“Down, down, put me down,” sputters Vesta.
Venus is already kneeling beside the bush, she has opened her kit and is dropping berry samples into tubes of testing fluid. Carina stands with an arm trembling around Vesta’s shoulders, watching intently.
“They’re harmless,” Vesta protests, “I know. I can tell by the smell—”
“It appears so.” Venus sighs with relief as none of the fluids change color.
“I’ve been cooking for half a century,” Vesta says indignantly, “and my nose is better than any of your test tubes.”
“You won’t do that again.” Carina now trembles visibly. “Promise me, Vesta.”
“I promise.” Vesta looks at her with adoration and holds out a hand. “Dearest love,” she says.
Vesta and Carina walk a short distance to deeper grass, and embrace.
Mother grumbles, “Here we are on a new world. Sometimes I wonder about my girls and their priorities—”
“It’s been a long hard trip, Mother,” Venus says, gazing at Miri.
“Shall we go to the ocean now?” Jolan asks. “I long to see it.”
“As do we all, Jolan,” Megan replies quietly.
We walk toward the distant sound of surf, Mother’s little friend curled up in the bend of her arm. Soon we come upon low dunes spread with moss-like cover, so soft that we reach down to stroke it. Miri pauses, gently tugs, pulls harder, finally wrenches a piece of the moss loose; she frowns at the multi-branched root system, then replaces the moss, tamping it carefully into place. We go on. The moss is softer than velvafleece, so soft that I long to remove my boots and further savor it, but dare not risk Venus’s wrath.
Then we all halt as one, as if rooted into the moss. The sky is a swiftly darkening coral as our great double sun falls to the horizon. Billowing cumulous clouds are shot through with swirls and threads of gold and red; and under this magnificent sky huge coral waves crash onto ivory-colored moss . . . huge waves in variegated hues of coral . . .
Without a word, we sit to watch evening come to Maternas.
The rich coral of sky and water deepens and darkens. The air grows sharply cooler, so quickly that our clothing is slow to adjust. Erika enfolds the unprotesting Mother to warm her; Kendra holds Hera, her mother; Miri curls into Venus; Carina cradles Vesta; and dear Jolan, next to me, holds me, warms me. Diana, Demeter—others huddle together in clusters nearby. Megan sits alone, apart from us all, gazing off to the horizon, hands clasped around her knees, her white clothing vivid against the gathering night.
And still we remain silent, as unimaginable beauty envelops us. The sky transmutes to deepening shades of blue and begins to shimmer with the silver of brilliant star clusters, the eerie radiance of red and blue fluorescence. One huge moon, glowing gold, is soon joined by two others, much smaller, which slowly rise above the horizon, each jagged in shape as if carelessly formed. Night falls suddenly and completely, and we sit together in a glorious royal blue world illuminated with silver.
It is Mother who speaks, softly: “So lovely a world . . . is surely meant for women.”
No response is necessary. Or possible. We continue to sit in contemplation of our awesome ocean and sky—and in the realization that the remainder of our lives will be filled with nights such as these.
We are stunned by a sudden drenching of sea spray—yet the translucent silver waves crash some distance from us, several hundred feet. Then a rising scream of wind strikes with such force that the very breath is driven from me.
The creature that clings to Mother leaps from her arms and with a series of whoofs runs nimbly, in no apparent hurry, over the mossy dunes.
“Take cover!” Erika shouts. “The ships!”
Megan’s voice cuts through the screaming wind. “No! Follow Mother’s animal! Run!”
“Kendra!” shouts Hera, “see to Mother!”
Kendra sweeps Mother into her arms and we run, run after the tiny furry creature that scampers toward the grass, its feet twice lifted from under it by shrieking gusts. I fall, flung to my knees; I choke for breath. Megan drags me to my feet, pulls me along; I run, stumbling, hand gripped in hers, my eyes burned shut, gouged by the demon wind.
