^{Chapter Eight}

As Tedla’s voice faded away, the only sound in the studium was the scarcely audible hum of the terminal. Val finally leaned back in her chair, letting out a breath. “Why didn’t you tell us this wasn’t your first suicide attempt?”

Tedla stared at its hands lying in its lap, wrists upturned. Val couldn’t see any scars. “I didn’t think you needed to know,” it said faintly.

“Are you out of your mind, Tedla? We could have given you some completely wrongheaded treatment, thinking all your problems came from leaving Gammadis.” She realized her voice had a scolding tone, and corrected herself more gently, “I’m sorry, it just upsets me to think we could have done you more harm, through our ignorance. It was crucial for us to know this.”

Tedla’s voice was so low she could barely hear the answer. “You people go around admitting things all the time, as if it made no difference.”

Val realized that it was shame preventing Tedla from looking up. “I’m confused,” she said. “I thought that on your planet, to kill one’s self is honorable.”

“For humans,” Tedla said.

“Not for neuters?”

Tedla shook its head. “It’s only humans who get to decide when to end their lives. Neuters are innocents, and ought to trust humans to know when their lives are drawing to a close. They’re supposed to let us die without suffering.” Finally, Tedla looked up at her. “I was so confused by the way I’d been treated, I started to act as if I were human. But I wasn’t, so I didn’t succeed. It taught me my place. I wish I’d learned it better.”

Gently, Val said, “Well, I’m glad you didn’t succeed.”

“Failure is not permitted on Gammadis,” Tedla said. “If someone tries and fails, like I did, it’s so shameful the other humans just leave him alone till he does succeed. No one talks about it. It’s disgraceful. It would pollute his memory.”

“So that’s why you couldn’t believe Magister Galele was trying to save you?”

“No Gammadian would have done the same, except out of contempt.”

“That sounds terribly heartless.”

“Being human is hard.”

***

Max and Deedee returned from the playground before lunch, and Max suggested that Tedla might like to accompany them on a visit to his parents’ house. Val shot him a wary glance; but when Tedla was out of earshot he said, “We can’t keep it prisoner, you know.”

“Well, be careful,” she said.

When they were gone, she sat down at her terminal to look up Galele’s reports again. As she had expected, there was not a hint in them of any suicide attempt. There was, however, a suspicious two-week gap, which had earned him a reprimand, to which he had replied with a defensive memo and a mass of cobbled-together information, much of it repeating earlier reports. It should have been obvious that something was going on. Clearly, no one had been paying attention.

She had gotten no further when the chiming of a priority message interrupted her. The preview button revealed that it was Magister Gossup.

He looked somber. “I am uncertain whether this will be news to you or not,” he said.

“I haven’t heard anything,” Val told him.

“The Gammadian delegates have learned about Tedla’s presence here, and the...circumstances we were attempting to deal with.”

Val gave a low whistle. So even WAC’s information-control had limits. “What does this mean?”

“They have requested to see Tedla immediately. We have no grounds to refuse.”

“All right,” Val said, letting out a breath. “Tedla will be pleased.”

“I am glad someone will.”

“Why did you think I might know?”

“Well, we have no idea who leaked the information.”

Val looked at him in astonishment. He should have known her better. “You think I did it? How could I? I don’t even know where the delegates are, much less how to contact them.”

“I didn’t say you had done it, Valerie. You simply might have been informed by...other parties.”

“Oh, I see—I’m a conspirator.” His lack of trust was galling, and unexpected. “What is my motive supposed to be?”

Gossup paused, as if considering the most diplomatic way to answer. “Someone less sophisticated than yourself might have thought that ingratiating themselves with the delegates would ensure a place on the next Gammadian expedition.”

“Well, I’m not that dumb,” Val said.

“I didn’t think so. I am glad to know I was right.”

There was an awkward pause. At last Gossup said, “Someone will be at your home soon to escort Tedla to WAC headquarters.”

“All right,” Val said, not daring to let on that she had allowed Tedla to leave the house. As Gossup was reaching out to cut off the transmission, she said, “I’ve gotten some more interviews. I think you ought to look at them.”

For the barest instant she could have sworn she saw apprehension on his face. “Very well,” he said. “Send them to my cache.”

When she had finished transmitting, she quickly placed a call to her in-laws. “They haven’t gotten here yet,” Joan told her. “Should I have them call you?”

“Yes,” Val said. “Instantly. Before they do anything.”

Out in the other room she heard the door open, and Deedee’s voice calling, “Momma! Momma!”

“Never mind, Joan, I think they’re here,” Val said, and quickly got up to see.

“Momma! Some men followed us,” Deedee informed her excitedly.

Val looked up at the adults. Max was trying not to show how disturbed he was. “We decided it was better not to lead them to E.G.’s house.”

“God, yes,” Val said.

“Is this because of me?” Tedla asked Val.

“Partly you, partly me,” she said. “It’s good you came back, anyway. I got a call from Magister Gossup.”

When she told the news, Tedla’s reaction was as much nervousness as pleasure. “I wish I’d had some warning. What am I going to say?”

It was the perfect opening for her to do some coaching. Instead, she deliberately smiled and said, “Just be yourself.”

