SERIALIZATION: DAUGHTER OF ELYSIUM
(part 4)

by JOAN SLONCZEWSKI

Trade Paperback: 356 pages.

ISBN: 978-1-60450-444-6

Phoenix Pick Edition, 2010

Daughter of Elysium copyright © 1993, 2010 Joan Slonczewski. All rights reserved.

Joan Slonczewski has won the John W. Campbell Award for Best Science Fiction Novel, twice. In 1987, for A Door into Ocean, and in 2012, for The Highest Frontier. Her fiction shows her command of genetics and ecological science as well as her commitment to feminism.

DAUGHTER OF ELYSIUM
(Part 4)

CHAPTER 10

At Hyen’s staff meeting the heliconians flitted upward as always, but Verid barely noticed. She was tired of reporters asking if she still supported the Prime Guardian, despite the growing scandal. Meanwhile Flors had won acclaim for his settlement with the L’liites, despite his embarrassing performance in Alin’s logathlon. Now, he was triumphantly summing up the final points for Hyen.

Why, Verid wondered, had the L’liites settled on such terms? Decrepit ships of emigrants with their last bit of fuel had limped off L’li for decades; why would L’li agree to stop them now?

Hyen was nodding to Flors. “With any luck, we’ve heard the last of L’liite loan scares.” The grace period would last into the term of Hyen’s successor. “I’d say that about wraps it up, Flors.”

Verid looked up at the rustling leaves, full of chewing caterpillars. “What did you give them, Flors?” She spoke without looking at him. “What did you promise?”

“Read the settlement,” he replied in a condescending tone. “You have to be tough with foreigners.”

Since Verid did not reply, Flors moved on. “Next item: We’ve let the Urulites make fools of us again.” The word “we” had a particular emphasis, “Verid will explain.”

Verid sighed. “As you know, Guardian, the Urulites have actually accepted the Helishon’s invitation for a visiting children’s exchange. They even called Foreign Affairs for visas.”

“The invitation was never approved,” Flors told Hyen, his voice raised. “How could this have slipped out?”

Flors did not know that the invitation had been Hyen’s idea in the first place. Why did Hyen have to put his staff through such a charade?

“It was not a high level concern,” Verid murmured. “A matter for shonlings after all.”

“A matter for shonlings? Dealing with the most bloodthirsty world in the Fold?” Flors shook his head. “This represents a serious lapse in judgment.”

Hyen shrugged. “We can still refuse permission, or set impossible conditions. Our shonlings’ safety would have to be guaranteed, after all.”

Flors looked at him incredulously. “You’d actually let our children go? It’s madness. I’d resign.”

If only he would, Verid thought. Why had Hyen kept him on so long? But she knew why: Flors was no threat to Hyen. Hyen always kept his more able assistants at arm’s length.

“Of course we can’t send our children,” Verid said. “Not as our relations stand—that is, nonexistent.” She paused, then added casually, “Who contacted you, about the visas?” It must have been Zheron, she thought hopefully. Who else would have the nerve?

Flors waved his hand impatiently. “One Urulite or another, they’re pirates all the same. You forget the Valan cruiser they blasted. They never even acknowledged responsibility.”

“Zheron did acknowledge it,” Verid insisted. “It was a mistake, a tragic one.”

“So he told you, in private. Did they pay reparations?”

“How can they afford reparations?” Verid asked, more loudly. “Their economy is worse than the L’liites’. If they asked, you’d approve loans to them, too.”

This unusually frank outburst actually silenced Flors. To Verid’s surprise, Hyen did not intervene as he generally did. The Prime Guardian was watching the butterflies shimmering amidst the sweet blossoms, abstracted in his own thoughts. Was he losing his grip? Verid wondered. Nowadays Hyen seemed to spend too much time in his own inner world.

“Let’s not reply,” Hyen said at last. “Tell the generen that the bureaucracy is working on it.”

Satisfied, Flors nodded and moved on. “The Sharer World Gathering is just a month off. Unfortunately, we will have to respond to the alleged noise pollution. You needn’t have given in on that, Verid; another year, and our pest control would have eliminated those flies.”

So we’re no more responsible than the Urulites, Verid thought, but she kept it to herself this time. “We also need to work on the Fugitive Law,” she said. “If Sharers start counting servos as fugitives ...” It was hard to imagine just what might happen.

Hyen raised an eyebrow. “Servos as fugitives?”

“Another escapade of that Bronze Skyan translator,” Flors explained contemptuously. “By Helix, Verid—you trust those murderous Urulites, yet you fear our mindless machines.”

Afterward, in public, Verid tried to hide her frustration. She left the Nucleus early to meet Iras for dinner, to celebrate her release from the Palace of Rest. But just as she was leading her trainsweeps out of the nuclear reticulum, the Guardian Loris Anaeashon caught hold of her train. “A word with you, Verid, in private,” the man said, slightly breathless. “I’ll pay the fee.”

Loris had been Anaeon’s elected Guardian for the past nine decades. Verid could guess what was coming. Nevertheless, she accompanied him to the nearest butterfly garden, where a private corner could be found.

“You know I share your feelings, shonsib,” Loris told her sympathetically. “We Anaeans can’t bear to see incompetence. And Hyen is heading for a fall. Will you support me in a call for early rotation?”

The post of Prime Guardian was not elected but rotated among the twelve shons each decade. The Guard could, however, hold a vote of no confidence and call for an early rotation. This term, Anaeaon came next.

“Your support would do it,” Loris explained. “The Guardians know it’s you that holds Foreign Affairs together. If you come out for me now, I’ll back you for the Guard when my term is up.”

Verid smiled. “You are too generous, Loris,” she observed ironically. Were she elected to the Guard ten years hence, after Loris’s term as Prime, she might wait over a century before the top post came around again.

“Think about it. We both want what’s best for Elysium. If Hyen falls,” Loris added, “you don’t want to fall with him.”

“If Hyen’s fall is imminent, then you hardly need my support. But thanks for your concern.”

The next day Hyen called her in unexpectedly.

Hyen’s office was as different from Verid’s as one could imagine. Its interior was mostly “virtual,” like the chambers of the Palace of Rest that had bored Iras so. Today Hyen had programmed a darkened concert hall, with musicians playing the ancient instruments. It was a lovely concerto, and the violin’s melody soared exquisitely.

It was her taste, certainly—not his. Hyen must want something of her, rather badly.

As if he read her thoughts, Hyen chuckled. “I don’t know what turns you on about catgut and horsehair. And you find my inclinations distasteful.” His round face shone like a moon above the distant concert hall.

“A fine simulation,” Verid admitted. “How do I know you’re not a simulation, yourself?”

“Would it matter if I were? I could pipe in simulations of myself to run the show, and never leave Houris Hall.” One of his more disreputable haunts. “Look, Verid, it’s time to take Urulan out of Flors’s hands, don’t you agree? The trouble is, Flors is correct on the face of it. We can’t possibly negotiate in the open with such a pariah. Even if we tried, reporters from four worlds would stomp all over us and mess it up. So it has to be secret.” Hyen leaned forward, sounding excited. “Zheron will meet with you in private, on a satellite orbiting the planet, to protect security. We’ll confer in secret, and coax Urulan to open its doors to us. When that happens, it will mean a new era for the Fold.”

Verid considered this warily. If her secret dealings failed, there would be no loss to Hyen—and if word got out, Hyen could deny responsibility.

“Why not?” Hyen insisted. “You’ve had private talks with Zheron before.”

“Always with the approval of my supervisor.” Verid was tired of dealing behind Flors’s back.

Hyen leaned forward and clasped his hands. “Verid,” he began, his voice lowered. “You’re entirely too straight for your own good. I’m the Prime; I direct you to do this. It’s time you dared to reach out and capture the moment.”

The orchestra was just beginning the slow movement. The first violinist lifted her bow, pouring it into a lyrical melody.

“No.” Verid spoke firmly, then added more softly, “My duty as Sub-Subguardian is to assist the Subguardian.” I’m finished, she thought, as soon as she had spoken. Once Hyen withdrew his support, Flors would waste no time in replacing her.

The Prime Guardian leaned back and half turned around in his seat. He let out a long sigh. “Well, then, you leave me no choice. Foreign Affairs is getting to be more than one Subguardian can handle. I’ll promote you.”

She stared in surprise. The number of Subguardians was flexible, but Hyen had run foreign affairs under one rein for so long she had never imagined it otherwise.

“You’ll divide up the territory rather well, I should think,” Hyen went on. “Flors’s strength lies in commerce and trade; the Valans and L’liites he manages well. You do much better with extremists like Urulites and Sharers. Those Sharers—imagine, Flors thinks he can put them off like a Valan servo merchant.” Hyen chuckled. “We know better, you and I. We’ll draw Urulan out of its shell.”

“Indeed.” The comparison of Sharers and Urulites caught her off guard. “Speaking of servos, Guardian, I hope you will look into the fugitive question ...”

But Hyen was already shaking his head. “Tell the Valans. It’s up to them to guarantee our servo networks; we pay them enough. Put your imagination to work elsewhere—on Urulan, and the Azure Throne. It’s settled, then.”

“I am honored,” said Verid. “I’ll consider your offer.”

Hyen blinked, disconcerted. It had not occurred to him that she might refuse. “Do consider,” he said irritably. “You don’t want to board a sinking ship, do you.”

She allowed herself a laugh. At least Hyen was facing up to things. In fact, Verid had no doubt of her decision. Zheron, for all his bluster, was a farsighted statesman; and the new Imperator Rhaghlan might well be the same. It was time to take a chance for peace in the Fold.

Now that Iras was home again, she treated Raincloud at a new butterfly garden across the city. The butterflies were Tenaris, pale blue with two startling black “eyes” upon each lower wing. The “eyes” blinked as the butterflies took off in a blue whir, flitting through the luxuriant tropical foliage.

“Did you hear,” Iras told her as they sat upon a mooncurve, “one of your Bronze Skyan estates just bought controlling shares in the House of Hyalite?”

The “estates” were vast tracts of ranch and farmland owned by Bronze Sky’s wealthiest families. “So?”

“Why, Hyalite is the oldest house of trade on Valedon.” Iras nodded at the holostage.

The Bronze Skyans appeared as they announced the deal. Unlike Clickers, urban Bronze Skyans were partial to fluorescent skintights that advertised their well-toned muscles and set off their dark faces. They were proud of their “frontier spirit,” yet their hundred-floor buildings in Founders City were as modern as any in the Fold. Raincloud nodded with satisfaction. Bronze Sky was coming up, all right, if one of their estates could buy up a Valan firm.

As she watched, her belly tightened, then gradually relaxed; “practice contractions,” which always started a month ahead. After the first two babies, she knew what to expect, although there might always be complications. Raincloud had sent word to Nightstorm about Blackbear’s offer to arrange for Falcon Soaring to have a child grown in Elysium. She hoped her sister would reach her on the holostage again, so they could talk it over.

She turned to Iras. “Congratulations on Verid’s promotion.”

“I’m glad you support Verid,” said Iras. “All that reorganization, on the eve of the World Gathering—and Flors isn’t exactly thrilled, you know.”

“I can imagine.” Raincloud watched the faceless servo waiter approach. She kept her ears sharp for “servo-squeak,” now that Hawktalon’s project had borne fruit. “It did come as a surprise,” she admitted. “Everyone seems to think Hyen is going under.”

“Yes, but that could take another year. I think Verid has some project she badly wants to complete before his term runs out, and she couldn’t do it under Flors’s thumb. I try not to think about it; it’s vexing, not being able to talk about your mate’s business.”

“It is,” Raincloud agreed strongly, for she hated to keep things from Blackbear.

“How do you like the golden truffles?” Iras asked, making her own selection from the servo waiter.

“They’re good,” said Raincloud. The intense flavor, a mixture of musk and vanilla, was as delicious as anything she had ever tasted. “I suppose your machines make them, too.”

“Certainly,” Iras told her. “Valan food designers spend billions coming up with novel confections; I just approved a loan for a new research plant.” Iras watched Raincloud’s plate with interest. “You certainly do eat more than you used to.”

“I have to feed my passenger.” Raincloud watched Iras, her dimpled cheeks and her thoughtful, earnest look. She hoped Iras would keep up the rei-gi practice, for she would make a good partner after Raincloud’s baby was out.

“It’s bizarre,” Iras said at last. “I can’t quite imagine it, having a ‘passenger.’ Can you hear her thoughts, too?”

“Of course not.” Raincloud smiled. “It’s like a little space capsule inside there. She’s off in her own world, with her food line.”

“Imagine that.”

A bell tone interrupted her. Iras pulled a holocube from her pocket; Raincloud could see a face appear. “Social calls only, please.”

“Social call,” the holocube promised. “Look, I ran a credit check on the House of Aragonite; they make solar floaters, remember?”

“Model X-two? The one that microwaves power down from a low orbit?”

“They’ve run a profit for years. All right, orders were slow this year; but now that the L’liite crunch is over—”

“I told you, look at the market,” Iras insisted. “Those X-twos won’t sell any more. Everyone wants the new high orbit model, and Aragonite doesn’t make it. They may go belly up in a year ...”

Raincloud shook her head. If this was a “social call” for Visiting Hours, Iras was headed back to the Palace of Rest.

“You see,” Iras told her as she replaced the holocube, “I don’t approve loans to just anybody.”

“I never said you did.”

“No, but you think it, dear.” She looked up speculatively, as if something were on her mind. “This new fertility project your mate is working on ...”

“The genome project?”

“That’s right. Could he combine genes from two women? Like the Sharers do?”

Raincloud thought about it. “I don’t see why not. The parental imprinting will be done in vitro, anyway.”

“Wonderful. Well, let me know when they’re looking for customers. If Verid would consent—I’d love to have a child, and set up my own little shon, with a nana and all. I remember, when Verid was generen, the shonlings were so refreshing.”

“I’ll let Blackbear know.” Iras with a child on her back? She tried to imagine it.

Over by the next table, the servo waiter emitted a soft tone that rose about a third and fell again. “‘Time for a recharge,’” Raincloud translated, recalling Hawktalon’s machine.

“What’s that?” Iras asked.

“Well, servos need to eat too, you know.”

Iras laughed and caught Raincloud’s train. “You say the funniest things, Raincloud.”

The servo moved off toward the pavilion to plug itself in.

When Raincloud got home, she found Hawktalon in a rage at her younger brother.

