“You’re a good child,” he’d say to her from time to time.
“I’m glad you’re pleased with me, sir.”
“You’re the best listener that I ever knew!”
“My husband always used to say that,” she said demurely.
“Well, he was right, by damn. Does a man good to have somebody like you that can pay attention when he talks!”
“Mmhmmm.”
In many ways Michaela was sorry she had to kill him. He was a nice old man. For a linguist.
Chapter Seven
Let us consider James X, a typical 14-month-old infant of the Lines. Here is his daily schedule, for your examination… this is an infant, remember. A baby…
5:00 – 6:00 AM — Wakeup, followed by calisthenics or swimming, and then breakfast.
6:00 – 9:00 AM — Interface session, with one or two Aliens-in-Residence.
9:00 – 10:00 AM — Outdoor play with other children. During this play hour the adults supervising use only American Sign Language for communication.
11:30 – 12:00 — Lunch.
12:00 – 2:30 PM — Nap.
2:30 – 3:00 PM — Calisthenics or swimming.
3:00 – 5:00 PM — “Play” time; spent with an older child who speaks yet another Alien language to James.
5:00 – 6:00 PM — Supper, followed by bath.
6:00 – 7:00 PM — “Family” time; spent with parents if available, or with an older relative.
7:00 PM — To sleep.
Note that this extraordinary schedule guarantees that the infant will have extensive exposure each day to two Alien languages, to the primary native language of the Household (which will be English, French or Swahili) and to sign language. But this is by no means all. Great care is taken to see that the adults directing the exercise sessions speak some different Earth language to the children — in James’ particular case that morning session involves Japanese and the afternoon Hopi. That is, James X must deal with daily language input in at least six distinct languages — and the answer to your inevitable question is no… this does not cause James X any difficulty. Initially there may be a brief period of confusion and minimal delay in language development; however, by the age of five or six he will have native speaker fluency in all those various tongues.
Weekends will differ from the schedule above very little; there may be some sort of family outing, or a visit to a pediatrician, and on Sunday there will be an amazingly lengthy time spent in Family Chapel. These are very busy babies indeed.
Andrew St. Syrus had the languid good looks characteristic of his family. Skin so fair that ten minutes in the sun meant a burn, and hair the color of good English wheat. And he had a beautiful mouth. Like all the St. Syrus men, he grew a full mustache above it to serve as a counterweight of masculinity. And he had learned, painstakingly, in daily sessions supervised by other St. Syrus men, the repertoire of male body language that no St. Syrus man could afford to dispense with. Thomas Chornyak, now, if he lounged a bit in his chair you saw only a sturdy male bulk lounging in a chair; if Andrew took the same posture he appeared to be draped over the chair for the elegance of the effect, and it was fatal. Andrew sat up straight, and he kept his shoulders square, and he made damn sure every unit of his body-parl had an unambiguous message like a drone string on a dulcimer… I AM VERY MALE. It was a nuisance, and the Household was searching for at least two husbands from outside the Lines who could offer a substantial contribution of genes best described as hulking.
He arrived at Chornyak Household before breakfast, refused anything but a cup of strong black coffee, and went straight to Thomas’ office to tell him about the kidnapping.
“My God, Andrew,” Thomas said at once, both hands gripping his desk. “Jesus… that’s awful.”
“It’s not pleasant.”
“You’re sure it’s a kidnapping? Not just a mixup… one of those cases you read about once in a while where some woman takes home the wrong baby?”
“They’d have one extra at the hospital, if it were that.”
Thomas made a face, and apologized.
“It was a stupid question,” he said. “I’m shocked stupid, I’m afraid. Forgive me.”
“It’s understandable.”
“Not really, Andrew — but go on.”
“They think it must have happened sometime between midnight and the four o’clock feeding… that’s when they noticed that the baby was gone. Somebody just waltzed up to the night nurse with a fake note saying they wanted the child for Evoked Potentials, and she handed it over like a sack of groceries.”
“How could that happen? A baby is not a sack of groceries!”
“Well,” sighed Andrew, “the nurse on duty had no reason to be suspicious. Someone’s always coming after babies from the Lines for neurological testing — you know that. The man was dressed like a doctor, he acted like a doctor, the note was scrawled like a doctor’s usual bad excuse for handwriting. she had no way of knowing. Hell… nobody argues with a doctor, Thomas — you can’t blame the woman.”
“She should have checked.”
“Thomas. She’s a nurse. A woman. What do you expect?”
“I expect competence. We expect competence in the women of the Lines, Andrew.”
St. Syrus shrugged, carefully.
“Well,” he said, “it’s done. Never mind blaming the nurse at this point — it changes nothing. It’s done.”
“I’m sorry, Andrew,” said Thomas.
“I know you are, and I appreciate it.”
Andrew got up and walked back and forth as he talked, his hands clasped behind him. “We felt that the worst possible thing would be publicity… Considering the way people feel about us, they’d probably give the kidnapper board and room instead of turning him in. So we exerted a little pressure in the necessary places, and we’ve been promised that those media buzzards won’t be allowed one word, not even an announcement.”
“I see.”
Andrew looked at him, narrowing his eyes, and said, “You know, Thomas, that’s odd. They must be short-staffed, or confused, missing an opportunity to sic the pack on us and keep the public mind off their own shenanigans. This one is tailor-made for the bastards — I can’t figure out why they’re passing it up.”
“Andrew, when have the actions of our illustrious government ever made sense?”
“Not lately.”
“I rather expect they’re concerned that people might get nervous about hospital security measures… copycat crimes, that sort of thing.”
“I suppose. Whatever it is, thank God for it.”
“Right you are, my friend. And I will tighten the screws a bit from this end, just to make sure that their motivation doesn’t slip somebody’s mind on its way up through the chain of command.”
“I was hoping you’d offer to do that, Thomas.”
“Certainly, man! Of course. You can put that out of your mind, at least. And what else can I do?”
“I don’t think there is anything else to do.”
“That’s not likely. There’s almost always something else to do — you just haven’t had time to consider the matter. How about my pressuring the police as well as the press?”
“I think the police are doing all that can be done,” said the other man, sitting down again. “They’ve no reason not to. It’s all just a job to them, no matter whose baby is involved. And perhaps it will be all right. I mean, perhaps they’ll find the scum who did this before he has a chance to harm the child.”