Authors: Pamela Sargent
Benzi had seen her son Dyami on the screen, during the hearings, a man whose eyes seemed as cold and empty as the eyes of those Dyami had accused. He had not looked like the sensitive young man Benzi's friend Balin remembered.
"And now I have to decide —" Risa shoved her hands into the pockets of her gray tunic. "But that isn't your concern. You'll have to excuse me, Benzi — I hardly find my brother before I have to load my troubles onto his back. I'll come by your residence before last light, and we can go to my house then. I promise you that you'll find a little more cheer among my housemates. Paul Bettinas can tell you about his mother — she was a Plainswoman, like Iris, and she and Chen had many happy years together." Her voice broke off; she left him and went toward the wall.
He hesitated. He could retreat from Risa's worries, go back to the Habber quarters, compose himself before he went to her house. He could open his Link, commune with his friends and the minds of his Habitat; this woman's life did not require his involvement. He could simply listen to her stories and tell her a little about his own life. She was little more than a stranger with whom he shared a genetic heritage.
Benzi walked toward her; she turned and leaned against the wall. "Maybe you should tell me what you have to decide," he said. "At least I can listen, and I may be able to help."
"I doubt that you can help me with this." She sighed. "Chimene was planning to have a child before —" Risa folded her arms and looked away for a moment. "The embryo's frozen at the moment. It's Chimene's daughter — and Boaz Huerta's. As the nearest relative, I can decide to raise her myself or I can give her up to someone else. If I do nothing, the situation will eventually take care of itself, one way or the other."
"I see." He understood the dilemma. The technology to maintain the embryo was available; as long as it remained viable and healthy, it had to be maintained. Ending its existence was not really a choice as long as the embryo's existence did not conflict with the rights of others. Even so, if Risa waited to make a decision, an emergency might require the use of the cryonic chamber now holding that embryo, and if no ectogenetic chamber was available for it then, the matter would be settled by disposing of the potential child. It was not the kind of problem Habbers, with their greater resources, had to face.
"I don't know what to do," Risa said. "That child is part of my line — I couldn't bear to give her up to someone else and have her learn that her own people didn't want her. But my son has made it fairly clear to my bondmate that he wants nothing to do with her. Dyami would like to see every trace of Chimene vanish from this world, and after what he's endured, I can't really blame him. I think I'd lose him altogether if I brought the child into my house."
"He'd blame the child for what its parents did?"
"Blame her? I don't know, but I doubt he'd want anything to do with her or with me. The girl would have to live with that, too."
"I'm sorry, Risa. I don't know what to tell you."
"Maybe you think I'm feeling guilt, or that raising her would be a means of making up for any way I might have failed Chimene." Risa raised her head. "But it isn't just that. We can't keep dwelling on the past and nurturing all our hatreds, or we won't have learned anything from what's happened. I feel that if I refuse to care for that potential child, it's like saying there's no hope for us, that being reconciled is impossible. Does that make any sense to you at all?"
"Yes, it does." A possible solution to her problem was beginning to form in his mind, but he did not know if he was ready to suggest it. Benzi was beginning to regret his decision to talk to her. These concerns were not his; perhaps coming here had been a mistake. He had thought in an abstract way about helping the Cytherians; he had not intended to be drawn into his sister's life.
Risa wiped at her eyes. "Maybe you should go back to your quarters now. I'll come by later — that is, if you still want to stay with me."
He found himself reaching for her arm. "We'll walk back together," he said.
* * *
Dyami knew, before he left the refinery, that Balin would be waiting for him. An airship had arrived a few hours earlier, bringing several Habbers who hoped to see their old friends. Maybe Balin would be visiting with someone else; Dyami might be able to make it back to his tent unobserved. Balin would find him eventually, but by then Dyami might have thought of what to say.
Yet when he came outside, Balin was standing beside the wide main road; a slender woman with long reddish hair was at his side. Balin turned, then hurried toward him. Dyami tensed as the other man clutched at his arms; for a moment, he feared he might be embraced.