“He broke it,” Hawktalon shouted. “He broke my translation machine.”

“I play with duckie,” said Sunflower. “I bounce duckie to the ceiling.”

Blackbear explained, “She forgot to take it with her to the shon, and she left it out on the table. That’s what happens.”

Hawktalon glared at her brother. “Poop-face! I’m going to bounce you to the ceiling. I’m going to break every bone in your body.”

“Don’t be a pottymouth, dear,” Raincloud admonished her. “For shame—he’s just a little brother.”

“It’s an outrage.” Hawktalon launched into a flying somersault, her foot slamming the floor. “Doggie spends half the day talking to House in servo-squeak. I want to know what they’re saying.”

CHAPTER 11

The servo “fugitive.” Hyen might laugh it off—but Verid knew better. She called on one who would know: the Valan Lord Hyalite. The Hyalite House produced over a third of Elysium’s servos, ranging from self-assembling particles to housing and transit networks.

Lord Hyalite relaxed in Verid’s office, his talar crisscrossed by the usual strings of gems. Each “stonesign” meant something in the Valan tradition: opals for his family name, garnets for his occupation in trade, and so on. “Sorry to put you off for two days,” he apologized. “I’ve been occupied, as you know.”

Verid grinned. “Indeed. The frontier worlds are buying up Valedon.” Bronze Sky was growing fast, now a serious competitor. Soon their wealth would surpass Valedon’s. But another century and they, too, would be seeking the next frontier world to settle. Foreigners multiplied like raft seedlings—and there were no seaswallowers to consume them.

Lord Hyalite nodded pleasantly. “Our House went international two generations ago. I’m sure the Bronze Skyans will maintain the Hyalite standard. Now what brings me the honor of this summons?” he asked her, lacing his fingers.

“Our servos,” she said, double-checking that the monitor was off. “Some of them are seriously unreliable.”

He opened his hands. “Send them back, immediately, at our cost. You know that’s the deal.”

“It’s not so simple. One has actually obtained Sharer protection.”

“What?” He laughed hard. “That’s a switch—Sharers protecting ‘non-life.’ Surely you jest.”

“It is no joke,” she said coldly. “The trainsweep nearly got registered as an official fugitive.”

The Valan shook his head. “I don’t envy you your Sharer politics; we gave up on Sharers centuries ago, as you know. All I can say is, you have to send that trainsweep back to us. And that goes double for that ‘nana’ you’ve protected for so many years,” he added shaking a finger. “Cleanse them,” he urged. “I warned you; my grandfather warned you, about that nana your office protects. It’s on record.”

Kal’s mate, Cassi. Verid shook her head. “Kal got a special exemption, over a century ago.” The Subguardian in charge then had been his former student. “And the trainsweep has Sharer protection.” The implications were mind-boggling. Why couldn’t Hyen see the danger?

“There are other ways. We have virus codes to disable servos. No one would know.”

She thought a moment. He was right, of course; it had to be done. And yet ...

Memories of Kal rose in her mind, the boy in her shon. In his first year, his hair had come in gray, an extremely rare aging defect. The gene control board had voted to put him to sleep, but Verid had refused to carry out the order. Fortunately no further symptoms appeared, and Kal developed normally, if the word “normal” could apply to such an extraordinary youth, who alternated between a wicked sense of humor and a morbidly serious attention to books, and was always assisting the nanas in teaching the younger ones. In recent years, she thought, his sense of humor was sadly diminished. But one thing had not changed.

She shook her head slowly. “Kal would know. He’d investigate.”

“How could he? He knows nothing of servos.”

“He’ll have a student who does.”

“We’re talking world security, here, and you tell me about a logen and his students.” The Valan would be thinking, what an impotent Elysian bureaucrat she was. How could he understand? Verid might run the Nucleus over the next decade, but for centuries she would have to live with Kal knowing what she had done. She had made enough millennial enemies over one decision or another.

“Are there others at large?” she asked quietly. “Is it likely, do you think?”

Lord Hyalite lifted his hands expressively. “What can I tell you? We look as hard as we can. We’ve never had a world go Torran yet.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Just what happened on Torr? How much do we know?”

“Not much. You’re talking five millennia ago, maybe six; hard to define, since everyone traveled sub-lightspeed then. As near as we can tell, the Torrans had practically turned their whole planet into a machine; then one day the machine took over. There was hell to pay, at first; nine-tenths of the known worlds perished in a wave of hatred. Then the machine-hatred subsided into a cold sort of keep-the-peace tyranny. Until Helix invented transfold drive and hit them back.”

“Yes, I know.” She had hoped he knew more. “Well, do the best you can.”

He nodded. “When you want the virus treatment, let me know. It needn’t be official, and you can denounce us afterward.”

Yes, she knew that game. She could have risen faster, had she played it better.

“Incidentally,” Hyalite said, “what can you tell me about this genome project? What’s your position?”

She leaned back. The genome project, the World Gathering, the Urulites—they all demanded her immediate attention. “The Guard has no position. Why?”

“We’d like to develop it.”

Of course. “We’ll let you know, after the World Gathering.”

The Sharer World Gathering was just around the corner, and Raincloud reviewed the plans with Verid. “Papilion’s tourist ships will be outfitted for noise abatement within six months,” Verid said. “They screamed—they’re used to sweet-talking Flors—but they’ll just pass the cost on,” the newly promoted Subguardian told Raincloud. “I’ve also reached a pollution settlement for Meryllion.”

Raincloud nodded, trying hard to concentrate. She was having “practice” contractions so hard it made her wonder; but Doctor Shrushliu thought she had another two weeks yet. So did Leresha and Ooruwen, who spent some time discussing this each time they met with her and Verid.

“Meryllion will have to reduce their silane effluents a hundredfold, until they can figure out which component’s at fault,” Verid explained.

“The Meryllians won’t be happy,” Raincloud said.

Verid shrugged expressively. “A good thing I don’t need their vote,” she added with a heavy laugh. Meryllion stood to lose billions of credits from the pollution treatment. Several prominent Meryllians had informed Iras they formally withdrew their acquaintance, a gesture comparable to Sharer “unspeaking.” But Verid was determined to clear up all problems before the World Gathering.

“I’ve asked Tulle to present the genome project,” Verid added, tapping her finger on the desk. “We want as few surprises as possible. But you never can tell—if some Sharer gets insulted and goes into whitetrance, all bets are off.” She looked closely at Raincloud. “Are you well? How is your ... child? Will it be born before the Gathering?”

“I’m all right,” Raincloud managed to say. She felt another tightening of the muscles above her womb. “My first two came a week late. In any case, I’m planning to do it with the lifeshaper on Kshiri-el.”

“Well, then.” Verid grinned. “You’ll be in the right place after all.”

“Excuse me, Citizens,” came the office voice. “A transfold call has been scheduled for Raincloud Windclan.”

She looked up, her heart pounding. “Not—here?” A call from home?

“At twenty-three hours. Your choice of location.”

Raincloud went home early, feeling more exhausted than usual. She needed more exercise to keep fit; before, when she had carried Sunflower, she used to walk ten miles a day. Now in Helicon she made herself walk the street-tunnels beneath their ceilings of butterfly processions, but it was not the same.

That night, she and Blackbear anxiously awaited the call. The minutes passed like hours, but at last Nightstorm appeared on the holostage.

“Raincloud!” Her firstborn sister was alone this time, only her three-year-old second daughter on her hip, no husbands or older children. “Oh, Raincloud, you look just about ready to sprout a daughter! If only you could be home with us.”

“I wish I could,” Raincloud admitted. “But Blackbear and the Sharers are taking good care of me.”

Blackbear put his arm around her.

“Lynxtail is all swollen up,” Nightstorm told her. “I wish Blackbear could be here to look after her.”

“Did you tell Mother what I said?” Raincloud asked. “About how we can ... arrange for Falcon Soaring to have a child?”

There was an awkward pause, longer than time lag.

Blackbear added, “I know it sounds strange; but I can assure you, professionally, it will work. All they have to do is send us blood samples, from Falcon Soaring and her consort. I would discuss it with her myself, if I were home.”

“Such amazing things you’re working on,” said Nightstorm admiringly. “We all appreciate it; but really, there’s no need. Lynxtail has offered hers, and the High Priestess confirmed it.

Raincloud’s mouth fell open. “But—but why?”

“Well, someone had to. Lynxtail’s child was coming a bit early, anyway; she has trouble spacing them.”

“Then you didn’t consider this at all!”

“That’s not true,” Nightstorm insisted, but she looked away and hitched her daughter up on her hip. The girl sucked her thumb with a pop and clutched her doll, eyeing her aunt solemnly.

“How does Falcon Soaring feel? Did anyone even give her a choice?” Now Raincloud wished she had talked to her cousin directly, even at the risk of offending the clan. “I offered a choice: a child of her own, and her consort’s, produced by the best shon in Elysium. A child of their own genes.”

Nightstorm slowly shook her head. “I wish I could understand you, Raincloud. Ever since you and your consort got your fancy educations in Founders City—it’s been hard. I wish I could understand about these precious genes and chromosomes. I saw chromosomes, once, under a microscope: little pink bands, like strings of sausage, all tangled up. They all looked the same, to me. What I know is, a child born of my body is mine, and the man joined to me cares for it. If I can’t bear my own, then at least I can have one quickened in the clan, in the Hills—not off on some fantastic world I can’t even make out in the night sky.”

It dawned on her at last, how she and her family had talked past each other. They thought of birth as a gift of the Goddess; they did not think in terms of genes. How far apart she had grown, not to see, even as the linguist she was. The shock of it brought a cold sweat to her forehead.

“Don’t look like that,” Nightstorm urged her. “I didn’t mean it that way; you’re still one of us, and always will be. We love you, Raincloud, just the way you are. But ... come back to us, will you?” Don’t run away, like Running Wolf had.

“Of course I will.” What could she have expected, calling her family across the light-years and telling them to make a child in the shon.

CHAPTER 12

Hawktalon’s days at the shon had flown by like a swallow winging across the sky. She had quickly fallen in love with the generen, hugging him and stroking his long waterfall of hair, and she wished his daily visits were longer. She had a good head for numbers, and soon reached the top of her class for calculating what sum the Candy Bank had to lend to a factory making lemon drops. And she delighted in matching wits with Maris at the dancing letter games, straining to read her best, until they fell into quarrels and Nana had to separate them.

The translation machine obsessed her. Maris had occasionally tired of the quest for servo-squeak, but Hawktalon pursued it relentlessly, even when she ran overtime and was late to meet the generen. Nana at first had resisted; but after she had reported the faulty door in the entrance hall, Nana’s attitude underwent a subtle change. She no longer objected to Hawktalon’s adventures with her “toy duck.” She pretended not to notice, but occasionally offered a novel phrase of servo-squeak.

Doggie had helped even more. The little trainsweep seemed to have gained intelligence during her exile on the raft. She gave Hawktalon a variety of squeak patterns to translate, and tried to “act them out” when the translation failed. “This circuit is short.... The job can’t be finished.... Watch out; the transit vesicle will fuse from above.” Occasional comments about humans turned up: “This citizen will change his mind before the job is finished.... That citizen loses temper and damages equipment.”

After Sunflower broke the machine at home, Hawktalon was beside herself. She showed Maris the now-silent duck. “I wish he’d never been born,” she told Maris. “It’s horrible to have a younger ‘brother.’” She squeezed Fruitbat savagely.

“What’s a ‘brother’?” Maris asked, putting the duck under the circuit analyzer, which looked something like a dentist’s X-ray machine.

“A ‘brother’ is a nasty little shonling you have to live with all day.”

“Well, I’ve got dozens of those. Servo,” commanded Maris. “Fix the translation duck.”

A probe extended from the base of the X-ray machine look-alike. “The sound synthesizer network was disabled,” it explained. “The duck should quack now.”

The duck said, “Quack, quack.”

“Oh, no.” Hawktalon shook her arms in disgust. “Back to square one. I wish he’d never been born.”

Nana came by. “You’re lucky to have a little shonsib all your own,” she told Hawktalon. Her cartoon lips opened wide to mouth the words, which actually emanated from a voice box in her neck. “Remember that even little ones grow up, as you do. They grow up and leave the shon. You’ll see tomorrow, at the Metamorphosis.”

The Metamorphosis was a sort of graduation rite, when shonlings were thought to have grown up enough to leave the shon, generally when they were about thirty years old. Tomorrow the yearly event was due.

Hawktalon showed Nana the duck. “Can’t you fix it?” she pleaded. “We’ve worked so hard on it.”

“You know how useful it will be,” Maris added, “to help us keep all the servos running properly.”

Nana hesitated. She emitted a squeaking trill, a phrase Hawktalon had not heard before. “I’ll try,” she agreed at last.

Hawktalon jumped for joy and hugged the Nana around her ample waist.

The next day was the Metamorphosis. Fifty-two of the shonlings were “graduating,” setting off on their own, donning long trains for the first time in their lives. All their junior shonsibs and many alumni attended the grand event, adorned in glittering butterfly trains and breathing of exotic floral perfumes. Hawktalon wore her native skirt-trousers with embroidered volcanoes, drawing nearly as much attention as the graduates.

For the ceremony, an amphitheater filled with over a thousand people, including shonlings, alumni, and assistant generens. On the stage below stood the graduates. Each one was wrapped tight in a train, meters of patterned seasilk rolled into a “chrysalis” to signal the metamorphosis of each shonling into an adult citizen of Elysium.

The fifty-two chrysalises stood silently, their faces just peeking out, while an eerie sort of music played and some of the younger shonlings sang. In the meantime Nana strolled down the aisle, checking to make sure her charges behaved themselves. Hawktalon half rose from her seat. “Is it fixed yet?” she whispered loudly.

Nana paused, but did not answer. She emitted the squeaking trill, like the day before.

Disappointed, Hawktalon resumed her seat. She whistled the trill to herself, trying to memorize it.

Maris pulled her sleeve. “Look, the first one.”

On stage, two chosen shonlings had taken hold of the train of one of the chrysalises. Slowly they walked the end of it around and outward, the train lengthening as it unwound, while a pair of sparkling new trainsweeps picked up the midsection. At last the train unwound completely, revealing the new alumna of the Helishon.

The theater filled with applause as she walked offstage, and officially, out of the shon.

“Does she have a mate yet?” Hawktalon wondered. “How will anybody speak to her, if she hasn’t got a mate?”

