Winds of darkness - Prologue

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

		Separation

  It had started out as an administrative complex, linked to the landing field used during 
the first years of the colony's construction.  Later, a large chemical processing plant was 
built on the abandoned landing field.  It was decided the old hangers would be converted 
into storage areas.  While the company was willing to use the empty hangers to store its 
products, it had no use for the administrative building.  The squat, truncated design of the 
building was thought too somber for such a bright, promising enterprise.

  Now the chemical company had a definite use for the unpleasant structure.  It could 
provide shelter for the sick.

  The frigid, drizzling rain had been coming down for two straight days.  It fell unnoticed 
on a young woman who stood in front of the ugly building.  She was cold and miserable.  
Her gray hair was plastered firmly to her forehead.  She clutched a small bundle covered 
in a thin thermowrap.

  The rain was not the cause of the woman's distress.  The building before her was the 
source.  She stared at the structure with an empty expression.  The words over the door 
read "Public Medical Treatment Facility." It was the dry, heartless title one would expect 
for a corporate institution.

  The irony was not lost on her.  Free medical service from the same company that made 
it necessary in the first place.  The irony was lost on no one, really.  But the government 
and the colony's corporate sponsor were essentially one and the same, and that made 
fighting the system pointless.

  The woman's quick temper flared at the recollection of the situation she'd been forced 
into.  She swore fiercely and turned.  She started to walk away but stopped when a sound 
came from her bundle.  She looked down at her son's face, his pale gray eyes and hair.  
For a moment she trembled, but not from the cold.  Then she closed her eyes and bit at 
her lower lip.  She had no other options.

  With quick, determined steps she went into the building.  She stopped shortly after 
entering the utilitarian lobby.  The few dozen chairs scattered under the harsh lighting 
were all being used.  She was surprised to see so many others there.  Many were mothers 
and fathers with their children, some obviously expecting more.  There were several 
different aliens standing in small clusters, looking at no one, seeking no support except 
their own.  They were all humanoids, of course.

  The woman noticed one of the mothers was a genemorph with a child held closely to 
her side, almost a mirror of herself.  The mother belonged to the species called caniform, 
she thought.  They made her uneasy.  She had seen Terran dogs running in the streets, 
and she could not help thinking of caniforms as `dog-people.'  Pointy faces, pointy ears, 
pointy teeth, and covered with hair, the resemblance was unavoidable to her.

  She shuddered.  She hated dogs.

  A realization struck her then.  This unfortunate mother was here, too.  She had to face 
the same problems as herself.  She wondered if the genemorph mother had made, or been 
forced into, the same decision she had.

  Another irony.  The company seemed to be one of the few things that was able to cross 
the invisible lines between races and find a common thread: susceptibility to certain 
toxins.

  The woman moved to a relatively empty spot in the lobby and stood waiting.  The child 
in her arms made a short sound and she focused her attention on him.  When the boy 
quieted, she found herself thinking about Jaerwick, her husband.  He was a month dead, 
slowly killed by the toxins that had spilled from a faulty containment field two years ago.  
His hair and eyes had turned gray, just as their child's were when he was born.  It was 
about that time the public was coming to know the scope of the contamination.

  The government, under pressure from the Interstellar Commerce Council, reluctantly 
forced the parent corporation to inform the public about the effects of trihydrazoic 
sodium cyanide, the spilled toxins, as well as provide free treatment to those injured.  She 
had been told about the effects on unborn children: changes of hair and eye color, 
blindness, sterility, and brain damage or a combination of any.

  Jaerwick, working at the old hangers, had been first.  His eyes and hair had turned, 
followed by blindness.  Their son had been born with the same hair and eyes and tested 
as genetically sterile.  Jaerwick died without ever having seen his son's face.

  Now her own hair was turning.  No longer the rich brown it had been, it was a dull gray.  
Her left eye was completely gray and her right was halfway between its original hazel 
and its new color.

  The doctors didn't know if her case would be fatal.  If they couldn't be sure, she 
couldn't be sure.

  "You're next."

  The woman looked up sharply to see a man in a yellow medtech uniform standing 
before her, his face showing unexpected sadness.  He pointed to the open doorway that 
led to the inner offices.

  Beyond the doorway she found a corridor lined with more doors.  Standing by one of 
them was another alien, a male with dark, glistening skin.  He beckoned her into the 
room.

  "I am called Skirlt," he said as he sat at a small table within the cramped office.  She 
nodded as she sat opposite him, feeling uncertain again.  Her son squirmed within his 
wrap.  She stroked his cheeks while crooning quietly to him.

  The man picked up an electronic slate and began working its controls with smooth 
precision.

  "Your name?"  His voice was a whispery monotone.

  She looked at him, setting her mind to the task ahead.

  "Orimye Mlkosni."

  Her name was entered without any eye contact on the alien's part.

  "Age?"

  "Twenty nine."

  "Husband's name?"

  "Jaerwick Mlkosni."

  "Age?"

  Her voice caught at she said, "Dead."

  Without acknowledging her discomfort, the alien forged ahead.

  "Age at death?"

  "Twenty nine."

  "The child's name?"

  She looked down again as she spoke.

  "Redics."

  "Male?"  he queried.

  "Yes."

  "Age?"

  "Eleven months."

  His long fingers worked the slate.

  There were other questions; place of residence, ID numbers and such.  For a time, things 
almost felt normal to her.  Then it changed.

  "Why are you here?"

  She stared at him a moment.  When he looked up, she uncovered her son's head so that 
the thin layer of gray hair was showing.  "Him," she said quietly.

  Skirlt needed no other information.  This situation was all too commonplace.

  "Do you wish to leave the child here for treatment?"

  "Y-yes."  She almost broke then, and clenched her jaws against her own betrayal.

  "When will you return?"

  "Six days.  I-" She paused.  "Six days."

  The alien's soft monotone droned on.

  "I am required to make certain that you understand the abandonment statute.  Under the 
laws of the government of Catipus' World, if you leave the child and do not return in 
eight days, he will be considered abandoned.  He will then be placed in a government 
infirmary while we try to locate you."

  For the first time, he seemed to hesitate.  "Do you understand?"  he asked, looking 
directly at her.

  "Yes."  She returned his gaze as calmly as she could.  When he said nothing further, she 
asked, "If- if I am unable to return for Redics, that is-"  She floundered for a second.  "If 
something should happen to me-"

  She knew her anguish must be terribly obvious, but Skirlt gave no signs of noticing.

  "He will be considered a ward of the Corporation," he finished for her.  "He will be 
placed within a special schooling system, and adoptive parents will be found or 
provided."

  "Provided," she echoed quietly.

  Skirlt's pale eyes drifted down for a second, then came back to meet hers.  His voice 
was even softer than before.

  "It's in the contract."

  Orimye's voice trembled slightly as she replied, "Thank you."  She ran a hand 
unconsciously through her hair and felt a tear slide down one cheek.

  Once she was back outside without her bundle in her arms, she had to fight the instinct 
to run back and get Redics, say it was all a mistake.  She shook, her hands clenching and 
opening.  The rain still fell, making her as cold outside as she was inside.

  She turned to face the building, blinking against the rain and her own tears.  Her good-
byes were silent.  If she spoke them, it might be too much.

  "I'm sorry for this," she thought to him, "but it's best for you.  There's no other way."

  She turned and walked away then, feeling the emptiness in her grow wider with each 
step she took. 


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This text is (c) 2001, Wirewolf
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