Balin released him, but he was still searching Dyami's face with concerned, unhappy eyes. His curly dark hair was a little longer, but otherwise he seemed unchanged. Perhaps he was another one who thought they could all go on as they had before.
Balin drew the woman toward him. "My friend, Tesia," he murmured. "This is Dyami Liang-Talis."
"Yes, I know," she said; perhaps she had seen him on a screen during the hearings. He recognized her name now; she was the Habber Sigurd had loved.
"I'm sorry," he said at last. "I wish Sigurd were here to greet you." He did not know what else to say.
"Perhaps you —" She lowered her head. "I'd like to see where he spent his last days. I loved him very much. I begged him to come with us when we left, but he refused — he said he couldn't abandon his world."
"Come with me." He led them along the road toward the tunnel, without speaking. A cart rolled past them, laden with cargo, but Balin and Tesia seemed content to walk the distance.
"Did he say anything about me at all?" the woman asked as they entered the tunnel. "Did he mention anything to you?"
He had never heard Sigurd speak of her here; the Administrator had not talked of the past at all. He was about to say so, then changed his mind. "Yes, he did," Dyami replied. "He didn't say much, only that he loved you and that your years together were happy. He didn't regret that." Sigurd might have said such words; he had probably thought of her often.
They came to the rise outside the tunnel and ascended. In the hollow where the dining hall still stood, the foundations for a few houses had already been finished. The two dormitories near them would be torn down and some of their materials used for other dwellings, when more houses had been built; the houses the patrol had used had already been taken apart. A few of Dyami's friends caught sight of Balin and waved.
Dyami turned toward the grassy mound that lay to his right. "We buried Sigurd there," he said, "along with other friends who fell. We'll be designing some sort of memorial for them as soon —"
Tesia's hazel eyes widened. "I don't want to see his grave," she whispered. "Take me to the place where he died, where he had his last moments of life."
Balin reached for Tesia's arm. "Are you sure —"
"I want to see it."
"I'll take you," Dyami said. "I'm going in that direction anyway."
They walked toward the creek, past a few partly built houses and several tents. The people there raised their hands in greeting, then averted their eyes from Tesia's pale, griefstricken face.
"Sigurd inspired us," Dyami went on. "It wasn't discussed that much at the hearing, but others here will tell you it's true. When he was sent here — he and the other Linkers — we were almost ready to give up any hope. He convinced us that we had to find a way — that there was a way — of fighting for ourselves, that we couldn't wait for help from outside. We'd been hoping for that, you see, thinking that if we just did our best to survive, things would change. If we'd waited for that, things might have been a lot worse for us. Sigurd was a great man in his way."
He guided the two Habbers across the bridge, then climbed toward the building above. "This is where we were confined." He moved toward the spot on the slope where Sigurd had fallen. "Sigurd was here, as nearly as I can recall. He couldn't have felt much when he was hit. If he'd been stronger when he got here, he could have survived, but the beatings and lack of food made him weaker, and the patrol was being more abusive toward the end. They tended to single out some of us for special treatment." His voice had risen a bit. "But you must have heard all about that during the hearings."
Tesia turned toward the creek. "We had a lot of time together," she said. "I'd tell him he was foolish to love me when he might have had a bondmate. He'd say that he felt he already had a bond with me, even though we couldn't have made a pledge. He wanted so much for your people and ours to —" She closed her eyes for a moment. "Leave me. I must have some time by myself."
"Tesia —" Balin began to say.
"Please."
Balin beckoned to Dyami. They began to move along the bank; the two were several paces away before Dyami looked back. Tesia was sitting now, her legs folded; her hands trembled as she lifted them to her face.
"She needs to be alone now," Balin said as they walked on. "This kind of death is hard for us to accept, even to comprehend, and it's difficult for us to grieve in the company of others. She needs to experience it fully, and when it's past, she'll commune with others through her Link and bring herself into balance. The pain will fade, but the memory will be kept."