***

The physical location of WAC headquarters was a company secret. Though thousands visited on business or to work there every day, its carefully camouflaged location on the moon’s surface was unknown to all but authorized employees—and, no doubt, to any rivals with the resources to find out. Since everyone arrived by wayport already inside the complex, there was no casual way to tell.

The buildings were constructed in one of the company’s proprietary styles of architecture—Ultrabyzantine, one of the old Earth styles WAC had purchased and vigorously prosecuted anyone else for using. From the central wayport, visitors poured out into a massive cathedral dome studded with glittering mosaics. As Val stepped onto the transparent floor she saw that it was, in fact, a reflexive dome—below them, another dome yawned, brightly lit, a perfect mirror image of the one above: an ostentatiously wasteful use of space. Walking across the glassy expanse, as if suspended in midair, was disconcertingly acrophobic. She saw Tedla staring down and drew close to reassure it, but what the neuter murmured to her was, “I wonder who polishes the floor to keep it so clear.”

A flock of doves flew artistically above their heads toward concealed nesting-niches in the dome. The WAC escort was heading across the transept toward the place where the altar should have been; there, gilded steps led up to a private wayport to the executive levels, under a canopy supported by writhing spiral columns and backed by a filigree reredo. Val wondered what it did to Pym and his ilk, to undergo a daily apotheosis just to get to work.

The guard disputed Val’s authorization to pass through the wayport. To her surprise, Tedla quietly informed their escort that it had no intention of going any farther without her. They stood waiting as the guard placed a call, then waved them both through. Her transubstantiation authorized, Val mounted the steps.

They found themselves in a sumptuous hotel lobby, deserted except for staff. Still following their escort, they ascended a brass and glass elevator to the third floor, where they found not a hallway full of doors but a turquoise-paved antechamber into a connected set of suites that clearly took up the entire floor. Their guide knocked on one of the doors, then held it open for them.

Magister Gossup was sitting on a couch with a tall man who rose as soon as they entered. He had a fine-boned face and fair skin that gave him a refined, slightly effeminate look to Val’s eyes—an impression reinforced by his luxuriant hair, which he wore swept back from his face and falling to his shoulders. But there was nothing effeminate about his icy blue eyes, or the frown line between them that gave him a critical expression even when he smiled.

The first thing out of his mouth, when he saw Tedla, was, “Yes, that’s the one.”

Tedla stopped dead just inside the door, and exclaimed, “Vestigator Nasatir! Do you remember me? We met at Menoken Lodge.”

The Gammadian said something in a strange language. His tone was imperious and peremptory. Tedla’s eyes fell to the floor, and the eager, hopeful look was bleached from its face. It muttered a two-syllable reply. Nasatir said something else, apparently a question. Tedla hesitated, then with a visible show of will raised its eyes to meet the delegate’s. “Are you able to speak Capellan?” it said.

“Of course,” the delegate said sharply, displeased.

“I would prefer their language, if you don’t mind,” Tedla said softly.

Nasatir seemed about to give an indignant retort, so Val said, “Thank you, Tedla. That is very considerate.”

Nasatir’s eyes turned to her, so she said, “Hello. I’m Magister Valerie Endrada,” and held out her hand as Galele had described the Gammadian greeting-gesture. They touched palms and twined fingers, and Val decided it did have a sexual connotation, or at least a sensual one.

“I am pleased to meet you,” Nasatir said in a completely different tone—not warm, but respectful.

Val turned to Gossup. “Magister Gossup, I don’t think you have met Tedla in person.”

Gossup came forward to shake Tedla’s hand. “I am quite pleased to meet you, Tedla,” he said. “I wish it could have happened sooner.”

With a furtive glance at Nasatir, Tedla said warmly, “I feel honored, Magister Gossup. I have always admired your work.”

“That gives me pleasure. Please have a seat,” Gossup said. He returned to the couch himself.

Was he on Tedla’s side after all? Val glanced at Nasatir and saw the expression of bafflement that he quickly concealed. The Gammadian took a chair to Val’s left, across from Tedla. His back was rigid, and he sat tensely forward; his eyes flicked from Gossup to Val and back again, obviously uncertain of his footing. Tedla looked equally uncomfortable, but its eyes were on the floor.

“What is your role, Magister Endrada?” Nasatir asked. “Please forgive me if I get your language wrong. I’ve had very little practice.” He seemed to be trying not to look at Tedla.

“I am a colleague of Magister Gossup’s,” Val said. “I’m here as a friend of Tedla’s.”

Nasatir looked puzzled and slightly suspicious. “What do you mean, ‘friend’?”

She wondered what there was about the word that didn’t translate. “Tedla’s been staying at my house for the past several days,” she explained.

Much more warmly, Nasatir said, “Ah, you are the one who has been caring for it since...thank you. We are indebted to you. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced.”

“Not at all,” Val said. “It’s been a valuable opportunity.”

Nasatir said, “We were quite chagrined to hear the story of its shameful behavior. Please accept my apologies. I’m afraid it’s badly disturbed—you can scarcely blame it, after all it’s been through.”

Val should have been prepared, but still she was taken aback to hear him speak of Tedla as if it weren’t in the room. She said, “Believe me, I don’t blame Tedla.”

There was an uncomfortable pause. Nasatir had clearly heard something in her voice that wasn’t in her words. He said delicately, “I understand that it has been full of stories.”

