Again I woke to find Helse's hands on me, preventing me from attempting what I had threatened in the dream. My rage was swiftly replaced by chagrin, for of course she had seen me handling my aroused private.
But she said nothing, and I remembered that the male member was no stranger to her. She knew better than anyone else the nature of the lusts of the male. I turned my back on her and struggled back to a semblance of sleep once more. This time I made it fairly well through the arbitrary night of the bubble.
The following day was grueling. My intermittent night's sleep left me ill-prepared to fend off the emotional horrors. I went about my business in grim silence. Spirit tried to speak to me, but I repulsed her, then cursed myself for it when I saw her silent, hurt tears, but I did not try to make amends. It was as though my emotions were under the type of interdict the pacifier box had instilled, so that I could lash out verbally but not apologize.
I saw that there were others as morose as I, and some refused to come out of their cells to eat. One woman went into the head and did not emerge; when someone finally checked, they discovered her dead. She had cut open an artery in her thigh and bled to death on the bidet. Suicide.
I knew exactly how she felt.
Helse guided me to our cell early. "Hope, you are dying on your feet," she told me. "I think I can help you, now."
"Nothing can help me," I muttered, but I was so tired and dazed that I offered no resistance.
Then, perhaps as much to hurt her as from curiosity, I asked: "That pirate who started to go after you and Faith—why did he quit?"
"I spoke the word," she said.
That was what I had suspected. But had the pirate left them alone because he feared QYV—or because he thought they were two teen-age boys? I resented the fact that my parents had had no such magic word to protect them. What grief we all might be spared if we could deter malice with a single spoken syllable!
When Helse had secured the cell and had me alone, she used some cloth to block the faint light spilling in around the panel, putting us in darkness. Then she dropped to the floor and moved about, away from me. Two meters cubed is not a lot of space for two people, but I was in the corner and she was in the opposite corner. I could hear her without seeing her.
In a moment she was back. "Please remove your clothes," she said.
"What?" I asked dully.
"I am nude. I want you to be too."
"I don't understand."
"I know. I can help you sleep well." She came to me and took hold of my shirt and started to remove it for me.
I resisted. "Helse, if anyone should look in here—"
"I told them I would talk to you and straighten you out. You have been bristling at everyone. No one will look, or listen—and anyway, I've blocked the cracks. They can't see in from the Commons."
"They could wrench open the panel, idiot! If you don't have your clothes on—they will know—"
"Spirit already knows."
"She's a child."
"Yes." Again she worked at my shirt.
This time I let her do it. I didn't know what she was up to, but it was better than the nightmares I faced when I slept.
After she got the shirt off, she worked on the trousers. Now I was afraid to stop her, for she seemed to know what she was doing, while I was a mass of confusion. She bid me stand, and I stood, and she undid my belt and took my clothing down. I simply let her continue until she had me naked.
She ran her hands lightly over my body in the darkness, not excluding the genital. I was aroused, of course; it could hardly have been otherwise. There was something about being undressed by a woman this way. She evinced no shock or surprise, and I was reminded again that she had done things with men I had never imagined. But such would not be the case with me; I was no pirate or seducer of children.
She made me lie on the floor, using some wadded clothing for cushioning, then lay down on her side beside me. Her warm bare thigh touched mine, and her cool soft breast rested against my left arm. I hardly dared breath.
"Hope, I want to tell you about sex," she said. "I've been listening to you talking in your sleep, and I think I understand your problem. You saw the pirates rape your sister, and you think it's your fault. You think all men are like that. You're afraid one day you'll rape someone."
She was right on target. I said nothing.
"Well, you won't," she said. "I'm not as sharp as you are about judging people, but I do know something about this. All men are not alike, in any way. Some are terrible, like the pirates—but some are so gentle and nice they would never hurt anyone. Most are in between, like your father—and you. They all like sex. That has nothing to do with the way they are. But the bad ones use sex to hurt people, and the good ones use it to make people happy. The pirates were not getting pleasure of Faith, they were punishing the people of the bubble. That's different. Just because you have this"—at this point she put her hand firmly on my rigid genital—"it doesn't mean you're bad. I know you, Hope; I know you as well as I possibly can, in a week. I know you are good. You get angry, you make mistakes, you suffer—but you are good. You have nothing to hurt me—or anyone."
Still the vision of the pirates raping my sister haunted me, and of the one trying to rape my mother. Between those two was the murder of my father, inextricably linked. I never wanted to share any part of the life or lust of those pirates! I remembered how my member had swelled when I saw Faith raped, and it damned me at this very moment similarly. It had a will of its own, and I could not trust it.
"It's the difference between a theft and a gift," she continued. "When you steal something, or take it by force, you hurt someone. But when you accept a gift, you hurt no one, and both the giver and the receiver profit. The gracious acceptance of a gift is a gift in itself. All you have to do is decide never to steal, never to cheat or deceive or force, and always to accept a proper gift. Then you will know you are not like those pirates, and never will be. You will know that you have tamed the fires in you, and turned it to proper advantage."
I pondered that. It seemed to make sense. "All right."
