Six Moon Dance Part 7

He looked up startled, but she had turned away.

"How does it apply to any of you? You will learn to impart an aura of danger because women find it thrilling, though it is only the aura, not the reality that we seek to achieve. It may take no more than a wicked smile to convey a delicious threat that will increase a woman's feeling of vulnerability to you while at the same time increasing her feeling of safety. Don't expect this to make sense at the rational level, it doesn't. It makes sense only in the b.e.s.t.i.a.l bas.e.m.e.nts of women's minds, where a mate strong enough to fight off a cave bear was a plus, even if he occasionally knocked his mate into the fire.

"Don't confuse fantasy and reality. It is all too possible to be so swept up in the fantasy that one continues into reality, but the Consort who crosses that line is lost. We never speak of them by name, but I could tell you of more than one who injured a patroness and died in shame and obloquy. Learn your own danger signals. Learn how to control yourselves.

"In your training, you will learn to use these instincts. You will learn how to look and sound dangerous. For example, we stage duels that appear quite real, but we intervene at a point when the combatants are equally advantaged so that both partic.i.p.ants can be made to seem dangerous. Each one will then say to his own particular audience, 'They made us stop because they had a lot invested in him, and they were afraid I would kill him.' Properly said, with a choke in the voice and furious tears in the eyes, this goes over well. Danger whispers to a woman, 'He's so strong, he's so fearless, he can protect me.'

"This is the effect you will be trained to convey. You will seem larger than life, dangerous and perilous, while really being self-controlled. When a woman buys a Consort, she wants something larger than life. If you were mere Men of Business, you would not be tempting to your patronesses."

She fell silent, took a sip of water, looked up to see a hand respectfully raised.

"Yes, Mouche? You have a question?"

"Why must we never hurt a woman, Madame? My mother made my father very unhappy sometimes. I used to think if he would hit her, he would feel better." There. He had proved he'd been listening.

Madame nodded. "That raises several issues: "There has been much woman-wastage in history. Women have been used as breeders only, as dawn to dusk agricultural workers, as beasts of burden. They have been unconsidered, used up, untaught, cast aside, injured or killed, not allowed to grow or live to their potential. In societies that do this, it is a 'way of life,' but there is little or no culture. Heteros.e.xual males, when by themselves, seem to fall naturally into the gang pattern where rape is an amus.e.m.e.nt or a battle tactic. Haraldson's edicts, however, make it clear that we expect more than that from humanity.

"Here on Newholme we choose to be human and we cannot afford to waste women's reproductive nature or their cultural talents. Injury is forbidden. Injury invalidates a marriage, no matter how much dowry has been paid, and a husband or Consort who purposely kills or injures a woman is invariably blue-bodied.

"Any other questions? Good. We will discuss this further on future occasions. You are excused."

13.

At the Mercy of the Mountain.

A short walk from House Genevois, the Panhagion stood on a low mound a few streets west of the river, just outside the main business district but accessible from the broad, straight length of the boulevard that connected the north and south gates of the city. A fraction of every dowry paid for a wife went to support the Panhagion. A fraction of every Consort's pay went to support the Panhagion. Every Hag, every Hagger, every Temple worker or young married woman doing her matron's stint of Temple duty was jealous of the honor of the Panhagion, for it was the center of religious life not only in Sendoph but in all of settled Newholme. short walk from House Genevois, the Panhagion stood on a low mound a few streets west of the river, just outside the main business district but accessible from the broad, straight length of the boulevard that connected the north and south gates of the city. A fraction of every dowry paid for a wife went to support the Panhagion. A fraction of every Consort's pay went to support the Panhagion. Every Hag, every Hagger, every Temple worker or young married woman doing her matron's stint of Temple duty was jealous of the honor of the Panhagion, for it was the center of religious life not only in Sendoph but in all of settled Newholme.

