Starfire Saga, page 74
We decided on Lendo Dell, because Nogdala was one of those worlds which unduly valued youth—only the relatively young and strong survived for long in the manufactories—and Vazhny Lastone was probably too old to be taken seriously. Lendo Dell grew a beard much more butter yellow than Coney’s sand-colored blond. It was an appropriate gesture. The patriarchs of Causaday were all bearded men, it being a symbol of status to which women were unlikely to aspire even if we could.
And then, as the men changed their jumpsuit colors to the charcoal that trade delegations typically wore, I restyled my jumpsuit so the natural shape of my body disappeared into it. Causaday women had been permitted to adopt the jumpsuit, but only to local specifications, including a hood that covered almost all of their hair. I’d attached what appeared to be one errant dark brown lock of hair to the side of the hood’s brow strap, keeping my true honey color hidden.
“You’ll have to be silent much of the time,” Jemeret warned me. “I’m not requiring your submission, just the appearance of it.”
“I’ll give it to you,” I said, adding, “After all, I am your wife.”
We had decided we would have to be husband and wife in the fabrication, or we would not be able to share a room. I’d spent an hour memorizing the behavior I’d be expected to show Jemeret and how it differed from my behavior toward the other two Causaday men. Then there was behavior toward men who were not Causadayan. I figured that after a couple of weeks of this, I’d be more than ready to personally alter the entire makeup of Causaday society.
We took a lander down from orbit and alit in the small diplomatic area of a busy working dock. I tried to take it all in at once from the vehicle, memorizing landing coordinates and dock assignment, because we might have to leave in a hurry. Jemeret had piloted us down, and he locked the lander without the normal mechanism of thumb- or retinal print, using instead a seven-symbol code chosen from the five hundred or so symbols the vehicle carried. The precaution would allow any of the rest of us to lift off if he was, for any reason, not with us.
Then we stepped out under the orange-yellow sky. The landing field was not domed, but atmosphere mixers, likely of local manufacture, ringed the area and created a bubble of slightly greater pressure than the thin, largely polluted air of the rest of the surface.
The official greeting party consisted of two assistant governors and two Skilled Negotiators, all four of them male, no doubt in deference to what they knew of Causadayan power structure. All the men shook hands, as I studied the Nogdalans through my eyelashes, since my head was modestly lowered. Jemeret introduced me as his wife, “who must not be addressed directly, as that would be an offense against propriety,” and asked to be shown to our accommodations.
“Please follow me, Tadan,” said one of the assistant governors, using the accepted title for a Causadayan Elder. “Governor Cue will be honored to meet with you after you’ve settled in, and we’ve programmed your rooms to respond to your specific needs.” He led us to a slideway that connected the diplomatic area with others and ultimately dived into the Structure itself.
I wished I were barefoot so that I could pathfind the slideway as we stepped onto it, but there was no help for that. After a moment to adjust to the motion, as if intrigued by the composition of the material, Jemeret bent and ran his palm over it, then straightened. I was a little awed. Since he’d been doing so much pathfinding, he’d gotten faster and faster at it.
The nearer of the two Skilled Negotiators, whose job it clearly was to tout the virtues of anything the trade delegation happened to admire or seem curious about, immediately launched into so detailed a description of the materials and technology of slideways as to make the pathfinding superfluous.
I had no need to remind myself to keep silent; for the next few minutes there would be no opportunity to interrupt the hearty gush of facts anyway.
We entered the Structure on level three, the uppermost. The closest area of this level was devoted to portworker residences and recreation facilities; beyond it lay what we were assured was a great ring of order fulfillment offices, where shipments were checked against orders, and information on credit transfers verified. With only one spaceport, and that surrounded by government offices, I began to wonder, even before we arrived at our accommodations, how a smuggler could get off-world.