She waited, but I did not move. I was holding my fire tame. "I don't think I've quite convinced you yet," she said. "You will still have nightmares. You still think you can hurt me if you let yourself go."
"Yes." I was afraid that if I moved at all, I would do something terrible.
"I'm going to make you know it's not true," she said. "This is the one thing I can do for you, to repay you for helping me, for keeping my secret."
I thought she was going to talk to me again, explaining how I was normal and it was all right to be normal. But she didn't speak. She shifted herself about, climbing on top of me. I refused to move a muscle, not from any antagonism to her—it was impossible to feel that now, for her sleek woman's body electrified me wherever it touched my flesh—but because any motion at all would represent a commitment, one way or the other.
She held herself above me, then lay full length on me, her breasts resting on my chest, her thighs falling outside mine. She brought her head down and touched my lips with hers, and it was as though I was being propelled through space without moving at all. I had never known that mere touch could have such an effect. Still I did not move.
She shifted herself again, getting her balance, then used one hand to catch and guide my member, pointing it the way she wanted. She raised her hips, then slowly settled on me again. So gently and easily that I could hardly believe it was real, I found myself inside her.
"Now tell me this is evil," she murmured, letting her thighs settle all the way against me, and bringing the rest of her body down so that she lay as she had before, her breasts pressing me down. Only one detail had changed, a small detail, yet with an overwhelming significance.
Still I would not move or speak. It was fear as much as stubbornness. I really did not know what to do, and was afraid that anything would be wrong, and would make her angry or hurt her.
"Tell me you are rapi
ng me," she said, putting her hand behind my head as her whole body pressed more tightly against mine. Her weight was light, less than half-gee; it might have been uncomfortable in full Earth gravity, but even so, her body was the most wonderful thing I could possibly know.
"Tell me you love me," she whispered, and now her tone of challenge had become one of urgent pleading. When I still was silent, she dipped her head and kissed me again, but this differed, as the other position differed from before, from the prior kiss. This time her mouth was open, and her tongue came through to touch mine.
I was at last overwhelmed. "I love you!" I breathed around our tongues, and was transported by a paroxysm of amazing sensation.
I woke, it seemed, an eon later. Helse lay beside me, her hand holding mine. She squeezed my fingers, and I knew she was awake.
"What is it that you want, that cannot be bought?" I asked, remembering what she had said before.
"You know it now."
I knew it now, I discovered. "To love and be loved," I said. "But why me?"
"You're a decent person, and you need me," she said simply.
"I need you," I agreed. And slept again, my hand in hers, without ill-dream.
In the morning, bubble time, I found her still beside me, sleeping. Still I could not see her, except as the vaguest outline, and I discovered I did not dare touch her body, for fear that everything would turn out to be illusion. I realized that she had been kind to me, and more than kind; she had shown me in an absolutely believable manner that sex itself was not evil. In the time following, that realization was to expand and deepen, becoming a fundamental aspect of my philosophy. This was Helse's invaluable gift to me: my honest acceptance of my male nature.
But right then I did not perceive that essence so clearly. I was only aware of Helse herself, and of my need for her. Had she given me her body for a night, to tide me through the storm of my guilt and grief, or was there more to it than that? I had said I loved her, and indeed I did, in that overwhelming flush of feeling that a person my age and temperament is capable of; it was sudden but profound. But she, she had not said she loved me, and she was a year older than I...
In my desperation to know, I reached out and found her shoulder. She woke immediately, and caught my hand in hers.
"Helse," I said, but then could not find the phrasing for the question.
"Yes, Hope," she murmured.
"Is—will there be another time?"
She brought my hand to her lips and kissed it, sending a sweet tingle through me. "If you ask me."
"Ask you?" I repeated, perplexed.
"I won't do it for you, next time, Hope," she explained. "You will have to ask me. Then I will do it."
That wasn't enough of an answer. I struggled to formulate my objection. "I don't want your acquiescence. That could be for any reason. I want your love."
She frowned against my palm. "I never said I loved you, Hope."
"I know. But I love you!"
She sighed. "You are less experienced than I am, Hope. You mistake rapture for love. Your emotion is shaken by tragedy. It is right for me to ease your confusion in my fashion, but not to ask too high a price. When you are able to put it in perspective, you will know that love is not made in a single night."
I jerked my hand away from her, hurt.
She apologized immediately. "Hope, I did not mean to imply your emotion is not real or strong. Only that it is too soon to distinguish passion from love. I have been loved for a night by many men. By day they have other interests. Had I loved any of them, I would have been hurt, for my love is not just for a night. Give me leave to protect myself from heartbreak, as I protect my body from abuse by concealing it from strangers."
I began to understand a little better. "But you could love me, if you were sure of me?"
"It is my dream, to love and be loved."
Still that gentle evasion. She was being honest with me, and I appreciated that, but still it was hard to accept. I sat up, disgruntled, wanting more than I had any right to ask.
"May I kiss you?" she asked.
"I would like that," I said, somewhat stiffly.
She got to her knees, leaned across, found my face, and kissed me. Her lips were warm and moist, and her body where it touched mine was wonderfully soft. "When you ask, and it is granted, it is good," she said.
