“Hey,” said William uncertainly. “Hey, I didn’t mean … “
“I know what you meant,” said Papa One. “You meant to hurt Ellin, to make her feel insecure. Well, now deal with it yourself. By the end of the week, you too, William, will be adapting, just as Ellin will adapt, won’t you, sweetie?”
“What’s adapt?” cried Ellin.
“Shhh,” said Mama One, tears in her eyes. “Oh, shhh. You men. You’ve spoiled it all!”
She cuddled Ellin tight, picking her up and carrying her upstairs to her own bedroom, her own dollies and dolly-house and her own shelf of books and her own holo-stage, her own things, all around.
“What’s adapt?” Ellin wiped at her nose with her sleeve.
“Shh,” said Mama One. “Tomorrow, the people from History House are coming. Tomorrow, you’ll meet them, and they’ll see what kind of sweet little girl you are. And then, then we’ll talk about adapting and all the rest.”
“What rest?”
“Your life, child. Just your life.”
Ellin thought she wouldn’t sleep at all, for she was scared and mad and hated William. When Mama One opened the window, though, the holo-moon began to peep and the music began to wander, and all the leaves danced. Ellin pointed her toes in her bed and danced with the leaves, and before she knew it, it was morning.
The baby-aide came to take Benjamin to kindergarten and Tutsy to the playground. William was at school. Ellin helped Mama One straighten up her room, then she got dressed in her best dress, the one with the full skirt, and her best shoes, the shiny ones, and waited.
Almost right away the bell rang, and the people came in. One man, two women. They wore funny clothes, but Ellin knew enough not to laugh or point or say anything because they were from another time and couldn’t help how they looked. She curtsied and said, “How do you do,” in a nice voice, and the three people said, “How do you do, Ellin,” back again.
“Nordic type, clearly,” said the man.
“Nordic quota clone,” said one of the women, looking at the thing she was carrying, a funny flat box thing with buttons. “This is number four of six. Silver hair, blue eyes, pale skin.”
“I’m more interested in the other,” said the second woman. “Mama One tells us you like to dance, Ellin. Will you dance for us?”
“I … I need music,” Ellin said.
“That’s all right,” the second woman said. “I brought music.”
She had a box with buttons, too, and she pushed some of them and the music came out, the same music Ellin remembered, about the girl and the nutcracker and the bad mouse king.
Ellin’s feet started moving. She didn’t even have to think about it. Her body did it, all by itself, the little runs and the jumps and then, then she did the other thing, the one the other dancers did, she went up on her toes, on the tips, right up, high, with her arms coming up, up, like she was flying …
“By Haraldson the Beneficent,” said the second woman. “Ellin, dear, thank you. No. That’s enough. You don’t have the right shoes to do that, dear, and you’ll hurt yourself. You can settle now.”
The man was smiling, not at Ellin, but at the woman. “Well?”
“Well, it’s remarkable. Quite remarkable. I want all six, if we can get them.”
“Including this one.”
“Of course, including this one!”
“Hush,” said Mama One, almost angrily. “You’re not talking about a set of dishes. This is Ellin.”
“Of course,” said the man. “I’m sorry, Madam. Certainly, she … we meant Ellin.”
“Would you like to come live with us, Ellin?” the woman asked. “You can dance all the time. You’ll have the very best teachers. You’ll learn to do the Nutcracker, the one you were copying. You’ll learn lots of other pregravitics dances, too. Giselle, and Swan Lake, and Dorothy in Oz.”
“Come?” Ellin said, breathlessly. “Come where?”
“History House, child. You’re intended for History House, Old Earth America: the Arts.”
“And I can dance?”
“All the time. Except when you’re in school, of course. All children must go to school.”