The bent grass has come fully erect; grass is a shoulderhigh waving wall before us. We burst through it; it seals imperviously behind us, and we collapse in darkness, crouching together in a sudden and incredible world of tranquility. Erika brings us light as she tosses from her kit several illumination bars; and I see that we have all reached this safe harbor. Kendra, kneeling, gently lowers the most precious one of us all, who frightens us as she lies motionless. Then she opens her remarkable green eyes and says querulously to Kendra, “You run more roughly than the trogapods on Verna. But thank you, dear one,” she adds, patting Kendra’s cheek.
We sit, resting, composing ourselves, recovering our wits. Venus tidies her silver hair and that of Diana and Miri; Hera leans against Kendra, but soon sits erect, her dignity returning; Carina fusses with Vesta, brushing invisible particles from her shoulders.
Megan says to Erika, “You tried to warn me of this.”
“I had no idea about this, Megan. I had thought perhaps there was a severe monsoon period or its like. This presents formidable difficulties to us.” Erika’s dark eyes are grave. “Perhaps insurmountable. How can we build structures to—”
“Perhaps not insurmountable,” Astra interrupts in a soft voice. “This wind is not part of the meteorological pattern mapped thus far. I suspect—and we’ll soon know if my theory is plausible—that this is nocturnal wind caused by the drastic drop in air temperature we all felt when our suns set. Sudden cold air combined with still-warm temperatures can produce a convection-like reaction, a violent squall, a bora-type wind like those found on the Euro-continent of Earth. If I’m correct, then this wind should reduce as surface and air temperatures stabilize. But I share Erika’s concern about permanent structures withstanding such a battering, even if for a brief period each day.”
“I have an idea about that,” Megan says. “But first we must see about your theory, Astra.”
Miri reaches up, touches the grass that forms an undulant cocoon over our heads and muffles the howl of the wind. “Megan, it is simple now to understand the toughness and deep root system of this grass, the moss that covers the land down to the shoreline. It protects the land from what would be disastrous soil erosion, it protects insect and animal life. The ecological adaptation here is truly a marvel.”
“Great care must be taken about removal of any of this grass for any purpose,” Venus murmurs.
“Great care will be taken about the use of all our world’s resources,” Megan states.
Diana asks anxiously, “Our EVs, will they withstand this wind?”
“They’re fastened with retractor rods,” Kendra answers with satisfaction. “A cyclone would not dislodge our craft.”
“Whoof.” Five or six of Mother’s little creatures are gathered a short distance from us, apparently attracted by the illumination bars. One approaches Mother.
“Here, come here,” Mother coaxes, and it leaps into her arms. “The same one,” she says, examining him. “I can tell by the blond markings on his chest. Augusta dear, what kind of animal did you say he was?”
“Primate. Closely resembling Cebus Capucinus.”
“Phosh. Much too complicated,” Mother pronounces. “I’ll just call him a whoofie.”
We all laugh, and Mother says to Augusta, “Speaking as the only heterosexual on board Amelia, it would be nice to have a male around. Is there a problem about taking him back with us?”
“I’ll consult with Demeter,” Augusta replies, smiling. “I see no reason why he shouldn’t be able to go safely through decontamination. If Megan agrees.”
“As an extra precaution,” Megan says with a grin, “we’ll quarantine him in your quarters, Mother. For his own safety. I think everyone will love him so much they’ll stroke his fur off.”
“For his
food we’ll take berries from that bush he was eating from when he found me,” Mother says in a pleased voice.
Around us, the grass has begun to collapse into its previous bent shape, and we are in our softly lighted, glorious royal blue world. Erika extinguishes the illumination bars. The wind whips in gusts, flinging our hair about our faces, but it has lost its violence.
“Your theory seems correct, Astra,” Megan says, touching the homing signal on her bracelet, the order for us to reassemble for the return to Amelia.
Astra says, “Megan, may I remain here and establish site testing?”
Megan nods. “You and your team. But you must remain together at all times and in direct monitoring contact with Amelia. Make EV-four your quarters, we won’t establish base camp until we select our permanent site.”
