The Stardance Trilogy (54 page)

We stayed out there until lunch time—and still it was over much too soon.

I demolished twice as much food as usual at lunch; I’d have eaten more but they ran out. Most of the group was keyed up, happy, darting around like hummingbirds and chattering like magpies. Robert and I did not chatter. We touched hands, and legs, and ate together in silence, totally aware of each other.

That afternoon’s class was with Reb only, in the cubic where he’d always held morning classes during the first month. For the first time, he allowed the gathering to devolve into a gabfest, encouraging us all to speak of what we had felt and thought that morning, to tell each other what it had meant to us. I was surprised at the diversity of things different people likened the experience to. Taking LSD, being in combat, falling in love,
kensho,
orgasm, electroshock, dying, being born, giving birth, writing when the Muse is flowing, doing math, an Irish coffee drunk…the variations were endless. For Robert it was the instant when a new design leaped into his head and began explaining itself.

One thing surprised me even more. Three of us reported that there was nothing in their previous lives to compare space to. They were the most profoundly affected of all of us, all three close to tears. This had been their first taste of transcendence. It seemed hard to believe, and terribly sad, to have lived so long without wonder.

Glenn confessed that she had several times come near giving up like Yoji and going back indoors. “I can take it as long as I’m perfectly still,” she said. “I just tell myself I’m watching an Imax movie. But the minute I start to move the least little bit, and it all starts spinning around me, I just lose it. I lose my place. I lose my self. I can handle it okay indoors, even in the simulations, but out there is
different
…”

“But you didn’t panic,” Reb said.

“I came damned close!”

“So did I,” Yumiko said softly.

“
Da
. Me too,” Dmitri chimed in.

She stared at them. “You did?”

They nodded.

“Experienced spacers have been known to panic,” Reb said. “Glenn, don’t worry. You may simply not be ready yet to have a revelation of the scale you were given this morning. That is not a failure. You don’t have to go back out tomorrow if you decide you’re not ready. You may need to spend more time in meditation first. I’ll be glad to spend private time with you if you like. Don’t force yourself to continue if you feel it is harmful to you. Charlotte Joko Beck once said, ‘A premature enlightenment experience is not necessarily good.’ Looked at from a certain angle, enlightenment is a kind of annihilation—a radical self-emptying. There is time, plenty of time.”

“All right,” she said, “I’ll sleep on it and let you know.”

“You can do it, love,” Kirra called out. “I know you can!”

“Goddam right,” Ben seconded, and there were noises of agreement from others.

Glenn smiled, embarrassed but pleased. “Thanks.”

Reb dismissed class early, suggesting we all meditate privately when we felt ready.

Robert and I paused in the corridor outside the classroom, off to one side. As other Novices jaunted past us, we stared deep into each other’s eyes, communicating wordlessly.

It seemed that almost everything I’d seen outside was there to be seen in those almond hazel eyes. Perhaps more—for space was indifferent to me, and utterly cold. Effortlessly I reached a decision which had eluded me for a month.

“A lot of things came clear out there today,” I said. My voice was rusty.

“Yes.” So was his.

“Teena, is my studio free for the afternoon?”

“Yes, Morgan.”

I reached out and took Robert’s left hand with my right. “Come with me.”

He nodded, and we kicked off together.

Once inside the studio I dimmed the lights slightly, to about the level of dusk on Earth. I told Teena to hold all calls, and to see that we had privacy. I gently maneuvered Robert to a handhold near the camera I’d been calling Camera One and using for main POV.

“Stay here,” I told him.

He nodded.

It took an effort to look away. I spun and jaunted to the far side of the room. I paused there. I unsealed my p-suit and took it off, making no attempt to strip erotically, simply skinning out of my clothes like an eleven-year-old on a shielded wharf. I worked the thrusters from the suit and slid them over my bare wrists and ankles, seated the controls against my palms. I closed my eyes, and cleared my mind…

…and danced.

I had been working on a piece, but did not dance that. Nor did I quote existing works of others, although I was capable of it now. I had no choreographic plan; for the first time in over thirty-five years I simply let the dance come boiling out of me.

