Earthseed

blanket.
    She had dreamed the dream again. As she struggled to orient herself, she imagined that she was back in the Hollow. Then she remembered.
    A ray of early-morning sunlight illuminated the foot of her bed. Slowly, Zoheret sat up and gazed at the other bed in the room; Lillka still slept. She had not, after all, cried out aloud.
    Neither had she cried out when she had departed from Ship; she had clung to the arms of her seat, stiff with terror, closing her eyes when she saw their new home rushing toward her. She had cowered inside the vessel with the others, afraid to step into the open space, where the sky was wide above them and a strange sun was no longer a point of light on a screen, but a yellow eye glaring down at them.
    Her recurring dream had somehow altered events in her mind. They had not gone directly from the Hollow to the vessels, but had spent weeks in the corridors loading supplies onto them while listening to Ship as it described the new world. They had not run for the vessels in a disorderly mob, but had lined up and filed on board. Yet the dream seemed closer to the truth than her memory; she was no longer quite sure how to distinguish between what had actually happened and what she had dreamed. The fear and hysteria had existed just below the surface of their placid, orderly departure. Bonnie had cried, begging Ship to let her stay; others had been dragged or prodded toward the vessels. And over it all, Ship’s alto voice had echoed through the port bay: “You must go. It’s time to leave—you are ready now. I cannot keep you, you must not cling to me. Farewell, farewell.” She had not dreamed that.
    Zoheret threw off her blanket and rose. Lillka snorted in her sleep. They had remained roommates in the Hollow; they were housemates here. Lillka treated Zoheret as if there had been no breach between them, and neither spoke of the Earthpeople Lillka had tried to appease. But their old intimacy was gone. She wondered if it could ever be restored.
    The floor was cold under her bare feet. After putting on trousers and a shift and slipping her feet into sandals, she crept quietly from the room, passing two other rooms where others still slept. Kagami, already awake, was below, putting away her slides and preparing to see those with medical complaints; she had put her tools into her small bag.
    Zoheret nodded at her as she descended the stairs, then crossed the room and went to the door, peering outside cautiously. Home. They had called the planet their home, and gradually the term had become a name: Home. Even after a year here, measured by Ship’s time—Home had a slightly shorter year, but longer days—she often lingered in the doorway, summoning her courage before stepping outside, where only the atmosphere above shielded her from the sun and from space. Even Ship’s simulations of what such an experience would be like had not prepared her for the reality. Others still kept close to their homes when they were not needed in the open; a few, she was sure, would never be able to venture far from the town. Our children, she thought, will be the explorers.
    The domes of their settlement sat on a hill. The many faceted structures of plastic, steel, and wood made her think of a band of turtles huddling together under their shells. Behind the domes, the skeletons of the vessels were the remnants of metallic reptiles. They had stripped the ships to build the domes; they would never leave the surface of this world again. That would be a task for their descendants, when this world had grown richer; they would preserve the knowledge for them.
    She went outside, descending the three steps to the ground. A small lake glimmered near the horizon; the gray waters were tinged with gold. The sun was red in the pale-green sky. Between the lake and the cultivated fields below, yellow strands as thin as human hairs rippled in the morning breeze. She sniffed; the air bore a cinnamon smell.
    Ship had set them down on an island continent cut off from the other land masses of the planet. Earlier in the world’s geological history, the movement of its tectonic plates had separated this continent from others, and it had been isolated ever since. Consequently, no large animals had evolved here, only small rodentlike forms and insects. But their arrival had already altered the peaceful land; an ecological system designed by Ship was taking hold. Wild versions of Earth’s plants, seeds borne outward by the wind, were