We traveled on the slideways along the sales office complexes, past storage depots for incoming raw materials; then downward through the second level, which appeared to be the manufacturing facility; and ultimately to the lowest level, which housed the imported foodstuffs and the residence and entertainment complexes for workers, bosses, and visitors—known locally as customers. As we went, Lendo Dell showed a very Gendalike heartiness in admiring the lighting system, the air circulation, the architecture, the mechanism of almost any mechanical-looking device we passed, and anything else that struck his fancy, until the pair of Skilled Negotiators was talking so fast and simultaneously that I had to gather to repress my laughter. The moment we neared what one of the assistant governors, shouting to be heard over the spate of promotional material, described as our “guest premises,” Coney, suppressing his humor either by gathering or with a great act of will, asked if the Nogdalans had anything to contribute in the area of vehicle assembly, knowing full well that groundcars, floaters, landers, and shuttles were not built here.
The answer he received gave new meaning to the word “hyperbole,” and meant that three out of our four greeters were all talking at the same time. I found myself sorely tempted to sting everyone just to shut them up. It felt as if I were moving through a little cone of tightly grasped interior silence, a frail barrier against the raucous onslaught of a world in which music played on every corner and issued from every residence, sometimes accidentally blending, but more often creating an awful racket. I had never thought so badly of music before.
Jemeret was frowning disapprovingly, but I thought it had more to do with the character he’d assumed than with his own values. In the lobby of the guest premises, Lendo Dell would probably have asked about the fountain, the artificial plants, the spectacularly beautiful holo birds, and the uniquely patterned carpet had Jemeret not stopped him. Then the Skilled Negotiators ran down, and only the comparatively soft music of the lobby itself intruded. Into the sudden quiet, Jemeret said coolly, “I assume we can explore the city—”
“Structure,” all four of the Nogdalans corrected in unison. Jemeret ignored them. “—on our own. We’re certain, of course, that you would not deliberately show us only those things you guess would please us, but we will feel more positively toward the enterprise of Nogdala if we can investigate it ourselves.”
I knew immediately, without looking up, that the assistant governors didn’t have the authority to make that choice. The lack of an answer lay heavily in the tinkling music of the lobby. “Well,” Jemeret said, an overtone of patronization in his voice, “when you find out if my assumption is correct, I’m sure you will be certain to let us know.” He took my upper arm in his hand, careful not to squeeze as tightly as he appeared to be squeezing. “Where are our rooms?”
The assistant governors led us down one of the hallways that branched out of the lobby and showed us three open doors, which Jemeret, Coney, and Lendo Dell keyed to themselves. I would not be expected to have independent ingress or egress, but would only accompany my husband or wait patiently for his return. Since I could pathfind my way out or in at any time, I was not at all dismayed by the restriction.
Jemeret led me inside the room, sealed the door behind us, and said, “I’m not pleased with the atmosphere I’ve seen on this world, wife.”
My role in the scenario was to play the receptive delegate, but I had to be very careful how I did it. I chose sweetness; it was a challenging persona, especially for me. “Husband, it is certain that there are many good people here, and that those people will be responsible for the products which will be shown.” A Causaday woman never used personal pronouns unless given express permission to do so. “This is a nice room.”
Jemeret leaned back against the wall as if applying some sort of scrutiny to me or my statement, rather than to the room itself. I knew he was pathfinding. He touched me with his sting and nodded gently, and I knew he had identified the vid device; a moment later the second nod, doubled, barely discernible, told me there were two listeners. He pulled away from the wall and flashed me a look that confirmed we were fairly fully under observation. I wanted to say, but couldn’t, that two listening devices were required because no one on this world understood the concept of silence.
The false, noncommittal communication that our roleplaying called for was in its own way as great a strain as intense physical exercise. I wanted to sigh and flop down on the bed, but instead I went on playing the meek, self-effacing wife until the lobby signaled us all that the governor had arrived to greet us.
