Vusadka: the place where humans first set foot when their starships brought them to the planet they named Harmony. Their starships settled to the ground; the first of the colonists disembarked and planted crops in the lush land to the south of the landing field. Eventually all the colonists came out of the ships, moved on, left them behind.
Left to themselves, the ships would eventually have oxidized, rotted, weathered away. But the humans who came to this place had eyes for the future. Someday our descendants may want these ships, they said. So they enclosed the landing place in a stasis field. No wind-driven dust, no rain or condensation, no direct sunlight or ultraviolet radiation would strike the ships. Oxygen, the most corrosive of all poisons, was removed from the atmosphere inside the dome. The master computer of the planet Harmony-called “the Oversoul” by the descendants of those first colonists-kept all humans far away from the large island where the ships were harbored. Within that protective bubble, the starships waited for forty million years.
Now, though, the bubble was gone. The air here was breathable. The landing field once again rang with the voices of human beings. And not just the somber adults who had first walked this ground-many of those scurrying back and forth from one ship or building to another were children. They were all hard at work, taking functional parts from the other ships to transform one of them into an operational starship. And when the ship they called Basilica was ready, all parts working, fully stocked and loaded, they would climb inside for the last time and leave this world where more than a million generations of their ancestors had lived, in order to return to Earth, the planet where human civilization had first appeared-but had lasted for fewer than ten thousand years.
What is Earth to us, Hushidh wondered, as she watched the children and adults at work. Why are we going to such lengths to return there, when Harmony is our home. Whatever ties once bound us there surely rusted away in all these intervening years.
Yet they would go, because the Oversoul had chosen them to go. Had bent and manipulated all their lives to bring them to this place at this time. Often Hushidh was glad of the attention the Oversoul had paid to them. But at other times, she resented the feet that they had not been left to work out the course of their own lives.
But if we have no ties to Earth, we have scarcely more to Harmony, thought Hushidh. And she alone of the people here could see that this observation was literally, not just figuratively, true. All the people here were chosen because they had particular sensitivity to the mental communications of the Oversoul; in Hushidh, this sensitivity took an odd form. She could look at people and sense immediately the strength of the relationships binding them to all the other people in their lives. It came to her as a waking vision: She could see the relationships like cords of light, tying one person to the others in her life.
For instance, her younger sister, Luet, the only blood relative Hushidh had known through all her grow-ing-up years. As Hushidh rested in the shade, Luet came by, her daughter Chveya right behind her, carrying lunch into the starship for those who were working on the computers. All her life, Hushidh had seen her own connection to Lutya as the one great certainty. They grew up not knowing who their parents were, as virtual charity cases in Rasa’s great teaching house in the city of Basilica. All fears, all slights, all uncertainties were bearable, though, because there was Lutya, bound to her by cords that were no weaker for being invisible to everyone but Hushidh.
There were other ties, too, of course. Hushidh well remembered how painful it had been to watch the bond develop between Luet and her husband, Nafai, a troublesome young boy who had more enthusiasm than sense sometimes. To her surprise, however, Lutya’s new bond to her husband did not weaken her tie to Hushidh; and when Hushidh, in turn, married Nafai’s full brother, Issib, the tie between her and Luet grew even stronger than it had been in childhood, something Hushidh had never thought possible.
So now, watching Luet and Chveya pass by, Hushidh saw them, not just as a mother and daughter, but as two beings of light, bound to each other by a thick and shimmering cord. There was no stronger bond than this. Chveya loved her father, Nafai, too-but the tie between children and their fathers was always more tentative. It was in the nature of the human family: Children looked to their mothers for nurturance, comfort, the secure foundation of their lives. To their fathers, however, they looked for judgment, hoping for approval, fearing condemnation. It meant that fathers were just as powerful in their children’s lives, but no matter how loving and nurturing the father was, there was almost always an element of dread in the relationship, for the father became the focus of all the child’s fears of failure. Not that there weren’t exceptions now and then. Hushidh had simply learned to expect that in most cases, the tie with the mother was the strongest and brightest.
In her thoughts about the mother-daughter connection, Hushidh almost missed the thing that mattered. It was only as Luet and Chveya moved out of sight into the starship that Hushidh realized what had been almost missing: Lutya’s connection to her.
But that was impossible. After all these years? And why would the tie be weaker now? There had been no quarrel. They were as close as ever, as for as Hushidh knew. Hadn’t they been allies during all the long struggles between Luet’s husband and his malicious older brothers? What could possibly have changed?
Hushidh followed Luet into the ship and found her in the pilothouse, where Issib, Hushidh’s husband, was conferring with Luet’s husband, Nafai, about the life support computer system. Computers had never interested her-it was reality that she cared about, people with flesh and blood, not artificial constructs fabricated of ones and zeroes. Sometimes she thought that men reveled in computers precisely because of their unreality. Unlike women and children, computers could be completely controlled. So she took some secret delight whenever she saw Issya or Nyef frustrated by a stubbornly willful program until they finally found the programming error. She also suspected that whenever one of their children was stubbornly willful, Issya believed in his heart of hearts that the problem was simply a matter of finding the error in the child’s programming. Hushidh knew that it was not an error, but a soul inventing itself. When she tried to explain this to Issya, though, his eyes glazed over and he soon fled to the computers again.
Today, though, all was working smoothly enough. Luet and Chveya laid out the noon meal for the men, Hushidh, who had no particular errand, helped them- but then, when Luet started talking about the need to call the others working in the ship to come eat, Hushidh studiously ignored the hints and thus forced Luet and Chveya to go do the summoning.
Issib might be a man and he might prefer computers to children sometimes, but he did notice things. As soon as Luet and Chveya were gone, he asked, “Was it me you wanted to talk with, Shuya, or was it Nyef?”
She kissed her husband’s cheek. “Nyef, of course. I already know everything you think.”
“Before I even know it,” said Issib, with mock chagrin. “Well, if you’re going to talk privately, you’ll have to leave. I’m busy, and I’m not leaving the room with the food on any account.”
He did not mention that it was more trouble for him to get up and leave. Even though his lifts worked in the environs of the starships, so he wasn’t confined to his chair, it still took much effort for Issib to do any major physical movement.
Nyef finished keying in some command or other, then got up from his chair and led Hushidh out into a corridor. “What is it?” he asked.
Hushidh got right to the point. “You know the way I see things,” she said.
“You mean relationships among people? Yes, I know.”
“I saw something very disturbing today.”
He waited for her to go on.
“Luet is ... well, cut off. Not from you. Not from Chveya. But from everybody else.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” said Hushidh. “I can’t read minds. But it worries me. You’re not cut off. You still-heaven knows why-you still are bound by ties of love and loyalty even to your repulsive oldest brothers, even to your sisters and their sad little husbands-“
“I see that you have nothing but respect for them yourself,” said Nyef drily.
“I’m just saying that Luet used to have something of that same-whatever it is-sense of obligation to the whole community. She used to connect with everyone. Not like you, but with the women, perhaps even stronger. Definitely stronger. She was the caretaker of the women. Ever since she was found to be the Waterseer back in Basilica, she’s had that. But it’s gone.”
“Is she pregnant again? She’s not supposed to be. Nobody’s supposed to be pregnant when we launch.”
