Clari would never behave that way.
No, it was more than that. He didn’t want to see blood dripping down Taneesha’s pretty face.
No, it was more than that. If Taneesha hadn’t fought Ashley, Cord might have done it himself, for what she’d said about the pribir. It filled him with a deep rage that he didn’t know what to do with. He took the rage away from the others, out on the plain, alone.
But that wasn’t a good idea, either. Days were longer than in winter, but not all that long, and being caught alone on the desert at night wasn’t a good idea. He’d learned that at eleven years old.
So he stalked the mile-and-then-some back to the farm, knotting and unknotting his fists, circling a very long way around the outbuildings and cattle pens and cottonwood grove to give himself more time alone, and that was how he happened upon his mother and Uncle Mike.
They sat on the ground under a lone cottonwood farther down the creek than the grove with the bench. This tree’s low branches drooped almost, but not quite, over the two adults. They didn’t touch. But the way they sat so close together, the tension in both figures, caught at Cord. He crept closer and crouched behind a boulder. It didn’t hide him completely and if they turned they would see him, but both were too absorbed to turn.
“—too mixed up to tell,” Mike said.
“I know,” Lillie answered. “They just took whatever they needed from whoever’s sperm. Any of them could have anybody’s genes.”
The pribir. They were talking about the pribir. Cord strained to hear.
“Still,” Mike said, “Kella and Cord look like me. A little. But with your eyes.”
“Well… a little,” Lillie said. “But then, so does Bonnie’s Angie, sort of. We’ll never know.”
“Scott can’t—”
“No. He says the mixing is just too complete. The usual markers simply don’t apply. The pribir apparently built almost from scratch.”
“Still,” Mike said, “it was you and I who slept together on the ship.”
“Plus you and Sophie,” Lillie said. After a moment she added, “Not that it matters any more, Mike. We both know what was being done to drive us. If I blamed you at the time, it was because I was a lovesick child.”
“I know. But, Lillie—”
“Don’t say it. Please.”
“No, I’m going to. It has to be said. We’re not children now.”
“You’re with Hannah now,” Lillie said. “Since how long?”
“Two years. But Lillie… be fair. She was desperate, she and later Sophie, and I’ve never risked being with anyone else who wasn’t one of us, afraid of what genes I’d pass on—”
“Oh, God, I know,” Lillie said. “Some nights I’ve ached. For you, Mike. Only for you.”
“Then we should—”
“No! What are you going to do, tell Hannah to leave the farm? You told me what it was like out there for her, for the kids. Or are you thinking you can just switch wives while we’re both here? What will that do to Hannah?”
“She’s not my wife. We never married. Oh, damn it, Lillie, I know you’re right. We can’t…”
“We can’t even talk about it again,” Lillie said.
“Then if that’s so, give me one kiss. Surely one kiss isn’t too big a booby prize for never having you again.”
Slowly, like a rock slide starting small, Cord saw his mother lean toward Mike and his arms go around her hard.
His rage broke. At Ashley, at Taneesha, at Clari for being sick in bed, at the loss of the pribir who’d said they would come back and hadn’t, at everything. He exploded from behind the rock and shouted, “Stop it, you whore! Stop it, you, get away from my mother!” And then stopped dead because no one spoke like that except in Net shows, he had said the unforgivable no he hadn’t but he was wrong wrong wrong. Now his mother would kill him.
She didn’t. She detached herself from Mike’s arms and walked over to him. A pulse beat in her neck, above her open shirt, and her face was flushed, but her voice was calm. “You’re very angry, Cord. But even angry, you aren’t allowed to behave like this. Apologize, please.”
“I’m sorry,” Cord mumbled, and then he was sorry, sorrier than he’d ever been in his life. He raised his hand, dropped it, hid his face in the crook of his arm. Lillie’s arms went around him and her voice sounded close to his ear, low and sweet and sad.
“I know, Cord. I know, honey. But it’s all right, and no one will ever mention this again.”
Cord knew it was the truth. She never would, and she would make sure Mike didn’t, and she wouldn’t treat him as anything less because of this. Overcome, he said, “I love you, Mom,” and felt her arms tighten and her face grow wet against his ear.
Ashley and Taneesha both came home bloody, and Taneesha’s arm was broken. Dr. Wilkins set it, muttering about childhood stupidity. Aunt Robin, who was supposed to be in charge of Ashley, wanted to whip her but Uncle DeWayne, who along with Lillie and Aunt Sajelle and Uncle Jody was more or less in charge of everybody, refused to allow it. The girls were punished by extra chores and no time outside for two weeks. Both of them healed so fast that Dr. Wilkins took more tissue samples and spent three more days crouched over his gene equipment, trying once again to map all the immune system activity in Ashley and Sajelle.
For days the kids talked about the fight, whispering about what Ashley had said and done, why she could possibly have done it. Her brother and sister, Roy and Patty, were consulted about things that had happened to them all before they came to the farm. Roy and Patty were reluctant to talk. Both quieter and more cooperative than Ashley, they seemed to want only to put the past out of their minds. Gavin, who had begun to read old psychology books on the Net, said that Ashley showed “self-hatred,” but this was deemed silly by the others. Why would anyone hate themselves?
Five of them were whispering about this in the den at the big house, with Cord trying to ignore them and do his schoolwork on the computer, when Dr. Wilkins walked in. “Come to the great room. Now,” he said, and walked out again. The five kids looked at each other. Dr. Wilkins was old and wrinkled and tired, but his face didn’t usually look that gray. Something had happened.
Cord sat on the floor next to Clari and whispered, “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. More people are coming.”
When nearly everyone had squeezed into the great room, Dr. Wilkins said, “China and European Federation are at war. They’re using bioweapons. We’re too far away for viable micros to affect us here, but I don’t have any idea what the weapons are. There are micros that can encyst and then vitiate after they’re breathed in. Also, if China decides to include us in the war—either because they’re winning and can or are losing and are desperate —or even to include Mexico, we could have a problem. I want everybody to be completely alert to any changes in your physical functioning. And I mean anything: diarrhea, constipation, a cough, a pain, a headache, a muscle twitch, anything. Tell me or Emily.” Dr. Wilkins was training Emily in medicine.
Spring said, “Hell, if I reported every muscle spasm, I’d never have time to get on a horse. Hey—what about the horse’s muscle spasms?”
“It isn’t funny, Spring,” Dr. Wilkins said, which wasn’t fair because Spring was probably serious. Sometime it was hard to tell. “You and other non-engineered are at special risk. I think.”
Cord took Clari’s hand. She wasn’t engineered. Lillie was, sort of, like the others in the first generation the pribir had helped. Could Cord himself withstand all bioweapons? Nobody knew. That was probably another reason that Dr. Wilkins wanted to hear about any symptoms. He could learn more about what all Cord’s extra genes were supposed to do.