Offspring by Steven Harper

out of enslavement to a strange cult on SA Station just three weeks ago. Keith had come out of it ebullient and happy, but his mood had lately shifted to gloom and depression. He resolutely refused to see a counselor, and in any case the monastery’s psych people were overworked treating Silenced Children traumatized by the Despair. People who had retained their Silence, as Keith had, rated low priority.
    Outside the office building, clouds drew a low gray curtain across the sky and the air was damp. Martina maintained pointedly happy chatter. Keith remained quiet. Kendi led the way. The staircase they were descending opened onto a wide platform at the bottom, where another group of people were demonstrating. Placards and holograms bobbed up and down. About half were in the curved, swooping script of the Ched-Balaar. Ched-Pirasku—the Best Choice. Moderation in All Things and the Governorship. Our Ally Ched-pirasku. No Radicals! No Liberals! Just Ched-pirasku!
    A Ched-Balaar with dark, almost black fur had straightened her neck, raising her head high above the crowd. Her teeth chattered like a xylophone.
    “What’s she saying?” Martina asked.
    A ‘The Federals and the Unionists want to create division and battle among our people,’ “ Kendi translated. A ‘They do not seek a middle ground for all to stand on. We can mine the world’s treasures, but we do not have to strip the earth to do it. Carefully regulated mining will create jobs without destroying the environment our ancestors worked so hard to protect. However, we will also have to regulate the factories and manufacturing industries that will use the products of the new mines. Ched-Pirasku is prepared to address those challenges with compassion and forethought for all.’ “ Kendi paused. “She’s exaggerating Grandma’s position. Grandma doesn’t advocate no mining at all—she thinks we need to be careful. I agree with her. Remember what Australia was like?”
    “The Real People were enslaved by miners looking for opals and ore,” Martina said as if reciting a long-ago lesson. “Under mutant control, the Outback became a desert and the Real People were forced to eat meat for the first time. Do you think that could happen here?”
    “Not the enslavement,” Kendi said firmly. “We don’t buy and sell people on Bellerophon. But the environmental disasters—that’s something else entirely.”
    A cheer rose from the crowd and the signs waved wildly.
    “These people sure go in for their demonstrations and marches,” Keith observed. “You can’t run to the corner store without tripping over one.”
    Kendi laughed. “You’ve got the right of that. This is the first time Bellerophon has had free elections for several hundred years, though. Before that, we were a member of the Independence Confederation under the rule of Empress Kalii. The Confederation appointed local government but otherwise let us have our head. The Children of Irfan were a lucrative source of income for the Confederation, and her imperial majesty was smart enough not to upset the goose that laid all those golden eggs. Now, though—we’re starting our own government practically from scratch. Everyone gets to voice an opinion, and they do.”
    “Especially since so many people don’t have jobs to keep them busy,” Keith said cynically.
    They skirted the demonstration and continued on their way. A brisk stroll over several walkways and down two flights of stairs took them to the Ched-Balaar restaurant. It was, like most Treetown structures, a wooden building built on a platform amid talltree branches. A balcony set with tables ringed the second floor. None were occupied—it was still early for lunch. The name on the sign said in graceful Ched-Balaar script, Delectibles of the Open Blossom . Strange and delicious smells wafted by.
    “What do the Ched-Balaar eat?” Keith said dubiously.
    “You’ll like it,” Kendi promised.
    “That means it’s going to be