“It’s not like that, it’s not a withdrawal into self the way pregnant women do.” Actually, Hushidh was surprised Nafai had remembered that, Hushidh had only mentioned it once, years ago, that pregnant women’s connections with everyone around them weakened, as they focused inward on the child. It was Nafai’s way- for days, weeks, months, he would seem to be an overgrown adolescent, gawky, apt to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, giving the impression of never being aware of other people’s feelings. And then, suddenly, you’d realize that he was keenly aware all along, that he noticed and remembered practically everything. Which made you wonder if the times he was rude, he actually meant to be rude. Hushidh still hadn’t decided about that.
“So what is it?”
“I thought you could tell me? said Hushidh. “Has Luet said anything that would make you think she was separating from everybody except for you and your children?”
He shrugged. “Maybe she has and I didn’t notice. I don’t always notice.”
The very fact that he said so made Hushidh doubt it. He did notice, and therefore he had noticed. He just didn’t want to talk to Hushidh about it.
“Whatever it is,” said Hushidh, “you and she don’t agree about it.”
Nafai glared at her. “If you aren’t going to believe what I say, why do you bother to ask me?”
“I keep hoping that someday you’ll decide that I’m worthy to be trusted with the inner secrets.”
“My, but we’re feeling out of sorts today, aren’t we,” said Nafai.
It was when he started acting like a little brother that Hushidh most hated him. “I must mention to Luet sometime that she made a serious mistake when she stopped those women from putting you to death when you violated the sanctity of the lake back in Basilica.”
“I’m of the same opinion,” said Nafai. “It would have spared me the agony of watching you suffer through the distress of being my sister-in-law.”
“I would rather give birth every day, that’s how bad it is,” said Hushidh.
He grinned at her. “I’ll look into it,” he said. “I honestly don’t know why Luet would be separating herself from everybody else, and I think it’s dangerous, and so I’ll look into it.”
So he was going to take her seriously, even if he wasn’t going to tell her what he already thought the problem was. Well, that was about as much as she could hope for. Nafai might be leader of the community right now, but it wasn’t because he had any particular skill at it. Elemak, Nafai’s oldest brother, was the natural leader. It was only because Nafai had the Oversoul on his side-or, rather, because the Oversoul had Nafai on her side-that he had been given the power to rule. Authority didn’t come easily to him and he wasn’t always sure what to do with it-and what not to do. He made mistakes. Hushidh just hoped that this wouldn’t be one of those times.
Potya would be hungry. She had to get back home. It was because Hushidh was nursing a newborn that she was spared most duties involved with preparing for launch. In fact, the schedule for the launch had been set up to accommodate her pregnancy. She and Rasa had been the last to get pregnant before they found out that no one could be pregnant during the voyage. That was because the chemicals and low temperature that would maintain almost all of them in suspended animation during the voyage could do terrible things to an embryo. Rasa’s baby, a little girl she gave the too-cute name of Tsennyi, which meant “precious,” had been born a month before Hushidh’s third son and sixth child. Shyopot, she had named him, “Whisper.” Potya as his dearname, his quickname. Coming at the last moment, like a breath of a word from the Oversoul. The last whisper in her heart before she left this world forever. Issib had thought the name was odd, but it was better then “precious,” which they both thought was proof that Rasa had lost all sense of judgment and proportion. Potya was waiting, Potya would be hungry, Hushidh’s breasts were telling her so with some urgency.
On the way out of the ship, however, she passed Luet, who greeted her cheerfully, sounding like she always did, as loving and sweet as ever. Hushidh wanted to slap her. Don’t lie to me! Don’t seem so normal when I know that you have cut yourself off from me in hour heart! If you can put on our affectionate closeness like a mask, then I’ll never be able to take joy in it again.
“What’s wrong?” asked Luet.
“What could be wrong?” asked Hushidh.
“You wear your heart on your face,” said Luet, “at least to me. You’re angry at me and I don’t know why.”
“Let’s not have this conversation now,” said Hushidh.
“When, then? What have I done?”
“That’s exactly the question I’d like to know. What have you done? Or what are you planning to do?”
That was it. The slight flaring of Luet’s eyelids, her hesitation before showing a reaction, as if she were deciding what reaction she ought to show-Hushidh knew that it was something Luet was planning to do. She was plotting something, and whatever it was, it required her to become emotionally distant from everyone else in the community.
“Nothing,” said Luet, “I’m no different from anyone else these days, Hushidh. I’m raising my children and doing my work to prepare for the voyage.”
“Whatever it is you’re plotting, Lutya,” said Hushidh, “don’t do it. It isn’t worth it.”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“True, but you know. And I’m telling you, it isn’t worth cutting yourself off from the rest of us. It isn’t worth cutting yourself off from me”
Luet looked stricken, and this, at least, was no sham. Unless everything was a sham and always had been. Hushidh couldn’t bear to believe that.
“Shuya,” said Luet, “have you seen that? Is it true? I didn’t know, but maybe it’s true, maybe I’ve already cut myself off from-oh, Shuya.” Luet flung her arms around Hushidh.
Reluctantly-but why am I reluctant, she wondered-Hushidh returned the embrace.
“I won’t,” said Luet. “I won’t do anything that would cut me off from you. I can’t believe that I-can’t you do something about it?”
“Do something?” asked Hushidh.
“You know, the way you did to Rashgallivak’s men when he came to Aunt Rasa’s door that time, meaning to carry her daughters away. You tore his men’s loyalty from him and brought him down, just like that. Don’t you remember?”
Hushidh remembered, all right. But that had been easy, for she could see that the ties between Rash and his men were very weak, and it took only a few well-placed words and a bit of attitude to fill them with contempt for him and cause them to abandon him on the spot. “It’s not the same,” said Hushidh. “I can’t make people do things. I could strip Rash’s men of their loyalty because they didn’t really want to follow him anyway. I can’t rebuild your ties to the rest of us. That’s something you have to do yourself.”
“But I want to,” said Luet.
“What’s going on?” asked Hushidh. “Just explain it to me.”
“I can’t,” said Luet.
“Why not?”
“Because nothing is going on.”
“But something’s going to go on, is that it?”
“No!” said Luet, and now she sounded angry, adamant. “It will not happen. And therefore there’s nothing to discuss.” With that, Luet fled up the ladderway leading to the center of the ship, where the meal was waiting, where the others were gathering.
It’s the Oversoul, Hushidh knew then. The Oversoul has told Luet to do something that she doesn’t want to do. And if she does it, it will cut her off from all the rest of us. From everybody except her husband and children. What is it? What is the Oversoul up to?
And whatever it was, why hadn’t the Oversoul included Hushidh in it?
For the first time, Hushidh found herself thinking of the Oversoul as an enemy. For the first time, Hushidh discovered that she herself did not have any strong ties of loyalty to the Oversoul. Just like that, mere suspicion had dissolved them. What are you doing to me and my sister, Holy One? Whatever it is, cut it out.
But no answer came to her. Just silence.
The Oversoul has chosen Luet to do something, and she has not chosen me. What is it? I have to know. Because if it’s something terrible, I’m going to put a stop to it.