Most women chose to deliver their babies in the birthing center in the vaults below the Temple, where birth was considered sacramental and where the most skilled mid-wives were found. If some could not deliver at the Temple, at least they tried to have Temple midwives. The viral invasion of the X chromosome that killed half of all female infants on Newholme while allowing virtually all of the boy children to live was best understood by the Temple midwives.

The domed hall of the fortress became the Panhagion Sanctuary, a place for the adoration of the Hagions, the female deities. The lower levels surrounding this s.p.a.ce and accessible from the forecourt were given over to the offices that conducted public business. In the vaults below, the Hags Observant, each of whom could count over forty years service to the Hagions, supervised the birthing suites and the secret rituals. Their lengthy lives of service were rewarded by the provision of luxurious living quarters in the towers at the back of the Temple.

Among the Hags Observant were two cousins, D'Jevier and Onsofruct Pa.s.senger, who had been born in the Temple and had, at the Hags' order, been reared there. D'Jevier was tall and extremely slender, with tightly drawn nut-brown skin that gleamed slightly in the lamplight. Onsu-fruct was a year or so older, shorter, darker, and rounder. Except when bathing or sleeping, they wore what all the Hags wore: soft, long-sleeved, high-necked gowns with close-fitting wimples that hid their necks and heads and served as an anchor for the complicated folds and twists of the bright headscarves that marked their rank. The colors of their gowns betokened their lengths of service. Novices wore yellow; young women, green; middle-aged women, blue; and crones, shades of red that increased in vividness with their years. D'Jevier and Onsofruct had pa.s.sed into cronehood some time since; they wore gowns and figured kerchiefs the bright crimson of fresh blood or burning coals.

The garments were so vivid that someone looking upward at the balcony where the cousins stood, high on the east side of the residence tower, might have thought the tower was on fire, a conflagration echoing that on the eastern scarp. There a crimson gash had recently appeared below a billowing eruption of ash, and this great gray cloud had opened a gaping sleeve of angry flame to stretch a cinereous arm toward Sendoph.

D'Jevier's voice quavered as she remarked, "It's worse than it's ever been!" She sipped from her winegla.s.s as she watched the smoky fist sail toward her, closer and closer, the fat, billowy fingers extending. So huge, so incorporeal, so deadly, nonetheless. Her fancied confrontation with this monster was aborted by a gust of wind that swept down the valley of the Giles, breaking the ashen cloud into scattered shreds of gray.

She murmured, "I wish we could ask the Council of Worlds for help."

"Help to do what?" Onsofruct asked. "We can't ask for evacuation. There are too many of us."

"I read something about HoTA devising some new method of controlling earthquakes...."

"Can they do it from off-planet?"

"No. I'm sure not. It involved burning deep wells along the fault lines and pumping in some kind of shock-absorbing liquid. It doesn't stop the earth moving, but it does make the movement smooth instead of shuddering. It's the shaking does the worst damage...."

"Well, take your pick," said D'Jevier. "Die in a quake or invite COW in and die anyhow."

"You think the Council of Worlds would really kill us all?"

"In the first place, they'd send the Questioner. The Questioner doesn't even need council approval anymore, hasn't for at least a century. And what the Questioner would do would be worse than merely killing us all."

"If she comes here, she would see ... what she would see."

"She'd turn right around and make examples of us, for the edification of the galaxy."

"So we're trapped."

"Trapped ourselves."

"We didn't. Not you and me."

"Well, Hags did. And Men of Business."

A long silence. D'Jevier tipped her gla.s.s and pretended to be concentrating upon the light reflected in its depths as she said, "We might ask ... them them. Maybe they know something that would help."

"Jevvy! You wouldn't dare!"

The other woman grinned mirthlessly, shaking her head. "Every day I get closer to daring. If it gets worse, yes, I'll dare."

Both fell silent, thinking long, hard thoughts that they had already gone over a thousand times. Decisions made centuries ago that could not now be unmade. Roads taken that allowed no possibility of return. An hour later they were still there, their gla.s.ses long since empty, still staring wordlessly at the world-wound upon the height, livid ash and bleeding fire. They and their world were at the mercy of the mountain, and they could think of nothing at all that would be helpful.

