Free The Child Goddess by Louise Marley

on her pillow. Oa stood in the doorway, framed by the dim glow of the night lighting, her eyes flashing white. She crept to Isabel’s bedside and crouched there, her arms around her knees.
    For some moments Isabel thought she would say nothing, but then, in her high, slender voice, the child said, “Oa gives per-mission. Permission to Isabel.”
    Isabel let her breath out in a long sigh. She drew her hand out from beneath the coverlet, and extended her open fingers toward Oa. The girl looked at her hand, pale in the darkness, and then, hesitantly, put her own dark fingers into it.
    As gently as she could, Isabel closed her hand around the child’s.
    An immense darkness swept over her at the touch, a bottomless grief that was almost unbearable. Isabel closed her eyes, letting it flow through her.
    She found, in a moment, that it was not an absolute darkness that immersed her. A flicker of hope brightened the shadows of Oa’s mind. There was a sense of love, and faith, and tenderness. And underlying all, in the midnight sea that was Oa’s soul, was the bedrock of pure courage, the stuff of which great spirits are made.
    Isabel murmured, “Thank you, Oa.” And she sent a private, silent thanks to her patroness for this small step forward.

7
    THE WORD WAS out about the damage the Magdalene had done to the infirmary’s medicator. A man who had been posted at the infirmary laughed about the incident to a group of friends at the Rec Fac, in Jin-Li’s hearing.
    Paolo Adetti was not a popular man. The longshoremen and technicians, the clerks and secretaries of Port Force, had heard the rumors from Virimund. A secretary in purchasing had talked to her brother on Virimund via r-wave, and the word spread. The secretary’s brother told her that two people had died on the ocean planet after an altercation on one of the hundreds of small islands. Everyone at the Multiplex, it seemed, knew now that one of the dead had been a native child.
    Gossip boiled through the ranks. Matty Phipps had been reassigned to the Multiplex, a reward for serving a long voyage. Jin-Li sought her out in the Rec Fac. Phipps was a broad-shouldered woman with a strong jaw and wispy red hair. She was watching a program on the big screen in the lounge, her boots off, her long legs propped on a table.
    Jin-Li waited till the program ended to settle into a chair near her. “Are you Phipps?”
    The woman looked up. “That’s me.”
    Jin-Li put out a hand to shake. “Jin-Li Chung.”
    “Jin—what did you say your name is?”
    Jin-Li smiled. “Everyone calls me Johnnie.”
    “I get that! Johnnie it is, then.” Phipps grinned, her freckled cheeks creasing, and put out her hand. “Matty.”
    “Just thought I’d say welcome,” Jin-Li said. “I teach some classes here in the Rec Fac, so if you have any questions . . .”
    “Thanks. I might take a class. For now, I’m still resting up.”
    “Right. You were on the Virimund transport, weren’t you? Interesting.”
    Matty Phipps sighed and stretched long arms over her head. “More like boring. Long, long trip, that. Everybody in twilight sleep.”
    “I guess that’s what it’s like for crew. I went to Irustan, a few years ago,” Jin-Li said.
    “Irustan,” Phipps said, shaking her head. “That’s a two-year trip.”
    “But I was in twilight sleep the whole time,” Jin-Li said. “Woke up enough to eat meals, do the circulation exercises. That was it.”
    “Best that way, believe me. Nothing to look at, not a lot to do.”
    Phipps waved a broad, freckled hand. “I did two voyages, back to back. Nuova Italia and then Virimund. Thought I’d go nuts, frankly. Great if you’re antisocial. I’ve had enough.”
    “What kind of work did you do onboard?”
    “Maintenance and supply. There was plenty of work, just got lonely. Only three crew and the officers to talk to.” She laughed. “And not a one of ’em played a decent game of Go. You play Go, Johnnie?”
    “No, sorry. I could learn, I