Beowulf's Children

Trish Chance, eating alone at the far end, stared at the intrusion.

Edgar sang, "Trish!"

"Don't have time, Edgar. Got to catch the Veldtbound skeeter in about fifteen minutes. Hi, Ruth."

"Make time, this time, just this once," Edgar said. "Cassandra, you done?"

"Twenty seconds."

Trish had lost interest.

It was hard to believe the rumors: that Edgar and Trish were lovers. Trish didn't act like it, and she was nothing like him. Ruth said with some diffidence, "Trish, he's really got something."

Trish smiled one-sided, finished her breakfast cereal in a leisurely fashion, and came over just as Cassandra turned down the lights. Then they were looking through a blur-edged window at a stand of horsemane trees.

The recording wasn't particularly sharp; a war specs headset wasn't that good. Top crabs leaned from the thickly grown treetop, waved menacing claws at the oblivious man below.

"Slow motion, Cassie," Edgar said.

It all slowed like a dream. Little Chaka looked up—

Even in slow motion, the predator was still falling like a grendel on speed. Cassandra paused it in flight: a triangular airfoil with sharp horns jutting from the forward corners; eyes on stalks just inboard of the horns; oversized oar-shaped motor fins aft.

Then motion again. The eyestalks retracted; the marauder slewed sideways in the moment before it impacted one of the treetop crabs. One horn smashed directly into the shell, piercing it. The impact flung the top crab into space, threw it free of the horn.

The top crab hit the ground hard. The predator corrected its spin, pulled up, skimmed the dirt, wheeled around and was on the dying crab. It flipped the crab over, ripped away the ventral shell and began to feed.

"That was from your POV, Edgar. From Chaka—"

Big Chaka made his slow way into the mess hall with his son alongside.

"Hello, Ruth. Trish. Edgar, you get that too?"

"Yessir. You show me yours, I'll show you mine."

"Cassandra, if you will oblige."

"Chaka Junior, your view was from underneath." Close view of a horsemane tree's bare trunk, a stick probing the green mane. Something small and mammaloid was snapping at the stick with long mini-hyena jaws, glaring through Cassandra's magic window with murderous eyes. Suddenly the view swung straight up. A variety of Avalon crab was studying them, its arms waving restlessly, claws snapping.

Pause. "Observe the claws," Cassandra said. A cursor arrow indicated the top crab. "Here they're much longer than on our two Camelot varieties.

Chaka, shall we designate this—"

"Sikes's Top Crab Number One," Big Chaka said firmly. Edgar looked around with an unbelieving grin. Ruth smiled to see it.

"As you wish."

Motion resumed. Something smashed into the crab, knocked it into space, clung for a moment, then separated... and it all froze. The cursor arrow moved to the predator, which from underneath was nearly featureless. "Here the claws are recessed, almost invisible, and the mouth likewise. The eyes were retracted. Now—" Motion: the predator was spi

Its claws were airfoils, canards. Retracted, they fit recesses that faired the crab shell into a smooth hull. Its mouth was startling: huge and square, not just a mouth but an air brake too. The thing hovered for an instant, with claws extended and mouth wide, then dropped onto the dying top crab. It was the claws that did the work of ripping the shell open and tearing the meat into gobbets.

The view shifted: Cassandra was ru

Trish Chance said, "Ruthie, when you do talk, you're worth hearing.

Guys, that was fun, but I'm off to see the Scribe."

Ruth glowed. And didn't notice Trish's overdone wink, nor Edgar's nod.

"The Scribe. I've only seen it on the holostage," Edgar said. "Is it as awesome--?"

"More. They're calling it ‘Asia.' "

But the enthusiasm had leaked out of her, and Edgar noticed. "Aaron's still out there?"

"Yeah. Did you hear? Aaron thought he'd solved the killings, Linda and Joe. He didn't, and he's furious... "

"He's there, and you're here. Anything happen?"

She paused awkwardly. Then: "I told him I was pregnant."

Edgar stared. Gently he asked, "How long?"

"I've only known for about two weeks. It was that long before I got up the nerve to ask Cassandra."

"What's he think?"

"He said, ‘Your parents will be so pleased.' Then changed the subject."

"He'll never be Father of the Year, but he'll try to keep your dad happy. There were too many close votes on perso

"Is that why Aaron keeps me around? Some of the time? Nobody talks to me but you, Edgar. I know I don't own him, but when Jessica's around it's like I don't even exist."

He nodded. "No. You don't own him. But that's no reason for him to treat you like sleet, either. Ruth, I'll shut up any time I'm told to."

"Oh, no, Edgar."

"Okay. Do you really think you were needed to distract Carolyn McAndrews?"

She looked away. "No." And began moving away.

" ‘Course not. Carolyn would have let Trish walk right up to her." Edgar followed. "So it follows that Aaron didn't have to seduce you just to get your help stealing Robor."

She seemed astonished. "No!" Then suddenly gri

"Sent Trish Chance to distract me. Then I think he told her to stop.

Trish doesn't take orders worth a damn, you know."

Ruth had reached the coffee vat. She drew two cups and tried to fill them, still without looking at Edgar. The vat was empty. "We're going to seed coffee in the hills around Point Ten," she said.

"Below where the snow grendels popped up?"

"Yeah."

"That's a kicky notion. Snow grendels were bad enough without coffee nerves. So, have you told your parents?"

"About what?"

"About the plans for a coffee crop," Edgar said gently.

Ruth looked up, smiling bravely. "About the baby, you mean. No. I haven't told them."

"How long since you last talked to them?"

"None of your business."

"Right." Edgar plucked the two cups out of her hand. "Come with me."

He walked away without looking back. Ruth dithered, then followed. Followed him into the big tent that belonged to Edgar and a junkyard of computer equipment, and the little cappuccino device that had been with him since the magic hurricane.

He made cappuccino in silence save for the earsplitting shriek of steam jetting into milk. Ruth took the cup from him and said, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to shut you up."

"Okay. When?"

"Once since we got the go-ahead to come here. I couldn't stay in Camelot, Edgar. The way they looked at me! But Aaron took me with him—this far—and it wasn't that I wasn't taking Mom's calls, it was just I was always somewhere else. I talked to her once. A month ago. But Dad never calls. He talks to Aaron and says to say hi."

"You could call."

"I should call. I know I should call."

"Better talk to your mother first. Colony psychiatrist, she'll have a good idea how your dad will take it."

She nodded. "I should call."

"Take your coffee with you."

She didn't move. She sipped, not looking at him. He asked, "You don't want me listening, do you?"