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I’ve been on this planet – the one the natives call the “Favored Planet” – for enough cycles now that it feels familiar to me. I can get through the day, most days, without being reminded of the life I’ve lost, even if my heart isn’t fully in this life I find myself living.

But today is one of those days where I’m going to be reminded of the stars, of space, where I grew up. I can tell already, as I stand in the dry meadow, ringed by trees, watching the children. There are perhaps twelve or thirteen of them, boys and girls, ranging in age from five cycles to twelve.

It’s harvest festival, and all the families in the sector have gathered here in the meadow. The children are here to run the usual children’s races. It has been my job to organize the race for ten cycles now, ever since the other adults realized that the children listen to me when I tell them what to do. Imagine that. My misspent Peacekeeper past is good for something. Children follow my orders.

They are fidgety now, waiting for the contest to begin. The older ones are talking; the little ones are giggling and shoving at one another. One little girl is by herself, arms out, twirling dizzily.

When I was a child, born into the Peacekeeper ranks, we waited quietly, in orderly rows.

I look across the meadow, brown grass cropped short by the food animals we keep, to where Marcus and Tosh are setting up the finish line. I can see that they are not ready yet, and so I let the children continue to play.

The baby stirs. I look down to check on him. A quarter cycle old now, my baby John, and I’m carrying him in a sling, to leave my hands free for the day’s work. He’s fussing slightly, and I smooth my fingers over his head. His dark hair is so soft. Cerric says he looks like me. I don’t know, perhaps he does. All I know is, he is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen, he and his brother Rhys.

Rhys is standing within reach, and I want to stretch my hand out and tousle his reddish-brown hair as well, but I know he’ll only scowl at me, so I simply smile, and watch him tell a long, involved story to his best friend Tod.

I understand, now, in a way I didn’t then, the look on John’s face on the Royal Planet when he saw his future child. I understand, in a way I didn’t then, what it meant to him when I offered him the compatibility test, and our kiss was sweet.

Take a deep breath, Aeryn, deep breath, I tell myself. It does no good to dwell on it.

I look back across the meadow and see that Marcus is waving his arms at me, and I hear his voice coming dimly across the distance. I should have heard him earlier, but I was too busy brooding. I knew it was going to be one of those days. I pull myself together.

“All right!” I call, waving back at the men on the finish line. I clap my hands together and say to the children, “Right! Time to line up! Little ones first! Seven cycles and under, on the starting line!”

Obediently, the older ones back off, the younger ones step smartly up to the line. There are five of them.

When I was a child, we all ran at once. It made no difference if someone was older than you, taller, longer-legged. You were expected to try to beat them all. You were expected not to fail.

Rhys is in this group. He is seven cycles old. Next year, he’ll be moving up. I beam at him, and the other parents line up along the course. I see Cerric, near the finish line, and I wave at him.

The children are all looking to me now, they know the drill. They’ve all been to harvest festival every cycle since they were born. I smile, and raise my arm. The signal to begin will be when I let it fall. Only I know that the words I use come not from the Peacekeepers but from a faraway place called Earth.

“Ready…” I say, watching them brace themselves on the starting line.

“Steady….” I feint slightly towards them, a grin on my face, and they flinch and giggle. It’s a ritual only the youngest hasn’t been through before, and I wait till they settle down again before continuing.

“Go!” I shout, dropping my arm.

And they are off, racing across the field towards the men who are waiting at the finish.

When I was a child, we all ran hard. If we didn’t, we were punished, if only by finding ourselves lower in the pecking order.

These children….Two of them, a girl called Val and a boy called Arma, are running flat out, neither even taking the time to glance and see how close the other is. I see myself in them. One little girl, the youngest, is merely skipping along. She is having fun, just being allowed in the race for the first time this cycle. Rhys and his friend Tod are somewhere in the middle, running seriously, but, knowing they won’t win, they are concentrating on running together.

When I was a child, no one encouraged us but ourselves.

But all the parents are shouting now, and I hear my voice too: “Go, Rhys! You can do it!” Of course, I know he won’t, but it doesn’t matter. He’s having fun.

John stirs again, hearing the noise and sensing the excitement. I love to hear his tiny voice. But Rhys is still running, and so I simply slide my left arm underneath the sling, hold him closer to my body to comfort him while I wait to see the end of the race.

Arma, still running flat out, stumbles and lands on his face. Val keeps running, perhaps not even aware she no longer has any competition. But Rhys and Tod stop to help him up.

When I was a child, any one of us, all of us, would have raced on by, taken advantage of the misfortune of another to finish higher in the race than we would have otherwise.

And indeed, on his feet again, Arma nods sharply to them in thanks, and races off without any qualms, leaving the two best friends to continue along in his wake. Even the youngest, still twirling and skipping happily, completely oblivious to the idea that someone should win, has caught up with Rhys and Tod while they helped a friend.

In my world, the world I grew up in, compassion would have led to punishment.

And now I bounce John absently in my arms, and proudly watch my son cross the finish line in a three-way tie for last.

Val struts around the finish line, celebrating her victory, and rightly so. She’s run a good race. But the others all are happy, too. Even Arma seems satisfied by how close behind Val he finished, after his fall. Cerric punches Rhys on the arm, and Rhys reaches up to punch him back, man to man.

I turn my attention back to the children still in front of me.

“All right,” I tell them, “middle group! Eight to ten cycles! Line up now!”

And I watch them race, rocking John, and then the oldest too, those who are nearing their teens. And those races go much the same as the first – some runners very competitive, ruthless, even, some racing only for the pleasure of running with friends, and some for the sheer joy of movement.

When my job is done, I settle under a tree, bringing my baby to my breast. He suckles lustily and loudly, and I stroke his head.

If some part of me still yearns for the stars, and flight, and the man I had hoped, deep in my heart, would one day father my children, I am…comfortable. I have a good man, and children I adore. And in this place, my children can be happy in a way I never was, before someone told me I could be more.


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aeryncrichton

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