"No," he said as firmly as he could. "No one will die."
Then I realized what he was doing. He was dealing with a child’s fear realistically. Sometimes I was too used to my husband’s rather casual attitude toward the girls. And I was used to the girls themselves. They were much more placid than my Echea.
With the flick of a finger, he turned on the overhead light.
"Do you have dreams, honey?" he asked as casually as he could.
She looked down at her hands. They were slightly scarred from experiences I knew nothing about. I had planned to ask her about each scar as I gained her trust. So far, I had asked about none.
"Not any more," she said.
This time, I moved back slightly. Everyone dreamed, didn’t they? Or were dreams only the product of a linked mind? That couldn’t be right. I’d seen the babies dream before we brought them here.
"When was the last time you dreamed?" he asked.
She shoved herself back on the lounge. Its base squealed from the force of her contact. She looked around, seemingly terrified. Then she looked at me. It seemed like her eyes were appealing for help.
This was why I wanted a link for her. I wanted her to be able to tell me, without speaking, without Ronald knowing, what she needed. I didn’t want to guess.
"It’s all right," I said to her. "Dr. Caro won’t hurt you."
She jutted out her chin, squeezed her eyes closed, as if she couldn’t face him when she spoke, and took a deep breath. Ronald waited, breathless.
I thought, not for the first time, that it was a shame he did not have children of his own.
"They shut me off," she said.
"Who?" His voice held infinite patience.
Do you know what’s going on? I sent him.
He did not respond. His full attention was on her.
"The Red Crescent," she said softly.
"The Red Cross," I said. "On the Moon. They were the ones in charge of the orphans-"
"Let Echea tell it," he said, and I stopped, flushing. He had never rebuked me before. At least, not verbally.
"Was it on the Moon?" he asked her.
"They wouldn’t let me come otherwise."
"Has anyone touched it since?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly. Somewhere in their discussion, her eyes had opened. She was watching Ronald with that mixture of fear and longing that she had first used with me.
"May I see?" he asked.
She clapped a hand to the side of her head. "If it comes on, they’ll make me leave."
"Did they tell you that?" he asked.
She shook her head again.
"Then there’s nothing to worry about." He put a hand on her shoulder and eased her back on the lounge. I watched, back stiff. It seemed like I had missed a part of the conversation, but I knew I hadn’t. They were discussing something I had never heard of, something the government had neglected to tell us. My stomach turned. This was exactly the kind of excuse my husband would use to get rid of her.
She was lying rigidly on the lounge. Ronald was smiling at her, talking softly, his hand on the lounge’s controls. He got the read-outs directly through his link. Most everything in the office worked that way, with a back-up download on the office’s equivalent of House. He would send us a file copy later. It was something my husband insisted on, since he did not like coming to these appointments. I doubted he read the files, but he might this time. With Echea.
Ronald’s frown grew. "No more dreams?" he asked.
"No," Echea said again. She sounded terrified.
I could keep silent no longer. Our family’s had night terrors since she arrived, I sent him.
He glanced at me, whether with irritation or speculation, I could not tell.
They’re similar, I sent. The dreams are all about a death on the Moon. My husband thinks-
I don’t care what he thinks. Ronald’s message was intended as harsh. I had never seen him like this before. At least, I didn’t think so. A dim memory rose and fell, a sense memory. I had heard him use a harsh tone with me, but I could not remember when.
"Have you tried to link with her?" he asked me directly.
"How could I?" I asked. "She’s not linked."
"Have your daughters?"
"I don’t know," I said.
"Do you know if anyone’s tried?" he asked her.
Echea shook her head.
"Has she been doing any computer work at all?" he asked.
"Listening to House," I said. "I insisted. I wanted to see if-"
"House," he said. "Your home system."
"Yes." Something was very wrong. I could feel it. It was in his tone, in his face, in his casual movements, designed to disguise his worry from his patients.
"Did House bother you?" he asked Echea.
"At first," she said. Then she glanced at me. Again, the need for reassurance. "But now I like it."
"Even though it’s painful," he said.