Jemeret took my upper arm again, a gesture of pure possessiveness on which we had agreed before we finalized our roles in the scenario, and we went back to the lobby to meet the unfortunately named Parwick Cue. A great deal of what we wanted to accomplish depended on our being able to move independent of escorts, and I had wondered what would happen if the power-that-was wanted to refuse Jemeret’s request. Jemeret would have to sting him, and we had no way of knowing whether that would cause him to behave in ways that others of his staff might consider suspiciously uncharacteristic or irresponsible.
One look at Governor Cue told me that we were likely not to have a problem in that regard. The man was a living evocation of greed and the profit motive, the way the Drenalion were a living evocation of naked force. He was both rotund and jocund, but it was all on the surface. He smelled credit on us, and it obsessed him. He was perfectly groomed, his hands wreathed in rings, his ears draped with thin chains that matched the thick ones around his neck, the metals all highly polished and studded with gems. I couldn’t help but stare, and Jemeret pulled my arm, pretending to be angry that I’d forgotten my manners.
Governor Parwick Cue was expansive; Jemeret was adamant; and fairly soon we had agreed to a joint program of being guided to various factories and product showrooms for several hours in the mornings, then given the rest of the time to wander on our own. We were only cautioned to avoid any areas marked with red stripes, as those contained machinery that could be hazardous to the uninitiated.
The governor had exhausted his diplomacy and was preparing to bid us farewell when Coney said, “And what of the spiritual life of the people here, Tadan-Ta? You will show us factories and offices and theaters, but what of the tabernacles or shrines?”
A good salesperson is prepared for anything, and Parwick Cue would never have become governor on this world had he not been a superlative salesperson. “There is a district called the Umbra which you might choose to see,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s several hours by the inner slideway.” I took inner to mean fastest.
“And if we should, therefore, wander too far to return in a reasonable amount of time,” Lendo Dell put in, “will there be somewhere we can stay?”
The governor debated and cleared his throat. “There are workers’ residences,” he said at last. “We can provide you with a guest pass, but the accommodations are not as—comfortable—”
Jemeret cut him off. “We are accustomed to austerity.”
I almost giggled.
For the next three tendays, we sat through product demonstrations in the morning, making appropriate comments. When a product was specifically for women or children, then my opinion was sought, and it became a challenge for me to express it without seeming in any way connected to it by “I,” “me,” or “mine.” Then, in the afternoons or evenings—and sometimes all night—we roved throughout the Structure. We learned what worker passes looked like, instead of guest passes, and we memorized the typical worker dress and behavior. At the end of that time we knew the Structure as well as it was possible to know it. Coney had roamed the Umbra, located the small chapel that seemed dedicated to the worship of talent, went in, and was appalled at the crudeness of the text messages and paintings on the walls. They were filled with images that varied between the openly murderous in describing the depredations of the Drenalion, and the dauntingly lewd, describing unity with talent in crude sexual terms. “It’s not just that they’re attempting to worship us,” Coney said in disgust after we had returned to the rollship. “It’s that they’re doing it so badly!”
We had not, as requested, entered any of the red stripe areas, because Causadayans would not contravene local laws, but we would be under no such restrictions when we returned, and a survey of the surface from orbit had proved without any doubt that no trace of the molecular trails associated with lander or shuttle exhaust existed anywhere except the original port.
Being back on Detralume was an overwhelming relief for me after weeks of repression. Most of it had not been too bad, but one experience I hated. It seems silly now, but then I took it very seriously, fearful it had somehow changed the nature of my relationship with Jemeret. It was the first time I’d ever experienced sex without allowing myself to orgasm—a hideous and humiliating performance for our observers, the last demonstration considered necessary to create a completely credible picture of the society from which they thought we’d come. Jemeret used me mechanically and, at least, mercifully quickly, permitting himself no consideration for my pleasure in the act. When it was over, I felt myself trembling on the verge of tears, and I gathered to quell them. But Jemeret ruthlessly broke through my gather and made me weep, while holding my mind as tenderly as I wanted him to hold my body. A Causaday husband would not comfort a wife who had done no more than her duty to him. I kept trying to remind myself that a Brochidian husband would have beaten his wife for crying, and the Causadayans were better than that.