Luet did not like the building they lived in these days. Hard surfaces everywhere, smooth and unalive. She missed the wooden house they had lived in for eight years in their little village of Dostatok, before her husband found and opened the ancient starport of Vusadka. And before that, all her memories were of living in Rasa’s house in Basilica. City of women, city of grace; she yearned sometimes for the mists of the hidden and holy lake, for the noise of the crowded markets, for the endless rows of buildings elbowing their way out over the street. But this place-had the builders ever thought of it as beautiful? Had they liked to live in such dead places?
Yet it was home, all the same, because here was where her children gathered to sleep, to eat; where Nafai finally came home so late at night, to curl up wearily beside her on their bed. And when the time came to enter the starship they had named Basilica, she would no doubt miss this place also, the memories of frenzied work and excited children and groundless fears. If the fears turned out to be groundless.
Returning to Earth-what did that mean, when no human had been there for millions of years? And those dreams that kept coming into their minds, dreams of giant rats that seemed to be filled with a malevolent intelligence, dreams of batlike creatures who seemed to be allies but were still ugly beyond belief. Even the Over-soul did not know what those dreams meant, or why the Keeper of Earth might have sent them. Still, the overall impression Luet got from everyone’s dreams of Earth was that it was not going to be a paradise when they got there.
What really frightened her, though-and, she suspected, frightened everyone else, too-was the voyage itself. A hundred years asleep? And supposedly they would emerge without having aged a day? It seemed like something out of a myth, like the poor girl who pricked her finger on a mouse’s tooth and fell asleep, only to find that when she woke up, all the rich and beautiful girls were fat old ladies, while she remained the most youthful and beautiful of all. But still poor. That was an odd ending to that story, Luet always thought, that she was still poor. Surely there ought to be some version of it in which the king chose her be- . cause of her beauty instead of marrying the richest woman to get his hands on her estate. But that had nothing to do with what she was worrying about right now. Why had her mind wandered so far afield? Oh, yes. Because she was thinking about the voyage. About lying down on the ship and letting the life support system poke needles into her and freeze her for the voyage. How did they know that they wouldn’t simply die?
Well, they could have died a thousand times since things first started falling apart in Basilica. Instead they had lived this long, and the Oversoul had led them to this place, and so far things were working out reasonably well. They had their children. They had prospered. No one had died or even been seriously injured. Ever since Nafai had got the starmaster’s cloak from the Oversoul, even Elemak and Mebbekew, his hate-filled older brothers, had been relatively cooperative-and it was well-known that they hated the idea of voyaging back to Earth.
So why was the Oversoul so grimly determined to ruin everything?
<I’m grimly determined to save your lives, you and your husband.> Here in this place where the Oversoul actually lived, Luet heard the voice of the Oversoul far more easily than she ever had back in Basilica.
“The starmaster’s cloak will protect Nafai,” Luet murmured. “And he will protect us.”
<And when he’s old? When Elemak has taught his sons to hate you and your children? It’s elementary mathematics, Luet. When the division of your community comes-and it will come-on the one side there will be Elemak and his four sons, Mebbekew and his son, Obring and his two sons, Vas and his son. Four strong adult males, eight boys. And on your side, who?
Your husband, of course. But who are his allies? His father, Volemak?>
“Old,” murmured Luet.
<Yes, too old. And Issib is a frail cripple from birth. The only other man is Zdorab, and how can you guess where he will stand? >
“Even if he stood with Nafai, he isn’t much.”
<So you see the problem. Even with your four sons, Issib’s three, and Volemak’s two, it isn’t going to be much of an army. Anyway, Elemak will strike soon, before any of the children are old enough to matter. So it’s four strong and brutal men against one man who is not strong and not brutal.>
“Only if Nafai fails to hold everyone together.”
<Elemak is only biding his time. I know this. And so you will persuade him to do as I have shown you. . . . >
“You persuade him.”
<He won’t listen to me.>
“That’s because he knows that your plan would be a disaster. It would cause the very thing that you claim to be trying to prevent.”
<Of course there will be some resentment. . . . >
“Resentment! Oh, just a little, We reach Earth and all the adults are wakened from suspended animation, only to discover-oops!-Nafai and Luet somehow neglected to go into suspended animation themselves, and-oops again!-they somehow got a dozen of the older children to stay awake with them for the whole ten years of the voyage! So you see, my dear sister Shuya, when you went to bed your daughter Dza was only eight years old, but now she’s eighteen, and married to Padarok, who, by the way, is seventeen now- sorry about that, Shedemei and Zdorab, we knew you wouldn’t mind if we raised your only son for you. And while we had these children up, we happened to spend the whole time teaching them, so that now they are experts on everything they’ll need to know to build our colony. They’re also large and strong enough to do adult work. But-oops again!-none of your children, Eiadh and Kokor and Sevet and Dol, none of yours has had any of this training. Yours are still little children who won’t be much help at all.”
<I see that you have thought through every aspect of the plan. Why can’t you see that it is both necessary and flawless? >
“They’ll be furious,” said Luet. “They’ll all hate us- Volemak and Rasa and Issib and Shuya and Shedemei and Zdorab because we stole their oldest children from them, and all the others because we didn’t give the same advantage to their children.”
<They will be angry, but those who are my trusted friends will soon come to understand the necessity of having their children be older and stronger. It will change the balance of physical power in the community. It will keep you all alive.>
“They’ll always be sure that the only reason the community broke apart was because Nafai and I did such a terrible thing. They’ll hate us and blame us and they will certainly never trust us again.”
<I will tell them that it was my idea.>
“And they’ll say that you’re just a computer and of course you didn’t understand how humans would feel, but we understood, and we should have refused to do it.”
<Perhaps you should. But you won’t refuses
“I already refused. I refuse again now.”
<You refuse with your mouth and with your mind, but Hushidh saw that in your heart, you are already making ready to obey me.>
“No!” cried Luet.
“Mother?” It was Chveya’s voice, through the door of Luet’s room.
“What is it, Veya?”
“Who are you talking to?”
“Myself, in a dream. All foolishness. Go back to sleep.”
“Is Father home yet?”
“Still in the ship with Issib.”
“Mother?”
“Go to sleep now, Chveya. I mean it,”
She heard the scuffing sound of Chveya’s sandals on the floor. What had Chveya heard? How long had she been listening at the door?
<She heard everything.>
Why didn’t you warn me?
<Why did you speak out loud? I hear your thoughts.>
Because when I speak out loud my thoughts are clearer, that’s why. What’s your plan, to get Chveya to carry out your plot?
<Since you won’t discuss it with Nafai, I woke Chveya to hear what you were saying. She’ll bring it up with him.>
Why couldn’t you just talk to him yourself?
<He won’t listen to me,>
That’s because he’s a very wise man. That’s why I love him.
<He needs another perspective. You would have been best. Chveya will do.>
You leave my children alone.
<Your children are people in their own right. When you were Chveya’s age, you already were known as the Waterseer of Basilica. I didn’t notice you complaining that I had such a relationship with you then. And when Chveya first started getting dreams from the Keeper of Earth, I seem to recall that you rejoiced.>
“And to think I once thought of you as ... as a god.”
<And what do you think I am now?>
“If I didn’t know you were a computer program, I’d say you were a meddlesome, loathsome old bitch.”
