switched to government work when he got his ass in a crack—”
“Kedrick!”
“Never mind, Bo, this little grandma isn’t going to tell any tales. She doesn’t like lickspittle Likisi any better than we do, do you?” Ofelia grinned, but said nothing. Interesting how little humans varied, from one organization to another. She had heard comments like this before, from disgruntled colonist-trainees. “Want a little… refreshment?” the man asked her, miming a drink.
It had to mean something contraband; they would have something illegal, all such men did. She remembered how quickly after the colony’s Company advisors left someone had rigged a still to make alcohol from whatever they grew. She remembered the arguments, the fights, the smashing of one still, and the quick reappearance of foul-tasting fiery liquid passed from one to another in little flasks… “I’m too old,” she said, but she smiled at them. Men like this — she had known men like this all her life, even though these men would not have recognized the resemblance. “But thank you,” she said. One did not dare to act superior to men who dosed themselves with illegal substances. “’S all right, grandma,” the loud one said. “Just you don’t go tellin’ peerless leader, huh?”
“Of course not,” Ofelia said. “Not that he listens to me anyway.”
They regarded her tolerantly. Clearly she was no threat, and she was behaving just as an ignorant old woman should. “Of course he doesn’t listen to you,” the quiet one — Bo? — said. “He’s the team leader, isn’t he? He doesn’t listen to anybody but maybe the oversoul of the universe—” Ofelia wanted to ask if anyone still believed in that, but she knew better. Never ask about religion; it makes people angry.
“I guess you had it good, here by yourself?” the quiet one went on. “All the machines working, all the food for yourself, huh?”
“It was very quiet,” Ofelia said. “But yes, the machines made it easier.” “That bitch Kira said you were mucking about with the official log. Writing stories or something? Were you some kind of writer or something before they sent you here?”
Ofelia shook her head. “No, Serin. I did not write anything before. The log — I was reading it, and it seemed boring, just names and dates. I thought no one would ever see.”
“So you spiced it up. Kira says you put in about love affairs and stuff—”
Ofelia realized that he wanted to read it… that he wanted to hear about the sneaking around, the betrayals, the fights… and yet he had no excuse. She grinned, an intentionally complicit grin, the dirty-minded old woman to the dirty-minded younger man. “It was like a storycube,” she said, lowering her voice and glancing around as if to be sure virtuous Kira were not in hearing. “You must understand, Serin, how isolated we were. And the stress—” The man snorted. “Stress! What do civvies know about stress? But sex—” “Well, of course there was sex,” Ofelia said, in the most insinuating voice she could produce. “We were here to breed and enlarge the colony. No birth-limits, bonuses for every child above four. And there are some who stay more — more comely, you understand.” Was she being too obvious for them? No. The loud one had put down his tools and was leaning on the side of the truck, ready to hear more. “I don’t know if I should be telling you this,” Ofelia said with fake piety. “Sera Stavi doesn’t like it that I added to the official log, and perhaps—” The loud one said what Sera Stavi could do with her opinions; it did not differ from the things the men in the colony had said. Not for the first time, Ofelia wondered if humans had thought of anything really new in the past ten thousand years. Had they only wandered the stars because they were tired of their stale jokes and curses?
But she began on a juicy story that wasn’t even in the log, because the creatures had come and she had never finished — the story of the young girl Ampara and her teasing ways that had half the grown men — let alone the few boys her age — upset for half a year.
“And what did she look like?” the loud man asked. The other, quieter one had continued to work on the truck, banging loudly to indicate his annoyance with his lazy co-worker. Ofelia grinned even wider, until her jaw hurt.
“You expect me, an old woman, to know how to tell you that?” But that was only the teasing, part of the ritual of storytelling. She went into explicit detail, more than she knew of her own knowledge, remembering what such men liked to hear about abundant soft hair flowing down long supple backs, about curves and round firmness and soft moistness. He was breathing fast now, and she was running out of ideas.
“Look out!” the quiet man said suddenly, in his professional voice. “They’re coming.” Ofelia stopped short, and turned slowly, Ser Likisi and Kira Stavi, striding along as if in a walking race, and both looking grumpy.
“Sera Falfurrias!” Kira sounded annoyed with her, and Ofelia wondered why. “Yes, Sera,” Ofelia said meekly. She stood with her hands folded in front of her, the servant ready for orders. Inside her head, the new voice mocked her. “What are those things up to, do you know?” “Up to, Sera?” Ofelia asked.
“The indigenes. They’ve disappeared, all but one, and it’s not communicative. Have they gone back where they came from, or what? I saw you going into the forest with one this morning, so don’t tell me you have no idea.”
Her first plan frustrated, Ofelia went after a side issue. “Why would you think I lie to you, Sera?”
“I didn’t say that,” Kira began, impatiently.
“Excuse me, Sera, but you said—”
Kira stamped the ground like a cow beset by flies. “I only meant that if you were going to say you didn’t know, I had already seen you — oh, never mind.” She glared at Ofelia; behind her, Ofelia saw the loud man’s mocking grin.
By then Ofelia had thought what she could say. “They had found the place I hid when the colony was evacuated,” she said. “I had left something behind, and they wanted to know if it was mine, or yours.” “Oh.” Kira did not want to believe it; Ofelia could tell she was in the mood to disbelieve anything Ofelia said, but that was so ordinary. Reluctant belief; her brows relaxed. “Well. We just wondered.” Ofelia thought of embroidering that tale, and decided against it.
“I guess they saw me go out in the forest to take tissue samples… they might have thought I left equipment behind.”
“I believe that’s what they thought, Sera,” Ofelia said,
“Did you want something in particular?” Likisi said. “Or were you just keeping our guardians and advisors company?” He made it sound as if she had been doing bad things with them, and even though she had been retailing filthy gossip, Ofelia resented it.
“I wanted to speak with you, Ser Likisi,” she said. “And with Sera Stavi, if that is permissible.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, very well. But if you’re going to argue about staying, you might as well save your breath and my patience.”
“That’s not it, Ser Likisi,” Ofelia said. She was trying to sound humble, but it came out less humble than she intended. The woman Kira glanced at her sharply, but said nothing. “Oh, come on,” Likisi said. “Come inside — it’s too hot out here.” He led her past the truck and the advisors, who both looked as if they were sucking lemons, through the doorseal and into the big softsided shelter.
Inside, it was stuffy despite the rushing sound of the aircooler, and not as cool as a shady room in one of the houses. Likisi flung out his arms, “Ah — that’s better.” Then he flung himself down on a padded bench. “Kira — be a dear and get us something cold, will you?”
Now it was the other woman who looked as if she’d bitten a lemon. But she bit back what she wanted to say, and instead asked mildly what Sera Falfurrias would like. Ofelia politely refused anything twice, then accepted water. Kira disappeared around a partition. She had not asked Likisi what he wanted; that meant she had fetched drinks for him before.