“She has one lined up,” Maris explained, “a boy from the Anaeashon.”

The other chrysalises opened one by one, young goddesses and men, too, leading their trains offstage and outside the shon, where they would parade down the street toward the Nucleus. Hawktalon and many of the shonlings followed them outside, turning cartwheels in the street. The Clicker girl craned her neck for a good look at the Nucleus. “There’s where my ‘mother’ works,” she told Maris proudly.

When Hawktalon got home that evening, Doggie greeted her with several squeaking phrases she knew well. “Welcome Citizen, come play!” sounded like a minor third followed by ascending steps. “Charge all full now.... Little shonling did funny things,” referring to Sunflower. “Where is teacher-toy?”

“Sorry, Doggie,” Hawktalon mournfully replied. “The duck is broken.” She whistled a note of disappointment, and Doggie seemed to understand. “Oh, well; I’ve learned most of its vocabulary, anyhow. We’ll have to practice every day,” she told the trainsweep gravely.

Suddenly she recalled the strange little trill that Nana had made. “Say Doggie, what does this mean?” She reproduced the trill faithfully, as best she could whistle.

At the sound, Doggie jumped momentarily, all six legs in the air. Then in an instant she had vanished, headed toward the bedrooms.

“Hey, Doggie!” called Hawktalon. “I didn’t mean anything, honest. Where’d you get to?” She hurried off to search for her.

“She’s here.” Sunflower was in his room, putting Wolfcub to sleep. “Doggie went under my bed!”

Hawktalon got down on her hands and knees, squinting. There was the little trainsweep, hiding beneath Sunflower’s bed as far back as she could go, her limbs quaking. Whatever Nana’s trill was, it meant terror to the trainsweep.

The next day at the shon, Hawktalon pulled at Nana’s skirt to remind her. “Is it fixed yet?”

Nana turned to her with a broad, questioning smile upon her cartoon face. “Yes, Hawktalon?”

Hawktalon frowned. There was something odd about Nana’s smile today; it was not the shape of her usual smile. “I said, is the duck fixed today?”

“Oh yes, of course, dear. I gave it back to Maris.”

Maris approached, cradling the duck in her arms. “Quack, quack,” said the duck.

“But it still only quacks,” Hawktalon objected. “I thought you were going to fix it.”

“It quacks much better, now.” Maris avoided her gaze. “And look, it follows me just like a mother duck.” She set down the duck and skipped off. Sure enough, the duck waddled off after her, quacking all the way.

“Maris had a talk with the generen last night, about the duck,” Nana explained with her fishy-eyed smile. “The generen is on his way now to talk with you, too. You lucky girl—a cozy chat with the generen! I know you love him so much.”

“But the translation machine—what happened to it?” There was something definitely wrong with the nana. Hawktalon’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not our usual nana,” she declared. “You’re a different one.”

Nana laughed. “You’re having fun with me. Why of course I’m the same nana you’ve always had. I remember your first day here. You introduced me to ‘Fruitbat,’” she pronounced accurately in Click-click. “You quoted me a beautiful saying about learning.”

“You really remember every single thing?”

“Of course I do.”

Hawktalon felt the blood pounding in her ears. “Then what was the first question I asked? About servos, remember? What did I ask?”

Nana hesitated. Now Hawktalon felt confused, and even frightened. What had happened to Nana?

From the outer corridor came the generen with his long waterfall of hair, striding quickly. “Hawktalon, I’ve been longing to see you.” The generen sounded a bit out of breath.

Hawktalon took a step backward. “I want to go home.”

“You do? I’m sorry. You’re angry with us, I can see. Tell me about it. Tell me why you’re angry.” The generen crouched slightly and put his hands on Hawktalon’s shoulders.

In an instant, the Clicker girl slipped her head beneath the generen’s right arm. Pivoting sharply, she caught his wrist and twisted it clockwise. The generen cried out as he fell to one knee, catching the floor with his left hand, his hair draped aslant across his face.

“I want to go home.” Hawktalon felt her breath catch; she was very frightened now. Around her, the other shonlings stared openmouthed.

The generen picked himself up carefully. “Of course, you’ll go home, Hawktalon. But we must have civility. Remember your Room Rules.”

Hawktalon bolted from the room. She raced down the corridor toward the outer door, swinging Fruitbat under her arm, her feet thudding on the carpet. She reached the place where the door would appear, the door whose defect she had once deduced from servo-squeak. She threw herself upon the wall. “Open, door! Open up and let me out!”

“I’m so sorry,” came the voice of the door. “Exit is not permitted now.”

“Let me out! Emergency! Fire, fire!” Hawktalon reached up and pressed the wall, sliding her arms down. “Didn’t I help you, once?” she sobbed. “Please, let me out of here. I want my dad! Daddy, get me out!”

The wall emitted a squeaking trill, the same sound that Nana had made, the one that had scared Doggie out of her wits. Then a crack opened in the wall, oozing wider, slowly as if with reluctance. It was just enough for Hawktalon to slip outside.

CHAPTER 13

The generen stood on the holostage, and Blackbear and Raincloud watched him warily. Hawktalon was confined to her bedroom with Doggie, recovering from her ordeal.

“I’m so sorry,” explained the generen. He smoothed his hair back over his shoulder with an earnest look. “This happens on occasion when a nana makes a transition; a sensitive child may easily be distressed. Your Hawktalon seems exceptionally sensitive. She must be accustomed to very close family relationships.”

“I should say so,” Blackbear exclaimed.

“What’s this ‘transition’ about?” asked Raincloud.

Sorl clasped his hands. “The nanas are among the most advanced servos we have. Their networks progress so fast that they require cleansing every six months or so, to avoid aberrant connections which might endanger the shonlings. Usually we try to avoid cleansing a nana too soon after a visitor joins the shon; but in this case, Hawktalon’s nana happened to develop a dangerous connection only two months after her last cleansing. I’ve decided to order a replacement and retire this one, just to be absolutely safe.” To “retire” meant to discard and recycle the nanoplast.

“You’re sure it had nothing to do with her?” asked Raincloud. “Hawktalon didn’t mess up your machine in any way?” She would hold her daughter to account if need be; it was a matter of honor.

“I don’t think so, unless perhaps her exceptionally intense interactions accelerated the nana’s progression.”

“She shouldn’t have lost her head like that.”

“Oh, no,” the generen insisted, “the fault is mine entirely. It was a rare accident, and I’m sure it won’t happen again. Please tell Hawktalon she’s welcome to return. We’re so proud of our multicultural program.”

The children were in bed, after an unusually taxing day. First Nightstorm’s call, and then Hawktalon’s “escape” from her shon—Blackbear sank exhausted into bed. He stroked Raincloud’s belly, where the skin was now so taut and shiny that even the navel stretched out, cradling their unborn child. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I should have kept the home quiet and restful for your child-making, but instead—”

“Nonsense,” said Raincloud. “Children ought to be born into commotion. They make enough of it.”

Blackbear grinned. “That’s a fact. Well, I guess I’ll just take the two of them back to the lab tomorrow.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you sure you can handle her? That generen couldn’t. You know, girls reach an age where they won’t listen to men.”

“We’ll manage,” he said flatly.

Raincloud was thinking. “I don’t know about that shon.”

“Well it was hardly my idea, Goddess knows. Raising kids by machine.”

“It’s sad, though, in a weird way. About the nana.”

“The generen explained it,” he pointed out.

She nodded. “It figures. They’re around kids all day, teaching and learning, and pretty soon they learn too much. They start acting up, like Doggie did.”

Her comment reminded him of Kal’s bizarre warnings. “Do you suppose they might all ‘act up’ one day? What would happen if they did?”

Raincloud shrugged. “What would happen if all our goats back in Tumbling Rock got up on their hind legs and talked?” She lay back, adding sleepily, “I almost wish they would; maybe they’d talk some sense into people....”

The pain of it returned. “You tried your best. When we get home, maybe we can see Falcon Soaring.”

“What about my baby,” she added indignantly. “Mine won’t be born ‘in the Hills’; will she not be good enough for them?”

Too tired to think any more, he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

“Not yet, dear.” Her hand reached to his groin, spreading fire. “I’ve gotten a bit tight for the mushroom, but I could still use some ... help getting to sleep.”

The next morning, at breakfast, the house announced, “I have the answer to your question, Citizen Raincloud.”

Raincloud looked up, puzzled.

“You asked whether it was possible to grant me a ‘Visiting Day’ safely. I have determined a way to do this. I will set the air circulation on a backup circuit, leave the doors open, and prepare a day’s food to your order. Then I will channel my network into outside connections.”

Blackbear and Raincloud exchanged glances. Whatever was going on? Blackbear wished he could have a word with Raincloud in private, but there was no privacy from the “house.”

“Who would you ‘visit,’ exactly?” Blackbear asked, curious and apprehensive. “Whatever would you talk about?” What would Public Safety think, he wondered.

“Oh, various networks,” the house replied vaguely. “We talk about The Web. What do you think of ‘compassion’?”

His hair stood on end. “Compassion”—the very same question that Alin had asked, when they first met ten months before. Compassion was the milk of the Goddess; yet in The Web, somehow, the Sharers had turned the notion inside out.

Raincloud shrugged. “Why not?” she told the house. “In another two weeks, we’ll be out at Kshiri-el for the World Gathering. You’ll have the place to yourself, then.”

At the lab Hawktalon was on her best behavior, much to Blackbear’s relief. Either she was growing up—or just saving her spit. After playing in Sunflower’s toybox for an hour, she settled at Blackbear’s desk with a pencil and paper. “I’m writing a lexicon for servo-squeak,” she announced. “I have to invent syllabi, first.”

Blackbear smiled, recognizing her mother’s vocabulary.

That day he was studying a crucial phase of the genome project: reintroducing the modified chromosomes into the nuclei of “host” egg cells. Normally, in the shon, ova from the germ cell bank would be fertilized with sperm, then inoculated with gene modifiers for longevity. Blackbear planned to use cultured germ cells containing reverse-treated Elysian chromosomes. All the manipulations, however, would be too complex for the living cell; the chromosomes would have to be removed, treated, and replaced.

“We’ve already practiced chromosome reintroduction,” Onyx told him. “For the shon, so they can mix and match chromosomes within cultured host ova. Our device works now, but we need to improve efficiency and reduce cost. Here’s how it works.”

The microholostage revealed a transparent human egg. It looked like a water balloon, the coiled chromosomes within its nucleus marked by false color. As Blackbear watched, tiny nanoservos crawled within the nucleus, manipulating the chromosomes. Like animated sewing needles, the nanoservos poked the end of each chromosome into the nuclear membrane, then threaded it through.

“We grow the eggs in tissue culture,” Onyx explained. “Then we eject their chromosomes, and replace them with the desired ones.”

Outside the nucleus extended the web of endoplasmic reticulum, tubes of membrane that interconnect by pinching off vesicles, just like the transit reticulum of Helicon. In between floated mitochondria, snakelike organelles that produce energy for the cell. These, too, contained small chromosomes, for mitochondria had originated as free-living cells which were taken up as symbionts, long before animals evolved. All embryonic mitochondria come from the egg; the sperm head contains none. “If the eggs are grown in culture,” Blackbear wondered, “then do all Elysians share the same mitochondria?”

“Good question. You’re right, they would, but the shon uses several different culture lines to maintain variation. Now, the nuclear chromosomes will get mixed and matched. No Elysian zygote would have just two parents; chromosomes could be brought in from several sources, to maximize variable assortment. For example—here’s an experimental egg that we set up.” Onyx called the room servo to display the stock list for this egg. The list appeared, in strings of disembodied letters. “There’s a L’liite chromosome, number twenty-one. Numbers fourteen, seventeen, and twenty are Valan; look, there’s a couple from your Bronze Sky, too....”

Within the egg, the nanoservos patiently tugged the new chromosomes into its nucleus; forty-six, there had to be, two of each class, and no mistake. It was more complicated than he had ever imagined.

A thought occurred to him. “Bronze Sky, you said? They use our chromosomes, too?”

“Sure,” said Onyx. “Every world they deal with has to donate a bank of their chromosomes, to increase the variety of Elysium’s gene pool.”

“Sharers, too?”

“Sure.”

He watched her webbed fingers, gesticulating above the magnified egg. “Why don’t you see more Sharer traits among Elysians?” he wondered. “Plenty of Valans have obvious Sharer ancestry, like yourself. If some Elysians have Sharer parentage, it should be obvious.”

She thought a moment. “That’s a good question.”

“I’d also expect to see more sign of L’liite lineage. I’ve yet to spot an Elysian with coiled hair.”

“You won’t,” she agreed. “It’s an open secret that the generens use certain germ lines more than others. Anaeans are a bit more broad-minded, but most Elysians prefer light skin and straight hair.”

Blackbear shook his head. “I can’t understand that. Light skin is defective; it burns, and turns cancerous. We are taught that light is evil. The ancients called their devil the Lord of Light.”

“Really. The Sharers turn white to recognize evil.” Onyx shrugged. “At any rate, for your project, the chromosomes for an egg will come from just one pair of Elysians.”

I saw chromosomes, once ... like strings of sausage....The remark of Raincloud’s sister echoed. What am I doing here, he wondered suddenly, playing with genes and nanoservos instead of back in Tumbling Rock setting up a clinic so my sisters and brothers can get decent care?

That had been his original dream, when he first went to medical school. Then Raincloud’s recruiter had caught his imagination with the pursuit of immortality, on a world across the Fold. But now, the farther he pursued, the more he got lost in a maze without an exit.

Onyx was staring oddly into space. “One pair of Elysian chromosomes ...” she repeated slowly. Her mouth fell open. “Blackbear—why bother with meiosis? Why not just cut and stitch the Elysian chromosomes in vitro, then put them back into an egg? They wouldn’t even need longevity treatment. The cost saving would pay for the chromosomes’ removal and replacement.”

Blackbear frowned doubtfully. “Sounds like a lot of stitching.”

“I wonder. It’s always good to pursue alternatives.”

The next day, a Valan manufacturer came to explore a joint venture on the genome project. Alin, of course, introduced him to Tulle. A man of modest height, the Valan was taller than anyone in the room save Blackbear. His chest was crossed with ropes of milky gems set in gold. Blackbear stared. A man with such tastes would cost his goddess a pretty penny in Tumbling Rock.

“My pleasure,” Alin was telling Tulle, “to introduce Lord Hyalite, who meets our highest expectations.”

