Little Gelasia spoke first. “Are you really my mamma?”
Ianira’s throat closed and Artemisia said in a voice tinged with distinct British tones, “Of course she is, don’t you remember?” Then Misia rushed across the room, flinging herself into Ianira’s arms. “I missed you, Mamma!”
“Oh, my darling . . .”
Little Gelasia was more than willing to accept the return of a mother into her life, snuggling up to Ianira and telling her solemnly about her new doll and the lessons Noah had been giving them. “I can read!” she said proudly. “Papa and Noah taught me!”
“You have always been a clever girl,” Ianira smiled. “You and Misia, both.” She ruffled her older daughter’s hair affectionately. “What do you study, Misia?”
“English and Greek and Latin,” she answered promptly, “with Papa, and history and mathematics and geography with Noah and Jenna.” A shy smile came and went. “And we study the future, too. Noah has a little computer, like a time scout’s log, so we will understand science and technology when we go home to the station.”
Home to the station . . .
“You miss the station?” Ianira asked softly.
Artemisia nodded. “Sometimes. I miss the school and the television and the music. And I miss Uncle Skeeter. Do you remember when we fed the big pterodactyl and the bucket of fish spilled down his shirt? I can just remember that. We laughed and laughed.”
“We all miss Uncle Skeeter,” Ianira agreed. “When it is safe again, we will go home.”
Artemisia’s eyes told Ianira that her daughter remembered the violence of their last day on the station only too clearly. “Yes, Mamma. When it is safe again. If the bad men come here, I will help Noah and Jenna and Papa kill them.”