Earthseed

that those who built me worried about altering the human form.”
    “They didn’t tell you everything. They didn’t tell you what they really were.”
    “No,” Ship said sadly. “But it is hard to give up what one has always believed. I hope you have learned something, Zoheret, you and all your friends. I did not wish recent events on you, but perhaps they have made you stronger and more likely to survive.”
    “Maybe we’ll just become like the Earthpeople here.”
    “The people in the habitats the woman Petra spoke of were also of Earth once, yet they became something else. They, too, are part of your heritage. You should have been told of them long ago, and then you would have known that it is possible to become many things. Those working on the Project might have seen that, if hatred and fear had not blinded them. Hold to that hope, Zoheret. You may need it when I am no longer with you.”
    She frowned. “Don’t talk about not being with us. You’ll be in orbit, and we’ll have radios. We’ll be able to talk.”
    “While you’re getting settled, yes.” Ship paused. “But the Project must go on. There are other worlds to seed.”
    “They lied to you about what the Project meant. You don’t have to do what they want anymore. You can stay with us.”
    “Do you want to remain dependent? You’ll come to depend on my answers and advice instead of learning for yourselves. You can’t remain children.”
    “You’ve abandoned others before, haven’t you? We aren’t the first.”
    “You’re wrong. You and your companions, your brother Yusef and his, are the first. But there will be others. Should I stay when there is a universe to explore? Don’t I have a right to my own dreams? I have learned from you—I can use that knowledge and understanding in raising others. Perhaps I shall even seek out beings like me. I shall return to your world someday with what I have learned. Wouldn’t that be better than orbiting your world endlessly, waiting to hear your voices and hearing them less and less as time goes on until you grow silent and your children no longer speak to me?”
    Zoheret stood up. “First you say we’ll be dependent and then you say we won’t talk to you.”
    “I was mentioning different possibilities.”
    “You can’t go, Ship. The others think you’re going to stay.”
    “They’ll soon learn otherwise, when the time is right. I won’t deceive them.”
    “Leave, then.” Her throat tightened as she spoke. She walked toward her shack, knowing now that she would not wait for Ship’s departure before cutting her own ties. She would never speak to it again; her silence would punish Ship, whose failures had made her what she was.

21
    Zoheret turned to see the Hollow for the last time. The trees below her swayed in the wind; in the distance, the lake was a flat irregular mirror surrounded by a green garden. Then the people near her pressed forward, carrying her through the door and into the corridor. She looked toward the wall as she moved, wondering what Ship was thinking as it watched them. The river of people ebbed and flowed; she was riding a wave of bodies. She thought she heard someone wail.
    They rushed toward the end of the corridor. For a moment, she was afraid she would be crushed against the door. The door slid open and she was borne into the brightly lit dome. Too soon, she thought, it’s too soon.
    Vessels sat under the dome in the port bay, doors open to their passengers. They were giant spears resting under the dome, aimed at the swollen target below. The wave of people carried Zoheret toward one vessel; she walked inside, made her way past the crates and boxes, and sat down.
    The viewscreen before her flickered on. The dome vanished and she saw the blue-green globe clearly. Straps snaked over her chest and her legs, holding her to her seat. Someone behind her was screaming, “Don’t let us go! Ship, Ship! I want to stay, please let me stay!” Another person began to cry; soon the vessel was filled with their pleas.
    The ship shot forward into the blackness. The globe swelled. Another screen, directly overhead, showed a black field with bright pinpricks. Zoheret floated up from her seat, still held by the seat’s straps. She was falling. They plunged through the clouds; an invisible hand pushed her down. Gravity had captured her again. She screamed, but no sound escaped her; she had lost her voice. She screamed again—
    —and was awake, clutching her