14.

A Diversion of Dancers.

"It's really very simple." The Planetary Compliance worker smiled fleetingly at Ellin across the shining width of her authority surface. "Do pay attention.

"The Questioner is a device of the Council of Worlds. The Questioner moves about among the worlds a.s.sessing mankind-occupied worlds for conformity to the edicts of Haraldson. While doing a.s.sessments, the Questioner likes to take along a person or persons from a similar developmental stage as the world being a.s.sessed. One of the planets to be a.s.sessed, for example, is Bandat, where society has achieved what the Absolute Correct Ones call their preholiness phase. Another world is Chirry-chirry-dim-dim, which the b.u.t.terfly-Boys identify as being in the caterpillar stage prior to planetary pupation. You will visit Newholme, which is in the incipient industrial stage."

Ellin Voy, Nordic-Quota 29804653, shifted uneasily. After a long moment of silence, she cleared her throat and asked, "Am I here because I play a part in History House and have some knowledge of preindustrial society?"

"Honorable Ellin, from Old Earth America, you are here partly for that reason, but more because you are a dancer. Also going to Newholme will be Honorable Gandro Bao, who is a character in History House of the tenth Asian Urbopolis." The woman in blue nodded gently in the direction of a lean, olive-skinned man in the chair nearest Ellin. "Honorable Gandro Bao works in Old Earth, Asia: Heritage of the Arts. He is an actor-dancer of the fifteen to nineteen hundreds, Kabuki style, authentic female impersonator. Honorable Ellin is a dancer of western cla.s.sical style. Among this variety of background, some skill should be found to a.s.sist the Questioner in a.s.sessing the planet Newholme."

"We are a.s.sessing it for what?" asked the man identified as Gandro Bao. "I am not understanding the role of dancers."

The woman in blue put her face in censorious mode, one of the seven official government expressions Ellin had been able to identify over the years: kindliness with smile and/or chuckle, businesslike with tight lips, censorious with narrowed eyes, threatening with mouth distended, rage with red face, forgiveness with nod and gesture of benediction, and pity with sorrowful mouth and dropped eyes and chin. Conversations invariably began with kindly or businesslike, though they might end with any of the seven.

"Were you not educated, Honorable Gandro Bao?" challenged the PCO.

He nodded, seeming in no whit embarra.s.sed. "I am recognizing what is the Questioner. I am recalling function of Questioner in examining planets. I am not understanding why dancer is wanted."

"Ah." Her expression switched to forgiveness, the requisite smile flickering in and out of existence so quickly as to be almost subliminal. "Questioner is allowed total discretion in determining how investigation is done. Questioner has asked for dancers. Therefore, we send dancers. Questioner does not say why. We do not ask."

Ellin shook her head, conscious of weariness and annoyance. "So we're supposed to go to Newholme, which will be kind of a History House in the sky, and determine whether they treat one another properly? An android could do that!"

The censorious expression returned. "The Questioner is beyond criticism. If Questioner felt an android could do it, an android would be sent."

"Sorry," murmured Ellin. "I'm just ... surprised, is all." Surprised hardly expressed it. She was actually shocked into near paralysis. The thought of being suddenly uprooted left her teetering over an abyss, fumbling for words and proper responses, dizzy and adrift, shocked by the immediacy and strength of her emotions. After all the years she had imagined being free, after all those dreams of going to other worlds, seeing other peoples, finding her own special place in which to live her own, unique life, now here she was, invited to do virtually as she'd always thought she wanted, at no trouble or expense to herself, and she was frightened witless.

"You may have time to adapt," said the woman in blue, giving her a very percipient look.