Val glanced sharply at Gossup. He looked noncommittal. Tedla’s face looked gray. “I have conducted some interviews,” she said. “Is that what you mean?”

“Has Magister Gossup spoken to you about them?” Nasatir said.

“No.”

“I have to warn you, then, not to give this bland’s tales much credence. I have no idea what has inspired it to utter such falsehoods and filth. It’s beyond my understanding, except that the poor creature is quite unbalanced.” He finally looked at Tedla. His outward benignity clearly hid a steely anger.

“I’m sorry if we have gotten the wrong impression,” Val said. “Can you give me an example?”

“Quite easily,” Nasatir said confidently. “There is a place called Brice’s on my planet. It’s an experimental training center, serving the academic and scientific community. Not the kind of place that would train blands for a mattergrave’s house, or for any domestic position at all. This bland got all that wrong, because it was never at Brice’s. Doubtless it heard of the place, and thought that having been trained there would sound more prestigious than the truth. The whole story was fabricated. Believe me, we made it a point to look up this neuter’s past.”

Val looked to Tedla. Its face was chalky white. It sat with its shoulders hunched forward, staring at its knees.

Nasatir went on, “That part is relatively trivial and easy to disprove. The allegations concerning Lexigist Tellegen...” Here his voice changed. It was clear he took a personal affront. “I knew Prosper Tellegen. Many people did. He was a deep thinker and a highly moral man. One of the few truly great men I have known. Why this bland should turn on him, with these revolting slanders, I have no idea. Certainly, Tellegen never showed it anything but the greatest kindness. Too much kindness, perhaps. And this is the way it repays him.”

Val was staring at Gossup. She had sent him the interviews about Tellegen only this morning—she glanced at the time display on the room screen—a little over an hour ago. How had he watched them and conveyed their essence to Nasatir in that time? And why had she not told him they were confidential?

She looked at Tedla, expecting reproach, but its face looked completely blank. “Tedla?” she said. “Do you want to answer?”

Tedla shook its head.

“He’s saying you lied. That you made it all up. What are we supposed to believe?”

In a dull voice, Tedla said, “He’s right. I did make it up. It’s all lies.”

Nasatir settled back in his chair, at ease.

There was a long silence. At last Val said, “You’re saying I’m a complete dupe?”

Tedla wouldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Magister,” Nasatir said sympathetically. “I’m sure it was very convincing. Perhaps the bland even convinced itself, in its confusion. Living among you has obviously sexualized it. You would have had to know our culture very well to see how preposterous it all was. Believe me, for any true Gammadian, the thought of physical contact with a neuter is completely revolting.”

He sounded sincere. If Val had not been watching Tedla closely, she would have missed the expression that glanced across its face—a look of deep outrage, swiftly hidden. Until then, she had been uncertain what to think. After that, she knew.

Nasatir went on, “The whole controversy over this bland has been one unfortunate misunderstanding after another. From our point of view, the sooner we get it all behind us, the better. We don’t wish to make an issue of it from now on.”

“That is very generous of you, Delegate,” Gossup murmured.

Nasatir smiled at them both genially. “Well, no harm done.” He rose. “Come along, Tedla.”

Tedla sat unmoving, looking dazed. “Excuse me?” it said uncertainly.

Patiently, Nasatir said, “We’re sending you home, Tedla.”

Tedla looked at Val. “Do I have to go?”

Val managed to keep her voice even. “It’s up to you.”

Turning back to Nasatir, Tedla said carefully, “Under what circumstances will I return?”

“Circumstances?” Nasatir said, almost on the edge of laughter.

“What will my status be?”

As if to a silly child, Nasatir said, “What do you think it will be?” He turned to Val and Gossup. “You see how you people have confused it. I think it would be better if you left us alone.”

Suddenly, Tedla rose from its chair, facing Nasatir tensely across the coffee table. “No. Please stay.”

Neither Val nor Gossup moved. In a kind but stern voice, Nasatir said, “Tedla. You should know that the elector of the Tapis questionaries has empowered me to act as your guardian. You need to remember what that means, before I become displeased.”

With an enormous force of will, Tedla looked him in the eye and said, “I am sorry, Delegate Nasatir, but I can’t acknowledge your jurisdiction over me. I’m willing to discuss returning to Gammadis, but not under those conditions.”

Nasatir burst out, “Oh, this is ridiculous.” He turned to Val angrily. “What do you think you’ll gain by teaching it to talk like that to me? Who are you working for?”

Val said, “Delegate Nasatir, your dispute is with Tedla, not with me.”

With bitter sarcasm, Nasatir said, “Oh, yes. You are going to get me to negotiate with a bland.” He turned to Gossup. “Perhaps I have not made myself clear. The return of this neuter is an absolute prerequisite to diplomatic relations. This is not a negotiable point.”

Gossup rose to calm the waters. “I think it would be better if we adjourned to think things over,” he said. “Delegate Nasatir, let us speak to Tedla. I’m sure we all want the same thing; we just need to find how to get there.”

The delegate looked thoroughly displeased at the prospect of letting Tedla out of his sight. Gossup said, “Tedla, would you and Valerie wait in the blue room for a moment?”

As Val rose to leave, Nasatir surveyed her with a cold eye. She didn’t bother with parting pleasantries.

