Winds of darkness - Epilogue

		(c) 2001, Wirewolf
		(Rewritten 2/1/99)

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  Four years.  Four wrenching years of uncertainty.  She could hardly believe it.  She felt 
old, worn.  Her cares had been slowly whittled away until only one remained.  It had 
taken four years.

  She stared at the sign before her.  Her eyes were failing.  In a few months, she would be 
blind.  'In a few months', she thought wearily, 'it won't matter.'  'TransAl Technologies, 
Inc.' the sign read.  'Juvenile Ward Eight'.

  A new sign, new buildings, some trees and flowers nicely arranged.  It couldn't hide 
what this place was to her, and thousands like her.  It was the source of her shame, from 
where her pain and guilt sprang.

  It's time, she told herself.

  Orimye Mlkosni strode into the ward, trying to ignore the unnatural stiffness in her left 
knee.  The entryway was covered with disgustingly cheerful scenes, many containing less 
than subtle images of the Company's many fine products: a multi-species crowd of 
children played with various toys that were no doubt available at the Marketfront stores.  
Others stood in awe, pointing up at a passing ship that bore the Company's logo.

  'Kill their parents with carelessness and use the children as an advertising medium', she 
thought bitterly.  'Self-serving, heartless sons- of-'

  "May I help you?"

  Staring at the offending walls, Orimye hadn't noticed the attendant who had approached.  
Caught off guard, she took a step back.  She hit her knee on the corner of a small table 
against the wall and nearly toppled.

  Strong, masculine hands grabbed her arms as a man's voice exclaimed, "Careful!  I'm 
sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

  Though his face was close enough for her to see clearly, she still blinked and squinted, 
force of habit.  She instantly disliked this man.  His voice held no warmth, his apology 
was empty.  He cared nothing about her.

  Orimye quickly gathered her wits.  One of the few things still left to her was her mind, 
for which she was thankful.

  "Yes.  My name is Tairaya Mox.  I wish to speak to your Director."

  He gave her a frankly skeptical look.  "Do you have an appointment?"

  She returned his gaze with all the dignity she could muster.  "Yes.  I called a week ago."

  "I see."

  Something about the way he said those two words worried her.  He produced a small 
databook from a vest pocket.  Touching its screen only twice, he announced, "I'm sorry, I 
have no record of your name."

  "What?"  A chill swept through her.  "But, but I called, I gave my name and information.  
I was told I would be able to see the Director."

  "Yes, I'm sure you were," he said, that cold, computer generated voice.  "Our scheduling 
assistant left a few days ago and hasn't returned.  Our records are a shambles.  It's 
probably just an oversight, but our Director is very busy right now.  Perhaps you would 
like to reschedule your visit for another day?"  He smiled, and she felt her anger rising.

  "I will not be brushed off by some cold-blooded, computer-spawned bureaucrat!"  She 
pointed back the way he had come.  "You waddle right back in there and tell your 
Director that I have an appointment and I mean to keep it!"

  She sensed she had made very little impression on him, but apparently it was enough.  
Perhaps he simply didn't have his heart in arguing all day.  Assuming he had a heart.  
Whatever the reason, he left, but only after favoring her with an expression usually 
reserved for children and large, stubborn animals.

  Once he was gone, she clenched her fists and forced herself to calm down.  This was 
likely the only chance she'd have at this.

  Two weeks ago, there had been no chance.  Nothing could have compelled her to try 
this.  It was still far too painful.

  Then her monthly mediscan had turned up something new.

  As the doctors had gently described what they had found, the only thing she could think 
was, 'It might already be too late.'  Several minutes dragged by without any sign of the 
Director or the Company lackey.  Finding a seat, Orimye eased herself down.  To further 
calm herself, she mentally went over the story she was about to present.

  She had the words well memorized, had answers for the awkward questions she 
expected to come up.  The hardest part would be the ID check.  She had paid almost 
everything she had to have her new identity created.

  There were times when she questioned the wisdom of hiding her name, but when she 
thought of the consequences of revealing who she was, she shuddered and forged ahead 
with her plan.

  It was the Company's fault, of course.

  She wasn't certain how long she had been brooding over her misfortunes when a 
woman's voice said, "Good afternoon.  I understand you want to see me."

