Foxfire
"Kamchatka, take five babysteps forward." Foxfire spoke slowly and clearly so the eight Bears from
Cohort Five could understand. And so I can catch my own breath. Gaia's split-ends! What's Weir
have to talk to Okra about that's so urgent? Me? Don't let it be me.
"Mother, may I?"
"Yes, you may." Foxfire knitted her brows to force her attention back to the young Bear. She's
... what? Just two-and-a-half Niner old now. Kamchatka thunked heel against toes to move forward
in the game. She and the others — it's their size, keeps making me think they're older. They'd
started school here at the Neighborhood Health Concern a couple of years ago, same age as everybody
else. Except their Network of Learning consists of this one building. Would they ever leave it
like everybody else? If Okra succeeds selling the Bear Project to Weir and the rest of the
Gatogrebok Con-Hominium. I hope Weir isn't finding Okra so he can mess that up.
Laughter exploded off to the left. Foxfire glanced that way. Simus and Melursus stood out of
line, blocking her view of Kermode, their big heads tipped back to let their elation out. What's
Kermode up to?
She brought her attention back to the five childen who were behaving, including Kamchatka.
"Everyone, touch your nose with your eyes closed."
There was a chorus of "Mother, may I?" Foxfire replied, "Yes, you may." And went to see what was
so funny.
On the way, Foxfire peeped out through the wide doorway of the child-care area into the main
reception room — with its higher ceiling, its glistening tile demanding order — then beyond to
the Neighborhood Health Concern's entrance room — a vine-covered arcade that introduced indoors to
outdoors and vice-versa. Fruit trees beyond. Things seemed peaceful, out there. In here, they
were hectic as usual. Cheered up by lots of windows, the roomy bay made it easy for children,
Complete Standard and Bears alike, to be amused while waiting. But it wasn't always easy on the
one supervising that amusement. You wanted this job, didn't you? Yes, I did.
Still a head taller than these Bears, Foxfire soon saw the game. Just like Nurse Poplar
described. Kermode hunched forward, his large eyes bulging out of the normally droopy lids, his
shoulder and neck muscles flared, his stubby arms bowed around the spot his eyes fixed on. I
mustn't look long, she reminded herself, and peeked. The air appeared toasty, a mottled brown like
she'd see on grilled injera.
Foxfire pulled her eyes away to the boy. He posed, motionless, concentrating on his effort, a
nasal purr, almost a series of grunts, seeping from him.
The smell, Foxfire noticed, didn't resemble any kind of cooking. Just a hint of soured milk from
such a small — spatial lesion, they called it. She glanced at it, then away: the brown spot
swirled, a sign of instability. Nurse Poplar had warned this would happen when the Bears started
experimenting. Got to pull him out of this before it traps his mind. Gently now, gently.
She stepped around the spot and up to Kermode's side. She whispered his name.
He bolted back. Foxfire put out a hand to brace him and heard the air crack, like tiny thunder.
Kermode stumbled once, but she caught his shoulders with some effort. A heavy kid. Masses as much
as I do, almost. He wheezed, bent backwards with the effort of moving air in and out of his
lungs. Even with their large bodies, cracking open a SpaceŖ anomaly took its toll on young Bears.
"Everyone," Foxfire called. "Relax quietly in place. That means you, Simus, Melursus." Looks
enforced her order. The malingerers swiftly took their places.
She leaned to look into Kermode's face. "How do you feel?"
"Uh, 'm hokay," he mumbled. His gaze, long-lidded once more, wandered over the floor.
"Have you done that before?"
"Yessir."
"One, two, three, or more?"
"Two." The word came out short, muffled.
Foxfire let go of a shoulder and caressed his forehead. "We'd better get you into training, then,
hadn't we?"
He lifted eyes uncovered by surprise. "Really?"
Foxfire gave one firm nod. "Really." Now for the larger audience. "This trick of yours
is part of what makes you Bears special. We want you to learn how to use it well, and he'll work
just down the hall from you, eager to have you join him when you're ready."
She straightened and as she turned back to the group, slid an arm across Kermode's shoulders.
"Perhaps we should play something different now. Kermode, what would you like to play?"
"Swords!"
The other Bears cheered their approval.
"Fine," Foxfire said. "Choose sides. Then, get out the swords. And no ganging-up!"
Suddenly, she stood alone there by the entrance. The boys and girls scurried for the box where
soft swords were kept. She watched for a moment as they wrangled through the ritual that prefaced
hacking away at each other. Their bracelets-of-grace tinkled merrily as though fairies cheered
them on.
Three girls and a boy on one side donned fluorescent-orange helmets. The other three boys and the
last girl slapped on protection in high-violet. They passed around the swords, with some bickering
about favorites. Foxfire braced for pandemonium.
She heard quick footsteps out in reception, heard her name mentioned. She glanced out through the
broad doorway. Meyer, leaning toward the receptionist, looked up at the same moment and saw her.
Guilt spasmed through Foxfire, booting her stomach, heart, and throat. "I'll call you, really I
will. Soon," she remembered herself saying ... five days ago. You really kept that promise. What
do I do now? Guilt repeated its percussion routine on her vital organs. Make it up to him!
Foxfire threw a peek over her shoulder at her charges, wailing innocently and harmlessly away at
each other. Doing fine. She straightened and glanced into the short halls that led into treatment
rooms. No one there who could help her out. She wrenched back to see Meyer stepping toward her.
But not here. Divert him, ndito!
"Meyer!" she called and hustled across the intervening floor. She pinned a concerned expression on
her face. "Have you had your guaymous innoculation?" Where'd that come from? I just hope it
sounds real to him.