As soon as they were alone, Val said, “Tedla, I’m so sorry. I had no idea Gossup would tell the delegate what you told me. I’ve violated your privacy. It was totally unethical. I feel horrible.”

“It was my own fault,” Tedla said.

“No, it wasn’t. It was ours. Those interviews were confidential. I wouldn’t blame you for telling me to get out of your life forever.”

Tedla gave her an apprehensive look. “Is that what you want?”

“Of course not!” Val reached out and squeezed its hand. “I was so proud of you when you stood up to him,” she said.

“You sound like Magister Galele,” Tedla said.

“We Capellans like people with courage.”

“I’d forgotten what it was like to be a bland,” Tedla said, preoccupied. “I’ve gotten so used to the way you people treat me. I didn’t know I was going to argue with him, till I did. It was horrible behavior. I acted human. But the strange thing was, I even felt human. What felt wrong was acting like a bland. He was right, you people have done something to me. You’ve corrupted me.” It turned to her with a troubled look. “Val, I don’t think I can do it. I’m not a bland any more.”

She wanted to hug it. “Bless you, Tedla,” she said warmly. “It’s about time you noticed.”

The door clicked, and Magister Gossup came silently through. He said in an undertone, “Valerie, I was not the one who told him about your interviews. He brought them up to me himself, shortly before you came. I haven’t even seen the latest ones. I don’t believe he’s seen them either; he’s only heard a summary. From whom, I don’t know.”

Val felt the clutch of paranoia. “Someone must be listening on my home terminal.”

“Well, it isn’t WAC,” Gossup said. “It’s someone trying to sabotage the negotiations.”

“Epco?”

“It’s a possibility. You need to be cautious; they are sabotaging you in the process.”

He was right; the forces at work here would crush her career without a thought. There was nothing personal about it. She was just in the way.

Gossup turned to Tedla. “Delegate Nasatir just reiterated how essential it is for you to return. He is quite adamant about it. I am not sure why. Do you know?”

Tedla shook its head gravely.

Gossup sighed. “At present, he is making it a condition for further negotiation. That means it will be WAC’s desire, and my duty, to persuade you.” His voice sounded perfectly neutral. Watching, Val felt her confidence in his support ebbing. He went on, “Is there any demand you might have, any condition that WAC can meet, that would make it possible for you to return? I can assure you, the company’s full resources can be brought to bear.”

Tedla looked overwhelmed. “What could WAC do? Change a thousand years of history? Make me human?”

Very delicately, Gossup said, “You realize, don’t you, that the latter option might be technically feasible?”

Tedla drew back, and its voice turned frosty. “I know you could change my body. It wouldn’t make me human. Not for me, not for Delegate Nasatir.”

Gossup quickly retreated. “I’m only trying to raise a variety of options.”

“What options can there be?” Val said.

“There are always options,” Gossup said sternly. She got his message: He was expecting her to be his ally. She could redeem herself by somehow twisting Tedla’s arm into consenting. The thing that left a foul taste in her mouth was the knowledge that she could probably do it if she tried—and Gossup knew it.

“I need to think about it,” Tedla said. “I need to go home and think.”

“Could I persuade you to take a room here?” Gossup asked carefully.

“No.” There was a resolution in Tedla’s face that Val had never seen there before. “I will go home with Val.”

“A number of people would feel more comfortable if...”

“I will go home,” Tedla said firmly.

“Very well,” Gossup said, with a significant look at Val. She had her assignment. At that instant, she felt a bitter anger at him, for putting her in this position.

The Magister walked them out through the lobby, pausing for a low-toned conversation with the guard posted at the wayport. As they crossed the echoing dome, he said to Tedla, “What did the delegate say to you when you first came in?”

“He asked me why I thought I could justify myself,” Tedla said expressionlessly. “But it wasn’t what he said. It was the language that mattered. All this time I’ve been wanting to hear my own language spoken, and forgetting that humans and blands speak it differently. It’s a dialect we use. It sounds simplified, almost childish. That’s why I had to speak your language. I realized I couldn’t answer him in a human dialect without sounding arrogant and presumptuous, and I couldn’t make myself talk like a bland. Not any more.”

Val looked at Gossup. She wondered if he still thought there were options. To her, there only seemed like two: self-destruction or betrayal.

***

The sun was setting when they reached their home wayport, giving way to a pink Gomb-light that made the egg-domes of the copartment complex look like fluffs of cotton candy against the jagged landscape. The port would normally have been crowded with commuters at this time, but it was Allday, and only a few stragglers were about, loitering around the shop displays where the autoclerks were ever ready to take their orders. UIC enclaves were secular, so commerce went on around the clock and around the calendar.

Val and Tedla headed up the hill, side by side. Val was so preoccupied by her dark thoughts that she didn’t notice the steps following them till Tedla cast a quick glance over its shoulder.

“It’s not the same two that followed us earlier today,” Tedla whispered to her. She also glanced back. It was a man and a woman, wearing green coveralls instead of the WAC security uniform of suit and tie. Each of them was carrying a shoulder bag. The woman was grasping something in her hand. They were walking fast; their purpose was clearly not to follow, but to overtake.