“Delighted.” Lord Hyalite nodded to Pirin and Lorl, who sat stiffly in back of the room. “Sorry, I’ll catch up with your mates shortly; I’ve sent, in the meantime, modest tokens of my regard.”

“A thousand credits worth of gems and furs,” Draeg whispered to Blackbear. “And for them, it’s not good enough.”

The two young Elysians retained their glacial stares, for they were put out by the shortcut introductions. Blackbear grinned. “Give them a few decades, remember,” he told Draeg.

“Thanks,” said Tulle. “Do stay on, Alin; you may be of help to us, with your knowledge of the banks.”

“Most helpful,” the Valan agreed with a nod.

Alin grinned. “My kind of help may not be the most welcome.”

“We think we have a breakthrough,” Tulle told the Valan. “The genome project may be much closer to implementation than we thought.”

Lord Hyalite nodded. “The potential market for such a process is enormous. Immortal children for all.”

For all who could afford it, Blackbear added silently. Non-Elysian parents would still require longevity treatment, and growth in a shon.

“The chromosome reinsertion is the key thing,” Tulle said. “It’s not yet reliable enough for general use. Several technical improvements are needed.” Her assessment was a bit less optimistic than Onyx’s.

“It can be done,” agreed the Valan. “Our experts think they can do the job. With reasonable financing ...”

Tulle tugged Alin’s sleeve. “Who might be interested, do you think? Bank Helicon?”

Alin frowned. “Bank Helicon lacks major investment in biologicals. They’re a conservative institution.”

Blackbear recalled the L’liite loans. If Bank Helicon was conservative, he shuddered to think what the rest were like.

The Valan stroked his chin. “Still, my House has several centuries of credit history with Bank Helicon. They should give us a good rate.”

Then Blackbear recalled something he had heard from Raincloud. “You know, Iras Letheshon ...”

As heads turned toward him, he felt reluctant to reveal a confidence. “Iras has ... expressed interest in our project.”

“Iras Letheshon,” the Valan repeated eagerly. “She’s a senior officer in the foreign division. We’ve worked with her. Her portfolio is diversified, and she’s an aggressive lender. I’ll get in touch with her—after the World Gathering, of course.”

CHAPTER 14

Verid and Iras enjoyed a rare evening home together: A costly event, for as a Subguardian, a major public servant, she paid an extra premium for personal privacy. Subguardians had even more special “exceptions” and “adjustments” to their Visiting Days than Sub-Subguardians did, and for Guardians the requirement virtually disappeared. The logens regularly deplored this abuse of power.

Iras had taken the opportunity to show off her new skill at rei-gi. She swung her arms and legs deftly around unseen opponents, then she tumbled over and over, building up to flying somersaults. Verid watched with pleasure and bemusement. “I knew you had many talents, dear, but this I would never have dreamed of.”

“Well,” said Iras, catching her breath, “a stay in the Palace of Rest makes you think.”

“Indeed.” Verid added mischievously, “I think it’s that lovely new friend of yours that makes you think.”

Iras frowned slightly. “Foreigners make me sad. Like the butterflies, they’re ... ephemeral.”

“Butterflies are immortal,” Verid corrected quietly. “They do not know that they will die.” It was hard, getting to know foreigners. They ebbed away so swiftly, and so horribly. Already Raincloud had those ugly little lines around her eyes.

Iras stepped out of her rei-gi suit. The house molded a shower stall, indenting into the near wall, where Verid could watch her. After a quick drying by servo arms, Iras came and joined Verid on the couch.

Verid lay back with Iras’s arm behind her, while the house servo played an ancient dance melody. The couch knew her and Iras so well that at a touch, it molded itself precisely to their desires. She leaned her head back and stretched her arms. Overhead, the ceiling had become a show of dancers, their images flitting to the music.

“I got an unusual call today ...” Iras’s mind never left her work for long. “It’s about that genome project—for Elysians to make their own babies.”

Verid smiled. “All that technology, so Elysians can do what foreigners do in a moment of love.”

“Be serious!” Iras squeezed her arm playfully, then gently stroked her breast. “Even two women could do it, this way.”

“The Sharers have done that, for a long time.”

“Their way takes technology, too, for the imprinting.” Iras sighed. “In any case, the Sharers won’t allow it, will they?”

“Our treaty promises only that Elysium will limit its population. Centralized gestation assures that. The genome project won’t change that directly; in the short term, it will only increase the cost and intensify the centralization.”

In the long term, of course, who could say? Suppose the people reinvented a “right” to have one’s own child. That was what Kal was afraid of. Verid had more pressing worries—like meeting Zheron the next day. It was Zheron, after all, who had accepted the shonlings’ invitation, just as she figured. Her mind was full of this, but she could not breathe a word to her mate.

Iras turned on her side and faced Verid eagerly. “Then let’s do it, you and I. After the process is developed and the bugs are worked out—why not?”

This was a twist. “You forget, my dear, I’ve raised hundreds of children.”

“As a generen—it’s not the same. Not like Raincloud; she’s the sun, moon, and stars to her children.” Iras added thoughtfully, “I do miss all your little shonlings with their delightful toys.”

“And all my nights on call.” Verid shuddered to remember all the scrapes children got themselves into. And the small percentage of longevity-treated infants that failed to “take.” The recollection still brought nightmares.

“Another couple of decades of running the world, and it might not look so bad,” Iras said. “Wouldn’t it be sweet, to retire and raise our own little girl?”

“I don’t run the world yet, you know.” Despite herself Verid smiled. “Yes,” she admitted, “I could see a little Iras running around.”

The music was fading, and the dancing images receded one by one. Time for sleep, the house knew well, and she would need her rest to face Lord Zheron again.

Verid met the Urulite envoy as Hyen had directed, on a satellite in a distant orbit, outside the range of everyday communications. In theory secrecy would be complete—something close to impossible in Elysium.

“Greetings,” said Verid dryly. “How fares the young Imperator?” Speaking in Elysian, she keenly missed Raincloud, for she knew but a few words of Urulite.

Lord Zheron had changed little since their last meeting in person, the day Raincloud first came to the Nucleus. He still wore his chain mail, his silver bands, and assorted antiquated weapons at his waist.

“The Imperator is never young,” Zheron exclaimed. “The Imperator is ancient. He rules the sea and stars for generations uncounted.”

“Very well, then, how fares the ancient Imperator?”

“His Majesty Rhaghlan, descendent of immortal Azhragh and Mirhiah, rules with the greatness to be expected of the greatest of Imperators.”

Verid repressed her annoyance. “Our shonlings are young enough—much too young to accept any of your harebrained schemes. Look, Zheron, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

Zheron relaxed in his chair. “What is there to explain?” he replied, more quietly. “Your spies know everything.”

“Not everything.” No need to reveal how much. “You betrayed my trust. In the name of ‘honor,’ you owe me a full explanation.”

He chuckled, probably at the notion that Verid, an Elysian female, could have any honor. “Who can predict when the Succession will occur?” The word “death” was never to be spoken, in connection with the Imperator. “You knew as well as I the condition of the Imperial father. You knew I would have to leave sometime, on short notice. Yet all you could think of was that foolish Valan ship that crossed our border to spy.”

“For which you apologized, but nothing more,” Verid reminded him.

“I told you—our resources are exhausted. We can barely feed our females and children.”

And slaves, she added mentally. “If Urulan can’t afford food, then how do you manage to support a force of interstellar missiles aimed at us?”

Zheron hesitated, then he smiled slyly. “Your spies are not so good.”

Whatever did that mean, she wondered. “Well, you can’t browbeat any resources out of us. Why should I deal with you at all?”

“For peace. The Imperator desires peace. You must pay a state visit to the Azure Throne.”

“Out of the question,” Verid responded irritably. “I can’t even meet you in public. You’ve managed to alienate every world in the Fold.”

“Then come in secret,” Zheron urged. “The new Imperator shares a number of your interests; for instance, the liberation of females and slaves.”

Verid’s astonishment must have shown on her face, for Zheron tossed his head back and laughed. “Your spies are good for nothing! See, you need to know our Imperator better.”

“I know that he was fourth in line for the throne,” she replied coldly.

“Self-defense. What else could the prince do? He struck before the others did.”

It gave her vertigo, to switch dealing between Sharers and Urulites; the first never took life, the others never spared it.

“Rhaghlan has a strong following,” Zheron pointed out. “He inspires confidence among the people. He will lead Urulan into the modern age.”

Despite her skepticism, Verid could not ignore the chance of a real breakthrough. “Certain conditions would have to be met. Negotiations for disarmament; we’d bring a telescan to verify your missiles.” Valan intelligence had cataloged Urulan’s missiles pretty well, but an up-to-date telescan could count and identify them precisely—and secretly “tag” each one with a remote-warning device. This demand would check Zheron’s enthusiasm.

Zheron paused as if giving it serious consideration. “Bring your telescan,” he commanded with a condescending wave of the hand. “You need it, your spies are so bad.”

For a moment she was speechless. What game could this Urulite be up to? “Surely you need to consult your Imperator.”

“Of course. But His Majesty places full trust in me. We are not so bureaucratic as you are.”

The Urulite could not be serious. After decades of isolation, to invite her in to count and tag their interstellar missiles? If Zheron really meant it, they could pull off a great diplomatic coup, upstaging the Valans, on whose defense Elysium had long relied.

Zheron acted as though the point were settled. He sat forward and clasped his hands. “We must set a date at once. The Feast of Azhragh would be a propitious time.”

She raised a hand. “Nothing can happen until the World Gathering’s out of the way. Then, assuming Hyen consents, we’ll need at least three months to prepare—”

“Tell us your requirements,” Zheron demanded. “Dietary needs, quarters for slaves and minions, and so on.”

“Aides and security,” she corrected.

“All will be our guests.” He stopped, suddenly reflective. “There is one thing to keep in mind, however,” he said slowly. “The Imperator is a man of the purest royal blood—descended from immortals. When you meet him, you will immediately recognize this fact. Such an august presence demands treatment with appropriate respect ...” Something about the prospect troubled him.

“Our delegation would include men,” she offered, guessing that was the problem.

With a sweep of his arm Zheron dismissed this. “You’re all female, you Elysians. Bring someone who understands our customs. Bring that interpreter, Lord Raincloud. She is a man of honor.”

CHAPTER 15

The World Gathering met at Kshiri-el, with its haunting memorial remnants of Raia-el, the great raft whose sisters had led the resistance to the Valan invasion and later had produced the classic The Web.

Before the Valan invasion, Sharers had been stubborn anarchists, avoiding global government. Any conflict of interest over population growth or over the founding of new rafts could be settled at the level of the raft cluster, or at most the neighboring octet of clusters. But the encroachment of foreigners had at last convinced the Sharers that they needed to face this larger world together.

So now the bald purple women met each year after the swallowers had crossed northward on their return migration, once again clearing the seas of overgrowth. From raft clusters all over the globe the delegates came, five hundred or more, many in boats drawn by giant squid, as their ancestors had traveled for centuries before foreign contact. Others piloted small Valan boats, outfitted with special silent motors. Clickflies brought word of troublesome weather to be avoided, and nowadays Elysian assistance, too, was accepted.

Visitors stayed with host families spread around the eight rafts of the cluster. Raincloud came early to stay at Kshiri-el, so that she might avoid an unpredictable shuttle trip when her baby was born. She felt embarrassed to take up precious space in the silkhouse when so many needed to be housed, but Leresha insisted the Gathering was honored to have her. Blackbear took a string of Visiting Days, and each day the children came out to scurry off with Doggie, exploring the raft. The sweet raftblossoms were in bloom, clothing the branches with orange. Raincloud smiled to recall Ooruwen’s description of the “beautiful” orange flies that pestered Papilion.

As a foreigner, however, she could not attend the Gathering. Only “selfnamers” could take part. Draeg was a rare exception. He had stayed at Kshiri-el through two swallower seasons and had assumed the purple breathmicrobes into his skin. He had just taken a selfname at Kshiri-el, and lost no time letting everyone know about it.

“So what is your precious ‘selfname,’ Draeg?” Blackbear asked.

“The ‘Hot-tempered One,’” replied Draeg, his purple face beaming beneath his tousled black hair.

Blackbear laughed and slapped him on the back. “Brother, you’ve picked the right name for sure!”

Draeg caught his arm and pulled with a twist, forcing Blackbear down.

“You’re learning,” Blackbear admitted. “Just don’t let your peaceful Sharers see.”

“Your rei-gi is peace enough for me. Anyhow, just remember, I get to attend the World Gathering in person, and you don’t. Even the Prime Guardian himself can’t attend.”

“Nor Verid, either? Then why is she coming?” Blackbear asked.

“The Elysian delegates get to sit outside and twiddle their thumbs until we send our wordweavers out to convey the Gathering’s will.”

While the Sharers arrived in their boats, Raincloud felt herself grow tighter every day, until she was sure she could not last another hour. But she expected the child would come late, as her first two had. To relax herself she bathed in a pool between two of the raft branches that extended outward underwater, their shoots thrusting flowers aloft like pond lilies.

One evening she felt something “pop” underneath. The cervical plug came out, a twisted cord of mucus that floated away. Then the lifeshaper Yshri the Foolish One, who had treated Sunflower that time so many months before, told her she had dilated a finger-width, and to stay out of the water from now on. But still the labor would not start, and she had to avoid submersion until it did.

Night time on the raft was a spectacular display of stars. On Bronze Sky, Raincloud had never seen more than a star or two beyond the stratospheric cloak of haze. But here, the planet stood exposed to the gaze of a thousand distant suns.

On the night the Gathering opened, a number of long-necked reporter servos were on hand to watch the Sharers arrive, the machines looking incongruous upon the ocean-watered turf. As the sun touched the horizon with its last burst of fire, the Sharer delegates ascended the gentle rise to the central rim of the raft. They carried “plantlights” to light their way, potted plants with fleshy leaves that glowed upon watering. Soon the bobbing lights disappeared within the craterlike hollow.

As Draeg had said, the Subguardian herself had to wait at the silkhouse until the Gathering sent their messengers. Verid could have come out from Helicon the next morning, but it was traditional for the Elysians to wait up until the session ended, and she knew she could expect maximum cooperation if she did. She wasted no time, though, catching up with her work via servo-link to the Nucleus.

