Kinder des Schicksals 4 (Xeelee 9): Resplendent

the canal for hours and had seen nothing but
smooth walls. If he lost his grip here, he would be washed away until
he drowned - or, even worse, the Mist would alert his parents, who
would come sweeping down in the family flitter to rescue him. The
first real decision he had made had been a stupid one, and all his
defiant dreams of showing his parents he was worthy of their respect
were imploding.
    He was starting to shiver. He had no choice. He prepared to call
for the Mist’s help.
    ’Up here.’
    The voice came from above. Looking up, he saw three heads
silhouetted against the sky, three small curious faces peering down.
’Who are you?’
    ’Try there!’ The middle figure leaned over and pointed. It was a
girl, a bit younger than he was. She was pointing at a shelf on the
canal wall, all but invisible from his position down here. With an
effort he lifted up his hand and grabbed at the shelf. It was dry and
he grasped it easily, and already felt safer.
    ’All right,’ the girl called down. ’Now see if you can reach that
foothold. To your left, just behind that broken stone…’
    In this way, with the girl spotting one hand- or foothold after
another, he managed to haul himself up out of the water.
     
    Exhausted, he flopped on his belly on the bank.
    He got his first good look at the children who had helped him.
They were a girl and two boys. The girl looked about twelve, and the
boys, wide-eyed, were no more than eight or nine. They wore simple
shifts of bright blue cloth that looked oddly clean. They weren’t
alike, not like siblings, a family.
    One of the boys approached him, and Symat reached out a hand. But
there was a soft chime, and his fingers passed through the boy’s
palm. The boy yelped and drew back, as if it had hurt.
    Symat looked at the girl. ’You’re Virtuals.’
    She shrugged. ’We all are. Sorry we can’t help you up.’
    ’I can manage.’ Not wanting to shame himself before this girl, he
rolled on his back and sat up, panting hard.
    The Virtuals stared at him. ’My name is Mela,’ the girl said.
’This is Tod, this is Chem.’
    ’I got stuck,’ Symat said, hotly embarrassed.
    Mela nodded, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitch. ’You
ought to put your clothes back on before you get too cold.’
    One of the boys, Tod, said in a piping voice, ’We can’t get them
for you.’
    ’Sorry,’ said the other, Chem. ’Would you like some food?’
    ’Yes.’
    ’We’ll show you.’
    Symat towelled himself on his jacket and dressed. His clothes
dried quickly, and, sensing his low body temperature, warmed him. The
three Virtual children watched him silently.
    They led him into the city, away from the canal. They walked with
a sound of rustling clothes, even of boots crunching on the scattered
sand. But of the four of them only Symat left footprints.
    ’We saw you breaking the windows,’ Tod said. ’Why did you do
that?’
    ’Why not?’
    Tod considered. ’It’s wrong to break things.’
    ’But nobody’s coming back here. People are leaving the planet
altogether. What difference does it make?’
    ’My parents are coming back,’ Chem said.
    Mela said softly, ’Chem - ’
    ’I wouldn’t throw stones,’ the boy said. ’My parents wouldn’t like
it.’
    ’What parents?… You couldn’t throw stones anyway,’ Symat said.
’You’re a Virtual.’
    That seemed to hurt the boy, and he glanced away.
    Mela was slim, thoughtful, grave. She didn’t react to this
exchange one way or another. But somehow she made Symat feel ashamed
of upsetting the Virtual boy.
    They came to a building, an unprepossessing block in a
neighbourhood of crystalline spires. It was as unlit as the others.
’There’s food in here,’ Tod insisted. ’Through that door.’ They stood
waiting for him to open the door.
    ’Why don’t you go in? You’re Virtuals. You could just walk through
the wall.’
    Mela said, ’Protocol violations. We aren’t supposed to.’
    ’It hurts,’ Chem said.
    Symat said, ’I haven’t been around Virtuals much.’ He stepped
forward, pushed at the door’s polished surface, and it slid open.
    The building was an apartment block. They wandered through suites
of rooms. Heavy furniture remained, chairs and tables and beds, but
smaller items had been taken away.
    ’I’ve seen people take stuff,’ Symat said. ’Clothes and ornaments
and toys, even sets of plates to eat dinner. They carry them in
suitcases and boxes when they go through.’
    Mela asked,