Taking Tedla’s arm, Val steered it into the walkway of the housing complex adjoining her own. They were soon surrounded by the copartment domes, which met the ground in jagged shapes like broken shells. Breaking into a fast walk, Val ducked under the eaves formed by one of the overhanging dome-shells, dodging the clutter where residents had staked out patio space with lawn furniture, bicycles, and toys. Darting from dome to dome, she headed toward the fence separating this complex from her own. Behind, she heard a crash, then heavy footsteps, running. She broke into a dash, Tedla close beside her.

Tedla was first to reach the gate, and jerked it open. Val glanced back. Their pursuers were rounding the last dome at a run. She could see now what was in the woman’s hand—a transdermal, doubtless a knockout drug. She dived through the gate after Tedla and slammed the latch down, but there was no way to bolt it. “Head for the main dome,” she said. It was the closest structure, and with luck there might be people there.

They raced down the walkway. As they rounded the dome, they saw the entryway was lighted, and people were gathered on the steps. Tedla slowed hesitantly, but Val pushed it on through the door.

Only when she saw the decorations in the brightly lit common room did she realize that they had barged in on a wedding reception.

“Oh my god!” she said, horrified.

“What?” Tedla stepped nearer, alarmed.

“It’s Elise and Radko’s wedding,” she said. “I was invited. I completely forgot.”

There was a sound of scuffling from the door, and an angry voice. Val dragged Tedla with her into the reception line. There were too many people here for a covert kidnapping. “Quick, Tedla, what do Gammadians say at weddings?” she said.

“We don’t have weddings,” Tedla said, eyes on the door.

“Oh, of course. Well, how do you wish each other good luck?”

“We say, ‘May you die in the bed of earth.’”

“Good Lord, that won’t do.”

They had come to the front of the line, and the bride said warmly, “Val! Max said you wouldn’t be able to make it. I’m so glad you did. Thanks for your present.”

Thinking she had the best husband in the world, Val said, “I’m so happy for you, Elise. May you sleep together on the bed of earth. That’s an old Gammadian wedding saying.” She dragged Tedla forward. “This is my friend Tedla, from Gammadis.”

“Welcome to Capella Two,” Elise said.

“I hope you’ll be very happy,” Tedla said, only a little flustered.

There was no sign of their pursuers. They collected pieces of honeyed ricebread—Val noted that it was a Chorister recipe; Elise must have paid a fortune for the rights. The music was being provided by a lutska ensemble using live goats—not top-of-the-line, but still more expensive than she would have sprung for. She spied Max at one of the long community tables, Deedee beside him, wearing her prized rainbow skirt, the only nongeneric article of clothing she owned. As Val slipped into the seat beside Max, she said in a low voice, “Am I glad you’re here.”

“I thought you’d forgotten,” Max said.

“I had. Two thugs chased us in here. I’m sure they had more in mind than picking our pockets.”

Deedee climbed out of her seat to show Tedla how her skirt flared out when she twirled around, a demonstration that always made her dizzy and giggly. Several older couples at nearby tables were looking on fondly. Val leaned close to Max to tell him what had happened.

“What are we going to do?” Max said seriously.

Val said, “I don’t know.”

“We can’t let Tedla go back to that planet.”

“I don’t know if we can stop it.”

“No. What you mean is, you don’t know if we can stop them from taking it.” Max had a challenging look. It made Val feel defensive.

“What do you expect from me, Max? I’m up to my neck in trouble already.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Max said in a very low voice.

Val glanced around to see who was listening. A young woman had settled down next to Tedla, and was talking to it earnestly. Her body language was openly flirtatious. Val thought of coming to the rescue, but Tedla didn’t seem in bad trouble yet, so she turned back to Max. “What?”

“I think we should post Tedla’s story on the public nets,” Max said.

“You’re crazy,” Val said.

“I’m serious. It would rouse public interest, and public sympathy.”

“Max, I can name at least thirty-seven reasons why that’s a terrible idea. For starters, WAC would hit the stratosphere.”

“Let them,” Max said.

“Easy for you to say. For seconds, that story is valuable. Tedla could probably get a good income from the royalties, if it were marketed right.”

“And I suppose the xenologist who did the interviews would get a cut?” Max said.

“Well, yes, but...” She realized she was groping for excuses and flared angrily, “Since when is it a crime to try to provide for my family?”

Several people looked around at them, and Val tried to pretend it wasn’t her with the poor taste to have a marital spat at a wedding. Tedla and the young woman had gone off to the edge of the dance floor and were taking turns whirling Deedee around in imitation of the older couples. Deedee was in heaven. The young woman was in for a rude surprise, Val thought.

“Val, can’t you see? You’re playing into their hands,” Max said softly. “You’re acting suspicious and proprietary, just like the marketeers want. The companies need us all to be alienated from each other, because it cuts off routes of communication they can’t control. If everyone shared information openly, it wouldn’t be a controllable commodity, and no one could profit from it. They need our behavioral collaboration to make their windfalls. Trusting each other enough to communicate honestly is the most subversive thing we can do.”

“It’s very noble of you, Max,” Val said. “But I’m no subversive. I don’t know why you’ve never noticed before.”

“Maybe because you’ve never controlled any really valuable information up to now.”

Val watched Tedla playing with her daughter and thought Max was right on one thing—Tedla was valuable information. Valuable enough to make its life perilous. Valuable enough that companies and whole planets were plunging into conflict over it. But the worth of any information lay in its scarcity. If nothing about Tedla were a secret, if every nook of its life were exposed on the massive scale Max was proposing, would it be safe?