One of the reasons I had failed as a choreographer on Earth was that I had let them teach me too much, absorbed too many rules and conventions of dance to ever again be truly spontaneous. But here I was a child again. Once again I could create.

And what came boiling up out of me first was much the same as what had come boiling out of the eleven-year-old Rain McLeod. I can’t describe the dance to you: it was improvised, and the cameras were not rolling. But I can tell you what I was saying with it, when I began.

I was saying the same thing I had said with that first dance, back on Gambier Island. The same thing Shara Drummond had been saying in the Stardance.

Here I am, Universe! I’m here; look at me. I exist. I matter.

I was talking back to endless empty blackness spattered with shards of ancient starlight, to a universe cold and burning down forever, to all the awful immensity I had seen that morning.

At first I danced only with my muscles, maintaining my position in space while I spun and turned around my center, making shapes and changing them, stretching and contracting, hurling my spine about with the force of my limbs. Then I began to use my thrusters, first to alter attitude, and then to move me around the room. I borrowed some vocabulary from ice-skating, and adapted it to three-dimensionality, swooping in widening curves that came ever closer to the wall of the spherical gym, decorating them with axel-spins.

Robert watched, as expressionless as a sea lion, bobbing slowly in the air currents I was creating.

I made him the focal point of my dance, danced not just to him, but of him. As I did my dance began to change. I danced Robert, as I saw him. I danced quiet competence, and ready courage, and strength and self-reliance and patience and mystery and grace.

There you are! You’re there: I see you. You exist. You matter.

He understood. I saw him understand.

My dance changed again. I began to dance not of the awesome immensity of space, but of the exhilaration of being alive in it; to speak not of eternity but of now. I had proclaimed myself to the Universe; now I offered myself to him.

Here we are! We’re here: look at us. “We” exists. We will matter.

He watched, so utterly relaxed that his head began to nod slowly with his breathing, as though he were asleep with his head unsecured. Or was he nodding agreement?

Finally I was done. I had said everything that was in my arms and legs and spine, everything in my heart. I floated facing him across the room, arms outstretched, waiting.

He sighed deeply, and let go of his handhold. Eyes locked with mine, he removed his p-suit, and released it to drift. And then he came to me, and then he came into me, and soon he came in me.

We made love for hours, slow dreamy love in which orgasms were merely the punctuation in a long and unfolding statement. Zero gee changes everything about the oldest dance. Together we learned and invented, made shapes and figures impossible under gravity. Both of us kept the use of our hands; neither of us was on top. The room spun around us. We cried together, and giggled together, and planed sweat from each other’s backs with our hands. We told each other stories of our failed marriages and past lovers. Even with the freedom of three dimensions, we were unable to find any embrace in which we did not fit together as naturally as spoons. We drifted in each other’s arms between rounds of lovemaking, bumping occasionally into the wall, but never hard enough to cause us to separate.

By the time we remembered the existence of the so-called real world, it was too late to get supper at the cafeteria. Well, we might just have made it…but we had to shower first, and that turned into more lovemaking. But the grill at Le Puis is always open, so we headed there, arm in arm, aglow, kissing as we jaunted. People we passed smiled.

We stopped along the way to leave our p-suits in our rooms. We discussed dressing, but could not come up with any reasons for doing so, so we didn’t bother. (I don’t recall whether I’ve mentioned it before, but it should be obvious that Top Step had no nudity taboo. People who are uncomfortable with social nudity are not good candidates for Symbiosis.)

Fat Humphrey greeted us with a grin incredibly even bigger than usual, and a roar of delight. “So you finally got off the dime, eh? I t’ought I was gonna hafta be the one to tell you two you were in love. Hey, this makes me happy! Let’s see, you gonna want a booth—right this way!”

He led us to a booth off in what would have been a corner if Le Puis had corners—far from any other patrons, I mean. We did not bother stating requests, indeed didn’t even think about it. We gazed deep into each other’s eyes in silent communication until Fat returned with food and drink. He opaqued the booth, and sealed it behind him as he left. I was mildly surprised by the amount of food, but Fat didn’t make mistakes. Sure enough, when I next noticed, it was all gone. I don’t remember what it was…but the drink was champagne.