"I wish I could ask for your love."
She smiled, a faint gleam of teeth in the dark, and separated. We dressed, then went out in the guise of two boys to visit the head. Helse had opened a door to a new dimension to me, the dimension of love, but some things had not changed.
Chapter 11 — SACRIFICE
Jupiter Orbit, 2-15-'15—Bubble life was routine, as far as possible. I still felt the terrible loss of my father, and knew it was worse for my mother and sisters. Helse had taken a huge segment of my aroused emotion and turned it positive, so that I had a kind of internal counterbalance. But my mother and sisters lacked that. I realized that, thanks to Helse's gift, I was now stronger than they, like a shipwrecked sailor who has found a barrel to cling to while others had nothing. I could not share my support with them, and could not even confess its nature, for they believed Helse was a boy like me.
Except Spirit. She caught me alone in the course of the day, and had to needle me. "How was it, brother?" she asked snidely.
A host of flip answers escaped before I could formulate any of them verbally. "I love her," I said simply.
She glanced at me a long moment, having the grace to be embarrassed. "I'm sorry."
I put my arm about her shoulders, forgiving her. "I know how it is," I said, remembering how snappish I had been before, when my internal problem radiated sparks at other people. I had no need of that anymore. "You're still my sister. You're the only one who shares that secret."
"Still, I'm jealous," she admitted.
"You have no need to be. You aren't competing with her."
"Yes, I am! If you had to throw one of us into space, which one would it be?"
The way to counter a question like that is to reverse it. "If you had to throw Faith or me into space, which would it be?"
"That depends who I'm mad at at the moment." But Spirit turned sober, considering the implication.
"When you grow up and love a man, I'll try not to be too jealous," I said.
"Oh, go ahead and be jealous!" she muttered. But she smiled. Then, in the treacherous way she had, she returned to her opening question. "Tell me what it's like," she begged. "Please, Hope—I really want to know."
Spirit was twelve. Did I have the right to tell her about sex? I had just learned about it myself! Of course we both knew the sterile mechanics as taught in school, and the applicable terms; we also both knew that such things had almost nothing to do with real sex or love.
I remembered the way older children, both male and female, had teased me in past years about my curiosity and ignorance. It seemed to be a conspiracy of silence, and I had never believed it was justified. I resolved not to do that to my sister. "I was inside her," I said carefully. "And heaven was inside me. I wish it could have lasted forever."
"What about all the pain and blood?" she asked, and I saw that she was really worried. She, too, had seen the rape of Faith. I should have been aware of her natural reaction before. I had to reassure her about the other side of sex, as Helse had reassured me, so she would not fear it.
"There was no pain or blood. Nothing but joy."
"But—"
"Give me your hand." I took her small hand in mine and squeezed it cruelly.
"Ouch!" she shrieked.
"That's rape," I said. Then I took her hand again, smoothed it out caressingly, and kissed it. "That's love."
She looked at her extremity. "But that's only my hand!"
"Just one part of you—and me," I agreed. "Another part was used to hurt Faith terribly—but last night I used it to love Helse. The difference is in how you use it. That's what she taught me."
Spirit smi
led quirkily. "I thought you used it to pee." She was being humorous, resisting the notion, as I had resisted it during the night. Too simple a telling does not necessarily get the point across, because the listener isn't ready to believe. So I took stock again, pretty much as Helse had.
"That too," I agreed. "But not last night. Just about every part of the body has more than one use, like the mouth that is used to eat and to talk or the nose used to breathe and smell. You just have to keep in mind which use you want."
"Yes, it's hard to talk with your mouth full," she agreed. She still didn't accept it.
I caught her shoulder, making her face me, suddenly finding it vitally important to spread the new message. "When you grow older, Spirit, and you love a boy, and he loves you, don't be afraid of his body. What he has for you is not cruel and not dirty; it's a form of love. The great crime of the pirates is that they take something perfect and abuse it, making it terrible. Don't judge all men by them!"
"Oh, I don't judge our father by—"
"And how do you think you and I came to exist?"
"There is that," she agreed, with a wan smile. But her brow furrowed again. "Still, I don't know."
"Ask Helse," I said. "She will tell you."
"I will." Spirit left me. I hoped I had not wished something on Helse she would have preferred to avoid.
I talked with Señora Ortega, to learn how we were doing on our voyage. She squinted at me. "You're the lad who appointed me captain," she said with the trace of a grim smile. "Yesterday you looked ready to die; today you are alive."
"You're the right person," I agreed. "That funeral service really made me feel better. And I had a good night. I'll be all right now. Are we on course?"
"A good night," she repeated. "If I didn't know better, lad, I'd think you had discovered love." Maybe she was teasing me; it was impossible to know how much she had guessed.
She got down to serious business quickly. "No, we're not on course," she said frankly. "Our girls aren't as apt as the men were; we haven't had the training. The mechanism is simple, but the application takes practice. So we're handling the vectors clumsily. Oh, we're getting there, but it won't be on the original schedule. We'll have to stay on half rations."
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