<You can be angry at me if you like. It doesn’t hurt my feelings I even understand. But you have to take the long view, Luet. I do.>
“Yes, your view is so long that you hardly notice how you ruin the lives of little mayflies like us.”
<Has your life been so terrible up to now?>
“Let’s just say that it hasn’t gone as expected.”
<But has it been so terrible?>
“Shut up and leave me alone.”
Luet threw herself back down on the bed and tried to sleep. But she kept remembering: Hushidh saw that I am no longer connected to the others in the community. That means that somewhere in my heart I already have the unconscious intention of doing what the Over-soul has planned. So I might as well give up and do it consciously.
Do it and then spend the rest of my life knowing that my sister and Aunt Rasa and dear Shedemei all hate me and that I absolutely, completely deserve their hatred.
Everyone expected that Kiti’s sculpture this year would be a portrait of his otherself, kTi. That was Kiti’s intention, too, right up to the moment when he found his day by the riverbank and set to work, prying and loosening it with his spear. There had been no more beloved young man in the village than kTi, none more hoped-for; there was talk that one of the great ladies would choose him for her husband, an offer of life-marriage, extraordinary for one so young. If that had happened, then Kiti, as kTFs otherself, would have been taken into the marriage as well. After all, since he and kTi were identical, it made no difference which of them might be the sire of a particular child.
But he and kTi were not identical, Kiti knew. Oh, their bodies were the same, as with every other birthpair. Since about a quarter of all birthpairs both lived to maturity, it wasn’t all that rare to have two identical young men preparing to offer themselves to the ladies of the village, to be taken or rejected as a pair.
So by custom and courtesy, everyone showed Kiti the same respect they showed his otherself. But everyone knew that it was kTi, not Kiti who had earned their reputation for cleverness and strength.
I wasn’t entirely right for kTi to get all the credit for cleverness. Often when the two of them were flying together, watching over one of the village herds or scouting for devils or chasing crows away from the maizefields, it was Kiti who said, One of the goats is bound to try to go that way, or, That tree is one that’s likely for the devils to use. And at the beginning of their most famous exploit, it was Kiti who said, Let me pretend to be injured on that branch, while you wait with your spear on that higher perch. But when the story was told, it always seemed to be kTi who thought of everything. Why should people assume otherwise? It was always kTi who acted, it was always kTi whose boldness carried the day, while Kiti followed behind, helping, sometimes saving, but never leading.
Of course he could never explain this to anyone. It would be deeply shameful for one of a birthpair to try to take glory away from his otherself. And besides, as far as Kiti was concerned it was perfectly fair. For no matter how good an idea of Kiti’s might have been, it was always kTi’s boldness that brought it off.
Why did it turn out that way? Kiti wasn’t lacking in courage, was he? Didn’t he always fly right with kTi on his most daring adventures? Wasn’t it Kiti who had to sit trembling on a branch, pretending to be injured and terrified, as he heard the faint sounds of a devildoor opening in the tree trunk and the tiny noises of the devil’s hands and feet inching their way along the branch behind him? Why was it that no one realized that the greatest courage was the courage to sit still, waiting, trusting that kTi would come with his spear in time? No, the story that was told in the village was all about kTi’s daring plan, kTi’s triumph over the devil.
It was evil of me to be so angry, thought Kiti. That’s why my otherself was taken from me. That’s why when the storm caught us out in the open, kTi was the one whose feet and fingers Wind pried away from the branch, kTi was who was taken up into heaven to fly with the gods. Kiti was not worthy, and so his grip on the branch help until Wind went away. It was as if Wind were saying to him, You envied your otherself, so I have torn you apart to show you how worthless you are without him.
This was why Kiti meant to sculpt the face of his otherself. And this was why, in the end, he could not. For to sculpt the face of kTi was also to sculpt his own face, and he could not, in his deep unworthiness, bear to do that.
Yet he had to sculpt something. Already the saliva was flowing in his mouth to moisten the clay, to lick it and smooth it, to give a lustrous patina to the finished sculpture. But if he did not sculpt his otherself s face, so soon after kTi’s death, it would be scandalous. He would be seen as lacking in natural affection. The ladies would think that he didn’t love his brother, and so they wouldn’t want his seed in their family. Only some mere woman would offer to him. And he, overwhelmed with clay fever, would accept that offer like any eager boy, and she would bear his children, and he would look at them every year from then on remembering that he was the father of such low children because he could not bring himself to sculpt the face of his beloved kTi.
I did love him, he insisted silently. With all my heart I loved him. Didn’t I follow him wherever he decided? Didn’t I trust him with my life again and again? Didn’t I save him time after time, when his impetuosity brought him into peril? Didn’t I even urge him to turn back, a storm was coming, let’s find shelter, we have to find shelter, what does it matter if we find the devilpath on this flight or the next, turn back, turn back, and he wouldn’t, he ignored me as if I didn’t exist, as if I were nothing, as if I didn’t even get a vote on my own survival, let alone his.
The clay was growing moist, balling up and beginning to flow in his hands, but it was as much tears as saliva that moistened it. O Wind, thou tookest my otherself, and now I cannot find his face in the clay. Give me a shape, O Wind, if I am worthy! O Maize, if I am to bring you daughters to tend your fields, then give my fingers knowledge even if my mind is dull! O Rain, flow with my saliva and my tears and make the clay live under my hands! O Earth, thou deep-burning mother, make my bones wise, for they will someday belong to you again. Let me bring other bones, young bones, child bones out of your clay, O Earth! Let me bring young wings into your hands, O Wind! Let me make new grains of life for thee, O Maize! Let me bring new waterdrinkers, new weepers, new sculptors for dice to taste, O Rain!
Yet despite his pleading, the gods put no shape under his hands.
His tears blinded him. Should he give up? Should he fly up into the sky of the dry season and search for some faraway village that might want a sturdy male and never see Da’aqebla again? Or should his despair go even further? Should he put the clay out of his hands and yet remain there at the riverbank, exposed, for the watching devils to see that he had no sculpture in him? Then they would take him like an infant back to their caves, and devour him alive, so that in his dying moments he would see the devil queen eating his own heart. That was how his end should come. Carried down into hell, because he was not worthy to be taken by Wind up into heaven. kTi would have all the honor then, and not have to share it with his low, unworthy otherself.
His fingers worked, though he could not see what they shaped.
And as they worked, he stopped mourning his own failure, for he realized that there was a shape now under his hands. It was being given to him, in a way that he had only heard about. As a child, playing at sculpture with the other boys, he had been the cleverest every time, but he had never felt the gods interceding with his hands. What he shaped was always from his own mind and memory.
Now, though, he didn’t even know what it was that was growing under his hands, not at first. But soon, no longer grieving, no longer fearful, his vision cleared and he saw. It was a head. A strange head, not of a person or a devil or any creature Kiti had ever seen before. It had a high forehead, and its nose was pointed, hairless, smooth, the nostrils opening downward. Of what use was such a snout as this? The lips were thick and the jaw was incredibly strong, the chin jutting out as if it was competing with the nose to lead this creature forward into the world. The ears were rounded and stuck Out from the middle of the sides of the head. What kind of creature is this that I am shaping? Why is something so ugly growing under my hands?
Then, suddenly, the answer came into his mind: This is an Old One.
