The Dragon Man - Brian Stableford [35]
Flowers, on the other hand....
While Father Gustave continued his pointless lecture on the virtues of Antarctica as a “Continent Without Nations” Sara thought about flowers, and their possibilities as bodywear.
“If you’ve had enough, Sara,” Mother Jolene said, breaking in on her fierce concentration, “just put your spoon down and let the table get on with clearing itself. Don’t play with your food.”
“I’m eating it,” Sara protested. “I’m just taking my time. I was listening. I don’t see why Father Gustave shouldn’t want to live at the South Pole when his work’s done here. It’ll be new, won’t it? New’s good, isn’t it?”
No one seemed to suspect that this was the opening of a propaganda campaign, and it wasn’t just Father Gustave who was grateful for her expression of opinion. All her parents liked to see her taking an interest in their topics of discussion, especially if they were only discussing them for the benefit of her education.
“Thank you, Sara,” Father Gustave said, warmly. “It’s good to have a sensible contribution to the conversation. “You really ought to set the child a better example, Jo.”
“If I have to take your plans for the UN seriously,” Mother Jolene retorted, “you ought to be a little more sympathetic to my interests.”
“There’s politics and politics,” Father Gustave said, impatiently. “Gaean Lib nonsense isn’t practical politics—it’s romantic nonsense.”
“That’s a bit steep, Gus,” Father Aubrey put in. “I suppose you think the sixth continent is romantic nonsense too.”
“It is when people start calling it Atlantis re-risen,” Mother Maryelle said.
“I didn’t,” Father Aubrey protested.
“And I didn’t say that I was a Gaean Lib supporter,” Mother Jolene put in. “What do you think of the Gaean Liberation Movement, Sara?”
“I think they’re a necessary pressure group,” Sara said, quoting an earlier remark of Mother Jolene’s word for word, “but the same is true of the Continental Engineers—and in the meantime, the UN has to get on with the day-to-day running of the world.”
No one seemed to notice that the second part of this careful judgment was borrowed from Father Aubrey, or the third from Father Gustave.
“That’s very sensible,” Father Gustave said. “Very mature, for your age.”
“Well, I am nearly fourteen,” Sara said. “I’ll have my own credit account in a couple of weeks. I have to think of sensible and mature ways of using it.”
While her parents were still congratulating themselves on the success of their educational discussion, Sara finished off the cassata in two gulps so that the table could get on with the next task in its schedule—which it did with such rapidity that she could almost have suspected it of impatience. The attention she had drawn to herself wasn’t entirely complimentary, though. Mother Quilla was looking at her with a suspicious and slightly critical expression.
“Yes,” Mother Quilla said, “you are growing up, aren’t you?”
Sara could almost see the images of twin scallop shells forming in the mind behind Mother Quilla’s contemplative gaze. Having made her impression, it was time to retreat.
“I’ve got homework to do,” Sara announced, brightly. “Good night for later, in case I don’t see some of you again.”
So saying, she moved swiftly away to her room, barely pausing to wonder what the five of them would talk about over coffee, now that they no longer had to give such earnest consideration to her educational needs.
CHAPTER X
By the time the weekly house-meeting came around Sara had decided exactly what to ask for, and how to go about it. She didn’t need to remind her eight parents that her fourteenth birthday was now imminent; they were almost as excited about it as she was. Nor did she have to remind them about the solemn promise that they had made four years earlier; the household’s so-called artificial intelligence was slavishly dutiful about such matters of record.
There was the usual list of routine items to be sorted out. The