The word evoked a veritable bonfire of a.s.sociations. Time to adapt. Time to move on. Time to do this, do that. Infant fosterage giving way to boarding school in History House. Boarding school giving way to advanced studies. Advanced studies giving way to the corps de ballet. Always time to say good-bye, to give up treasured things, familiar friends, always time to adapt....

The woman's voice cut through Ellin's confusion. "Suddenness is difficult for all creatures, but this will not be sudden. Honorables Ellin Voy and Gandro Bao will go to Newholme. The ship leaves soon, in seven days, but the voyage will be lengthy. During some of it, you will be asleep. For this next few days, however, the honorables will live here, in prelaunch. During this time you have medical a.s.sessment, wardrobe and other necessities will be a.s.sembled, and you will have access to all records and reports on the planet Newholme, which should be studied a.s.siduously. Go through that door there," she pointed, "to Suite Four Thirty-Four."

The forgiving expression returned momentarily as the woman returned to her papers. "Honorable DoJub and Honorable Clementi will be visiting the planet Boshque, which is in a late arboreal phase due to ground-level predation...."

Bao stood in front of the door sensor, keeping the door open for Ellin, a courtesy which earned him a half smile. The two of them prowled silently down the corridor, Ellin avoiding his eyes, concentrating on finding Suite Four Thirty-Four. She needn't have bothered, for at their approach a door lit up and caroled a welcome.

"Honorables Ellin and Bao. Welcome to Suite Four Thirty-Four, prelaunch facility for planetary examiners."

Bao broke his silence with an angry mutter. "Being much filth and excrement. Five days from now I am to be dancing the lead in the Chikamatsu Shinj ten no Amijima Shinj ten no Amijima, with orchestrated Joruri, as adapted from the Bunraku. I have been much wishing this for three years. And now this is happening!"

"Be calm," said the door in a soothing tone. "Feel elation! HoLI COW pays off contracts of all nominees who are contractees as well as post-bondage stipend. Once duty is done for the Questioner, you are free! Feel satisfaction! Do not distress yourself, Honorables. Even if you do not return for decades, all will be well. Oh, feel elation!"

At the word "decades," Ellin felt a watery lick, as though an icy wave were rising inside her, threatening to spurt out of her throat in a jet of pure hysteria. She pushed it down, swallowed it, and felt it dissolving her insides. She must not disgrace herself. Not in front of this person. Not in front of this door, which was so very solicitous and was probably programmed to report any deviation from acceptable norms. She dropped into a chair and put her hands over her face, evoking the patterns on her wall, swirlings, eddies, flowing ... calm and quiet. Herself part of the flow. None of this was really happening, not yet. She would put off the happening for a little time, and when it came, she would be ready.

"Are you feeling elation?" demanded Bao in an arrogantly angry tone. "Are you liking to go so far for doing Questioner knows what?"

At this interruption of her hard-won calm, she felt a flare of fury, as though she had received an injection of some energizing drug.

"Don't speak to me as though addressing a nus. I am not a nus. I have useful skills. Though I am a quota-clone, I retain my rights of reproduction and am as honorable as yourself. I, too, have disappointments. This rotation I was to dance in one of the Morris ballets of the late twentieth century. Your arrogance is not acceptable. You will treat me with courtesy, or I shall report you for status hara.s.sment!"

"Oh, gracious," cried the door. "Let us not speak of reportings. Feelings are strained. Emotions are liberated in unattractive ways. This is understood. Being nominated is stressful. Suddenness is resented by all organisms. Please. Sit down and let yourselves be comforted."

Again hysteria threatened to erupt. Ellin's jaw clenched tight as she sank back into the chair. One did not achieve pleasantness by greeting incivility with incivility. She knew that as well as she knew ... anything.

A six-legged server came scuttling across the floor, eager to be of help. "Something to drink?" it whispered in a husky little voice. "A ma.s.sage of feet? Of neck? Some food? Milky nutriment often soothes. Nordic types are lacto-tolerant. Please?"