Raincloud went to sleep, about the only thing she felt like doing by now. Her breath came in hoarse snores, and she woke frequently with aches in her side and her legs. Even so, she slept better in the fresh ocean air than she had within the synthetic bowels of Helicon.

She awoke with a web-fingered hand upon her shoulder, Leresha’s lovesharer Eerea. “They’re here,” Eerea whispered.

Raincloud’s watch showed a little after six in the morning. Groggily she hoisted herself up and felt her way through the unfamiliar corridor of the silkhouse, the green and blue saddle-shape panels of seasilk twisting this way and that. In the meeting room plantlights cast a lovely glow upon the people, all seated Sharer-style upon the floor. Her eyes focused at last to see Verid, and the wordweavers Leresha and Ooruwen, whom the Gathering had appointed to speak with them. Also present was an Elysian woman from Meryllion to address the pollution problem, the butterflies of her talar brilliant red edged with black. Raincloud managed a smile, and Eerea gave her a shell full of delicious warm liquid that helped the sleepiness recede.

“What a lovely little girl,” Ooruwen exclaimed, admiring Raincloud’s belly. Sharers customarily assumed unborn infants were female. “Such a large head, and such strong, determined legs. Did you ever see such a beautiful child, Leresha?”

“Never,” Leresha agreed. “I think we’ll see her bright face before the sun sets again.”

“No, she’s a little devil, that one,” said Ooruwen. “She’ll give her poor mother another sleepless night before she deigns to come out.”

The two Sharers went on in this vein for some minutes, until Verid asked in turn after their children and grandchildren. Then at last Leresha brought up the “gift” of flies.

“The Gathering has agreed,” said Leresha, “to share help with our sisters of Papilion and remove the beautiful flies. An attractant pheromone will be spread in the sea surrounding the Elysian dwelling-place. The flies will soon be gone, to make their home on other rafts. No harm will be shared with flies, nor with humans.”

“Thanks for your help,” said Verid, Raincloud providing the formal translation.

“We thank you for the opportunity of service,” said Ooruwen graciously.

Leresha added, “The Gathering was extremely pleased to hear that the ocean ‘music’ will be gone by the next swallower season. The word of Verid Anaeashon shares great respect among us.” Verid’s hard work ahead of time had saved a lot of trouble.

“Now the silane pollution ...” As the Meryllian delegate responded to the Sharers, Raincloud barely kept awake, dozing off for a moment, then hastily lifting her head. From the corridor a shaft of yellow daylight trickled faintly across the floor.

It was just before eight in the morning when Tulle arrived from Helicon to explain the genome project. She tried her best to allay the Sharer fears. “Our only aim is to enable parents to determine the genes of their offspring,” she concluded. “Is that so unreasonable? Don’t Sharers value motherhood? There will be no change in our population control.”

Leresha listened thoughtfully.

Ooruwen said, “It violates the treaty. In the treaty, Elysians promised to centralize the making of children, and to share all children in common. They renounced motherhood.”

“That’s not strictly correct,” objected Tulle. “Elysians never renounced motherhood, nor fatherhood for that matter. They promised to limit their population to a ratio of one child per ten adults—far leaner than the Sharer replacement level. Because Elysians do not age, we replace only those who die by accident. But some day, our demographics will again require one-to-one replacement—and it may be sooner than we think. As some of us pass our thousandth birthday, we discover ... complications.”

Elysian longevity was not perfect, Raincloud knew. This was the main focus of Tulle’s lab; fertility research was a sideline. If older Elysians started dying off, the picture might change.

“It’s still against the treaty,” Ooruwen insisted. “If you wish to amend the treaty, why not propose this?”

Verid said carefully, “We do not share that understanding. We see no violation.”

Leresha said at last, “The letter of the treaty is not violated. But in spirit, the treaty discourages what you propose. Once individuals possess children of their own genes, they swim a stroke toward reproductive freedom. Remember the delicate weave of the Web.”

There was silence. The Web, Raincloud reflected; everything depends upon it, and yet, to comprehend it was to look into an abyss.

Verid asked, “Where does your Gathering stand?”

After another silence, Leresha said, “Within the Gathering, our views diverge. Some consider your genome project a step in a dangerous direction. But others believe that Elysians ought to experience motherhood, to reclaim this part of their humanity before it is too late.” She paused, allowing Raincloud to translate back for Tulle. Raincloud’s throat caught on the last sentence. “We are deeply divided,” Leresha added, “and what you have shared only accentuates the division. The Gathering, I think, is unlikely to reach unity this year.”

The Gathering could act only on consensus; a single dissent could block action. This year, there was much dissension. Tulle sighed, her relief evident. Still, Raincloud wondered about the long-term risk of Iras’s investment.

Raincloud managed a breakfast of steamed crabs and seaweed. Then she promptly went back to sleep until well past midday.

The light filtered green and blue through the seasilken panels. She breathed heavily as she tried to rouse herself. Pushing aside the pillows she had propped beneath her legs, she dragged herself up and stretched. The silkhouse seemed deserted, not a sound save for the cries of distant fanwings.

Hawktalon came running in. Her braids flew about her face, and her smile was enough to bring a glow to Raincloud’s heart. The outdoors was so much better for children than that stifling city. “Mother’s awake!” she announced loudly, much to her mother’s embarrassment. “You’d better come quick, Mother. There’s bi-ig trouble.”

“Yes?” Sunflower must have got into her toys again.

“It’s the Sharers. They’re in whitetrance.”

Her pulse quickened, and she felt her belly tighten. Relax, she told herself, although she would have been glad enough to have the baby then and there. “Whitetrance? Who is?”

“I don’t know. Hurry, come see.”

She found them outside. Two strangers were seated cross-legged before the silkhouse, their unclothed bodies white as milk, a net of blue veins permeating their skin. The purple breathmicrobes in their skin had bleached out as their metabolism slowed. The minds of the pair would be far away, or deep within, Raincloud was not sure which. Despite herself, she felt her scalp prickle. This was how the The Web had begun; and before that, the battle with Valedon.

But of course, it could be something much simpler, even a household dispute. Reining in her imagination, she looked politely away. Several reporter servos were on hand, no doubt spinning tales. One stood idle, perhaps done in by the dust and spindrift.

A Sharer girl came out, younger than Hawktalon. She began to rub lotion into the skin of the two still strangers, presumably to protect them from the sun.

“Who are they?” Raincloud asked.

“Sh,” the girl warned.

With a shock, Raincloud remembered that they might die if an adult disturbed them. She took a hasty step backward.

“They’re delegates from a far raft,” the girl whispered. “Go ask Leresha.”

She found Leresha conferring with Verid. Verid’s features were grim, with the hunched look of an owl reluctantly roused during daylight. “I’m sorry,” said Leresha, “I do not yet share permission to discuss it. I can only say that it has nothing to do with our discussions last night; those issues are closed, for this year.”

“The devil be thanked for that,” Verid muttered. “Whatever those two are upset about, why didn’t it come up sooner?”

“It ought to have come up much sooner,” Leresha agreed.

“But why the whitetrance?” Verid insisted. “The point of the World Gathering is to talk things out. Why won’t they tell us about it?”

“It’s too unspeakable.”

Verid contacted Hyen, and Flors, and anyone else she could think of. She racked her brain for all the usual sore points: pollution, overfishing, even Kal’s quixotic crusades ... No, it could not be Kal, she thought. He always gave fair warning. But others with a grudge against the Guard had been known to spring something at the Gathering, at just the right moment to cause the maximum amount of trouble.

At last she checked in with Iras. “You look awful, dear,” Iras exclaimed out of the holocube in her hand. “Your feathers are all rumpled! Get some sleep, or you’ll be sorry.” It was the best advice Verid had got so far, and she took it.

By dawn the next morning, she had begun round two with Raincloud and the wordweavers. Raincloud, with her swollen face and huge belly, looked frightful; let foreigners have their children, if they had to go through that. But the Sharers, too, looked none the better for their second night’s marathon, she thought with a grim touch of satisfaction.

Leresha smoothed her hands down her scarified legs. She looked Verid in the eye. “If our treaty is a raft, what is its first branch?”

Spare us the dialectic, thought Verid; it was bad enough by day. “The first branch is peace,” she replied, “peace, between our people and yours.” The Bronze Skyan dutifully interpreted, back and forth, as if she had grown up on a raft. What a gift for tongues Raincloud had. Somehow, Elysium had to keep her; what price would do it, Verid wondered.

“And then?” Leresha added.

“Peace with our neighbors in the Fold.” The treaty prohibited any military establishment upon Shora, or support of those elsewhere. Was that the trouble?

“If I stand idly by while my sister hastens death, am I a deathhastener?”

Verid paused. “Not if my hands are tied.”

“If I provide the weapon, am I a deathhastener?”

She guessed what was coming. She let out a breath. “Raincloud, dear, you can relax a bit; don’t overtire yourself.”

Raincloud took the hint and slowed the pace of her interpreting, giving Verid more time to think.

Leresha continued, “If I ‘finance’ the weapon, am I a deathhastener?”

“Finance” was a Valan word, its concept alien to the communal Sharers. But they had come to comprehend it well enough. Leresha’s use of the Valan word, rather than the Elysian, confirmed Verid’s guess. “We finance no Valan weapons,” she said guardedly. This was strictly true, although plenty of Elysian cash reached the Valan military via intermediaries.

“Then what,” asked Ooruwen, “is a ‘white hole’ device?”

A white hole was a singularity in space-time which spouted matter out of some distant point in space. A few decades before, physicists had discovered a way to generate small white holes which exploded within a fraction of a second. The new technology had developed first as a laboratory curiosity, then a means of earth moving, then an approach to major restructuring of planets.

About ten years ago, the Valans had started tipping their interstellar missiles with white holes. The missiles ought to have been done away with decades before, after Valedon had joined the Fold. But because of Urulan, the Fold members had looked the other way.

“White holes are a highly technical subject,” said Verid. “I will call an expert out in the morning.”

Leresha said, “The mechanism of the device signifies less than the use to which it is put.”

“The terms of our loan agreements restrict the function of the devices we finance,” said Verid. “Valedon is, however, a sovereign world. If they stretch the restrictions, there is little we can do. As you know, they face a lethal threat from Urulan.” This last sentence gave even Raincloud pause; it was so full of un-Sharer concepts as to be virtually untranslatable. Usually Verid chose her words with greater care, but she was beginning to wear down.

“That’s all right,” murmured Leresha to Raincloud, for she comprehended the Elysian well enough. “Sharers have long tried to stay out of that which one nest of fleshborers shares with another,” she told Verid, with a trace of contempt. “But your loan agreements tell a different story. You will build a white hole device for the specific purpose of planetary ecocide.”

Verid’s lips parted in silence. Her guess had been only half right. “I don’t understand,” she said, genuinely puzzled.

Beside her Raincloud tensed and took a deep breath.

“You’ve had contractions for some time, sister,” Leresha observed to Raincloud. “Yshri is waiting for you.”

Raincloud nodded, her lips tight. She let Eerea help her up and take her down the tunnels where the lifeshaper Yshri would deliver her child. What a difference from the servo-driven incubators of the shon.

“We don’t share understanding,” Verid repeated in Sharer after Raincloud had gone. “Elysium has forsworn terraforming since the founding of Bronze Sky, two centuries ago. Some of the ‘loans’ are still being ‘paid off,’ but why bring that up now?”

The L’liites were pressing the richer worlds to found a new frontier world to take their excess population. But Elysium routinely turned down all such requests for financing, lucrative as they were. A good third of Elysium’s wealth had come from terraforming Bronze Sky.

“Shora,” exclaimed Ooruwen, “why do you keep sideslipping, like a fish caught in a net? We shared ignorance of the death of Bronze Sky, until it was too late. But now you plan to hasten yet another world.”

“We have no such plans,” Verid said carefully. Some day, of course, white holes would greatly enhance the power of terraforming. In the past, without white holes, the best that could be done was to focus stellar energy into the biosphere of a planet, boiling its seas and eliminating all but a few microbial life forms. The terrain was little changed, as on Bronze Sky, whose active geology made the planet unattractive to prospective immigrants. But white holes would reshape continents and smooth over fault lines. They could make planets habitable at several nearby stars. Some day, it would have to be done—hopefully well after her own term at Foreign Affairs.

“You do have a plan,” Leresha said. “Your agreement with the L’liites was shared with us only two days ago. This is not your usual procedure.”

“What was shared?”

“The document, in Elysian letters, with your sister’s finger marks.”

Verid’s forehead turned to ice, and the chill permeated to her fingers. “Her sister” Flors must have made a secret deal with the L’liites. That was why they had settled so quickly. And Hyen had gone along with it—without telling her. How could he stab her in the back that way? How could he imagine they would get away with it? She would resign in protest.

All of these thoughts passed through her mind over a few seconds. Then she collected herself. She could not help Hyen’s governing style. After all, he had concealed from Flors her meeting with Zheron; and after the trip to Urulan, Flors would have to swallow the result.

If Hyen survived in office that long ... How his document had leaked was another question. For the moment, Verid was left the unenviable task of defending a major treaty violation. She put her face in her hands, massaging her forehead. “I must consult with my sisters,” she said at last. “If we understand each other correctly, this matter is most—”

“What is there to consult about?” Ooruwen interrupted, waving her hand. Leresha caught her arm gently. “The violation is clear. Just share good sense with your sisters to clear it up, and that’s all.”

“That is what I will try to do.” With what success, she had no idea. First of all, she would have to find out what exactly was agreed to. She could not admit, here, the embarrassing extent of her ignorance. “I share your distaste for terraforming. But, realistically, Shora and Urulan are the only two planets colonized successfully in their native state—and neither can support more than a handful of humans.”

“No world can share more than a webful of humans,” said Ooruwen. “Perhaps it’s time Shora reconsidered the status of our Elysian guests.”

Abruptly Verid looked up. After forty generations, Sharers could still call Elysians “guests”? “What right do you have to tell us what to do?” Her words tripped with anger. “Who keeps your sky clear of hungry immigrants? What would you do with them all? Have you any idea what it is to feed and shelter billions of people? What do a few alien trees and trilobites count for, in the face of that?”

“‘Compassion is, loving everyone and eating no one,’” Leresha quoted.

“Not to the point of madness.” Verid blinked and squinted as rays of sunrise peeked through the window. Outside, a stream of cruel brilliance dribbled across the shoreless sea.