  The woman before her was somewhere between stunning beauty and common 
homeliness.  She had features that seemed to have been taken from the classic works of 
art, as well as others that might have prompted a trip to a facial alteration clinic.  It was 
an unusual combination.

  "Are you the Director?" Orimye asked.

  "Yes.  My name is Rebecca Stadeth.  What can I do for you?"

  Taking a deep breath, she committed herself.

  "I'm looking for my son."

  At the Director's suggestion, they moved to her office.  Orimye paid little attention to 
the handmade decorations strewn about the room, obviously created by children.  She 
took a seat opposite the desk and waited.

  Once she was seated at her desk, Rebecca explained the situation.  "I have had people 
come in here before, searching for their children.  Some of them wanted to reclaim 
children they had abandoned, others had been separated by accident.  A few had their 
children taken away, but that's rare.  Tell me, why do you think your son might be here?"

  She'd practiced, and now she was glad she'd had the foresight.  It helped.  To her own 
ears, she sounded quite convincing as she explained how she and her son had become 
separated.  She had left her husband and son four years ago.  Only recently she had found 
out about her ex- husband's death and her son's placement in a Company ward.

  "I see," said the Director.  "Your ID number?"

  Orimye gave her new number.  She did her best to appear calm as the number was run, 
then confirmed.

  Once the ID was established, Rebecca spent several moments sifting through records on 
her desk terminal.  When she looked up, her face was a study of professional detachment.

  "I'm sorry, but there are no children here under the name 'Mox'."

  "He may have been processed under another name.  He was only sixteen months old 
when my husband died."

  Rebecca obliged, using the process date to find possible matches.

  Another minute's work concluded with the same result.

  "We have no records of a male human, age sixteen months and of undetermined 
background being admitted to this ward four years ago.  You would do well to inquire of 
the other wards."  She hesitated, noticing the stricken look on Orimye's face.   "I take it 
you have already checked all the other wards."

  "Yes.  I felt sure..."  Her voice failed.

  "There is something else you should consider.  The TTI/Alliance program has been in 
effect for two months now.  It's possible he's been moved off-world."

  Orimye knew all too well of the  relocation program.  Pressure from the Alliance had 
forced the corporate government of Catipus' World to deal with the growing numbers of 
abandoned and orphaned children whose parents had died because of an enormous 
chemical spill.  As the number of children grew beyond anyone's expectation, the 
Alliance agreed to a deal.  The corporate government would continue to support the large 
numbers of homeless children if the Alliance helped to 'thin' their numbers first, moving 
hundreds of them to other colonies, other worlds.

  "I can contact our processing center to have a check run for your son's name," Rebecca 
said helpfully.

  "May I see them?" Orimye blurted.

  The Director's expression became puzzled.  She stared at Orimye.

  "Surely you don't expect to be able to identify your son by sight.  Not after so long."

  "I'll know him," she assured her.  In fact, she didn't know if she could tell what her son 
looked like anymore.  She saw his face in her dreams sometimes, but the images had long 
since become blurry and indistinct.

  Still, the bond she had known with her baby had been as strong as any in her life.  A part 
of her was certain she would just *know*.

  "May I just look?  Please?"

  Rebecca frowned.  There was a desperate quality about this woman that she had seen 
more times than she cared to remember.  And yet there was something else, an element 
of deep, personal torment that brought her plight into sharper focus than usual.  She had 
the feeling that, whatever the boy's fate, his mother's was much worse.

  "I don't suppose there would be any harm," she decided.  She touched a control on her 
terminal.  "Nolli, would you come to my office, please?"  A brief acknowledgment came 
back.  Looking back at Orimye, she said, "Nolli is the head Maternal Occupant.  She'll 
take you to the common yard, where most of the children are right now."

  "Thank you," Orimye said softly.  "I'm grateful to you."

  The Director nodded shortly.  Eyeing her critically, she pointed to the short, gray hair 
swept back from Orimye's forehead.  "Forgive me for saying so, but it looks to me as 
though you have been effected by that spill several years ago.  Was your son also 
effected?"

  Orimye was perfectly still.  Was there something she hadn't heard?  Had her son fallen 
to the toxins despite the doctor's assurances?  "Yes," she said, her voice strained.  "But I 
was told he wouldn't suffer any of the effects that I..."  She stopped, unable to continue.

