Points of Origin Read Free

any of the moons along the way. Didn’t they teach you that?”
    They all shook their heads, wide-eyed. I added some more fish food to the tank, trying to think how to put it so they’d understand. “When the Martians got all settled in, some of us got nice and cozy, like your Grandma Judith and me. And we felt like Mars was a pretty nice place to live, couldn’t want better. But others—others had come to Mars because they wanted something new. And the new thing that Mars is wasn’t enough once it wasn’t new—they needed something they could reshape all the time.”
    â€œLike us,” said Harry, walking over and leaning against the side of my chair trustingly.
    â€œLike you,” I agreed. “Like your parents, and like you. Mars is closer to the Oort Cloud than you think. Not in distance,” I forestalled Harry. “But in philosophy.”
    â€œYou’re all—staying put,” said Enid.
    I didn’t press the point. Sometimes you can’t, when you’re the one with the power. But I thought, we’ll see.
    School was not the soul-transforming horror Richard had feared; he came back from it pleased and satisfied, having learned about the existence of soccer for the first time. Enid spoke in measured tones about how they decided who was in what class, what she liked, what she thought was promising. And Harry put his head in Judith’s lap and chattered. School was a mild success.
    It was nothing compared to ice-skating.
    Harry was the one who had said that they would fall a lot, but Harry hardly fell at all in just plain skating. To look at the child, you would think he had been born on skates, pushing off and gliding quite naturally, trying almost immediately to do turns and go backward. The turns were his nemesis: he kept going faster than he knew how to manage and tumbling down in a heap, but it only made him laugh and race off crazily in another direction, completely unrelated to his starting point and initial vector.
    Richard clung to the boards at first, trying to find his footing on the slippery sheet. The first time he fell, I jumped to my feet in the little observation bleachers, sure he would cry, but he got back up, looking grave and purposeful, and fell only once more before he gave up on the boards and tried skating without support. Harry skated in circles around him, encouraging him in the obnoxious bratty way that only a younger brother can.
    Enid was fairly good at inching along upright, but that was not enough for her. She saw the more experienced skaters gliding along, and a look of yearning crossed her thin little face. She was willing to fall and fall, again and again, so long as she could get better at gliding. By the time we called the children to go, she was almost as fast as Harry, and a great deal more controlled. She could return to her point of origin precisely and serenely at the end of every turn.
    They were all pink cheeked and beaming as they unlaced their rented skates. Judith gathered all three pairs and took them off to the return counter while the children put on their shoes.
    â€œWe have to do this again!” said Harry, jumping to his feet.
    â€œWe definitely have to do this again,” said Enid. “If it’s all right with Grandpa Torulf and Grandma Judith.”
    â€œWe won’t be able to come every week,” I said, “but I see no reason you can’t come skating from time to time.”
    â€œAnd we have to bring Dad when he finds us—” Richard stopped, staring up at me. I looked from him to his brother and sister, who were looking at the scuffed floor. I saw in them a truth I had not even considered: they were waiting for their missing father. They were sure, powerfully sure, that he was trying to find his way to them. That he would get them and take them home.
    â€œRichard,” I said gently. “Richard, let’s talk about this at home, all right?”
    He