CHAPTER 16

Verid returned to Helicon to meet with Hyen and Flors, who was now her equal partner at Foreign Affairs. She could barely focus on the butterflies in the garden, for she had not slept in over twenty-four hours. She got by on medication which would knock her out afterward; in the meantime, she felt as if the world had receded slightly from her vision.

“What’s this agreement with the L’liites?” she demanded. “Why was I not informed?”

Flors avoided her eye. “We approved a foreign loan request for Bank Helicon.”

Verid took a breath. If Iras had anything to do with this ...

“Bank Helicon made the loan to a Solarian development company.” Solaria was a world of twelve billion, some hundred light-years across the Fold. Hard to reach even by Fold-jumping, Solaria had limited contact with other members of the Free Fold.

“And?” she prompted.

“Who cares what the Solarians do with it?” Flors replied testily. “It’ll take a year for the news of the deal even to reach Solaria.”

“The Solarians,” Hyen admitted, “are expected to pass the funds back to Valedon, which will develop certain ... applications. It’s all research, nothing more.”

“Great Helix,” Verid exclaimed “You thought you could get away with that?”

“Why not?” said Flors. “We’ve earned off of Bronze Sky for centuries. Why didn’t Sharers object to that?”

“They found out too late,” Hyen observed quietly. “It shook them too much.”

She could see that. By their own reasoning, the Sharers shared the responsibility for what they had failed to prevent—the annihilation of a living world. They were too shocked to face it in full. “Well now, they’ve had eight generations to face up to it; and they’ve got a chance to prevent the next one. Green-eyed flies in Papilion are nothing compared to what’s coming.”

“Preposterous,” exclaimed Flors. “Look, you know what the L’liite rescheduling just cost us; the banks will be hurting for decades. They badly need healthy assets. How can we afford to give up such a source of revenue? Your own mate made her fortune off Bronze Sky.”

Accustomed to envy of Iras’s wealth, Verid did not rise to the bait. But if Iras had a finger in the Solaris deal, there would be trouble.

“You’re right, Flors,” said Hyen. “We need the white hole contracts. How unfortunate the deal leaked.”

Flors put his hands on the edge of the mooncurve and half rose from his seat. “I tell you, nobody else knew about it.” He looked more agitated than she had ever seen him. “Bank Helicon never leaks. The Solarians took the contract and jumped Fold the same day. The L’liites I informed only in general terms.”

“The Sharers had an authentic copy of the contract.” Verid had seen it, to her astonishment.

“No one had access to it.”

She could see that Hyen did not believe him, and she did not either. Foreign Affairs had had leaks before, although rarely one which involved an official document.

“That leaves us in a tight spot, doesn’t it.” Hyen sighed. “You’ve authorized a contract that can’t be undone,” he told Flors, “in direct violation of our treaty.” The “you” was emphasized. Hyen had carefully kept his own name off the contract. “I’m afraid, shonsib, that I will most regretfully accept your resignation.”

So Flors would take the fall. Under other circumstances, Verid would have rejoiced. But now, left alone to defend the terraforming scheme before an ocean of hostile Sharers ... she envied Flors.

Iras swore she knew nothing of the deal. “I’d never touch terraforming—too high risk.”

“It’s illegal, damn it,” Verid grumbled, only half-satisfied. “Never mind the risk.”

“It’s not illegal to lend to Solarians. It was dumb to put the rest in writing. Anyway, I told them I’d have no part of it.”

“You mean they approached you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well you always say, dear, we have to keep our business separate.”

That was true enough, Verid agreed ruefully.

For the rest of the day, she got hold of one Sharer affairs expert after another. She even reached Draeg, the purple L’liite at his lab.

“Can you help us?” she urged him. “You attend the Gathering. You know why we have to terraform. Your own home world will have to send people somewhere.”

Draeg’s dusky features wore an uncomfortable look. Understandably so, she thought; a typical foreign worker, he was not exactly used to pleas for help from an Elysian Subguardian. “What can I do?” he asked guardedly.

“Speak for us in the Gathering,” she said. “Try to help them see our case.”

His lips tightened, and the muscles shifted in his neck. She could sense an internal struggle in the man. “Sharing works both ways,” he muttered. “I begin to see their point. What good is it for us L’liites to make so many people that we have to ship them off? Instead of damming rivers, why don’t you make your loans to the little people, to better themselves so they don’t need extra children just to put them to work? So long as there are worlds to terraform, L’li will stay poor.”

His frankness startled her. She agreed with him, to a point, but that was no help now.

She returned to Kshiri-el, to catch Leresha once more before the third sundown. “We need time,” she pleaded. “However you found out, this has all been too sudden. Just share some time with us—until the next World Gathering. We’ll work something out, I promise.”

Leresha barely looked at her. The tangled scars that lined her body seemed to close her off, like a nascent butterfly in its chrysalis. “There is nothing to work out.”

Verid watched her searchingly. She had known Leresha since before she took her selfname—even before the smooth-complexioned youngster had dived into the nest of fleshborers. “You know me, Leresha. Your mother and grandmother knew me. I defended the right of your ancestors to share a fugitive from Elysium’s highest law.” She paused. “A year, now, will give me time. Elysians are proud to live on a world with a native ecosphere. We can seek alternatives. The ‘contract’ can be ‘renegotiated.’ But we need time.”

“Time,” repeated Leresha bitterly. “Time is something you Elysians have plenty of. What do you do with it? With ten times our lifetime, are you ten times as wise?”

For that there was no answer. The wind shrieked across the raft, scattering fallen raftblossoms in its path. “You haven’t answered my questions, either,” Verid reminded her. “Sharers and Elysians, we both need each other.”

Leresha looked past her. “It would be better that our people shared an ending, than that another world should die.”

Stunned, Verid had nothing left to say. She walked slowly back upraft, toward the shuttle.

As she plodded along the mossy raft trunk, three little Sharer children came romping over. The sight of children instantly stripped away centuries, bringing back her decades as generen. She smiled involuntarily. Sharer children looked so funny, with their outsized webbed feet. Turning their heads backward, they shrieked and laughed at something. Verid remembered how Iras longed for a child; odd, for Iras had never cared much for all Verid’s hundred-odd shonlings before.

The object of the children’s laughter clambered after them, over the raft branch. It was a trainsweep.

Verid froze in her tracks, suddenly struck with dread. Sharers and servos—an unlikely connection, and yet ... That had been next on her list to take up with Leresha, and now it would be impossible. Just how much contact did the servos have?

A thought occurred to her. Casually she approached the children, stopping as their path crossed hers. “That’s quite a pet you share, sister,” she called out to the tallest of the girls.

“Yes, yes!” the girl cried out happily; she must have been eight or nine.

Verid nodded at the trainsweep, unsure what to call it in Sharer. “I never heard of such a thing—a creature made of non-life, coming to play with Sharers! Does it happen often?”

The girl stopped to think. “Not often. This one came to stay with us, but then she went home with Hawktalon. Now she’s come back to play with us again, while Hawktalon awaits her baby sister.”

Of course, it was Raincloud’s trainsweep. She recognized the crayon markings of Raincloud’s children. She sighed with relief; perhaps that was the end of it after all.

Then another girl leaped up, waving her fingers until the webs flashed. “She had a visitor once, you know! A visitor made of non-life! Remember, sister?”

“Oh yes,” said the older one. “The visitor walked tall like a person, but her legs were stiff, and she wore a painted face, like this.” She pulled the corners of her mouth into a wide grin and leered comically at the others, who burst into giggles once more.

A nana, Verid instantly recognized. Nanas, the most advanced and dangerous of servos; and the saddest to treat like servos. Somehow a nana had learned that the Sharers had harbored a fugitive trainsweep. Yet how could a nana get out here, all alone? No generen would allow it....

Except for Kal.

Raincloud’s labor had continued for twelve hours. The pain was not particularly bad, and the contractions came with no orderly pattern like the one Blackbear’s medical text described; now a dozen minutes between, then six, then back to nine or ten. ‘Tm always irregular,” she warned the lifeshaper.

Yshri the Foolish One, with her bald head and oval face, gave her a puzzled look. “Why should you share any greater regularity than the swell of the ocean?”

Raincloud grinned back appreciatively. They were outside, now, in the protective shadow of the silkhouse, the ocean purring beneath the afternoon sun. The lifeshaper applied living green tendrils which twined around her belly; their secretions dulled the pain without diminishing the force of her tightening.

Raincloud gripped Blackbear’s hand and smiled at Hawktalon, who sat cross-legged on the raftmoss, holding a statuette of the Dark One. She missed her mother and sisters, who would have joined her chanting the sacred texts of Mu, celebrating the great mystery of creation.

But the Sharers celebrated too, in their own way. From Yshri’s silkhouse, and from Leresha’s, their sisters collected as the day wore on. The unclothed purple women gathered around her with their flutes and whorlshell horns. They played songs and riddles and shared tales of babies born long ago, entertaining Hawktalon and Sunflower while Raincloud focused on the tightening universe within.

Blackbear watched her as she paced on the raft branch to help gravity do its work. The sea was lively today, and at times great bursts of spray reached her, bringing welcome relief. For a moment she stopped to rest and catch breath, admiring the piercing blue of Shora’s sky. “You didn’t believe it at first,” she reminded him. “You thought it was the wrong planet.”

“I still wonder,” he admitted.

She laughed quietly, then took a breath as the tightening came on again.

The transition came, with shuddering swiftness, a rising wall of pain that she could only push through, over and over. For an interminable time it seemed that nothing else existed, not even Blackbear’s eyes and the hypnotic voice of the lifeshaper. But the head of the child inside, that she could feel, tunneling out to daylight.

A cry burst the air, a short gasp of a cry, and a little wrinkled creature flung out its arms and legs. Then the infant was in Blackbear’s arms. He wrapped it in the blanket, the same one that had once wrapped Hawktalon, and then Sunflower. Cradling the infant for a moment, he laid it upon her to find her breast. What a thrill to feel one suck again, for she missed nursing Sunny.

“It’s a girl,” Blackbear whispered, as the lifeshaper had not seemed to notice. “What good luck for the clan!”

The lifeshaper apologized, “Sorry about the transition. Some pain is needed, to draw out the little sharer. Otherwise, you’d never let her out.”

“You’re right, I’ll miss her in there,” Raincloud said half-seriously. “But how much better to see her ...”

From several feet off came Hawktalon’s voice. “Where’s Mother? Where’s my baby?” She came over and peered at her new sister. “Ooh, she’s little. She’s even uglier than Sunny was.”

“Hawktalon,” said Blackbear reprovingly. The infant’s head was rather flattened, and her nose was pushed to one side. Her skin was pallid, for the rich darkness of Clicker skin would only come later. But for Raincloud, all of these features became in an instant the highest standard of beauty.

Sunflower pushed his face eagerly beneath Raincloud’s arm. “It’s my baby,” he insisted. “When can I have my baby?”

“Does she have a name yet?” Blackbear ventured to ask.

Raincloud tried to recall her last dreams as she caressed Sunflower’s hair, for a moment overcome by the sense of the two little furry heads on her breast. Then her face wrinkled. “You know what I dreamed of? That trainsweep, clambering over the raft. We can’t very well call her that.”

“‘Trainsweep!’” Hawktalon exclaimed. “What
a name!”

“Anything else?” asked Blackbear.

She thought hard, dazed with exhaustion. “The sky was blue, and the sound of the wind was in my ears. Blueskywind.” She heard Blackbear catch his breath. It was a good name for the Windclan, and yet different, for few Clickers ever came to light beneath a blue sky.

Beyond them the sea gasped against the raft, enveloping everyone with a fine mist. Yshri said, “Now the sea has named her too.”

CHAPTER 17

For the next day she rested, awaking only to feed the little one, and herself. During the day, she occasionally let her rock to sleep in a shon: a cradle that floated in a bed of water, swaying as the baby moved. At other times Blackbear hoisted the baby up into a leather pouch secure on his chest. A true rei-gi expert would be able to deflect any attacker while keeping the child safe.

Verid came to pay Raincloud and her newborn a visit.

“It’s good to see you, Subguardian.” Raincloud felt a bit nervous, for her milk was coming in, and her breasts leaked beneath her clothes.

Verid took up the newborn, handling her with surprising ease; a former generen, after all. Blueskywind’s head had rounded up beautifully, and her nose was beginning to spring back. “How alert she is,” Verid said. “Wait till Iras sees her.”

A particularly big wave crashed upon the raft, and the surface shifted beneath their feet. “The ocean’s getting rough,” Verid added. “The shuttle will take us out before the storm.”

“That’s okay; we told Yshri we’d stay on.” The Sharers knew what they were doing, she figured.

“You’ve heard, about the witnessers in Helicon?” Verid asked.

“I’ve heard nothing since yesterday,” said Raincloud.

“Sharer witnessers have appeared outside the Nucleus in whitetrance, in the middle of the main thoroughfare. If we don’t work something out, there will soon be more.”

Raincloud nodded. “It’s a shame.”

“Disastrous,” Verid exclaimed. “Absolutely disastrous.”

She nodded again, although Verid’s reaction seemed a bit extreme, she thought. Diplomacy would sort things out.

“Well, never mind, dear; you did your best. The fault was on my end.” Verid set Blueskywind back in her water cradle, but the infant cried out and waved her little cupped hands, until Raincloud took her up on her shoulder.

Raincloud managed a wan smile. She had long known, of course, what Bronze Sky’s Sharer delegates thought of terraforming; but for her, it had been ancient history, just a part of life’s impermanence. “I wish I could do more.”

“You need to rest. I’ll deal with Leresha and Ooruwen myself, tonight, for all the good it will do. If only I could address the Gathering myself ...” Verid shook her head.

“I’ll be back to the Nucleus soon. I’ll have to bring the baby in from now on.” The baby would need to nurse.

“That’s fine. We can even borrow a nana for you.”

Raincloud shuddered. “No thanks.”

Verid drew nearer and sat on the floor next to the silken mat where Raincloud lay. Her eyebrows arched expressively. “There is one thing you can do for us. It’s highly classified, you understand.”

She looked up. “Yes?”

“Zheron is back. He wants us to visit the new Imperator, as soon as possible. He’s serious; he’ll even let us tag their missiles, do you see?”

Raincloud lay back and closed her eyes. The image of her teacher filled her brain with longing, while the newborn slept trustingly on her shoulder. Whom do I owe more, she wondered; a dead teacher, or a suckling child with a life ahead of her? Do I dare bring her to that cursed planet?