"How convenient for you," Dyami muttered, "to be able to handle it that way, wallowing in it and then storing it all away."
"Dyami —"
"Why don't you go back to the dining hall? Your old acquaintances here will be delighted to see you again, and they'll find you a place to stay."
Balin did not reply. Dyami quickened his pace, but the other man remained at his side.
* * *
A few more houses were being constructed near the creek, beyond the large greenhouse on the eastern bank. Some of those who had decided to stay in Turing preferred sites where there would be few neighbors — for a while anyway. Stacks of materials lay next to raised walls and tents; the people sitting outside the tents called out greetings but did not invite Dyami and Balin to stay.
They want us to enjoy our reunion, Dyami thought; they probably think we want to be alone. Or perhaps they were only used to the fact that he rarely sought their company now.
His own tent stood on a small grassy hill that overlooked the spot where the creek flowed into the lake. The dome light was just beginning to fade when he caught sight of the hill. Walls, with spaces for windows, were up in what would be the back of the house; the space where his common room would be was only a flat open floor. Large glassy windows, tools, a crate of components, and other supplies were stacked on the slope below.
"The bathroom's finished," Dyami said. Balin had not said a word during their walk; he glanced at Dyami and lifted his brows. "That makes things convenient. No roof yet, but the bathroom can be used. It may take me some time to finish the work, since I prefer to do it alone, but I don't lack for supplies. Everyone outside seems anxious to assure us that we'll get whatever we need if they can provide it."
Balin peered up at the wall as they climbed the hill. "It doesn't look like the usual design," he said.
"It isn't. Some of us are planning a few variations. I'm going to have the kitchen, the bathroom, and any other space in the back, and the common room will have windows on three sides. I want a large common room, with windows and no walls. The outside surface will reflect light so no one will be able to see inside. We can manufacture the windows in the ceramics plant now — they're light and they're sturdy. Allan Sirit did a lot of the work — he can tell you more about them."
"From the size of the space," Balin said, "it looks as though that room will be most of the house."
"I plan to spend much of my time in it, and I find I dislike any feeling of confinement lately. This site means a longer walk to the refinery, but I wanted to build near the lake."
Balin gazed at him speculatively. "And away from other people."
"Yes," Dyami replied.
"By yourself?"
"I feel no need for housemates. If it's necessary, I can always allow a new arrival to stay with me temporarily." He thrust his hands into his pockets. "You didn't bring a bag."
"Tesia and I put ours on a cart. A friend said he'd see they got to the dining hall while we waited for you." Balin lowered his eyes. "I don't know how long she'll be staying. Everything here just reminds her of Sigurd, and yet she feels that he'd want her to be here."
"Maybe you should go back to her now."
Balin tapped his forehead. "If she wants me, she'll summon me." He suddenly gripped Dyami by the arms. "Dyami —"
"You shouldn't have come back here." Dyami freed himself from the Habber's grip. "I'm not the person you knew. I killed a man, one who was barely more than a boy. I wasn't content with disabling him — I kept hitting him with a rock until I knew he was dead. It's not even that I care so much about that. About the only regret I have is that I waited so long before I did it, that I couldn't stop him from doing the things he did to me."
"I still care about you. Don't you believe that?"
"Then I pity you. You were able to leave before. It shouldn't be hard to go now."
Balin said, "I didn't want to leave. I had no choice."
"And now you're back, as though nothing had happened in the meantime. Can't you see I don't want you here?"
Balin stared at him for a long time, then sat down in front of the tent. Dyami clenched his fists; would he have to compel the other man to go? If he lashed out now, it might be the way it was with Maxim Paz, when he hadn't been able to stop, when the hand holding that bloody rock had kept rising and falling of its own accord.
Balin finally spoke. "I still have that sculpture you cast of me. Have you kept the other one?"
"Suleiman seemed interested in it, so I gave it to him." He did not bother to explain his reasons for wanting to be rid of it. The image of Balin had always been nearby whenever Maxim Paz was tormenting him.
"Have you had time to do any others?"