"Foxfire!" His eyes narrowed with thought. "Uh, no. No, I haven't."
Nor anyone else on this planet. "You'd better wait outside then. We got a rash of it through here
this afternoon. I'll come out to see you in a minute."
His face wide now with surprised concern, he said, "Sure. Are you okay? Are things quiet around
here?"
"Yes, yes." Foxfire swept her hands at him. "Outside, please."
Twitching with uncertainty, he poked a hand that way and back. "I'll be right ... out there." He
followed where he'd pointed.
Foxfire went to find somebody to take over while she talked to Meyer.
#
Meyer sprawled on an oxbow bench, his arms spread along its back. Foxfire slid into the place he'd
left, nudged his arm with her shoulder, and richocheted a kiss off his lips. Then she sat back and
waited. This had better be good. Why? Has your affection faded already? No! Sure? Sure.
"I rushed over when I heard what was going on in Pugwash." Meyer's hand cupped her shoulder.
That neighborhood lay just beyond White Oak Park! An image of her young charges, lacquered with
fear, leapt to Foxfire's mind. She twisted on the bench to look behind the clinic. "What's
happening there?" Trees and buildings blocked the view.
Meyer said, "A 'public disturbance,' they're calling it. Seems some Gastarbeiter started playing
ball in an activity pocket. Two teams kicking a round ball back and forth. Drew quite a crowd,
Pugwash residents as well as more of them, you know, Die Gastarbeiter."
He pronounced the article "dye" as it would read in from-USA, not the correct "dee" as used in
from-Deutschland. Foxfire knew he'd picked up this pun from the other guys at the shop where he
worked. She wanted to scorn this coarseness of his, but it worked too well for her in bed.
Meyer continued, "People picking sides, cheering goals, jeering opponents, the sort of thing that
leads to other sorts of things, name calling, pushing, fighting. The ruckus spread into the
neighborhood. When I heard that — and after what happened yesterday — I got afraid for you,
knowing how close you work to Pugwash and all. So I came looking to help."
Foxfire listened hard in that direction. Nothing but leaves conducting the wind, except maybe a
faraway grinding. "Do they need help? Should we go?"
His hand tugged her back. "The anshin are all over it. Ambulances rushing by us on the ring
road. Planes dropping out of the sky. I'm thinking you don't need to respond. I'm just glad
you're safe. Seems real quiet over here."
Staking territory, taking ownership over my safety. He still loves me! What makes you so glad of
that? A sudden qualm ignited a question. Foxfire asked, "How'd you know where I work?" I've been
very careful not to tell you. Careful not to tell you about the Bears.
A sly grin awakened his somber face. His chest swelled slightly, forcing him to raise his chin.
Or was it the other way around?
"The Mirnaya Direvnya showed me where you live," he said. "So I followed you here — a while
back." He shook a face suddenly brooding. "My work's been so hectic lately. Gastarbeiter are
taking up more and more of my time off." He focused on her again. "I'm glad I knew about the
clinic, how close it is to Pugwash, so I could come right over today." Suddenly coy, he cocked his
head away, but his eyes stayed trained on her. "So I could see you."
Guilt reprised its assault on her insides. Instead of handling it there, Foxfire forced her
attention out, onto Meyer. His face showed puffiness under the eyes and creases in his cheeks. He
seemed tired, vulnerable. She felt his brow. Faintly warm. "What's going on at work?"
At her touch, he smiled. "Long hours." She dropped her hand; he captured it. "Die
Gastarbeiter arranged to use the shop during second shift, and I got nabbed — I volunteered,
really — to help them get started. Somebody's paying the combine because I'm getting overtime,
and I'm sure the tactician wouldn't absorb the wear and tear without compensation." He started
massaging her palm. "Unless he's getting pressure from Byukan-Hamil. That's what some of the guys
are saying. Anyway, that's why I couldn't — didn't — you know, cancel out those last things I
said."
"That's O.K.," Foxfire said. Still, his ghostly "I understand" echoed poignantly through her
mind. She squeezed his hand.
He moved his attentions to her other hand. "Some of these Gastarbeiter aren't too bad."
"They're not inhuman," she said. "Are they?"
"No, they aren't. But a couple of the guys, well, after we heard about them coming in, but before
we met any of them, well, someone was ragging on Die Gastarbeiter — in general, you know
— about how they're trying to move in on our direvnya, our jobs." He caressed both her hands.
"Our women.
"But they're not really. Not the ones I'm working with anyway. They're whipping together
specialized furniture for the discussion groups they're starting at the Rendezvous. One of them's
real good on the stereo-lathe."
Saying everything but what he really wants to. If I had time, I'd love to sit here, holding hands,
till he got around to it. But — an image formed of the Bears banging away on each other, her
fill-in fretting about the time trickling by. Especially after I was late today. "I've got to get
back," she said. His brow rumpled. He must know, somewhere down deep, what that does to me. "How
about an Outing? Tonight? Late?"
He cleared his forehead, then beetled it again. "Can't. Production testing — with Die
Gastarbeiter." The term came out rich with emotions. "Three days in a row. Intense." He grinned
suddenly. "But the money's real good. How about day after tomorrow? We'll celebrate — on The
Bluffs! Okay?"
The Bluffs is good. Foxfire found that smiling was easy. Her body pulsed as she drew up to him.
The kiss was lingering, but not deep. Tempted, though, very tempted.
"I'll see you then. Call me with the rendezvous."
"You got it, babe."
He sat, grinning, as Foxfire scrambled back inside.