  "I'm not offering medical observations, Mrs. Mox.  I'm simply looking for any clues that 
would help lead us to your son."

  "Oh."  Orimye was unsure whether she was heartened by this or not.  "He had gray hair 
and eyes when he was born."

  Nolli entered, a genial woman with a pleasant voice and a ready smile.  She was told of 
the visitor's request, and given the general description.  "Oh, yes, there are a couple of 
boys that age with those marks.  Bound to be, considering."

  Soon after, Nolli led the way to the common yard.  She chatted amicably as they walked 
through halls connected to the rest of the Juvenile Ward.

  Orimye heard only bits and pieces.  She was glancing around, noticing school rooms, 
common rooms, and many four-bed sleeping quarters.  She saw no children.

  "Where are they?" she asked, interrupting Nolli's running description of the previous 
day's happenings.

  "Who?  Oh, the children!  Well, they're at exercise.  To them it's 'play time' of course."

  At the end of the great hall, they turned left down a short corridor that ended in double 
doors to the outside.  Through those doors they faced upward of seventy children of 
several races, shouting, singing, playing, doing all those things for which children are 
renown.

  "Hum, hum, let's see now."  Nolli looked the group over, easily picking out individuals.  
"They move so much, it's like trying to count boxbirds at dusk.  Ah, there's Tedric.  He 
was brought here about the right time."

  She pointed to a five-year-old boy sitting with two younger boys, playing some intricate 
counting game.  "Oho, and there's one of my favorites.  He's Zojametil, that one.  A real 
sweet soul."

  After twenty minutes, Nolli had picked out seven boys fitting the right description.  But 
none of them struck Orimye as being hers.  She felt the weight of despair settling across 
her shoulders, seemingly making her knees hurt all the more.  "I'm sorry to have troubled 
you," she told her guide listlessly.

  "Well now, there's one more," Nolli said, looking around.  "He's a hard one to track, he 
is.  He spends most of his time with his friend, and the two of them don't engage with the 
other children that much."

  Orimye followed Nolli partway around the outside of the building to a quiet spot where 
the indigenous trees had been left standing.  Within the copse, there was movement and 
sound.

  "Aha, as I thought!"  Nolli pointed to the trees a short distance away.  "That's one of 
their favorite places."

  As they watched, two small bodies burst from the feathery foliage, running and 
laughing.  One, she could see, was a caniform kid, cub, whatever.  The other was the last 
boy Nolli had promised.

  Her heart caught in her throat.  Reaching into her pocket, she brought out her eyespray 
applicator.  The medication in it improved her vision, but only temporarily, and it lasted a 
shorter time with each use.  She placed the applicator against each eye, giving them two 
doses each.  Once the stinging tears had eased, she could see almost normally.  She didn't 
notice the look of pity that crossed Nolli's kind face.

  "That's our little Redics, and his friend Tee," Nolli said.   "Least that's what I call him.  
His real name's a twister.  A good boy, though.  Kind spirited."

  Orimye couldn't suppress the moan that escaped her.  She'd found him.  Despite the 
helplessness she'd felt building in her this last week, despite the obstacles and the odds, 
she'd found him.

  "Is that your boy, Mrs. Mox?"  Surprise colored Nolli's tone.  "He was registered by his 
mother under a different last name.  It was, ah... hmph, bug it, I can't remember.  But it 
started with 'M', I think."

  Numb and a bit overwhelmed, Orimye said what she'd practiced saying for two weeks.  
"No.  That's not my son.  But he looks much like I thought my son would."

  For a second time, she had taken away her son's chance to know his mother.  It weighed 
on her, threatening to take her control just when she needed it the most.  She turned to 
Nolli.

  "Thank you for taking the time to show me around, but my son isn't here.  I guess I'll 
have to look elsewhere."

  "I'm so sorry.  I was hoping he'd be here."  Nolli put a hand lightly on her shoulder.  "I'm 
always waiting for someone from their family to come and take a child back home.  I 
thought it might happen today."

  Orimye nodded, putting a hand over Nolli's.  Trying not to betray her interest in Redics, 
she ignored him as she said, "Would it be alright if I rested here a minute?  My legs give 
me trouble sometimes, and it's been a long morning."