His wings trembled even as his hands continued, sure and strong, to shape the details of the face. An Old One. How could he know this? No one had ever seen an Old One. Only here and there, in some sheltered cave, was there found some inexplicable relic of their time upon the earth. Da’aqebla had only three such relics, and Da’aqebla was one of the oldest villages. How could he dare to tell the ladies of the village that this grotesque, malformed head that he was shaping was an Old One? They would laugh at him. No, they would be outraged that he would think they were foolish enough to believe such a nonsensical claim. How can we judge your sculpture, if you insist on shaping something that has never been seen by any living soul? You might have done better to leave the clay in a shapeless ball and say that it was a sculpture of a river stone!
Despite his doubts, his hands and fingers moved. He knew, without knowing how he knew, that there must be hair on the bony ridge over the eyes, that the fur of the head must be long, that there must be a depression centered under the nose and leading down to the lip. And when he was through, he did not know how he knew that it was finished. He contemplated what he had made and was appalled by it. It was ugly, strange, and far too large. Yet this way how it had to be.
What have you done to me, O gods?
He still sat, contemplating the head of the Old One, when the ladies came soaring, swooping down to the riverbank. At the fringes were the men whose sculptures had already been seen. Kiti knew them all, of course, and could easily guess at what their work was like. A couple of them were husbands, and because their lady was married to them for life their sculptures were no longer in competition with the others. Some of them were young, like Kiti, offering sculptures for the first time-and from their slightly hangdog expressions, Kiti could tell that they hadn’t made the impression that they hoped for. Nevertheless, the clay fever was on all the males, and so they hardly looked at him or his sculpture; their eyes were on the ladies.
The ladies stared in silence at his sculpture. Some of them moved, to study it from another angle. Kiti knew that the workmanship of his sculpture was exceptionally good, and that the sheer size of it was audacious. He felt the clay fever stirring within him, and all the ladies looked beautiful to him. He saw their skeptical expressions with dread-he longed now for them to choose him.
Finally the silence was broken, “What is this supposed to be?” whispered a lady. Kiti looked for the voice. It was Upua, a lady who had never married and who, in some years, had not even mated. It gave her a reputation for being arrogant, the hardest of the ladies to please. Of course she would be the lady who would interrogate him in front of all the others.
“It grew under my hands,” he said, not daring to tell them what it really was.
“Everyone thought that you would do honor to your otherself,” said another lady, emboldened by Upua’s disdainful question.
The hardest question. He dared not dodge it. Did he dare to tell the truth? “I meant to, but it was also my own face, and I wasn’t worthy to have my face sculpted in the clay.”
There was a murmur at that. Some thought that was a stupid reason; some thought it was deceptive; some gave it thought.
Finally the ladies began deciding. “Not for me.” “Ugly.” “Very odd.” “Interesting.” Whatever their comment, they took flight, rising up and circling, drifting toward the branches of the nearest trees. The men, no doubt feeling quite triumphant at the complete rejection of the supposedly talented Kiti, joined them there.
At last only Kiti and Upua remained upon the river-bank.
“I know what this is,” said Upua.
Kiti dared not answer.
“This is the head of an Old One,” she said.
Her voice carried to the ladies and men in the branches. They heard her, and many gasped or whistled their astonishment.
“Yes, Lady Upua,” said Kiti, ashamed at having his arrogance caught out. “But it was given to me under my hands. I never meant to sculpt such a thing.”
Upua said nothing for a long time, walking around the sculpture, circling it again and again.
“The day is short!” called one of the leading ladies from her perch in the trees.
Upua looked up at her, startled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wanted to see this and remember it, because we have been given a great gift by the gods, to see the face of the Old Ones.”
There was some laughter at this. Did she really think Kiti could somehow sculpt what no one had ever seen?
She turned to Kiti, who was so filled with clay fever now that he could only barely keep himself from throwing himself at her feet and begging her to let him mate with her.
“Marry me,” she said.
Surely he had misunderstood.
“Marry me,” she said again. “I want only your children from now on until I die.”
“Yes,” he said.
No other man had been so honored in a thousand years. On his first sculpting, to be offered marriage, and by a lady of such prestige? Many of the others, ladies and men alike, were outraged. “Nonsense, Lady Upua,” said another of the leading ladies. “You cheapen the institution of marriage by offering it to one so young, and for such a ridiculous sculpture.”
“He has been given the face of an Old One by the gods. Let all of you come down here and study this sculpture again. We will not leave here for two songs, so that all of us will remember the face of the Old Ones and we can teach our children what we’ve seen this day.”
And because she was the lady who had offered marriage and been accepted on this spot, the others had to do her will for the space of two songs. They studied the head of the Old One, and together Kiti and Upua entered into the legends of the village of Da’aqebla forever. They also entered into marriage, and Kiti, who would have trembled at the thought of being the husband of such a terrifying lady, would soon learn that she was a kind and loving wife, and that to be an attentive and protective husband to her would bring him only joy. He would still miss kTi from time to time after that, but never again would he think that Wind had punished him by not catching him up to heaven with kTi.
On this day, however, they did not know what the future would bring. They only knew that Kiti was the boldest sculptor who had ever lived, and because his boldness had won him a lady as his wife, it raised him at once in their estimation. He was truly kTi’s otherself, and though kTi was taken from them, in Kiti his courage and cleverness would live on until, with age, they would become strength and wisdom.
When the two songs had passed, when the flock of ladies and men arose and went on to the next man, dark shapes emerged from the shadows of the trees. They, too, circled the strange sculpture, and then finally picked it up and carried it away, though it was uncommonly large and heavy and they did not understand it.
It just slipped out. Chveya didn’t intend to tell anyone what she had heard outside Mother’s door last night. She could keep a secret. Even a devastating secret like the fact that Mother was planning for Dazya to grow up and marry Rokya during the voyage. What did that mean, that Chveya was supposed to marry Proya or something? That would be fan, wouldn’t it. He should marry Dazya, so the two bossiest children could boss each other to their heart’s content. Why did Chveya’s own mother want Dazya to get the best boy who wasn’t a double first cousin?
Chveya was still brooding about this when Dazya started yelling at her for some stupid thing-leaving a door open that Dazya wanted closed, or closing it when Dazya wanted it open-and Chveya just blurted out, “Oh, shut up, Dazya, you’re going to grow up and marry Rokya during the voyage anyway, so you can at least let me decide about doors.”
And it wasn’t Chveya’s fault that Rokya happened to be coming through the door with his father right then, carrying baskets of bread to be frozen for the voyage.
“What are you talking about?” said Rokya. “I wouldn’t marry either of you.”
It wasn’t Rokya’s reaction that worried Chveya. It was Rokya’s father, little Zdorab. “Why are you thinking about who will marry Padarok?” asked Zdorab.
“He’s just the only one who’s not a cousin or something,” said Chveya, blushing.
“Veya always thinks about marriage,” said Dazya. Then, helpfully, she added, “She’s sick in the head.”
“You’re only eight years old,” said Zdorab, smiling with amusement. “Why would you think marriages would be happening during the voyage?”