She shook her head. “There’s another reason we couldn’t do it,” she said. “Tedla’s privacy. It would never consent. It denied everything today, just to protect people who have been dead for half a century.”

“But if the choice is between exposure and slavery...” Max fell silent, watching Tedla across the room. “Do you think we ought to do something before that girl falls in love and ruins her life?”

“Yes,” Val said decisively. “Besides, people are beginning to leave. This is the safest time to get to our house.”

It was a short walk, but the path between the domes was narrow and dark. As they left the laughter and light behind, Val drew close to the others. Max and Tedla were walking ahead, she and Deedee behind. Max was teasing Tedla—unwisely, Val thought—about its romantic conquest.

“Don’t pay any attention,” she told Tedla. “He’s just jealous.”

“There was nothing sexual going on,” Tedla said uncomfortably.

“Want to bet?” Max said. “What did she say?”

“She was telling me about her boyfriend.”

“Do perfect strangers usually come up and tell you about their love lives?”

“More often than you’d think,” Tedla said. “It used to puzzle me. Then I learned that many gendered cultures actually create an asexual class to act as confessors and counselors. It’s as if people sense I’m a noncombatant. A neutral third party.”

“What did she give you when we came up?” Max asked.

Embarrassed, Tedla said, “Her connection number.”

“Aha!” Max said, as if that proved his point.

Ahead, a shadow materialized from the shrubbery, holding an object in its hand. Instinctively, Val grabbed for Deedee with one hand, Tedla with the other. Max said aggressively, “Who’s that?”

The figure came closer, and Val recognized the WAC man who had escorted them earlier that day. He was holding a radio. “Go in the back door, please,” he said. “Your house is secure.”

Val gripped Deedee and Tedla harder. “Were you the ones who chased us coming here?” she demanded.

The man shook his head. “Why do you think we wanted you to stay where we could protect you?”

“Who were they, then?”

“We don’t know. We didn’t catch them.”

As they walked to the door, Val heard him reporting their location to someone over the radio.

Val took care of putting Deedee to bed that night. As she bent over to kiss her daughter good night, Deedee said in a small voice, “Mama? Are the men going to come in here?”

“No, chick,” Val said. “They can’t come in here. You’re perfectly safe. I’ll always keep you safe.”

After that, Val sat on the edge of the bed and read from one of the books Deedee loved and Max loathed till sleep began to take over, then sat looking at her daughter’s face. Deedee looked so secure, so trusting, as if Val’s promise were a protective spell. In the silence, broken only by the low, barely audible voices of Max and Tedla talking in the gathering room, Val realized she didn’t have the courage to face what she had started. If it had been only herself, it might have been different. But now it was beginning to touch Deedee, and that she could not cope with. She was going to have to give in.

She turned off the light, then went into her bedroom. Lying on her bed, she stared at the ceiling for a while, then turned on the screen and flicked through her files till she got to Alair Galele’s reports. She was beginning to feel a furtive empathy with the man. She wondered if he had had this ominous feeling of being swept forward toward an inevitable choice where no alternative was good.

She read:

***

At last—at long last—I feel I may have found a genuinely useful native informant. How astonished they would all be. They would assure me I was wrong, that I needed someone educated and aware, someone with an analytical intelligence. But Tedla is useful to me precisely because of its naiveté, its lack of education (i.e. indoctrination), its complete unawareness of the “right” answer. It has no agenda in speaking to me, other than to please me. I also flatter myself that, unique among Gammadians, it has begun to trust me.

We had some rocky patches at first. Of course, I was perfectly delighted from the outset, and thanked Tellegen profusely. On the ride home I kept checking the back seat like Orpheus, to make sure Tedla really was there, and I hadn’t imagined it all. Tedla was considerably less thrilled than I. For the first week it wandered about with a stunned, disconsolate expression, as if marooned on a planet it had never seen. I had to restrain myself from calling Tellegen every ten minutes to ask for instructions and advice. I broke down often enough that he got a little testy with me, and told me I was being obsessive. He kept urging me not to interfere, just to let Tedla settle in and find its own way of relating to me. At the time the advice was hard to follow, since I was impatient to strike up a friendship; but now I realize how good the advice was. Tedla is not at all like the humans here, outwardly warm and inwardly cold and secretive. With Tedla the cold (or is it fear? formality?) is all on the outside. Once past that barrier, you’re in a hurricane world of passionate loyalty, touching warmth, and blackest self-blame. A breathtaking trip, if you have the stomach for it. And they told me neuters were dull, phlegmatic creatures. But I’m off the subject.

I am uncertain yet of Tedla’s abilities, though that was my first question. It claims not to be able to do a great many things. I am uncertain whether to chalk this up to cultural indoctrination, low self-confidence, or mere proletarian work avoidance. Nevertheless, I believe my questioning is beginning to waken its interest in the world. It is naturally observant, and is now learning (with my subversive encouragement) to put its observations into words. It has even begun to volunteer information. This has opened a whole new world to my study—a world I can never enter, but merely record secondhand. Grayspace, as Tedla calls it, is a thriving alternate culture not even native Gammadians are fully aware of.

