Pathways - Jeri Taylor [185]
She saw Daggin’s startled look, but pressed on. “Daggin and I have found an ancient access tunnel that I think leads to the surface. I intend to go see what’s happening up there.”
There was absolute and stunned silence at this announcement. Even these forward-thinking young people were apprehensive about the boldness of such a plan.
“Our enemies are up there,” said Allia tentatively, but Kes didn’t let her get any further.
“How do we know? Why should we think things are exactly as they were so long ago? It’s foolish and ignorant of us to assume that. Maybe it’s time for us to leave the underground and live in the sun once more.”
There were some uneasy stirrings in the group and Kes could tell that they weren’t ready to support this radical idea. “Let’s think about it,” said Daggin, ever the diplomat. “Maybe there are ways to make such a journey safely.”
Privately, she scoffed at him. Sometimes there just weren’t ways to do things safely. Sometimes you had to make up your mind that something was worth doing and then do it, no matter what the consequences. But she didn’t say this, and was careful to block her mind so the others wouldn’t know what she was thinking.
“Have you finished all the journals?” asked Allia.
“Almost. But after a while they all begin to sound alike. You can chart the course of our apathy. The tone of the writing becomes more and more dispirited as time goes by, until finally it’s without vitality, without curiosity. It sounds just like our Elders sound now—dreary.”
She looked around the group, friends she loved dearly and acquaintances she barely knew. An overwhelming urgency rose in her. “Do we want to become like that? Or do we want to fight against that tedium?”
“You know the answer to that, Kes,” said Daggin. “Why else would we be growing our food? We’re using our minds, we’re working to take care of ourselves.”
“Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe we have to push ourselves even further.”
“By doing what?” queried Allia.
“I’m not sure. I just think we can accomplish more.”
No one had a reply for that because suddenly they heard a voice in their minds. “There you are, Kes,” intoned Toscat, and they all looked up to see the portly Elder moving toward their botanical setting. He looked at the rows of green plants, some thick with fruit or vegetables, with feigned interest.
“So this is your famous farm,” he said genially, and, thought Kes, falsely. “Very interesting. I suppose young people need amusements like these.”
Daggin stepped forward. “What can we do for you, Toscat? I can’t believe you’re truly interested in our farm.”
“Of course I am. I’ve been meaning to come out here for some time. Of course, I suspected I might find Kes here, as well. How are you, my dear? And how is your little project coming?”
Kes stopped herself from making a retort to his condescending questions, remembering her father and mother’s remonstrations about not sinking to his level. “It’s coming very well. I’ve read nearly all the journals. They’re fascinating.”
“I’m sure, I’m sure. I was hoping you’d let me know what you’ve found out.” His eye swept over the assembled group, as though committing to memory the faces he saw there. “I assigned you to that reading for a purpose, if you remember.”
“I remember very well. I haven’t reported to you because I found absolutely no information which would suggest why the Caretaker is sending us those sick aliens. If in fact he’s doing that at all.”
Toscat purpled slightly. “Of course he’s doing it. Who else would?”
“I have no idea,” said Kes, a bit wearily. She simply had no impetus for a fight with Toscat. It was a waste of energy. “All I can tell you is there’s simply no clue in the books as to what’s happening to us now.”
Toscat’s face dimpled with concern. “I see,” he said ineffectually, then looked around at the group once more. “Well, the Caretaker has his reasons, and if we can’t interpret them it is our failing rather than his.” Having made this pronouncement, he nodded curtly and moved away from the group once more. They were silent until