Chveya clamped her mouth shut and shrugged. She knew that she shouldn’t have repeated anything she heard outside her mother’s door. If she said nothing more now, perhaps Zdorab and Rokya and Dazya would forget about it and then Mother would never know that Chveya was a spy and a blabber.
Elemak listened to Zdorab impassively. Mebbekew was not so calm. “I should have known. Planning to steal our children from us!”
“I doubt it,” said Elemak.
“You heard him!” cried Mebbekew. “You don’t think Chveya would invent this scheme of keeping children awake so they’d grow up during the voyage, do you?”
“I mean,” said Elemak, “that I doubt Nyef would choose to keep our children awake.”
“Why not? He could have ten years to poison their minds against us.”
“He knows that if he did that to me, I would kill him,” said Elemak.
“And he knows that I would not,” said Zdorab. “Imagine-telling his daughter about it, but not even mentioning a hint of it to us.”
Elemak thought about that for a moment. Such carelessness wouldn’t be unheard of in Nafai, but still he doubted it. “It may not be Nafai’s plan, you know. It might be Chveya’s mother. Perhaps the Waterseer still misses the influence she had back in Basilica.”
“Perhaps she fancies the idea of running a school like her mother did,” said Mebbekew.
“But what can we do about it, anyway?” asked Zdorab, “He has the cloak of the starmaster. He has the Index. He controls the ship. No matter what he says, what’s to stop him from waking our children during the voyage and doing whatever he wants?”
“The food supply isn’t infinite,” said Elemak. “He can’t wake everybody.”
“Think about it, though,” said Mebbekew. “What if we wake up and his son Zhatva is a tall seventeen-year-old? Nyef was tall at that age. While our children are still little. And Father’s last two boys, Oykib and Yasai. And your Padarok, Zdorab.”
Zdorab smiled wanly. “Padarok won’t be tall,”
“He’ll be a man. It’s not a stupid plan,” said Mebbekew. “He’ll have indoctrinated them during the voyage to see things his way.”
Elemak nodded. He had already thought of all this. “The question is, what will we do about it?”
“Stay awake ourselves.”
Elemak shook his head. “He’s already said that the ship won’t launch until everyone but him is asleep.”
“Then we won’t go at all!” said Mebbekew. “Let him take off for Earth and as soon as he’s gone, we can take our families back to Basilica.”
“Meb,” said Elemak, “have you forgotten that we aren’t rich anymore? Life in Basilica would be miserable. If they didn’t throw us in prison. Or kill us on sight.”
“And the journey would be miserable, with little children,” added Zdorab. “Not to mention the feet that Shedemei and I don’t want to do that.”
“So fly with Nafai,” said Mebbekew. “I don’t care what you do.”
Elemak listened to Mebbekew with disgust. What kind of fool was he, anyway? Zdorab had brought them the story of what Chveya had said. Zdorab had never been an ally before, but now, his children threatened, they had a good chance to wean him away from Nafai for good. Then Nafai’s party would consist only of himself, Father, and Issib-in other words, Nyef, the old man, and the cripple.
“Zdorab,” said Elemak, “I take this very seriously. I think that we have no choice but to seem to go along with Nafai’s plans. But surely there’s some way to get into the ship’s computer and set it up to waken us well into the voyage, at a time when Nafai will think he’s having everything his own way and so he won’t be expecting us. The suspended animation chambers are far from the living quarters of the ship. What do you think?”
“I think that’s stupid,” said Mebbekew “Have you forgotten what the ship’s computer is?”
“Is it?” Elemak asked Zdorab. “Is the ship’s computer identical with the so-called Oversold?”
“Well,” said Zdorab, “when you think about it, maybe not. I mean, the Oversoul was set into place after the starships first came here. He’s loading part of himself into the ship’s computers, but he’s not as familiar with it as he is with the hardware he’s been inhabiting for the past forty million years.”
“He,” muttered Mebbekew scornfully. “It, you mean.”
Elemak never let his gaze waver from Zdorab’s face.
“Um,” said Zdorab. “I’m not sure. But I don’t think the original voyagers would have ... I mean, they didn’t turn their own lives over to the Oversoul. It was the next generation, not themselves. So maybe the ship’s computers. ...”
“And maybe,” said Elemak, “if you find some way to be clever about it.”
“Misdirection,” said Zdorab, “There’s a calendar program, for scheduling events during the voyage. Course corrections, and so on. But the Oversoul would be checking that often, I imagine.”
“Think about it,” said Elemak. “It’s really not the sort of thing I do well.”
Zdorab preened visibly. Elemak had expected that. Zdorab, like all weak and studious little men, was flattered to have the respect of someone like Elemak, a large, strong man, a leader, charismatic and dangerous. It was easy to win him over. After all these years of seeing Zdorab in Nafai’s pocket, it had been astonishingly easy after all. It took patience. Waiting. Burning no bridges.
“I’m counting on you,” said Elemak. “But whatever you do, don’t talk about it afterward. Not even to me. Who knows what the computer can hear?”
“As in, for instance, it’s probably heard everything we said here,” said Mebbekew snottily.
“As I say, Zdorab, do your best. It might not be possible. But if you can do something, it’s more than Meb or I can do.”
Zdorab nodded thoughtfully.
He’s mine now, thought Elemak. I have him. No matter what happens, Nyef has lost him, and all because he or his wife didn’t keep their mouths shut in front of their children. Weak and foolish, that’s what Nafai was. Weak, foolish, and unfit to lead.
And if he did anything to harm Elemak’s children, then it wouldn’t be just Nafai’s position of leadership that he’d lose. But then, it was only a matter of time, anyway. Perhaps after Father died, but the day would come when all the insults and humiliations would be redressed. Men of honor do not forgive their lying, cheating, spying, traitorous enemy.
“Let’s take a walk,” said Nafai to Luet.
She smiled at him. “Aren’t we tired enough already?”
“Let’s take a walk,” he said again.
He led her from the maintenance building where they all lived, out across the hard, flat ground of the landing field. He kd her, not toward the starships, but out into the open, until they were far from anyone else.
“Luet,” he said.
“Oh,” she said. “We’re upset about something.”
“I don’t know about us,” he said. “But I’m upset.”
“What did I do?”
“I don’t know if you did anything,” he said. “But Zdorab entered a wake-up date into the ship’s calendar.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He set it for halfway through the voyage. It was to wake up him. And Shedemei. And Elemak.”
“Elemak?”
“Why would Zdorab do that?” asked Nafai.
“I have no idea,” said Luet.
“Well, can you think about it for a minute? Can you think about something that you might know, that might allow you to figure it out?”
Luet was getting angry now. “What is this, Nafai? If you know something, if you want to accuse me of something, then-“
“But I don’t know anything,” said Nafai. “The Over-soul told me about finding Zdorab’s little wake-up schedule. And then I said, Why? And then he said, Ask Luet.”
Luet blushed. Nafai raised an eyebrow. “So,” he said. “Now it all comes together?”
“It’s the Oversoul that’s playing games with us.”
“Oh, really?” said Nafai.
“It shouldn’t surprise us,” said Luet. “That’s what she’s been doing all along.”
“Do you mind letting me know what the game is this time?”
“It has to be related, though I don’t sec ... oh, yes I do. Chveya heard me.”
Nafai put his fingers to his forehead. “Oh, now it’s all clear. Chveya heard you what?”
