The Dust

Creche

Alyss wasn't sure how she felt about Bertrand's parents visiting him. He was the only one in her creche to ever get outside visitors, but she wasn't too surprised. Miss Irena had told them that he was very smart and talented, and as a result they already knew that he was going to become an administrator.

She was jealous of him for that. He had a path ahead of him. Some of the hybrids had already had their jobs determined, and there was a Beta-series replicant in their creche who might as well have been tattooed with a Federal Marines logo, considering what she would grow up to do. Alyss was naturally born—she knew because when the tests came back they had all the categories on them.

"You're moderately intelligent, Alyss. You're free to try anything, but we suggest you aim for something that  recognizes your other skills, like your perception and your reflexes."

Honestly—if Alyss was honest, which was sometimes problematic—she thought that Miss Irena was moderately smart at best, but saying so would get her an infraction. She thought of the caretaker robot May, who was the first tutor and instructor that she could remember. Just a robot, she told herself. Nonetheless, Alyss thought that somewhere, somehow, May would be proud of her growth, just as Bertrand's parents were proud of his.

She sat in the corner of the room, the rest of her creche on free activity time. It was an unspoken arrangement; each group would go to their own space and she would be part of none. She could feel the loneliness as Bertrand walked out the door, his mother holding his hand. He would return with stories of cinemas and treats and adventures, which they could have on their field trips from time to time. Bertrand got them every cycle in the post-work time that they got to rest and relax during.

Almost every cycle, that is; if his parents were both sick or busy they wouldn't come by, but that was rare. Bertrand was—it took her a moment to think of the word—a prodigy. It was easy to be proud of a prodigy. Miss Irena was. Alyss felt even lonelier, and pulled her knees up to her chin. The rest of the creche was too predisposed to their tasks to pay attention to their surroundings, except Miss Irena, who sat at her desk entering assessment results. Alyss had come to the recognition that she worked during both the normal work period and the post-work period, but most adults didn't have to. Her role as caretaker was rewarded with special privileges, sleep and free time not among them.

She noticed that the door to the playground had been left unlocked, and crept toward it. She'd get some infractions, of course, but at least she'd have the open air to cheer her up while it lasted. Nobody said anything; the Beta was out for assessment, and nobody else had the wherewithal to notice Alyss' slow maneuvers. Miss Irena's eyes were focused on the screen, her ears tuning out the noise of the childrens' activities.

She quickly opened the door, careful not to make too much noise by pulling too hard on the handle. As it swung closed automatically, she slowed it down just enough to keep it from slamming, but not so quickly that an outside noise would stir Miss Irena.

There was no other creche outside, and Alyss took a moment. It must be near the end of the day, which didn't mean much on Atreon with its long days. Earth had twenty-four hours, if her memory served, and Atreon had, by Earth reckonings, almost seventy. People slept and woke when their clocks told  them to—the human body and mind were not designed for Atreon.

The district was quiet, the low sun casting orange and red shadows across the access paths. Adults could use electric carts, but Alyss was alone. She looked for the directory terminal. It didn't care how old its user was. The screen lit up and she began typing in her query.

S-t-i-r-n. She hit the button and dozens of names popped up. Her head spun. Not all of those could be her parents. Most people had two. She remembered that Bertrand's father was named Bertrand, and figured she could refine her search.

A swipe of her finger returned the cursor to the first part of the line. A-l-y-s-s. Two results, one hidden due to age. She tapped on the label that had come up. The terminal asked if she would like a transit ticket to head to the destination. The system was intended for the instructors, so no payment was required. Alyss tapped the button to confirm the request.

The ticket printed on paper, to Alyss' surprise. She had to do her handwriting practice on paper, but everything else was done on a terminal or a tablet. She reached up to the slot and pulled, as she had seen Miss Irena do—she was briefly embarrassed by her moderate intelligence not making the connection between Miss Irena's printed ticked and her own—and it tore loose from the machine.

The transit station was empty. Caretakers and instructors had gone home, and Bertrand's family had left. The cold sterile steel of a transit pod hung suspended on magnetic pillows, and Alyss forced herself to board, ignoring a momentary anxiety about falling through the cracks. She scanned her ticket, and the doors closed.

Nothing happened. The pod simply hung midair like an apple never approaching the head of Sir Isaac Newton from back on Earth who would never have thought that such a thing would exist as a human creation. She looked for a button to open the door, but as she searched the pod departed, and she nearly fell. Grasping for a rail to cling to, she weathered the worst of the ride by sitting in one of the crash couches. She hoped that its name was just a hold-over from spaceships, which is what Miss Irena told them on the field trip they had earlier in the year.

She arrived at the station nearest the address of the woman who shared her name, and it occurred to Alyss that she was alone again in a world of giants. The tears that came most days nearly came to her, a twinge of fear joining them—had Miss Irena noticed her absence? The adults going about their business mostly ignored her. A few shot a second glance at her, wondering what a child was doing outside the creches, but not finding it interesting enough to follow up and interrupt their daily lives.

There were no other children around, and she wished to see even Bertrand and his parents, who were normally a distant part of her life. She looked for the numbers on the buildings and followed their trail toward the other Alyss, her mother, making sure that each sign's amount was decreasing as she passed, but that they had not dipped so low that she had gone past her destination. She was proud of herself for doing as she had been taught.

She wondered if her mother would be happy to see her; she had never received a visit like Bertrand had, so she could simply be unwanted. Maybe she hadn't known she had a daughter—Alyss was still too young to understand the finer points of reproductive biology, though she had the vaguest conceptions of eggs and sperm from biology lessons—and would be thrilled to see her.

Or, maybe, she would call Miss Irena. Alyss pushed the thought from her mind. She was in enough trouble that she had probably capped out on the punishment she would receive.

The building was large, with empty halls. Fortunately, the directory had included a room number. She had probably entered from the wrong door, because nobody greeted her, but maybe they were just busy. It was post-work in the cycle, after all, so most workers would be done for the day. The doors in the hallway were all uniform, sturdy fake wood intended to protect from fires and interlopers, but at least the number plates were getting closer to being right. When she found the door Alyss paused for a moment. 108. Stirn. It was definitely the place.

Mustering up all the courage in her body, she knocked. There was no response. Maybe the other Alyss wasn't home. The child reckoned that her mother could have gone to do something during post-work, and may not be home, but a few seconds later the door buzzed, and the click of a lock indicated that Alyss was welcome to enter.

The room smelled of medicine, and Alyss realized that the hallway had smelled faintly of the same antiseptic aroma. Was her mother sick? There were curtains hanging in the middle of the room, and a chair sitting by a window to the outside, but a wall reached away from the door and blocked her view of the rest of the room. She stepped forward, looking to see who was inside, but saw only a woman in a bed. She looked old and tired, maybe even sick. There was nothing in her eyes, and Alyss was afraid. She wanted to turn around and leave, but the woman's voice stopped her.

"Clara?"

"No. I am Alyss."

The woman looked at her, saying nothing. Alyss felt the loneliness return all at once, and she ran back to the hall, letting the door close under the power of its own pneumatic hinge. Leaning against the wall, she let herself slide to the floor, putting her face in her hands and propping her hands on her knees so that she could at least cry with a little more dignity than just standing for the world to see.