I see Miri and Venus draw Megan aside. Miri murmurs to Megan; Megan replies—reluctantly and apologetically, it appears. Venus makes a brief rejoinder; her face, turned toward me, is frozen in fury. I cannot imagine what has transpired.
XV
Personal Journal of Megan
1.1.2
I had known, expected that Venus would turn her attentions elsewhere, but not that she would impart such anguish . . .
And I had not expected such a woman as Miri.
I suppose I had hoped that she would be attracted to another woman of my body type. So that I might have favorably compared—even felt some small degree of superiority . . .
Miri is smaller than I by a head. Her tawny hair is thick and rich with curl and reaches below her shoulders—compared with my own brief simple dark crown. Her face is heart-shaped, without the angular planes of my own, her lips fuller than my own. And her breasts . . . . here I compare most grievously. Mine are firm and well-shaped, but compared to the swelling glory of hers . . . And she is delicate . . . And with a petite grace . . .
I had first noticed her weeks ago when we assembled the exploratory teams. A woman staring at Venus is not an infrequent occurrence; few women are so arresting as Venus. But Venus met and held Miri’s gaze until Miri looked away, her color high. And as our conference progressed, I saw their eyes meet again . . . and again . . .
I saw from Amelia’s manifest that they had been assigned living areas far separate, and differing sleep and activity times. But they were assigned together on EV-one. Their specialties are related, and I could not prevent it . . .
I saw Venus’s eyes go immediately to her as we assembled to board EV-one. And then she sat with Miri. And after that it was as if tinder had gathered flame from a spark.
Amid the unfolding wonder of our new planet, they were on the far outer periphery of my awareness. But still I ached with dull unfocused pain.
Then, after our near-deadly encounter with the creature we have named GEM, I turned to see Miri in her arms, and turned my back again, discovering that my tolerance for pain did not extend even partially this far. And because it was my duty, my sacred obligation, I excised them ruthlessly from my consciousness. With unforseeable danger lying all about us, I could not spare the least part of my concentration.
They did not intrude painfully upon my consciousness again even after we had landed. I worked with them in the examination of the grass-like growth on the planet’s surface, working as if I were anaesthetized. Then, as I lifted grass to my mouth to further test its properties, Venus grasped my wrists for my own safety.
It was the first time I had known her touch and the effect upon me was truly extraordinary. Her touch—the touch I had longed for without control—had happened. And the occurrence was simply over with. Dispensed with. Similar, perhaps, to the agency of a lightning rod. A feeling of peace spread through me, and a burgeoning sense of freedom. As I watched her hands release me I felt my yearning for her also release its grip. Memory returned to me of her holding Miri, stroking her hair—memory without pain.
And also the cold knowledge was in me that I could no longer desire a woman who would so casually touch another for pleasure within my sight.
I do not know if her intention was to release me, but as her hands left me I thanked her, not only for my physical safety, but for giving me as well my full freedom. Mother had been totally correct; I needed to concentrate every fibre of my being on guiding us safely through the settlement of our new world.
Lighthearted, I led our group to the ocean, then sat to watch our spectacular evening descend. Even penetrating, deepening cold could not disturb my euphoria; I continued to delight in the changing colors of sea and sky. Venus again held Miri; I glanced once without pain—without actual interest.
My reactions sometimes seem contrary to what they should be, as in my urge to cry when I am truly happy or moved, an urge I ruthlessly control. Since there are things I do not understand in myself, it is no great wisdom to say that I sometimes do not understand the emotion of other women.
As we were preparing to leave Maternas, Miri and Venus came to me, Miri asking permission to remain on the surface.
Venus surely knew that I could not permit this. But if puzzled, I answered truthfully, “We are close to selecting a permanent site and I need to consult with you, Miri. I can permit only Venus to stay.”
“I have no wish to stay,” Venus said, smiling at Miri.