“Talking to the Oversoul. Last night. About-you know.”
“No, I don’t know.”
“You can’t be serious,” she said.
“More serious by the minute.”
“You mean the Oversoul hasn’t even brought it up with you? About keeping the children awake on the voyage?”
“Don’t be absurd. We don’t have enough supplies to keep everybody awake. It’s ten years!”
“I don’t know,” said Luet. “The Oversoul said that we had enough supplies to keep you and me and twelve of the children awake through most of the voyage.”
“And why would we do that?” asked Nafai. “The whole point of the suspended animation is that ten years in a starship will be incredibly boring. I’m not even planning to be awake the whole time. Should our children spend ten years of their lives-more than half!-sitting around inside that metal pot?”
“The Oversoul never talked to you about it,” she said. “That makes me so angry.”
Nafai looked at her, waiting for an explanation.
“It would be our older children, all but the twins, and Shuya’s down to Netsya, and Shedemei’s boy and girl, and your brothers Oykib and Yasai.”
“Why not the little ones?”
“You can’t spend your first two years of life in low gravity.”
“It can’t work,” said Nafai. “Even if the others would stand for it, the children would have no one their own age to marry except Shedya’s two. The rest would be siblings or double first cousins or, at the best, Oykib and Yasai, and they’re single first cousins.”
“Nyef, I’ve said this to her over and over. Do you think I don’t know what a stupid idea it is? That’s what Chveya must have heard last night. I was arguing with the Oversoul.”
“You don’t have to talk out loud to the Oversoul, Luet,” he said.
“I do,” she said.
“Well, whatever happened, Zdorab apparently thinks he has to wake up in the middle of the voyage to check up on me.”
“I imagine he’s angry,” said Luet.
“Well, there’s only one tiling we can do.” Nafai took her by the hand. They headed back to the maintenance building.
It took only a few minutes to gather all the adults into the kitchen, surrounding the large table where they ate their meals in shifts. As usual, Elemak looked quietly annoyed, while Mcbbekew was openly hostile. “What’s all this?” he demanded. “Can’t we even go to sleep at a normal hour anymore?”
“There’s something that needs straightening out right now,” said Nafai.
“Oh, did one of us do something bad?” asked Meb, tauntingly.
“No,” said Nafai. “But some of you think that Luet is planning something-no, come to think of it, you probably think that I’m planning it-and I want to get it out in the open right now”
“Openness,” said Hushidh. “What a novel idea.”
Nafai ignored her. “Apparently the Oversoul has been trying to persuade Luet that we should do something foolish with some of the children on the voyage.”
“Foolish?” Volemak, Nafai’s father, looked puzzled.
“Foolish,” said Nafai. “Like keeping some of them awake during the voyage.”
“But that would be so boring for them” said Nafai’s older sister, Kokor.
Nafai did not answer her, just looked around from face to face. It was gratifying to see that even Elemak, who surely knew about the idea of keeping children awake and understood all the implications, was not looking a bit surprised by what Nafai was doing. “I know that some of you were aware of this even before I was. The only reason I found out about it at all was because the Oversoul found the wake-up signal you put into the ship’s calendar, Zdorab.”
Mebbekew’s quick glance at Zdorab, and his equally quick glance away, confirmed that he, too, had known about the wake-up signal. He probably even thought Zdorab’s little alarm clock would wake him up along with the others. But of course Zdorab knew that waking Mebbekew would be useless. If only Meb understood the contempt that everyone held him in. But then, he probably did, which was why he was so relentlessly belligerent.
“I think, Zdorab, that it’s a good idea,” said Nafai. “Of course the Oversoul removed your wake-up signal, but I will put a new one in. At midpoint of the voyage, all the adults will be wakened. Just for a day, so you can inspect all your sleeping children and make sure that they’re the age they were when you left them. I can’t think of any better way for you to make sure that the Oversoul did not get his way in this.”
Volemak chuckled. “Do you really think you can fool the Oversoul?”
Luet spoke up. “The Oversoul understands many things, but she is not a human being. She doesn’t understand what it would cost us, if our children’s childhood was taken away from us. How would you feel, Aunt Rasa, if you woke up and found that Okya and Yaya were eighteen- and seventeen-year-old men? That you had missed all the years in between?”
Rasa smiled thinly. “I would never forgive anyone who did that to me. Even the Oversoul.”
“I was trying to explain that to the Oversoul. She doesn’t understand human feelings sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” murmured Elemak,
“I ... I spoke out loud. In the privacy of my room. Nafai was working late. But Chveya got up and she must have listened for a rather long time before she knocked.”
“Are you saying that your daughter is a sneak?” said Mebbekew, pretending to be shocked.
Luet didn’t look at him. “Chveya didn’t understand what she was hearing. I’m sorry that it caused everyone to be disturbed. I know some of you knew about it, and some of you did not, but when Nafai learned about it a few minutes ago he and I rushed back here and . . . here we are.”
“Tomorrow, Zdorab can verify that the wake-up signal is set for midvoyage. The only way that it won’t wake us up is if the Oversoul cancels it during one of the many times that I’ll be asleep myself. But I don’t think that’s likely, because as soon as I woke up again, I’d waken you all myself manually. I’m telling you now, once and for all, that there will be no games played with the passage of time. Our children will be, when we arrive, the same ages they were when they left. The only person who will have aged during the voyage is me, and believe me, I have no interest in aging any more than the minimum necessary to operate the ship safely.”
“Why are you needed awake at all?” asked Obring, Kokor’s husband, a little snake of a man, in Nafai’s considered opinion.
“The ships weren’t designed to be run by the Over-soul,” said Nafai. “In fact, the Oversoul’s program wasn’t fully written until after the original fleet arrived on Harmony. The computers here can hold the Over-soul’s program, but no single program is able to control all the computers on the ship at once. It’s for safety. Redundancy. The systems can’t all fail at once. Anyway, there are things that I have to do from time to time.”
“That someone has to do,” murmured Elemak.
“I have the cloak,” said Nafai. “And that point was settled a while ago, I think. Do you really want to dredge up old arguments?”
Nobody wanted to, apparently.
“Son,” said Volemak, “you won’t be able to stop the Oversoul from doing what it knows is right.”
“The Oversoul is wrong,” said Nafai. “It’s that simple. None of you would ever forgive me if I obeyed the Oversoul in this.”
“That’s right,” said Mebbekew.
“And I would never forgive myself,” said Nafai. “So the issue is closed. Zdorab will see the calendar tomorrow, and he and anybody else who cares can look at it again just before we launch.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Elemak. “I think we can all sleep more easily tonight knowing that nothing is being planned behind our backs. Thank you for being so honest and open with us.” He arose from the table.
“No,” said Volemak. “You can’t get away with rebellion against the Oversoul. No one can! Not even you, Nafai.”
“You and Nafai can discuss this all you want, Father,” said Elemak. “But Edhya and I are going to bed.” He got up from the table and, putting his arm around his wife, led her out of the room. Most of the others followed-Kokor and her husband Obring, Sevet and her husband Vas, Meb and his wife Dolya. On their way out, Hushidh and Issib stopped for a few words with Nafai and Luet. “Very good idea,” Hushidh said, “calling everybody together like this. It was very persuasive. Except that Elemak won’t believe anything you do. So it just convinced him you were being devious.”
