Free The Child Goddess by Louise Marley Page B

installation—” He glanced at the reader inset into his desk. “Adetti,” he said. “Paolo Adetti. What made him decide to bring this little girl back with him? And why was it allowed?”
    The woman breathed a wilting sigh. “I can only tell you what they’ve told me. I’m supposed to forestall censure, and a World Health investigation. I’m doing my best, believe me.”
    “I know you’re trying, Hilda.”
    “They told me the children attacked the hydros when they landed. Two children and one of the workers were injured. One child and one man died, but this girl survived. Dr. Adetti discovered, I guess, that she had some communicable illness, so he put her in quarantine.”
    “But why bring her to Earth?”
    She spread her hands. “I’m afraid they didn’t think I needed that information. I’m sorry.”
    “And what’s her status now?”
    “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I just don’t know.”
    “Well, it can’t go on much longer. Not without an accounting.”
    She nodded. “I know. But that’s why the anthropologist is there. She’s a Magdalene priest,” she offered, with a hopeful raising of the eyebrows.
    Simon pushed away from his desk and went to stand at the window, looking out over the peaked roofs of the city to the lake. The old fountain had shut down, but he knew where it was. Anna was working near the lakeshore, teaching in a school for refugees. He felt a spasm of sorrow for her. Her steadiness, her persistence, the same qualities that now drove a wedge between them, were taken as great virtues by her colleagues in the school.
    He forced himself to turn his eyes back to Hilda Kronin. “Make it clear to your people,” he said, “that we understand perfectly why they called in a Magdelene.” He avoided saying Isabel’s name. Surely even this minor diplomat, this nervous woman, would hear something in his voice, some hint of his feelings. He cleared his throat. “This was a public relations move, Hilda, a transparent ploy to garner public approval. Unless some solid information comes out of it, it won’t be enough.”
    She stood, eager to leave. “Right, Dr. Edwards. I understand.”
    “I’d like to make it easy for you,” he said. “But we have to be clear on this.”
    “Thanks. I’ll try to explain it to them.”
    “It’s best to be straight out with it. Diplomacy is all well and good, but we have a child to consider, and apparently an islandful of them out on Virimund.”
    “I know it. Thank you.” She made a hasty exit, and Simon turned back to the austere winter scenery.
    His secretary looked in the open door. “Dr. Edwards? Do you want anything?”
    “No. Not now,” he said. What he wanted, he could not ask for.
    *
    JAY APPLETON TOLD Jin-Li that the priest had asked for coffee.
    “We could just get it from the cafeteria,” he said, waving at the big institutional pots at the end of the line of hot tables.
    “But she’s from Italy, Jay. Bet she likes her coffee strong and fresh. Think it would be all right if I could find her a small machine and some good coffee?”
    Appleton grinned. “Figured you’d say that. But you don’t fool me, Johnnie. You just wanta see what’s happening.”
    Jin-Li laughed, but showed up on Jay’s next shift at the infirmary, carrying a small espresso maker, wheedled from a friend in the cafeteria, and a pound of freshly ground coffee.
    Jin-Li spoke into the comm mike. “Mother Burke? It’s Jin-Li Chung here. May I clear the window?”
    The priest’s light voice answered almost immediately. “Of course, Jin-Li.”
    The silver deliquesced to show Isabel Burke standing beside the window, dressed as before in black. Her white collar glistened in the harsh light. She nodded to Jin-Li. “Hello.”
    The girl from Virimund came out of the side room, peering shyly past her curtain of kinky hair. She wore an oversize black sweater and loose fleece trousers.
    Jin-Li held up the espresso maker and the foil bag of coffee. “I heard