“She’s allowed transition time,” said Mama One, with a glare at Papa One, who just stood there. “You’ve seen her, now enter your letter of intent to rear, that’ll make it all official, and leave her to me for a few days. I’ll bring her from her own time when she’s ready.”
So they went, shaking Mama One’s hand and Papa One’s hand, turning to wave at Ellin as they went out the front door and into the street where a hole into tomorrow opened and let them through.
“Mama One,” said Ellin, her eyes suddenly full of tears. “Mama One, are they going to take me away?”
“Shh,” said Mama One. “Lunch time. We’ll worry about taking away or not taking away later, after we’re all calmed down.”
After lunch, Mama One and Ellin went into the atrium, to the seat by the tree, where Ellin sat in Mama One’s lap while Mama One explained it all. She wasn’t Ellin’s cell Mama. Papa One wasn’t Ellin’s cell Papa. Another, very special person who had died a long time ago had such very good cells that she left some behind to make children, and the twentieth-century experts at History House had asked for some of those children, and Ellin was one of them. Mama One and Papa One lived in a village that had been kept just like the twentieth century, and they were her infant parents so Ellin would grow up acting and talking like a real twentieth-century person. And Mama One and Papa One had taken care of Ellin because they loved her, and when Ellin grew up, she would dance for History House, just like her cell mother had.
“I’m not grown up!” Ellin said. “I’m not old enough.”
“No, but you’re old enough to go to school, and they want you to go to the History House ballet school, where you’ll learn to dance and all about the time in history that you’ll be working in. Papa One and Mama One have a license to raise children as they were raised in the twentieth century, but there’s lots more to learn about it than we can teach you.”
“Do all your children go away when they’re as old as me?”
“Not always. Sometimes the children stay with us until they’re thirteen or fourteen or even grown up. William stayed with us until now because he’s only going to do set construction, and History House won’t need to teach him much that he can’t learn right here. But Ellin is a dancer, and she needs to learn a lot about dancing.”
“Why? They knew I could dance. How did they know?”
“Because we made out such good reports on you, four times every year, and we told them what a fine dancer you were. And because your cell mama was a wonderful dancer, like both her parents. And they were nordic types, just like you.”
“What’s a quota clone? William said I was a quota clone!”
Mama One took a deep breath, her lips pressed tight together. “William needs his mouth zippered up! All it means is that when they make an extra special person, sometimes they make more than one. That’s all. Only extra special people are cloned, so when anyone says that, it’s like saying you’re special.”
“William isn’t a clone?”
“Gracious, what an idea! Does anybody need more than one William?” Mama One laughed, the tears spilling. “Do we?”
Ellin settled into the cushiony lap, glad there was only one William. “Do I have to go to History House?”
“If you want to dance, sweet one, you should go as soon as you’re ready. That’s what you’re meant to do, sure enough, and if you want to do it badly enough, you should go.” And then Mama One cried for real, putting her head right down on her knees, and not stopping even when Ellin kissed her and hugged her and told her she’d never, ever go away.
She didn’t want to go away. It gave her a stomach ache to think about it. And yet … yet, everyone seemed to suppose she would go away. It was as though … as though they had stopped looking at her. As though they didn’t really see her anymore. And now there was new music and trips to see new dances and a chance to attend a class with real dancers, and …