***

As she paged forward, Val saw that Galele’s reports became more copious, and were increasingly filled with Tedla’s name. Skimming, she wondered at its repetition: Tedla, Tedla, Tedla. Had no one noticed or cared how much time the man was spending studying his informant? Her eye lit on isolated passages:

***

I am quite unable to characterize Tedla’s thought processes. Abstract language produces no reaction, but if I can explain in concrete, narrative form it grasps a concept readily. At one moment it will be quite lucid and logical (though never theoretical), and the next it will retreat behind hidebound precepts, refusing to consider an idea because “That’s not what the docents said.” One moment it is a thorough martinet, the next a bundle of vulnerability. It is very aware of its own physical attractiveness—in fact, quite vain—but dashes any compliment as soon as it’s uttered. I am quite perplexed how to please it—I’m constantly being made aware that my foot is in my mouth. Who would have thought I would have to learn to live with a teenager?

***

Gave Tedla a standardized intelligence test. My informant resisted and complained, telling me that such things were only for children, and it had lost the ability to perform them. I insisted, and was disappointed at the lower-than-average results. I will readminister it in several months, and in the meantime work on Tedla’s self-fulfilling prophecies.

***

I am a little troubled by one aspect of Tedla’s behavior. On occasion it acts almost seductive toward me. It has no sense of privacy, and would walk in on me in every conceivable state of undress, if I didn’t speak sharply to prevent it (there are no locks on our doors). Yesterday it came into my bedroom looking quite melancholy. When I asked the reason, it complained bitterly about having to sleep alone. As it told me this, it sat on the edge of my bed, fingering the covers, and glancing at me in the most fetching way. The implication seemed to be that I was supposed to invite it to sleep with me. Needless to say, I did not. I cannot decide whether this behavior is even conscious on Tedla’s part. Is the youngster so profoundly innocent it does not understand the nuances of its actions? Or is it in fact trying to provoke me, or inflame me, perhaps to buy more security for itself, and a tighter bond to its protector? Or is it all in my mind?

My policy is to meet its flirtations, if that is what they are, with indifference. If the behavior is conscious, it will soon stop. Tedla is very perceptive, and extremely attuned to my moods. To pursue any other course would be sure disaster.

***

Interesting responses from my friends: On hearing that I had acquired a bland, my friendly coffee-house owner sat me down and gave me a long lecture on how to protect myself from being taken advantage of. “Don’t trust it out of your sight,” she said. “If you’re not looking, it will be thieving, or lazing, or playing you tricks, imposing on your good nature.” She appeared to think I was a mark ripe for predation. The thought of my needing protection from Tedla was so ludicrous I had to laugh. “My bland’s only about sixteen,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter. They learn their tricks young. They’re nasty, dirty brutes.”

Since my bland is a good sight cleaner and more circumspect than I am, I found this hard to take seriously.

Gambion’s reaction was totally different. I had invited him and Auri over for drinks—my quarters now being so presentable I have no qualms letting others see them. Tedla has a perfect mastery of all the niceties of proper entertainment, and served us with great style and relish. I saw my two guests exchanging looks, and after the canapes Gambion drew me aside and warned me quite seriously about the dangers of “exploiting” my bland. I assured him it was the farthest thing from my mind, but he persisted, and it gradually dawned on me that he was talking about physical intimacy (though he never said the words). In a whisper he assured me that such practices will debase a human, reduce intellectual capacity, sap physical strength, and lead to disease.

I was quite alarmed by his gravity. “Will people assume there is something going on...?” I said.

“No, no, of course not,” he said immediately. “I just don’t know the mores of your world, and wanted to warn you of ours.”

“On our world it would be unthinkable,” I lied, but convincingly.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said.

It was quite a revelation to me that they had any mores at all on the subject, since nothing is forbidden unless it happens. The apparent strength of the taboo points to something deep in the Gammadian psyche.

Made some discreet inquiries to confirm Gambion’s information. If anything, he gave me the soft version. Sexual relations with a neuter are viewed as something lower than bestiality. An exposed “dirt digger” (their euphemism, not mine) can be sure of never finding another sexual partner, and might even be expelled from the order. I must be terribly circumspect. I cannot afford even the whiff of such a scandal to touch me. Thank goodness for the treatments.

***

Blands clearly have a class culture, in the sense of expressive practices. But do they have a class consciousness? Obviously, they recognize themselves as a group, and some even recognize their treatment as oppression. But does this create solidarity? Would it ever result in collective action?

Tedla thinks not. “We’re too dumb,” it says. But when I argued, Tedla came up with another explanation: that the blands are actually getting something out of the arrangement. “We never have to worry where our next meal is going to come from, or make plans,” it says. In other words, they are living the lives of domestic pets. I pressed Tedla on the concepts of freedom and self-determination, but they seemed quite foreign to it. Or they have been discarded as a fair tradeoff for security.

As the situation becomes increasingly clear to me, it is harder to conceal from Tedla my contempt for the exploitative system this planet hides under a veil of self-deceiving hypocrisy. Tedla has been thoroughly drilled in the psychology of dependence. WAC’s profit forbids me from denouncing this system for what it is. But at times I think that if I could just start a tiny question, even in one young person’s mind, it would be worth the hundred years I’ve given up to come here.