As we were squeezing the last sips into each other’s mouths, Fat scratched discreetly at the closure of our booth. Robert unsealed it; Fat passed in a pipe, then departed again, beaming. It turned out to contain just enough hashish for two tokes apiece. Robert took all four, and passed them to me in kisses; I drank intoxication from his mouth. We caressed each other, slowly, dreamily, not so much lustfully as affectionately. Music, selected by Fat Humphrey, began to play softly in the background. I hadn’t heard it before then, but it fit the moment perfectly: Vysotsky’s “Afterglow.” I’m terrible with song lyrics, but one verse I retain verbatim:

Finally, I said, “Put that thing away so we can leave here without making a spectacle of ourselves.”

“Oh, sure,” he said. “Reb’s taught me how to control my metabolism: I’ll just wish it away.”

“Right,” I agreed, and struck the most erotic pose I could.

Fifteen seconds later he conceded defeat by tickling me.

“Why leave?” he said. “It’s private in here.”

“True. But we’d jiggle it so much we might as well do it out in plain sight—and people are trying to eat. Besides, I want more room than this.”

“Good thinking.” He eased away from me and glanced down. “Well, if we wait for this to go away, we’ll be here come Graduation. Let’s brazen it out.”

So we did. If anyone noticed, they kept it to themselves. Fat Humphrey waved as we left, clearly overjoyed at our happiness.

We ran into Glenn along the way, headed in the same direction we were. She didn’t notice Robert’s condition. She had left Le Puis just before us, and was a little squiffed. We said hello, and then regretted it, for she wanted to talk.

No, worse. If she’d just wanted to talk, we could have politely brushed her off when we reached our door. But she
needed
to talk. She was still trying to come to terms with all she’d seen outside that morning.

She had always been polite, taciturn, reticent to intrude on anyone’s privacy with personal conversation; if she needed to unload now I felt an obligation to help. So when we reached my place I queried Robert with my eyes, got the answer I’d hoped for, and invited Glenn in.

“You know what it was?” she told us. “I was doing just fine for the first while, I really was. And then I started thinking of the only other times I’d ever felt…I don’t know, felt that close to God. Once when I birthed my daughter…and just about every time I ever walked in a forest. I started thinking that I could birth kids again for the next couple of centuries, if I go through with this—but that if I go through with this, I’ll never go for a walk in the woods again. And I started to panic.”

“Reb says once you’re Symbiotic, you can reexperience any moment of your life, so vividly it’s like living it again,” I said. “Or anybody else’s life who’s in the Starmind.”

“I know,” she said. “But it won’t be the same as being there. Even if it’s close enough to fool me, it won’t be the same.”

“How real do you need reality to be?” Robert asked reasonably. “If it passes the Turing Test—if you can’t tell it from a real experience—then what’s the difference?”

“I
don’t know
,” she said, “but there’s a difference. Look, you’ve walked in woods, haven’t you?”

“Not in years,” he admitted. “Woods are kind of hard to come by where I lived.”

“But you know what I mean. When you walk in the woods, there are so many things going on at once, nobody could notice and remember them all. Leaves fluttering, birds chirping, wind in the branches, a hundred different smells of things growing and rotting—I could list things there are to notice in the woods for the next two hours and there’d still be a thousand things I left out, things I don’t even consciously notice. So how am I going to remember them all clearly enough to recreate them in my mind? It just doesn’t seem possible.”

Robert frowned. “I don’t know how to answer you.”

I had an inspiration. “I know somebody who does. Teena—who’s the nearest Stardancer who’s got time to talk?”

“Greetings, Morgan McLeod,” a feminine voice said. “I am Jinsei Kagami. May I do you a service?”

I was taken a little aback. I hadn’t expected such snappy service; I’d been planning on time for second thoughts. It was like praying…and getting an answer! I was a little awed to find myself talking to a real live Stardancer.