  "Oh, surely, surely.  Come have a seat over here."  The head M.O. led her to a nearby 
bench and table.  Orimye sat down gratefully.  Her knees were hurting, strangely making 
her glad that at least that much of her story was not a lie.  Nolli sat beside her, quietly 
watching both her and Redics.

  After a moment, Orimye looked up.  The two children stood together, looking up into 
the relatively awesome heights of the trees.  The furry one was pointing up at something.

  It was late spring, wonderfully warm, and the children's clothes, or rather their lack of 
them, reflected their appreciation of the weather.  The caniform boy wore nothing over 
his mottled gray fur that she could see, with the exception of a few stray leaves and a 
coating of dust.  Redics had only a pair of shorts on.  Tied around his waist was a narrow 
brown rag.  A long thin length of it hung from his back down to his knees, a makeshift 
tail to even their appearances.

  Once the trees ceased to interest them, the boys sought other diversions.  Redics 
happened to notice the two women watching him, and stared back.  Orimye 
unconsciously held her breath, as though she might frighten some beautiful and timid 
creature.

  Redics turned away, his curiosity satisfied, and it almost broke her heart.

  Fighting desperately to keep her voice under control, she asked, "What's he like?"

  "Redics?"  Nolli shifted on the hard bench.  "He's a good boy.  Well behaved."  She 
paused, considering.  "He has a helpful nature, you see, but he's a bit thin-skinned.  He's 
easily hurt."

  "Hurt," Orimye echoed quietly.

  "Yes, well, he's a strong will to match.  He'll stand and fight anyone if he has to," Nolli 
added.  "Tee and he even come to blows once in a great while, though it never lasts."  
She gazed affectionately at her two charges.  "Those two came from the same mold, they 
did."

  Orimye found herself fascinated by the thought of her only son entwining his life around 
a being so different from him.  An being whose animalistic appearance made her shudder 
inwardly.

  "They're friends with each other?" she asked.  "They seem so different."

  "Mm, well, don't try telling them that," Nolli advised.  "They often call themselves 
'brothers', though we tried to explain why they aren't.  They came here about the same 
time, and knew nothing of each other until they were three.  That's when we think they're 
old enough to handle being around children of other species."

  Nolli watched the children for a moment.  They were looking at the trees again, 
scouting for ways to climb them.  It wasn't allowed, and they knew it, but they had the 
good sense not to carry through with their plan, not when the M.O. was watching.

  "They came into the play group about the same time, and it wasn't long before they 
noticed each other," Nolli continued.  "After that, they were almost always together.  
They do engage with other children enough to develop their social skills, but as often as 
not they're off together, looking for discoveries to make or games to play."  Her voice 
lowered to almost conspiratorial volume.   "I find one or the other snuck off at night to 
sleep together, sometimes.  We're supposed to discourage that, but they're young enough 
and it's harmless, really.  They'll grow out of it when they're ready."

  Orimye's head swam with all the things she was learning about her son, her own flesh 
and blood.  She was torn between asking Nolli to tell her all she could about him and 
doing what she had to.  It seemed bitterly unfair that she had to constantly force herself to 
do the opposite of what she wanted.  The only consolation was that her self-inflicted pain 
was for the benefit of her child.

  A voice called from somewhere around Nolli's wrist.  It was the Director, asking her to 
come back to her office.  Nolli looked apologetically at Orimye.

  "I'm sorry dear, but I have to scoot.  We've mid-meal and the afternoon classes to 
arrange."  She stood.

  "May I sit awhile longer?"  Orimye looked up at her with reddening eyes.  "I miss the 
sound of children playing."

  Nolli hesitated, but only for a second.  "Of course.  Exercise is up in ten minutes.  I'm 
sure it wouldn't hurt for you to stay until then."  With a gentle, almost wistful smile, Nolli 
headed back inside.

  For several long minutes, she just watched as her son played with his friend.  They had 
found a large snail and were squatting over it, watching it labor through a forest of grass 
stems.

  She had hoped to develop a sense of detachment by now, a feeling that she had created 
something which had passed on to others who could give it the care and nurturing it 
needed.

