Earthseed

“You’ll learn more. Maybe they’ll turn out better. You won’t make the same mistakes.”
    “I shall undoubtedly make new ones.” There was a lilt in Ship’s voice. “I do know now that you do not always respond to reason—that it isn’t enough simply to explain and expect you to assent to my conclusions. I know that you do not always share my point of view.”
    Zoheret pressed a hand to her lips. Her laughter had died and she was now afraid she would cry. She struggled for control as Manuel took her hand. “You’ll come back.”
    “I have promised,” Ship replied. “I shall come back someday. Tend to your radio—tell your children about me. Who knows—perhaps they will leave the surface of your world to greet me, and perhaps you will live to see it.”
    Zoheret shook her head, knowing Ship could not see her. She would never live that long.
    “Keep your library,” Ship went on. “Learn all you can. In a few generations, you can build a civilization, or you’ll begin your decline, and the way back up will be much harder. You have the tools.” Ship paused. “Why do I say this now? You’ve heard it before. I’ve done all I can. The rest is up to you.”
    “Farewell,” Zoheret murmured. “I hope you find whatever it is you want.”

    When they went back outside, the celebration had grown more subdued. Small groups sat near the fires, talking and eating; others had gathered near one of the wells. Several couples, clasping hands, were retreating to their domes or into the darkness.
    Manuel tugged at Zoheret’s arm. She glanced shyly at him. Suddenly Ho was before them, looming out of the shadows; Owen was with him. They were wearing packs.
    Ho said, “It’s time for us to go.”
    Zoheret gazed at him, surprised. “So soon? Can’t you go tomorrow morning?”
    Ho shook his head. “Better to go now. We’ve already loaded the horses. We’ll camp out by the lake and go on tomorrow morning. It’ll be easier for you—some of your friends might want to settle old scores before we leave. This is less trouble. And you can announce it at your meeting tomorrow—get the board to go along with you before anyone else finds out. If anyone asks where we’re going, we’ll tell them it’s a surveying expedition.”
    “You’ll go without Dora.”
    “Without Dora. She gave me your message. Well, are you going to come check what we’re taking before we leave?”
    “No. You gave me the list. I’ll take your word. You know we’ll be checking tomorrow. I don’t think you’ll try to fool me.”
    Ho looked down. “No. Not on this I won’t. Too much to lose.” He cleared his throat. “We may be the first to explore the rest of this world. While you sit here tending your crops, we may sail for another continent. There are ways, and we have maps. We might become stronger than you.”
    “You might,” she said, “in some ways.” She paused. “Why do you think things happened the way they did? Don’t you wonder?”
    Ho shrugged. Owen poked the ground with his toe, looking bored. “Who knows?” Ho answered. “We’re just the way we are.”
    “And you accept that. You don’t have any doubts about it.”
    Ho glanced at Owen. “We’d better get going.”
    “Listen.” Zoheret put a hand on Ho’s shoulder; he did not pull away. “Send a messenger here once in a while. Tell us what you’re doing. We mustn’t grow too separated.”
    “All right.” Ho shifted his pack. “Good-bye.” The two boys disappeared into the darkness.
    Zoheret and Manuel walked toward the celebration below. “Look,” a voice cried. “Look.” Arms pointed toward the starry sky as others took up the call. “Look, look.”
    She looked up. Among the stars, just overhead, a pinprick of light moved. It flared up slightly and fled, streaking across the heavens.
    “Ship!” someone shouted. “Good-bye, good-bye.” A chorus of farewells echoed from the hill, so resounding that it seemed Ship must hear them somehow. “Good-bye.”
    Zoheret whispered her own farewell.

22
    The new world fled from Ship, becoming a speck, then winking out. Soon its sun was no more than a distant flame.
    I have a long journey ahead, and time to think.
    Inside Ship, the Earthpeople slept. As it thought of them, Ship’s sensors were still, unseeing and unhearing for a moment; it recognized the feeling of sorrow. It had once imagined wise and gifted creators; it carried angry and despairing creatures. Though Ship had not said so to