Realizing that they wished to remain together because there would be no opportunity on Amelia, I said, “I can arrange to make my quarters on Amelia available to you both for any period of time you wish.”
Miri smiled. But Venus’s face froze. “You are,” she said in a glacial voice, “too kind.”
And she took Miri’s arm and walked from me.
• • •
We have been back on board Amelia for some hours now, and I have questions for Miri. But Venus and Miri are together; they use not my quarters but Janel’s, who is on orbital duty watch. They have been behind that sealed door for hours and I will not disturb them, but I muttered to Minerva, the kind woman so dearly beloved and respected by us all, “It seems the time Venus and Miri spend together could be used to greater advantage.”
Minerva looked at me with such sympathy that I resolved never again to speak of matters of which I have so little knowledge.
XVI
1.1.3
Knowing that the decision about our colony site was imminent, I walked impatiently into the command room to wait for the rest of us to assemble. Mother was resting in her quarters, and Venus reclined in Mother’s chair, gazing at Megan who slept.
We have learned how it is that Megan works so many hours without rest: she sleeps briefly, perhaps half an hour at a time, so deeply that even loud noise does not penetrate the shell of sleep, her breathing so slow to be scarcely perceptible. She awakens as suddenly as she sleeps, refreshed and revitalized.
She had been examining an element of surface data; the same figures continued to repeat across her screen. But her chair was adjusted to its level position and she lay with an arm under her head, dark hair spilling over the vivid white of her sleeve, her body turned so that its slim taut curving was emphasized, the long graceful lines of her legs.
“Where is Miri?” I inquired of Venus.
“Asleep,” she answered absently, returning her attention to Megan after the briefest of glances at me.
I asked quietly, “Was it your plan to create jealousy?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
“It was a grievous error.” I gestured to Megan. “Whatever hold you once had on her is gone.”
Venus’s eyes did not leave Megan. “Minerva,” she said in the dangerous voice I remembered from our childhood, “how would you like to be stuffed into a decomposition tube?”
Megan stirred, and so I held my retort. She turned fully toward us, settled again. I joined my sister in gazing at her, at the lovely line of throat, the deep curve of hip, the slim leg drawn up . . . She stirred once again, awakening; and sat up, rubbing and blinking sleep from her eyes like a child. She looked at me and smiled, and glanced at Venus; but Venus had turned M
other’s chair and was staring at the viewscreen as if fascinated by the slowly revolving vista of coral cloud and ocean below. Megan raised the back of her chair and turned her attention to the data on the screen before her.
Much as I love my sister, I am secretly glad that this young woman with her rare gifts and pure beauty has somehow managed to escape her all too expert hands. Venus’s face seems drawn, her eyes troubled . . . But my sister has loved a great many women in her lifetime, and so I cannot truly gauge the level of her distress.
We have assembled, the command room crowded with us—the Inner Circle and all the members of the exploratory teams—some seated on the floor, others finding room along the walls and under the crystal windows near Kendra’s command chair, all of us facing the viewscreen as Megan has instructed. As we sit talking among ourselves, Megan walks to the viewscreen and stands under it, arms crossed. The room abruptly quiets.
I have seen her among small work teams, amid meetings of committees where she was easily in control; never have I seen her formally before a group so large as ours, nor so formidably constituted. Mother and we of the Inner Circle possess the mystique of our position and years, the expertise of our specialties and the acquired knowledge of decades. Others of us are highly trained in our fields, many with achievements noteworthy enough to accrue some degree of fame on the world we have abandoned. All have in common singular independence, strength, and assurance.
If she is apprehensive about confronting such a gathering, it is not apparent. Silence has fallen and still she contemplates us, standing very straight, her long legs set slightly apart, dark hair tousled as always from previous absentminded strokes of her fingers. Her remarkable eyes are calm as they survey us; their emerald meets my gaze for an instant, then seems to look into the eyes of each of us. Our own eyes are riveted to her as if she is possessed of a current that magnetizes us.
Daughters of a Coral Dawn Page 8