“Don’t keep me awake with your sobbing,” Jemeret said to me carelessly, turning his back on me.
I knew that, on Detralume, he would make it up to me, but I had experienced the emptiness of that one encounter, and it had shaken me more than I assumed it would. I couldn’t understand how or why women would accept being used in that way. I talked to Coney and Sandalari briefly about it. I knew I could have asked Sinet, but somehow I was embarrassed by the idea of that; she already knew I was more innocent than I liked.
“I guess we all value different things,” Sandalari said softly. “Some women may not care as much as you—as we do about certain kinds of equality.” She smiled at me. “I told you that you mustn’t judge everyone by yourself.”
We were sitting in their cabin, because I hadn’t felt entirely comfortable with Jemeret since our performance for the vid in the Structure. Reasonably, I knew it was ridiculous. But there was something in it that made me nervous about what I saw as the ease with which Jemeret fit into a dominant role, while I had fought continuously to appear submissive.
Coney also smiled at me. “Remember when you told me that people are worlds, Ronnie?” he said. “Well, worlds are different. Sometimes they can be unified, and sometimes they can’t.”
“And from what I’ve seen,” Sandalari said, “the Com’s laid a synthetic imbrication on all these worlds, composed of rules thought to be the best for all. But tribes need to have unique rules as well. I think the officials of the Com and the MIs want to stamp that individuality out.”
“They haven’t succeeded,” I said, shuddering a little.
“But that’s just a matter of time,” Coney said. “You know as well as I do that Com time and human time are different things.”
The discussion had now reached a point where we wanted the others in on it, and we adjourned it to the lounge, where Jemeret and Jasin Lebec were drinking something transparent and discussing strategies for our upcoming, clandestine exploratory mission to the Structure, with the goal of getting into a red stripe area and finding out what really went on in it. They looked up as we came in, and I found myself unable to meet Jemeret’s inquiring gaze. I wondered if he had evoked in me some cellular memory of the rape, or whether this was just how sex was going to become in the Com, as I had feared. It was silly, I know. But then...
Coney rehashed very briefly our discussion on individuality and the Com, and Jasin Lebec agreed that sameness across societies was one of the aims of the government, which believed that differences, while interesting, were potential sources of conflict and should therefore be eliminated, quickly if possible, to minimize the danger.
“But the worlds are so very different,” I said. “When I was growing up, I never appreciated that, because I never traveled anywhere. Werd and Koldor and Orokell were almost identical, and I somehow assumed that other places would be very close to them.”
“It’s Petra Chantrey’s job, through the Universities, to bring everyone into alignment,” Jasin Lebec said.
“And she’s doing it,” Jemeret said. “The Causadayans are in many ways today exactly where the Brochidians were twenty years ago. The Com can be patient because it is inexorable. It tolerates a certain amount of variance, in matters of religion and superficial custom, especially at the beginning of a world’s membership—and the beginning can last a hundred years—but eventually the government gets conformity, and that’s when the rebellion usually begins.”
Little rebellions were entirely characteristic of the natural evolution of a Com world. They never occurred when people were still enamored of the benefits of Com membership, but only when they began to feel in their own lives the changes that made up the costs of such membership, and then the period of rebellion passed. Longtime member worlds, such as Barbin 3 or Nogdala 7, should have been conforming nicely now.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jemeret glance at the chronometer on the comsole. “We have to make the first raid in about two hours,” he said. “I suggest we get a little sleep, Ronica.”
I always loved the way he said my name, but this time it sent a little shiver of fear through me, unreasonable as it was. I followed him to our cabin, and he sealed us into the room and instantly bubbled us. “You have to get over this, love,” he said. “We both agreed to what happened down there.”
