Inmer safir's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Morning light filled the domed house. Inmer sat on the floor beside the infant, his hot hands folded in his lap. She had slept, then woken, then cried. He had warmed milk and rocked her and hummed every song he knew. Still she fussed. He watched her small face and understood, slowly, that she needed something he had never given anyone before. He had days, maybe less, to learn how. She needed people. Voices. The soft press of a world that wanted her. Inmer wrapped her in the bright blanket and walked into town. He stopped first at a small shop with painted shutters and crooked shelves, where toys and soft things crowded every window. He bought a rattle, a cloth doll, a tiny knit cap. The shopkeeper smiled at the baby and touched her hand. The baby quieted for one breath. It was not enough. Inmer carried her further, to a tall blue building where families brought their odd and lonely children. He had never walked through those doors. He stood outside a long time. Then he went in and asked, plainly, for help. A woman listened. She wrote down his name. She told him others would come. That afternoon, he dragged bright curved pieces from a delivery cart into the yard behind the domed house and built a small glowing playground in the grass. By evening, two families stood at his gate. Their children climbed the neon arches and shrieked. The baby, held against his hot chest, opened her eyes wide at the noise and did not cry. Inmer breathed out. He had broken the quiet. But one of the mothers looked at the baby's shining eyes, then at his, and her face changed. She knew something. She stepped closer to ask. Inmer met her gaze and did not step back. The yard was loud now. The baby was safe tonight. Whatever the woman knew, it would come for him next.