Points of Origin by Marissa Lingen Page A

don’t want you to be confused. We had Mother and Father and also our cousins Hector and Yolande and Philomel. We have people .”
    â€œOf course,” said Judith. I nodded gravely, as though I had any idea who Hector and Yolande and Philomel might be, what they might be like to these children as family.
    â€œIt’s just our father’s parents are dead,” said Enid. “And the in-system governments…”
    â€œDon’t recognize the rest of your family as related,” I finished. “The social worker was clear about that part.” Without it, I did not mention to the children, we would not have been assigned their care. Even with middle age extended through the end of the century mark for most in-system residents, eighty somethings with no child-rearing experience would have been no one’s first choice if they could think of another.
    â€œThey’ll get it fixed,” said Richard. “Yolande won’t let them keep us away from her.”
    Enid lifted her chin defiantly and met my eyes. “Go wash up for dinner. Ms.—uh—”
    â€œGrandma Judith,” said Judith quietly, and I knew she was just as sunk as I was.
    â€œGrandma Judith is making you noodles. We’ll show her that we appreciate it.”
    The three of them filed out. I regarded my love of the last fifty years with mingled bemusement and despair. “What on earth will we do with them?”
    â€œThey’re children,” said Judith firmly. “We’ll teach them things. That’s what one does with children.”
    Privately I wondered whether I had learned anything at all in eighty years that would be worth teaching these quiet, self-possessed children. But they had never been to Mars before. We would start with Mars.
    I let them have a quiet morning the next day while I fed and checked on the fish and made notes on the new crossbreeds. They all looked surprised when I came in and sat down in the rocking chair we kept in the guest room.
    â€œWere we too loud?” said Enid.
    â€œNot at all,” I said. “No. Of course not. I had just finished my work—or at least as much of it as I absolutely have to do today—and was thinking I would take you to see some of Mars.”
    â€œThat’s very kind of you,” said Enid.
    â€œWhat would you like to do today?”
    â€œI’m sure whatever you like will be fine,” said Enid, showing no emotional reaction whatsoever.
    â€œErin said that if we had to live on a planet, there were compensations, like ice-skating,” said Harry.
    â€œIf you had to live on a planet!” I repeated, bemused. We could find out who Erin was later.
    Enid shot him one of her quelling looks. “Of course Mars is the very nicest of the planets,” she said. “We’re very lucky to live here, and I’m sure we’re just starting to find out all the lovely things about living on a planet.”
    â€œMostly we know the nasty ones,” Richard agreed. “Can’t change the gravity. Can’t fix the air filtration.”
    â€œThe same things out the windows all the time ,” added Harry mournfully.
    Poor Enid was nearly beside herself trying to convey to her brothers with only her eyebrows that they should shut it. She still didn’t trust that we would keep them.
    I’m not sure she wanted us to, except that she knew very well that many places would be worse.
    â€œI would have to look into ice-skating,” I said. “I don’t know what the hours are at the rink. I was thinking of more like the genetic engineering and terraforming museum.”
    â€œIs that in another dome? Will we need our suits?” said Enid.
    Well, at least they knew that much. Not like Earth children. Our next-door neighbor Bill had cousins from Earth, and they were like tadpoles, just darting about without a concern for anything sensible like what they might breathe or who they might