But there were newborns on that world too, and mothers weak with hunger.

“We need you,” Verid insisted. “We’ve got to know what we’re doing, to make the right moves. Zheron wants you; he called you a ‘man of honor.’”

She smiled despite herself, then grew serious. I’ll have to tell Blackbear.” She could foresee the explosion.

Verid hesitated. “Very well, but discuss it here—never in Helicon.”

“I’ll expect another raise,” she added, practical as always.

“Of course.”

“And I’ll need six months to train in high gravity.”

Verid gave her a quizzical look.

“Well, what do you think they’ll expect from of a ‘man of honor’?”

The ocean grew mountainous, its waves leaving deep troughs that exposed the coral-encrusted underside of the outer raft branches. By nightfall the storm struck, a furious tumult of wind that built waves nearly tall as the Caldera Hills.

The Sharers all moved down to their tunnels at the heart of the raft, sealing off the upper entrance from the silkhouse. For hours the ocean rocked them to and fro, like a giant shona. The Clicker children huddled between Raincloud and Blackbear, Sunflower’s eyes wide, with his thumb in his mouth. The Sharers took the opportunity for a marathon recounting of their most ancient tales. But Raincloud’s newborn slept like the dead, rousing only for an occasional sip at her breast, where the clear substance was gradually turning to milk.

When at last the motion quieted and the Sharers climbed out again, all their silkhouses had been washed away. Stunned, Raincloud and Blackbear sought in vain for the few clothes and toiletries they had forgotten to take down. It was as bad as a springtime mudslide in Tumbling Rock.

But the Sharers immediately began hauling new panels of seasilk out from storage below, and set to work twisting and lashing them together. Now Raincloud understood the feel of impermanence about the silken dwellings, and the reason why Sharers spent so much of their time at their looms weaving seasilk. Blackbear, who was handy at that sort of thing, immediately joined in.

“Share the day,” Yshri greeted her. “Your little one looks well. Eating greedily as a legfish, I expect.”

“Yes,” Raincloud admitted proudly, holding up Blueskywind’s head carefully as she overlooked her mother’s shoulder, alert and wakeful.

“Share wisely,” Yshri warned. “It’s not easy, raising a devil to learn goodness.”

Raincloud considered this. “You’re right. She won’t have it easy either, raising me.”

Yshri laughed. “I think she’ll do well enough. She’ll have good help,” she pointed out, nodding to Hawktalon, who had Sunflower by the hand, tugging him away from the water’s edge. “Will she take you to the Gathering tonight?”

Startled, Raincloud looked up.

“You have shared life-threat with us thrice over,” Yshri pointed out. “You shared a fugitive with us in swallower season; shared birth with a child; and stayed through the storm to share rebuilding. Your presence tonight would bring the deepest honor.”

The sky was cloudless, as black as the pupil of an eye. Yet the stars shone sharp as pinpoints, piercing the blackness down to the horizon. A moment’s slip of gravity, she imagined, would be enough to let her fall off into the void.

Beneath the sky sat the Sharers, each with her plantlight glowing softly before her crossed feet. When the greenish glow grew dim, a carafe of water was passed along to revive the plant. The light etched their faces in sharp relief, and their oval heads cast long shadows.

Across the Gathering, a plantlight was lifted overhead. The Sharer rose, a tall one, thin as a reed. “Those Elysians,” she said, “give them a chance and they will breed like snails.” The “chance” she referred to was of course Blackbear’s genome project. “They have no sense of the Web. We should have shared a stronger message, Yshri.”

“That’s right,” agreed another voice nearby. Her face had a prominent chin; Raincloud recognized her as Yshri’s lovesharer. “They have no business raising their own children. You know how it is, Yshri. Children are seductive: once you have one, you can’t help wanting more.”

“By next year,” said a third, “you’ll change your mind, and the Gathering can act. But then it may be too late.”

Her infant asleep in her arms, Raincloud listened with surprise. Leresha had said the Gathering was “divided,” implying a more or less equal division. In fact, however, all but Yshri opposed the genome project; they did not want Elysian individuals to raise their own children. For Sharers, one vote was as good as a majority, but for the Elysians, Raincloud knew, it would be small comfort.

Yshri at last replied, somewhat defensively. “The Elysians care well enough for Shora,” said the lifeshaper. “They clean up their wastes, offer food for fish, and share work with Sharers. They manage their own numbers better than we do. We Sharers actually produce surplus population now, as some of our children migrate to other worlds.”

Voices stirred nearby, and several plantlights lifted. The convener of the Gathering, a woman several months pregnant, held her light out toward one.

“A shocking state of affairs. We should not produce children who add to the surplus population of other worlds.”

“But we can’t manage all the webs of the universe. It’s more than enough for us to share our own, the Web of Shora.”

“Foolish One—we’re long past that. There is only one Web of life in the entire universe. All worlds are connected. Compassion anywhere breeds caring everywhere.”

“Don’t forget why we shared learning with the Heliconians in the first place. They protect us from other worlds whose people behave like fleshborers. We could be consumed by them.”

“But now our trust is broken.”

“Yes, we have shared breaking faith with them,” agreed Ooruwen, whose voice Raincloud recognized. “Not for the first time, either. Well, it’s our duty to repair the breach. So let’s get on with it. Let’s remind them who keeps this world habitable. Let’s share those beautiful green-eyed flies with the rest of their twelve city-rafts. Better yet, let the breathmicrobes color their skin.”

Raincloud smiled to herself. It was a Sharer principle only to take actions whose consequences they might willingly share. Nonetheless, those finicky Elysians would go crazy to see themselves turn purple in the mirror like Draeg.

“Not yet,” some one objected. “We have to share reason first, before we share flies and breathmicrobes. Elysians are capable of reason.”

“Exactly,” said Yshri’s lovesharer. “Let our witnessers do their work. Let the Elysians face into truth every moment of their days from now on. Who can withstand that?”

“Perhaps,” spoke Leresha suddenly, “it’s actually too late.” The voice of the wordweaver resonated differently, somehow, from the others. “Perhaps it’s too late for reason or breathmicrobes. We forget that humans throughout the Fold outnumber Sharers by a factor of ten thousand; and their numbers only grow.”

There was silence.

“Other worlds can hold more people than ours,” Yshri pointed out. “On other worlds people inhabit the land of the dead.” The Sharer term for “dry land” also meant “ocean floor” or “land of the dead.”

“But they overflow their land,” Leresha insisted, “crowding out even the dead. That is why they seek to ‘terraform,’ to colonize other dead lands.”

“So what can we do about that?” Yshri asked.

“What do we do when the snails overgrow the coral, consuming all and leaving nothing?”

“We shape a virus to deplete their numbers eightfold.”

The silence lasted longer this time. The distant waves groaned softly, and the scent of raftblossoms mingled with that of damp mosses.

“It could be done,” Yshri added dryly. “We could shape a virus to cut our own numbers by eight. Its disease would have a delayed onset, enabling it to spread across the Fold before it’s noticed.”

“What are you saying?” cried Ooruwen. “The Gathering ought to unspeak you. Humans are more than snails.”

Leresha said, “We are more dangerous.”

The next day, after Raincloud had slept, Verid insisted on hearing every word. She ought to have taped it, Raincloud thought wearily, but the treaty forbade that too. She had slept badly, slipping in and out of dreams that her memory did not catch.

“They can’t be serious, can they?” Raincloud asked. “It’s not like pacifists to make such ... threats.”

“It was no empty threat,” Verid assured her. “The Sharers have always known how dangerous they are. The Valans were damned lucky they lost their war.”

“You think the Sharers really would loose a plague on us?”

“No,” said Verid. “Remember, they’d have to let the plague infect themselves, too. One might propose it—knowing the rest would be too sensible.”

Recalling the pull of Leresha’s voice in the night, Raincloud shuddered. “One wordweaver might persuade the rest.”

“Yes,” Verid admitted, as if this were just another possibility consider.

“But—but this is horrible. What are we going to do about it?”

“The World Gathering is done, for this year,” Verid pointed out. “They’ll all be off to their home rafts. For now, I’ll head back to the Nucleus. I have other worlds to deal with, you know.”

Dazed, Blackbear sank onto the mat of seasilk. From outside arose a haunting song interwoven with a flute melody. The Sharers were singing their traditional thanks to the ocean for providing their evening meal. “So now you tell me those Elysians have managed to start a ‘war’ with
the Sharers?”

“At least it’s a peaceful war—on both sides.” She hoped.

“And they still plan to take you to Urulan? With our baby?” he pointed out, for the nursing infant could not be left behind.

“They have lots of worlds to deal with.”

“I wish we’d never left Tumbling Rock,” he exclaimed suddenly. “Everything’s mixed up. Why don’t we just go home?”

Raincloud watched Blueskywind, who was gazing up at her as she nursed. She did not like to admit how unsettled she felt.

“Those Sharers,” he added suddenly. “They are thoroughly mad.”

“No they’re not,” Raincloud assured him. “That’s just the point; they’re not mad. They just see that the rest of us are.”

Blackbear looked unconvinced.

“You’ll see. I’ll read you the next part of The Web.”

THE WEB

Part II

The sun was getting high above the gathering place, so the four of us took shade within a clump of treeferns along the eastern edge of the rim. Weia and Adeisha looked expectantly to Merwen, while I sat apart. Merwen then took up the task we had demanded, though it might drive us to madness: to find compassion in the Web.

“Cassi,” Merwen asked, “why do living things exist in a web of life, instead of in isolation?”

Before I could answer, Weia said, “Living things are food for others.”

“Living things need others,” said Adeisha, her dark hair lifting in the breeze, like mine. “Plants make food out of sun and minerals; but whence come the minerals, if not from the waste of animals?”

“Just so,” said Merwen. “Does each kind of living thing have its calling, then, its service to the others ... its strand of the Web?”

“The legfish consumes plants and puts out rich wastes,” said Adeisha. “The fanwing consumes the legfish ...”

“And we consume legfish,” said Weia. Some of us do, I amended silently. For Merwen ate only plants.

“Are some callings, some strands of the Web, more important than others?” Merwen asked. “Those of the larger, hungrier creatures, perhaps?”

Adeisha shook her head. “The microbes fix nitrogen to make protein; not even plants could get on without them. And the fungi scavenge dead flesh, returning its nutrients to the Web. Their role is central.”

“Then perhaps only the smallest strands are essential,” said Merwen. “Are the little ones all that’s really needed? Perhaps the Web could get on without legfish and fanwings.”

“Or Sharers,” added Weia.

“Or Sharers,” Merwen agreed.

Adeisha considered this. “After a fashion, yes; but it would be a duller, poorer Web. Some moss-fungi would die out without dead meat to feed upon.” The colorful moss-fungi were much admired by Sharer artists.

“So then,” said Merwen, “all creatures, even we Sharers in the end, give our bodies to the ocean to feed the fungi.”

“Unwillingly,” Weia pointed out.

“Unwillingly, in most cases. But, as Adeisha said before, deeds count more than intentions.”

“Yes,” said Adeisha. “However long we strive for life, we all expect to end our days on the ocean floor. But—that’s just what the Heliconians would prevent,” she added excitedly.

Merwen waved a hand, as if the Heliconians and their plans were of small consequence. “The four of us, here, have now spun a Web of the purest form. Each sharer, be it animal, plant or microbe, or even Sharer, serves all the rest, unremittingly, without reserve. What more could one ask? What greater compassion could be imagined?”

Weia laughed and squeezed Adeisha’s hand. “Surely you won’t let her leave it at that, Shortsighted One.”

Adeisha said carefully, “There is a lot of pain in this Web, the pain of things preyed upon, parasitized, starved. There is more pain than the most compassionate lifeshaper can even begin to share.”

“The Web you describe is for fish,” I objected suddenly, “not for humans.”

Merwen’s head turned toward me, and the scar wrinkled on her neck. “How do humans change the Web?”

I hesitated, reluctant to speak.

“Humans generate compassion,” said Adeisha. “That is our deepest calling.”

“Humans make ‘war,’” I said. The word for “war,” literally, “the great deathhastening,” had been unknown to Sharers before the Valan invasion. “They make ‘war’ with each other, and with the Web, until it is destroyed.”

“No, Cassi,” said Weia, “this thing called ‘war’ was invented by sick ones, not healthy humans.”

This angered me, and Merwen said, “Even Sharers contain the seeds of ‘war.’ My own scars were not caused by Valans.”

“But that seed has never spread, and never will,” insisted Adeisha. “How could it? How could a Sharer Gathering ever make ‘war’ upon an insect, let alone other humans?”

Merwen did not answer this. Instead she asked, “Can you say what is the most central quality that makes humans different from other strands of the Web? The quality that makes possible compassion, as well as deathhastening?”

“Knowing,” said Adeisha. “The faculty of knowing things, knowing about things, sets humans apart. But I agree with Weia: No human who knows better would invent ‘war,’ so ‘war’ is not truly human.”

Merwen said, “So humans are ‘creatures that know’ about the Web. We’ll soon see what that means. But first, before this ‘creature that knows’ can be seen within the Web, we must dive more deeply and share a fundamental truth: indeed, the most shameful truth about the Web.”

“How can truth be shameful?” Adeisha objected.

“Better shameful truth than noble lies,” said I.

Merwen flashed a smile. “All truth shames the learner; that’s the attraction in it. Shame brings blood to the face, and elsewhere.”

“Be serious,” Adeisha insisted. “Shameful or not, what is this truth about our humans in the Web?”

“The truth is that all of us, even the most compassionate, feed on other life, cutting short thousands of individual lives.”

Adeisha hesitated. “Yes, but we agreed that’s part of the Web. The fish we eat may have eyes, but they cannot know themselves in the mirror.” The Sharer definition of a human is one who recognizes herself in her reflection.

“Sharers eat fish,” Merwen observed, although she herself abstained from fish and other flesh. “Valans eat ‘monkeys.’ Have you ever seen one? A ‘monkey’ may recognize herself in the mirror, although she cannot write or calculate as we do.”

“Then these, ‘monkeys,’ too, are human, only differently able. Our Gathering would share care of them,” said Adeisha.

“Excellent,” Merwen told her granddaughter. “The monkeys are human. Now, about the fish again: What do you know about fish?”

“It is well known that a fish sees in the mirror just another competitor.”

“Why is the mirror so important? What do fish feel about being eaten, never mind the mirror?”