  There was no detachment.  There was instead, a connection.  It was a thread, as thin as 
spider's silk, but she saw that nothing could sever it.  Not logic, not comforting words, 
not distance.

  But it would be severed soon, by the only force capable of bending humans to its will.  
Death was walking only a few steps behind her, and it would cut that connection without 
remorse, leaving her end to float free.

  But no.  There was the evidence before her.  That connection was not going to lay 
lifelessly.  It had, in fact, already been made to another.

  The caniform boy that Redics claimed as his brother was tied to him as surely as she 
was.  Nolli had said so.

  And so her place would be taken by another child, a child spawned of a world of which 
she knew nothing.  Would this child stay by him, the way his own mother couldn't?  
Would he give encouragement, friendship, comfort?  Would he have the strength that had 
been robbed from her, to make the journey through life with him that was denied her?

  Orimye was shaking.  She could feel tears on her cheeks, but no sound came.  She had 
long ago learned to cry silently.

  'I'm sorry,' she thought.  'I did what I could for you.  I tried to fight, but some things you 
can't fight.  I can't take you home.  I can't tell you who I am or they'll force me to take 
you.  I can't do anything to help you, except leave you alone.'  She shook harder, and her 
eyes blurred.  She clenched her fists as she had that last, terrible day she'd seen him, 
trying to squeeze the pain out of some part of her.

  'I love you,' she thought, looking back at Redics and wiping her eyes.  'I'm dead, but I 
love you.  Please understand that, I beg you.  Please understand that your mother loved 
you enough to let you go when she had to.'  Orimye fought to control herself.  If anyone 
guessed why she was watching Redics, crying...

  A high pitched wail brought her head up.  She strained to stay seated as she looked for 
the source.  She found it.  It was the caniform boy.  He was laying in the grass, holding 
his wrist.  He made no other sound, but it was clear he had hurt himself.

  Redics came running from where he had been hiding, calling the kit's name.  It sounded 
as though he was saying 'Tennis'   He knelt next to his friend, asking anxiously what the 
trouble was.  They exchanged words, too softly spoken for her to hear.  They both 
inexpertly examined the injury.

  When the cub stood, shaking his hand to ease the sting, Redics was obviously relieved.  
A few more words were spoken.  Then it was decided they would play 'tail tag'.  The cub 
reached around Redics and yanked on his friend's fabric appendage, starting the game.  
Redics tried to do likewise, and with a squeal of delight, the kit was off and running, his 
own tail streaming out behind him.  Redics took off in pursuit, promising a quick capture.

  Concern.  Tenderness, even.  To her eyes, it was plain that her son had found the one 
person who could fill the void left by his missing parents.  There was something between 
them, something very much like what she and Jaerwick had shared.  Redics was not lost, 
adrift in an uncaring world.

  He was safe.  And happy.  He had a future.

  An alarm sounded, and at once the scattered children began congregating at the entrance 
to the building.  Redics and his friend headed in at a walk, deep in some serious 
discussion.  Perhaps the reason why clouds could be seen and not touched.

  As they moved away, Orimye stood, taking in the last moments she would ever see her 
son.  She felt that familiar pain.  It crushed her heart until she thought her blood would 
stop moving.

  At the door, they stopped.  Or more precisely, Redics stopped, while his friend hung 
back with him.  He turned, and looked straight at Orimye.

  Hanging on to this last image, her breath quieted, her hands stopped trembling.  She 
raised one, and waved a good-bye only she truly understood.

  He also raised a hand, and waved.  Then he and his friend disappeared into Juvenile 
Ward Eight.

  A strange kind of peace seemed to fill her.  She had bid her farewell to the only thing of 
importance that would survive when she was gone.  It gave her a feeling of completion, 
that she had done all she could do.  It would be Redics' turn now.

  Drained and exhausted, Orimye Mlkosni made her way out of the common yard.  She 
needed to admit herself to the local Company hospital, so that they could care for her in 
her fast-approaching final days.  The last bit of comfort she could claim in this life was 
the Company's obligation to make those days bearable ones.

  After all, it was in the contract.

  
**************************
This text is (c) 2001, Wirewolf
It may be downloaded and printed only with copyright information intact.
It may not be distributed without author's permission.
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