“Thanks for the instant analysis,” Luet said nastily.
“I appreciate it,” Nafai said quickly. “I don’t expect Elemak to take anything I do at face value.”
“I just wanted you to know,” said Hushidh, “that the barrier between you and Elemak is stronger and deeper than any bond between any two people here. In a way, that’s a kind of bond, too. But if you thought that this little scene today was going to win him over, you failed.”
“And what about you?” said Luet. “Did it win you over?”
Hushidh smiled wanly. “I still see you separated from everyone else except your husband and children, Luet. When that changes, I’ll start believing your husband’s promises.” Then she turned and left. Issib smiled and shrugged helplessly and drifted out after her.
Zdorab and Shedemei lingered. “Nafai,” said Zdorab, “I want to apologize. I should have known that you wouldn’t-“
“I understand perfectly,” said Nafai. “It looked to you as if we were planning something behind your back. I would have done the same, if I’d thought of it.”
“No,” said Zdorab. “I should have spoken to you privately. I should have found out what was happening.”
“Zdorab, I would never do anything to your children without your consent.”
“And I would never give it,” he said. “We have fewer children than anyone. To think of the two of them- having their childhood taken away from us-“
“It won’t happen,” said Nafai. “I don’t want your children. I want the voyage to pass quickly and uneventfully and for us to establish our new colony on Earth. Nothing else. I’m sorry you had to even worry about it.”
Zdorab smiled then. Shedemei didn’t. She glared at Nafai and then at Luet. “I didn’t ask to come on this journey, you know.”
“It would be impossible for us to succeed without you,” said Nafai.
“But there is one question,” said Luet.
“No, Lutya,” said Nafai. “Haven’t we already-“
“It’s something we have to know!” said Luet. “No matter what. I mean it has to be obvious to you, Shedya, that your two children are the only ones who won’t face a consanguinity problem.”
“Obviously,” said Shedemei.
“But what about the others? I mean, isn’t it dangerous for all of us?”
“I don’t think it will be a problem,” said Shedemei.
“Why not?” asked Luet.
“The only time it’s bad for cousins to marry is when there’s a recessive gene that leads to problems. When cousins marry, their children can get the recessive gene from both sides, and therefore it expresses itself. Mental retardation. Physical deformity. Debilitating disease. That sort of thing.”
“And that’s not a problem?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention?” asked Shedemei. “Didn’t you learn anything back in Basilica? The Oversoul has been breeding you all for years. Bringing your father and mother together, for instance, Luet, all the way from opposite sides of the sea. The Oversoul has already made sure your genetic molecules are clean. You don’t have any recessive traits that will cause harm.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because if you did, they would already have expressed themselves. Don’t you get it? The Oversoul has been marrying cousins together for years to get you people who are so receptive to her influence. Any idiots or cripples have already shown up and been bred out.”
“Not all,” said Rasa. Everyone knew at once that she was thinking of Issib, Nafai’s older full brother. His large muscles hopelessly uncontrollable from birth, he had never been able to walk or move without the help of magnetic floats or a flying chair.
“No,” said Shedemei. “Of course not all.”
“So if my children, for instance, married Hushidh’s children. . . .” Luet didn’t finish the sentence.
“Hushidh already asked me this years ago,” said Shedemei. “I thought she would have told you.”
“She didn’t,” said Luet.
“Issib’s problem is not genetic. It was prenatal trauma.” Shedemei looked at Rasa. “I imagine Aunt Rasa didn’t know she was pregnant when it happened.”
Rasa shook her head. No one asked her what it was that she had, in all innocence, done to Issib in the womb.
“It won’t be passed on in your children’s genes,” said Shedemei. “You can marry your children off to your heart’s content. If that means you’ll be leaving my children alone now, I’ll be very thankful.”
“We weren’t planning anything!” cried Luet, outraged.
“I believe that Nafai wasn’t,” said Shedemei, “because he discussed it with us all at once.”
“I wasn’t going to do it either!” insisted Luet.
“I think you were,” said Shedemei. “I think you still intend to.” She turned and left the room, Zdorab following nervously behind her.
In the corridor outside, Zdorab found Elemak waiting. Letting Shedemei stalk on ahead, Zdorab and Elemak fell in beside each other. “So you were very subtle about it, I see,” said Elemak.
Zdorab looked up at him and smiled. “I was certainly clumsy, wasn’t I? The Oversoul found my wake-up signal right away.” Then he winked and walked faster, leaving Elemak behind. Elemak walked slowly, thinking. Then he smiled slightly and turned down the corridor leading to his family’s rooms.
Back in the kitchen, only Volemak and Rasa remained with Nafai and Luet. “You’re being foolish,” said Volemak. “You must do what the Oversoul commands.”
“What the Oversoul commands,” said Luet, “is for us to concede that our colony will be permanently split into two irreconcilable factions, and to act in such a way as to make the rift so deep it will last for generations.”
“Then do it,” said Volemak.
“This discussion is pointless,” said Nafai. “Isn’t it, Mother?” Rasa signed. “There are things that no decent person will do,” she said. “Even for the Oversold.”
“There are larger issues,” said Volemak.
“I have these three last children,” said Rasa. “Oykib, Yasai, and my little precious daughter. I would hate forever anyone who took them away from me. Even you.” She looked from Nafai to Luet. “Or you.” And then she looked at her husband, “Or you.” She stood up and left the room.
Volemak sighed and rose to his feet. “You’ll see,” he said. “The Oversold isn’t to be flouted.”
“Somewhere along in here,” said Nafai, “the Over-soul has to take into account our feelings.”
But Volemak didn’t stay to hear him finish his sentence.
Luet put her arms around Nafai and held him. “I should have told you before,” she said. “But I was afraid you’d just do whatever the Oversold told you.”
“The Oversold knows me better than you do, apparently,” said Nafai. “That’s why he didn’t tell me at all.”
“Come to bed, husband,” said Luet.
“I have some work to do,” he said.
“So we leave a day later,” she said.
“I have some work to do.”
She signed, kissed him, and left.
Nafai cut himself a slice of bread, wrapped it around a slightly overripe podoroshny, and bit off chunks of it as he left the maintenance building and walked back to the starship.
<Aren’t you the clever one.>
I think so, answered Nafai silently.
<Everyone thinks I never even discussed this with you.>
You never did.
<Ignoring me is not the same thing as never having heard me.>
It was never a discussion. It won’t happen.
<It will because it must. You’ll be killed and so will Luet if you don’t.>
You can’t see the future.
<Elemak will take your children and make slaves of them.>
He won’t punish chddren for what their parents do.
<He’ll call it adopting them. Eiadh is the one who’ll turn it into slavery.>
It won’t happen.
<It will happen if you don’t surround yourself with six more young men whose loyalty to you is completes And I’m telling you again, for the thousandth time, that I will not even consider it without their parents’ consent. And I will not lift a finger to persuade them. In fact, I’ll argue against it.
<That’s a very wise strategy, Nafai. Then they won’t be able to blame you when they regret giving their consent.>
Nafai shook his head. They’ll never agree to it, he said silently.
<You underestimate my influence.>