I get the impression that they havent quite fathomed the idea of gardening , was Christines final judgment. I wasnt so sure. We had brought a different notion over a gulf of a thousand years, but who was to say that ours was right? If theyd taken a vote on Excelsior, the motion would have been carried unanimously, because we wouldnt have been entitled to express an opinion.
The ungrazable grass and the unpollinatable flowers werent the models for every vegetable form. The fruits that grew on the trees were designed and by no means reserved for posthuman consumption. When I asked, I was told that it was perfectly safe, and permissible, for me to eat the fruit, but that it wouldnt be adequate to my dietary needs. Having heard that, I didnt even bother to experiment. I could live with the disappointment of lousy golden rice, but insipid and essentially unsatisfying apples were a different matter.
In any case, the fruits were too caricaturish. They were far less tempting to me, at least than their designers had probably intended.
Take a look at the Gaean Restoration through one of their cobweb hoods when you get the chance, I suggested to my companion. Its less obvious and less profuse, and a great deal more varied, but it has exactly the same quality of artifice. I couldnt find any authentic wilderness, even on Earth.
Wilderness is overrated, Christine assured me. I dont mind in the least that all this is fake I just wish it had been better done.
They like their kind of food, I reminded her. They must like their kind of garden too. Their aesthetic standards arent ours. They experience things differently. Imagine what they must think of us.
I try, she assured me.
Given that I didnt know what to think of her, and couldnt imagine what she might think of me, I had to suppose that her attempts and mine too stood little chance of success. But there had to be a reason why the people of Excelsior had brought us back. I had to hope that it might be comprehensible even if I dared not hope, as yet, that I might be able to deem it good.
The ship from Earth will be docking in a couple of hours, I told Christine, in case she hadnt been informed. Well have a chance to talk to Gray and Lowenthal before the Outer System ship arrives and the main event gets under way. Have you given any thought to their offers of employment?
Im not going back to Earth, she said, with a firmness that took me by surprise.
Why not? I asked.
Been there, done that, took the rap. You should take a look at Titan. Makes the Snow Queens magic palace look like an igloo. You dont have to come with me if you dont want to.
I havent even begun to make up my mind, I told her.
Thats because you want to play the game, she said. You want to get in with Adam, in case hes going places. I dont.
I can see why youd want a new start, I admitted.
No you cant, she told me, sharply. I told you before you dont know shit about me.
So tell me, I retorted. Why did you kill all those people? Your parents I could probably understand, but what about the others? If my memory serves me rightly, you didnt have any connection with them at all, let alone a plausible motive.
She looked at me, and then she looked away, at the garden where lions lay down with lambs and the butterflies lived forever.
Dont you believe that VE tape you told me about? she asked. I couldnt stand myself, so I hid
in false personalities disguised as ancestral memories, acting out the underlying trauma again and again.
No, I dont believe it, I said. The writer claimed that it was taken from your own testimony but that was only one of the stories you told. I dont remember exactly, but I think there was at least one epic of harrowing child abuse, and at least one item of bad science fiction in which your foster parents had all been replaced by aliens, and a couple more besides. If youd stuck to the first one, you might have got off, although youd have needed an extra wrinkle to accommodate the three strays. There were a lot of bad parents around. They were the first generation who had to get used to a new system of parenthood that was radically different from the biological model, and they incorporated all the badness with which the whole damn world was still infected.
My foster parents werent bad, she said. The marriage broke up smashed to smithereens but they tried as hard as they could to protect me from all that. She sounded as though she hadnt the faintest idea why shed done what shed done.
So why tell the abuse story? I asked. Why tell any of the stories, if they werent true?
I had to tell the stories, she said, as if it were as simple as that. They kept coming back for more, and the one thing they couldnt abide was silence. They probably told themselves that they were wearing me down, waiting for the truth to emerge when I ran out of lies, but they werent. They liked the stories. They always wanted more. So do you. You just want a story and if I give you one youll want another, and another. Thats all I am to you: a story.