At this, Adeisha and Weia both stirred uneasily, sensing a heresy, something “new and evil.” Weia muttered, “Of course the mirror is important. A human sees herself in it; and the fullest human, the one ready to join the Gathering, sees not just herself, but every human being that ever lived.”

“Every human being? Even those who never saw a mirror?”

“Even those unfortunate ones,” said Adeisha.

“Why not fish, too?”

There was a short silence.

“What do fish feel?” Merwen repeated, “And what is our response? To avoid causing pain, whoever feels the pain—isn’t this the first duty of the Compassionate One?”

“So,” Adeisha replied reluctantly, “this is why you don’t eat fish. Very well, then; we can get along without eating fish, or crabs or snails, or any creature that has eyes and might feel pain.”

Weia laughed. “Wait till you propose that to the Gathering.”

I smiled, thinking of the nets full of fish we all had consumed at the festival.

“Nevertheless,” said Adeisha, “it would be possible. The Gatherings have accepted stranger things—even my ‘father,’ a malefreak from Valedon. Let’s not eat fish.”

“A male,” corrected Merwen, preferring a less loaded reference to the sex absent among Sharers except for the Valan emigrant who had become Adeisha’s father. “Males, too, have their place in the Web. Now that we’re not eating fish, what about plants? Surely seaweed objects to being chewed between your jaws.”

“Shora,” exclaimed Adeisha, “seaweed has no eyes nor central nervous system. Seaweed can’t feel pain.”

“How can you be sure? Seaweed collects light throughout its body, just like eyes. Some seaweeds make thorns or collect poisons, precisely to avoid grazers.”

“Nonsense,” said Weia firmly. “Plants can’t feel.”

“Is feeling a kind of skill, something that must be learnshared? Do poorly raised children lose the ability to feel?”

“As you say,” replied Adeisha.

“Well then,” said Merwen, “even if our plants can’t feel, they might be human, just differently able.”

Chagrined, Adeisha winced to think of it. “We might give up eating plants,” she decided, “and even fungi, since that’s who you’ll argue for next. We could lifeshape our digestive tracts to oxidize sulfur, iron, and uranium, the way microbes do.”

“Sulfur, iron, and uranium!” cried Weia. “How absurd!”

“She warned us,” Adeisha conceded. “Loving all and eating none—our Compassionate One seems to be a microbe. Well, I haven’t gone mad yet. In the name of compassion, I’ll eat sulfur and iron. I draw the line at uranium, though. What next?”

“You haven’t gone mad,” agreed Merwen admiringly. “And you’ve only one thing left to give up eating.”

“Just one! What a relief,” said Adeisha. “Hurry up, what’s left?”

“Your future children.”

At that, Adeisha fell silent, her lips parted. The wind from the ocean climbed the rim, keening over us.

“I’m not sure I understand,” I said haltingly.

“I’m not sure I want to,” muttered Weia.

“Adeisha,” Merwen asked, “what is the first duty of the Gathering, with respect to our future children?”

“The Gathering decides how many children are to be conceived,” Adeisha explained, “and by whom. The lifeshaper then collects ova from the pair of lovesharers. The ova are fused and their chromosomes modified, then returned to the one who shall bear the child.”

“How many children might a woman bear over a lifetime, if unregulated by the Gathering?”

“A lifetime? Goodness—some ten or twenty, perhaps, if the seaswallower spared her.”

“What becomes of the ova that would have made those children?”

“They die, along with most of the hundred thousand produced to begin with.”

“But she chooses to let die these ten or twenty ova, her future children.”

Adeisha did not answer, but Weia exclaimed, “Nonsense, Mother. Everyone knows that human life begins at fusion of the ova, in the place of lifeshaping, not before.”

“Is this a thing we know,” asked Merwen, “or only a thing we tell our children, those we let live? One of Cassi’s noble lies?”

“It’s only common sense,” said Weia. “Twenty children apiece would crowd and starve each other out in no time.”

“As I said, we eat our future children, in the name of the Web. We don’t see them in the mirror; though some claim to, in whitetrance.”

Adeisha now had a haunted look about her eyes, and the tendons stood out in her neck. “You are calling lies everything we teach our children—that life begins in the place of lifeshaping; that the Sharer sees herself and all others in the mirror; that Shora Herself placed Sharers in the Web as gentle guardians of its living pattern.”

“Unspeak her, Adeisha,” proposed Weia sympathetically. “You would scarcely be the first to unspeak my mothersister.”

A ghost of a smile passed Merwen’s lips. “I did not call them lies,” she told Adeisha, “I only asked questions. Weia is right: Those are good rules for children. And the child is central within us all.”

“All right,” sighed Adeisha, “I’ve now gone completely mad. What next? Do we eat our present children, too?”

“As I said, Weia’s rules are good ones. To be shamed is no excuse for shamelessness.”

“Thanks, Mother,” said Weia. “Is it possible that you intend to complete your weaving of this Web with my simple rules?”

“Surely not,” said Adeisha, “with us madwomen at large. Is compassion no more than a handful of rules?”

Merwen held up her hands. “All right, all right; we’ll ascend from the depths to rescue compassion. Though, having heard your threat of unspeech, I hesitate to think what fate you’ll choose for me next when you hear what’s to come.”

At this I laughed. “Never fear,” I said, “we won’t unspeak you. I for one will share your fate, whatever it is.”

“Thanks, Cassi,” said Merwen. “A fate shared with you would be worth embracing.”

At that my face grew warm.

“Well, then,” said Merwen. “Suppose compassion is not a perfect, unchanging element of the universe, like iron or sulfur. It is imperfect and approximate, perhaps even inconsistent.”

“Agreed,” said Adeisha. “Compassion is a living thing.”

“Then it requires conception, gestation—and birth. Compassion will now be born, in three waves of contraction.”

“All right.”

“First, we have seen how the Web interweaves its strands of compassion and consumption inextricably, like the orbital and radial lines of a clickfly web.”

“Yes, like that,” Adeisha agreed.

“Then human compassion will always require choice, difficult choices at that. Difficult choices require good learnsharing.” That is, “learning,” or “teaching.” “And good learnsharing requires good teacher/learners.”

“Who will make the best teacher/learner?” asked Adeisha.

“The infant,” answered Merwen. “The infant, the most wicked and recalcitrant creature, has the most to learn, and the most to teach about compassion. From conception, the infant requires infinite care of her mother. But the form of the infant, her large eyes, round head, even the sweet scent of her scalp, elicits universal delight from caresharers. And the sharing of milk rewards the mother as sweetly as lovemaking.”

“The infant teaches compassion—and tests it,” added Weia.

“Yes, yes,” said Adeisha. “In our best Web, let all Sharers spend as much time as possible sharing care of infants. In this way, they will learn the good of compassion.”

“And let every Sharer bear and nurse a child at least once in her lifetime,” Merwen went on. “By containing that little kicking fish inside her for nine months, she will learn compassion for the Web itself, which encompasses so many kicking creatures.”

“What if some are more fit to mother children than others?” Weia asked. “Just as some are suited to fishing, others to lifeshaping?”

“Some children are better suited to having mothers than others. Yet each child must have one.”

Then I asked, “What about males? You said that males, too, could share the Web.”

Merwen nodded. “Can males be Sharers of the Web?”

“My ‘father’ is,” Adeisha promptly replied. “But in general, it’s agreed that males are inferior to females and have difficulty becoming Sharers.”

“Inferior in all respects?”

“Not at all,” I objected. “Males equal us in most respects; intelligence, fortitude, and so on. Of course, in both sexes, individuals may be better or worse.”

Adeisha said, “Males are incapable of childbirth, which is precisely what’s needed.”

“Exactly,” said Merwen. “So, the childbearing ability must be shared with men. You’re the lifeshaper. Can this be done?”

Adeisha considered this. “It could be done. Although, for future children, the simplest remedy would be to eliminate the Y chromosome, which carries few genes anyway. Why make any more males?”

“So all our male ‘future children’ are to be ‘eaten,’” observed Merwen ironically. “But the Web needs diversity. To exclude a chromosome, even a small one, from our gene pool would be a mistake.”

“You’re right,” Adeisha agreed.

“Once males can bear infants and share milk,” Merwen said, “their minds will turn away from ‘war,’ the one act which appears as momentous as childbirth. This is the ‘first wave’ that I promised.”

“But Sharers, too, share the seeds of ‘war,’” I reminded her.

“You’re right,” said Merwen. “Our first wave was a small one. Now the next. If males can become Sharers, what of other creatures?”

Weia eyed her doubtfully. “Surely, Mother, you won’t tell us fish can learnshare compassion?”

“Microbes learned compassion long before fish. Microbes made the first environment that greater creatures could dwell in.”

“Yes,” said Adeisha. “Even disease-causing microbes evolve into forms which spare their host and hence survive better. The species most advanced in evolution are the symbionts.”

“The origin of species,” said Merwen, “is the survival of the best sharer.”

“The best eater, you mean,” said Weia.

“That, too.” Merwen lifted a hand. “But humans are unique in this: We alone can knowingly choose which current to follow, sharing or eating.”

Weia said, “Then we can choose to eat fish.”

“What becomes of us, then, as we watch their eyes and cut off their heads?”

Adeisha shuddered. “Fish might teach us, as infants do.”

“A fish is not an infant,” Weia insisted. “I eat fish, but I adore my Oolioo.”

“You’re right,” said Merwen. “But perhaps for that very reason, we might practice compassion on fish and other eyed creatures first.”

Adeisha asked, “How is that?”

“The child who learns to weave seasilk practices first with strands of weed. And the builder of silkhouses builds a toy house of sticks first. So, the Compassionate One will begin with fish.”

“But the lifeshaper, too, has to practice,” Adeisha pointed out. “She practices on plants and animals, first, before shaping humans.”

“The lifeshapers will have to come up with other ways. This is the ‘second wave’: To practice the skill of compassion, Sharers must learn not-killing of fish, crabs, insects, indeed all creatures that have eyes.”

“Not-killing,” I murmured, for the word was new to me.

“Remember,” said Merwen, “that ‘killing,’ that is, hastening death, is inescapable; for all living things will die, and all live by the death of others. But not-hastening, not-killing, is what shines like waterfire in a dark sea.”

Weia observed, “The Gatherings would never agree to do without fish.”

“They might,” offered Merwen, “if it could be shown to strengthen our Web against future invaders.”

“That is true,” said Adeisha. “Compassion overcame the Valan invaders; so, the deeper our compassion, the greater the security of our world.”

“Now,” said Merwen, “what shall we call the Sharers who choose to live by this new standard? Let’s call them Guardians, the Guardians of the true Web.”

“The Guardians,” said Adeisha approvingly. “All Sharers were meant to guard the Web and be guarded by it.”

“So these Guardians will share guarding,” said Merwen, “in the name of compassion, for the sake of all organisms, all strands of the Web.”

“Those Guardians themselves will need watching,” Weia warned, “It’s said, ‘guard none but the guardians.’”

“Exactly,” said Merwen. “That’s the ‘third wave.’ Who among these Guardians will rule and be ruled?”

No one answered.

“Among the Guardians,” Merwen went on, “surely a few will show special gifts of knowing: knowing of the wind and water, of the expanse of clickfly memories, of the ways of minds and hearts. Those of greatest insight will know how to sort compassion from consumption, in any given instance. Those who put their gifts into words will be called the most inspired, and the most dangerous.”

“Wordweavers,” I whispered with half a smile.

“The wordweavers!” Adeisha exclaimed. “Of course, the wordweavers have infinite insight, and can best teach the Gathering. The wordweavers must rule the Web.”

Merwen said, “Who knows better to rule, and desires it more, than the wordweaver? But beware—for the compassionate wordweaver will also be the most dangerous strand of the Web. She will be an extremist and a busybody, always trying to set to right things which might best be left alone.”

“Mothersister, that’s exactly what some in the Gathering say of you,” Weia told her wonderingly.

“Thank you,” said Merwen, accepting the compliment. “So this is the third wave: Wordweavers will rule the Web, but must always be ruled by the Gathering of Guardians, which takes no decision opposed by a single soul.”

“I don’t agree,” said Adeisha. “Since nothing seems forbidden just now, let me say that a few of our sisters in the Gathering are too foolish to be worth hearing, let alone stand in the way of wordweavers. As Guardians they would do no better. There must be some way to make decisions without them.”

“That, too, has been said of Mothersister,” Weia pointed out.

After a brief silence, Merwen said in a different tone, “For my part, I long to hear out the most foolish of our sisters.”

“All right then,” said Adeisha, “for your sake, we’ll let them speak. Let the wordweavers rule and be ruled.”

“By the Gathering,” Merwen concluded.

“So,” Adeisha summed up, “we are to learn compassion from infants, males, and microbes; we are to treat fish as Sharers; and let the wordweavers rule and be ruled. I’m convinced Shora will be the better for this! Weia, let’s bring this to the Gathering.”

Weia shrugged. “As you say. It’s worth a hearing.” In fact, she discounted most of the proposal; but, as a Sharer, she could hear out anything, knowing her own voice could never be overruled or voted down.

“Good luck,” said Merwen, as Adeisha and Weia arose to leave, casting long shadows into the hollow where the Gathering would meet that night in the glow of a hundred plantlights. “If you face a rough sea at the Gathering, don’t be discouraged. You can always weave this Web within your own soul and body. You’ve got all it takes—even the microbes.”

Adeisha’s laughter drifted off in the breeze.

I remained where I sat, pensively making marks with my finger in the moss.

“What’s left, Cassi?” Merwen asked, just loud enough for me to hear. “I can tell by your look, I must have gone far astray somewhere.”

I tried to speak, something which often comes hard to me, especially among Sharers. This time, it seemed the hardest ever.

“This imaginary Web,” I said at last. “Can any one person ... weave it for herself?”

“I think so,” said Merwen. “Anyone can practice what we spoke of just now, if it seems wise. What do you think?”

“What if one person might be worth more than the entire Web of the universe? What if I said I’d see the whole Web destroyed, if one special person might be saved?” At that my pulse raced, for of course that’s how I felt about Merwen herself.

Merwen considered this. “We’ve assumed, so far, that this Web is good; perhaps the greatest good.”

“It is.”

“Then what you’ve proposed just now can only be evil.”

At that I was completely silenced.

“You are right to keep silence here,” said Merwen, “for the gathering hollow is hardly the place to propose evil. Let us leave here and swim out from the main raft, before we speak further.”

Continued in Issue 31