Woman on the Edge of Time

She began spending all the time she could safely steal with Luciente, studying control of her own nervous system. In the morning Luciente was walking with Bee and White Oak, pausing at the big board in the square in front of the meetinghouse to read the newest notices, poems, proposals, and complaints.

With you

Well coupled: I could wade

in warm water

and melt like a sugar cube.

ANYONE WHO DOESN’T CLEAN DIVING GEAR DESERVES TO DROWN!

Do you value yourself lower than zucchini? Vote the SHAPERS!

Class starting in bacterial fertilizers, Tuesday 8 P.M., Amilcar Cabral greenhouse.

Cellist wanted, antique music quartet. See Puccini, Goat Hill.

WANDERING PLAYERS: Goose Creek players visiting this week. Thursday: THE ROBBER BARONS (historical satire); Friday: WHO KNOWS HOW IT GROWS (Shaping drama); Saturday: WHEN TIME FRAYED (drama of battle at Space Station Beta).

“What’s all this business about Shaping?” Connie asked as they read the notices.

“The Shapers want to intervene genetically,” Bee rumbled. “Now we only spot problems, watch for birth defects, genes linked with disease susceptibility.”

“The Shapers want to breed for selected traits,” Luciente said. “It’s a grandcil-level fight.”

“What do you think?” she asked curiously.

White Oak said, “Oh, we three are all Mixers. That’s the other side. We don’t think people can know objectively how people should become. We think it’s a power surge.”

Luciente pointed. “Look, there’s my notice. Two people signed up last night. But we need at least five.”

Connie read the notice. “Why do you want to learn Chinese?”

“They do interesting work in my field. On my next sabbatical, I’m going to travel there.”

“Bee, will you go too?”

“Not so. I traveled too much when I was involved in reparations to former colonies. I never want to move my body again! I got so weary. No, on sabbatical I want to follow a line of research our base decided against—foolishly.”

She turned to Luciente. “Will you really go off to China without him?”

“How not? For half a year. Person won’t run away.”

“Ah, but without you to argue with day and night, my brain will turn into a jellyfish. You’ll come back and find me a Shaper. Who’ll keep me politically correct, who’ll chew me over?”

White Oak had begun to warble a song that Connie had heard people singing lately all over the village:

“Someday the past will die,

the last scar heal,

the last rubbish crumble to good dirt,

the last radioactive waste decay

to silence

and no more in the crevices of the earth

will poisons roll.

Sweet earth, I lie in your lap,

I borrow your strength,

I win you every day.”

Bee sang in his deep bass voice and Luciente sang fancy alto harmony until they were up to the door of the base where they all worked.

“Someday water will run clear,

salmon will thunder upstream,

whales will spout just offshore,

and no more in the depths of the sea

will the dark bombs roll.

Sweet earth, I lie in your lap …”

Bee and White Oak went inside, still singing, while Luciente squatted down on the patch of grass outside to give her a lesson.

Later White Oak came out to join them and they all went to work in the upper fields where the experimental gardens of zucchini and short-season lima beans were growing. They stopped by the children’s house to invite Dawn along, and White Oak took a baby for the ride and the sunshine. As they checked the plants and made measurements and notes, Luciente continued her lessons to Connie. Dawn had become curious about the past and kept interrupting with questions until Luciente said firmly, “Keep quiet now or leave, Dawn. Connie must fix on escaping from the bad place that holds per against per will. Next week, if Connie escapes, person will answer all the questions you can ask.”

Dawn shut up. Connie said, “That’s the first time I heard anyone say no—you know, discipline a child here.”

“I have to explain. Dawn must comprend the situation. And per questions will be given time.”

She felt as if she, not Dawn, was pulling on Luciente, yanking her back and forth, and pestering her like a yapping puppy. She understood that what she was trying to master was simple indeed; something every six-year-old learned to do at will. In fact, that summer a child on naming had hurt himself badly on a rock pile and had remained in a form of hibernation until help came, slowing his bodily processes so that he was barely alive. That every six-year-old could zip in and out of delta and slow delta did nothing for Connie’s temper. Grimly she plodded through her lessons.

Luciente checked the time. “Noon I meet Bolivar. We are eating a sandwich by the river and communing—or trying to!” Luciente gave a wry grin.

“Do you like per better, Mommy?” Dawn asked, cocking her head.

“I’m trying. Bumpy fasure, but I’m trying. So is Bolivar. But it’s like dog and cat.”

“What do you talk about?” White Oak asked.

“Childhood,” Luciente said with another thin grin. “It’s the only thing we have found in common, besides Jackrabbit, so far.”

“Half the people I see are yawning today,” Connie said.