certainly not fit for the immortality process. They’re useless even as servants. What are they doing here?”
“Genetic defectives,” Aegeus repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, you’d think so, on first glance. And if I told you that they are, in fact, very far from being defective? That they represent a new and improved strain of what they are?”
“You’d confuse me even further.”
“Good lad! You’re learning never to lie to a superior. You’ve earned another
morsel of knowledge reserved for Facilitators alone, Victor. Observe little Fallon. You’re not seeing him at his best today—he doesn’t care for the outdoors much—so I dare say you’d be rather surprised to see his playroom.
“Fallon has all manner of wonderful toys there. There’s a clockwork galley full of tiny manikins who actually make its oars move. There’s an orange tree in a pot, in whose branches blossoms burst forth, wither, and are replaced by fruit, which is small and green and then expands, only to wither and be replaced by buds once more—and all worked by a device so subtle it’s beyond my comprehension. There’s a camera obscura, though it seems to work in reverse somehow.
“Fallon doesn’t play with his marvelous toys, you understand. He doesn’t quite comprehend play . He made them.”
“I see, sir,” I said, thinking I did. “What might be called an idiot savant.”
“Not at all.” Aegeus held out his hands to Maeve, who had come to the edge of the grass and stopped there, pacing back and forth in her slow dance, trailing her flowers and watching him out of the corner of her eye. What a smile now lit her face, as she accepted his invitation and stepped forward, crossing some magic line that had forbidden her to venture onto the pavement until bid. The poppies fell, forgotten; she took Aegeus’s hands in both her own and pressed her mouth into his palms, one kiss and then another kiss.
“Pretty Maeve shows such promise, I’m sure she’ll be a great lady some day,” Aegeus told her. “Shan’t she? With so many fine clothes, and a garden full of flowers, and lovers and
The boy could never be made right. He had retreated from the sun to a nest of shade under a bush, and sat there rocking to and fro, silent, keeping his hands clapped tight over his eyes. Probable mental retardation, too—severe alopecia with only the barest traces of clumps of hair on his pale scalp.
The girl showed more promise, was even pretty in a terrible sort of way. Her hair was fine as floss and stood up like flames all over her head. She had picked a double handful of poppies and was playing some inexplicable game with them, sweeping them back and forth, crooning to herself in a thin voice. She might be mad; she might simply be a child absorbed in play. She had great pale blind-looking eyes, enormous eyes in her tiny weak face.
No, this was no abuse; some sort of chromosomal damage. Sad, but it happened amongst mortals. I couldn’t fathom what these two imps of misfortune were doing at a Dr. Zeus base, however.
“Their names are Fallon and Maeve. I wanted you to see them, Victor,” Aegeus told me.
Wanted me to see them? “Who rescued them?” I inquired, trying to keep the horror out of my voice. Aegeus turned to regard me.
“No one rescued them, my boy. They’ve spent their whole lives here, at Eurobase.” He watched me closely to see what my reaction would be. Under the circumstances, frank honesty seemed advisable.
“Sir, I confess myself to be utterly baffled,” I said, sitting down abruptly. My movement drew the little girl’s attention—apparently she wasn’t blind—and she came wafting toward us, waving her poppies our way. I found myself drawing back, hating the thought of her touching me, and felt prompt shame. “These are genetic defectives! Certainly not fit for the immortality process. They’re useless even as servants. What are they doing here?”
“Genetic defectives,” Aegeus repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, you’d think so, on first glance. And if I told you that they are, in fact, very far from being defective? That they represent a new and improved strain of what they are?”
“You’d confuse me even further.”
“Good lad! You’re learning never to lie to a superior. You’ve earned another
morsel of knowledge reserved for Facilitators alone, Victor. Observe little Fallon. You’re not seeing him at his best today—he doesn’t care for the outdoors much—so I dare say you’d be rather surprised to see his playroom.
“Fallon has all manner of wonderful toys there. There’s a clockwork galley full of tiny manikins who actually make its oars move. There’s an orange tree in a pot, in whose branches blossoms burst forth, wither, and are replaced by fruit, which is small and green and then expands, only to wither and be replaced by buds once more—and all worked by a device so subtle it’s beyond my comprehension. There’s a camera obscura, though it seems to work in reverse somehow.
“Fallon doesn’t play with his marvelous toys, you understand. He doesn’t quite comprehend play . He made them.”
“I see, sir,” I said, thinking I did. “What might be called an idiot savant.”
“Not at all.” Aegeus held out his hands to Maeve, who had come to the edge of the grass and stopped there, pacing back and forth in her slow dance, trailing her flowers and watching him out of the corner of her eye. What a smile now lit her face, as she accepted his invitation and stepped forward, crossing some magic line that had forbidden her to venture onto the pavement until bid. The poppies fell, forgotten; she took Aegeus’s hands in both her own and pressed her mouth into his palms, one kiss and then another kiss.
“Pretty Maeve shows such promise, I’m sure she’ll be a great lady some day,” Aegeus told her. “Shan’t she? With so many fine clothes, and a garden full of flowers, and lovers and
Similar Books