***

It may be my imagination, but Tedla appears to be getting quite attached to me. I find it touching, but also a little worrisome. I don’t want it to get expectations I cannot fulfill. I have seen how deep its emotional attachments can become, and I am loathe to think of our inevitable separation. If this is merely adolescent infatuation with an older mentor, or even conditioned loyalty to a master, it still gives me a certain responsibility. I have such complete power over its life.

***

Got a message from the First Contact group, warning me to stop making myself so conspicuous, being such a character. We must strive to bore our hosts. In banality is strength. I will attempt to comply.

***

There was a soft knock on the bedroom door. Val blanked the screen, then called out, “Come in.”

It was Tedla. Val sat up cross-legged on the bed and said, “What’s on your mind, Tedla?”

The neuter sat down on the bed, looking pensive. It said hesitantly, “I’ve been thinking maybe I ought to go stay at WAC, as Magister Gossup suggested.”

Val was silent. It was what she had been thinking herself an hour ago. But despite her resolve, now that Tedla was sitting in front of her she found it hard to say. Instead, she said, “You realize that WAC is on the delegates’ side?”

“I know that,” Tedla said. It looked down at the coverlet, tracing the quilting with one finger. “But you’ve risked a lot for me. I can never repay all you’ve done, and if any harm comes to your family...”

Val pictured herself saying, “You’re right, as long as I thought I could get something out of you I was willing to take the risk, but now the odds have turned against you.” Would it be the truth? Instead, she said, “What does Max say?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask him.”

“Did he tell you his brilliant idea?”

“No.”

“What were you talking about all this time, then?”

Tedla glanced at her, embarrassed. “Um...you.”

“Me?” Val said, astonished.

Tedla nodded, but said nothing more. Val said, “You can’t leave it there. What were you saying?”

Choosing its words very carefully, Tedla said, “He’s very worried about you. Did you know that?”

“No,” Val said. “Why?”

Hesitantly, Tedla said, “It’s the pressure of getting your career going. He’s watched you constructing a professional persona to market—the bright, ambitious career woman. It’s not your real character, he says. It’s a marketable identity you’ve manufactured, a performance. But now he’s worried that you’re beginning to buy it yourself. He doesn’t want you to turn into your own persona.”

Val could tell that Tedla was reporting accurately; it all had the ring of Max’s thinking. She could even imagine how she would have bristled hearing it in Max’s voice, how angry she would have gotten. But somehow, the translation into Tedla’s soft tones made it different. The information came to her straight, removed from the context of old arguments and annoyances.

“It must be hard to be a Capellan,” Tedla went on. “You’re all brought up to deceive one another, because openness might damage your saleability. How do you ever know if you’re falling in love with a real person, and not a product?”

“I guess we don’t,” Val said.

Tedla glanced up at her. “Max does love you, you know. This wouldn’t drive him crazy if he didn’t.”

It had been a long time since she had asked herself about that. She leaned forward and put her hand over Tedla’s where it rested on the coverlet. “Thank you, Tedla,” she said.

There was a thunderous noise from the gathering room. “Oh damn, what now?” Val said tensely. She scrambled off the bed. As she reached the gathering room, Max was emerging from the dinery. The noise was someone knocking on their door.

“Let me handle this,” Max said.

Val heard a shriek of fear from Deedee’s room. When she turned on the light, Deedee was cowering in her bed. Val took the child in her arms. “Don’t worry, Deedee,” she said, “no one’s going to hurt you.”

Out in the gathering room, Max was talking to the frontdoor viewer. They had never used it before. When Val emerged from the bedroom, carrying Deedee, she saw on the screen that the intruder was a stocky woman in a peace officer uniform. “Process server,” said the speaker.

“At this hour?” Val said.

“Hold your credentials up to the viewer,” Max ordered.

The woman complied. Warily, Max opened the door.

“Tedla Galele?” the woman said.

“What’s your business?” Max demanded.

“I’ve got a summons. Are you Tedla Galele?”

Val felt Tedla behind her, its light touch on her shoulder. “I’m Tedla Galele,” it said.

The woman held out a slate. “I need your thumbprint and signature.”

Tedla came forward, signed, and received a sealed envelope. The woman turned to go.

Max and Val both looked on as Tedla opened the envelope and read the document inside. When it looked up, its expression had a touch of irony. “The delegates have filed an extradition request before the Court of a Thousand Peoples.”

Val let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I guess they didn’t want to wait for you to decide,” she said.

“They didn’t want to acknowledge I had a right to decide,” Tedla said. “Bad precedent.”

Its face had the firm look she had seen before, briefly, at WAC. She asked, “Are you going to fight them?”

Tedla paused a long time. “Yes,” it said at last. “I thought I wanted to go back. But I’m remembering a lot of things now.” It looked to Val. “You don’t know how I came to leave my planet. Even if you’ve read the official version, you still don’t know.”

“There isn’t an official version,” Val said. “The whole story’s been suppressed.”

“Then I need to tell you,” Tedla said.

“Good. I’d like that.”

“Can we go in the studium?”

Val hesitated. “As long as we don’t turn on the terminal. It’s not secure.”

“You don’t understand. I want you to turn on the terminal. I want whoever is listening to hear this part.”

“Can I sit in?” Max asked.

“Yes,” Tedla said. It looked at Deedee, who seemed far from any sleep. “You all can. I’m tired of this concealment. I want you to know the truth.”