"Tea," she said in her Charlotte Perkins voice. "Hot tea. In a real cup. With lemon flavor and sweetness. And a cookie." Long ago, the infant Ellin had been comforted with cookies by Mama One. She had not had a cookie for many years.

The server scuttled off.

"Apologies," Bao said wearily. "I am being frangled." He sighed and sank into the chair across from her, looking around himself at the luxurious setting. There were real carpets. There were real fabrics at the sides of the view screens. The chairs were large and cushiony. The small table at his side had the appearance of real wood, though that was, of course, unlikely. Still, going to the trouble to make it look like that was an indication of ... something. "They are believing us to be important," he said.

"They want us to believe they think we're important," she snarled, unwilling to forgive him. "Sending us off for years and years, disrupting our lives! All this is like offering a child candy if he will be good." She had seen a good deal of that in Perkins Store, where so-called penny candies were provided for children as souvenirs of Old Earth.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on her face as though he had just noticed her. "There is being high probability we must be good regardless, so candy is being offered for making us more happy about inevitables. A bonus, perhaps?"

"Bribe, not bonus!" She snorted. Newholme. She had no idea where Newholme was. They spoke together: "Are you knowing where ..."

"I have no idea where ..."

He laughed. After a moment, unable to help herself, she smiled waveringly.

He made an expansive, almost girlish gesture. "We are being angry at situation, not at one another. Maybe we are being angry with Questioner, but Questioner is not knowing and is not caring, so we waste anger on nothing. It is clear we are being together for some time. Let us be easy together."

"Is the Questioner a she?"

"So I am understanding. Of a sort."

The server brought the tea and several cookies, real cookies that smelled of vanilla and lemon. Ellin smiled at this and allowed herself to be soothed. Gandro Bao was right, of course. There was no point getting frangled with one another.

"Do you have family?" she asked.

"I was natural born," he said. "I have mother, father, one sister."

"Do you look anything like your sister?" Ellin asked curiously. Full siblings were rare except for clones. The genetic agencies usually required donor insemination for second births, to keep the gene pool as widely spread as possible within types.

He nodded, raising a hand to the server, which came buzzing over, stopping at his elbow. "I am desiring a ham sandwich," he said. "With mustard and a pickle."

"Corpulent likelihood," murmured Ellin.

"I am testing if we are really important," he said, crinkling his eyes at her. "Your question about my sister, yes, she is looking much like me, Asian type, and we are having similar facial structures. What is your family?"

"No family I know of. Except clones. I was born on prea.s.signed ethnic quota, so my parent could have been anyone...."

"I am looking at you," he corrected her. "I am thinking not just anyone, no."

She flushed. "I never asked if I had non-clone siblings, full or half. Somehow it didn't seem to matter."

"Where was your rearing?" he asked.

"First in an infant fosterage, but I don't remember much about it, to tell you the truth, except for Mama One. They cloned six of me, and History House approved us for fosterage-not together, of course-then it picked me up on a quota-clone contract when I was six ..."

"After you were infant?"

"I lived at the History House boarding school, with dancing lessons every day, in a nurturance group-foster brothers and sisters-with our Mama and Papa Two, until I was twelve. Then I went into the ballet school, four of us with a foster aunt, for six years of additional education in dance and drama and twentieth-century studies. Then the corps de ballet. And they've moved me around. This last History House was my fifth."

He grinned ruefully. "It is not sounding like much fun. How is it feeling to have foster parents? And foster aunts?"

She frowned, chewing on a mouthful of cookie, surprised to find her eyes filling. She shook her head impatiently, refusing the tears. "Well, actually, I loved Mama One very much. I guess you could say I never really got over the separation. I still hear from her, every now and then. Mama Two was different, but as she told me herself, her job was different. And when it came time for Foster Aunt, her job was to get the four of us through the second-decade miseries. Do boys have miseries?"

He laughed, his eyes half shut, his body shaking. "Oh, Ellin Voy, I am remembering all such things. Yes. Miserable boys, I am remembering."