The Rainbow Cadenza: A Novel in Vistata Form

by J. Neil Schulman

  One comman, who stood out from the others in Joan's mind, didn't want to have sex at all. He spent the fifty minutes reading Joan love poetry he had written. It was good, she thought, and she was sorry that regulations forbade giving her name to a comman, or asking him his.

  Only one time in the first months at the 995th was it necessary for Joan to summon security.

  It was halfway through her last session of the day, and the comman she was with had come almost immediately at the beginning of the hour. He wasn't particularly interested in talking, so Joan spent some time while he was recovering massaging him; then he asked her to lie down on her back, while he straddled her.

  Joan did as he asked. But as soon as he was in place over her, with his legs astride her belly, he took a breath, exhaled deeply, and began peeing on her.

  She was so frightened, at first, that she couldn't even scream. Then she realized what he was doing and did scream--but her pulse rate must have already triggered an alarm in the security office, because two andromen were in the door before she could get out the word "Dumbjohn."

  Joan had never felt so humiliated in her life, and couldn't bear to look the guards in the face. But they understood, dragged the comman out quickly--kicking and screaming that his hour wasn't up--and left her alone.

  She spent the next two hours in the bathtub.

  On Sunday evening, August 30, Joan received a phone call from Capistrano General Hospital in Ad Astra. A receptionist informed her that the hospital had traced her after her first calling Helix Vista and receiving a forwarding address from her brother Zack. The receptionist told her that Wolfgang Jaeger had suffered a massive heart attack, was in the intensive-care unit, and would probably not live out the night. The only person he'd asked to speak to was Joan Darris. Would she please hold while she transferred the call?

  A dead weight began pressing on Joan's diaphragm and spreading out from there to her entire body. Then the image of Wolfgang Jaeger came on the screen. He looked a century older than the last time she had seen him, four months before, and had an oxygenator on his nose. But his eyes were alive, and he was able to speak--slowly. "Joan?"

  "Yes, Wolfgang, I'm here...can't you hear me?"

  There was a delay that seemed forever. Then he said, "Don't forget the three-second time lag. I may be slow, but I'm not dead yet."

  Joan couldn't help smiling through her tears.

  "I suppose they've told you I'm dying?" he asked.

  "Yes, Wolf. They told me."

  "Well, don't place any high wagers on it," he said. "You made me so mad with that Vershlungener cadenza of yours that I've decided I'm not ready to accept a deep-space orbit yet--at least, not without a fight. You still following me?"

  Joan nodded, then decided to say, "Yes," also.

  "All right," Jaeger said. "I won't have to explain this, since you've been through it already. I've made arrangements to be cryonically suspended the moment my metronome stops ticking, and also made arrangements to have a surrogate clone grown for me."

  Joan gasped, and when the three seconds were up, she could see Jaeger trying to smile.

  "Now, you're probably thinking that an old brain in a new body doesn't go very well. I've talked it over with the doctors, and they give me about a fifty-fifty chance of waking up after the transplant. After that--assuming I wake up at all--there's no guarantee that I'll live a day, or a week, or a month--or another one hundred sixty-seven years. But it will be about sixteen years before they know. Do you understand?"

  "I understand, Wolf."

  "Good. If I wake up, will you marry me?"

  Joan's jaw dropped, but the only delay before her answer reached him was caused by the speed of light.

  "Yes, Wolf. I'll marry you."

  Jaeger smiled. "I don't expect you to live the life of a nun until I'm resurrected. Promise me you won't."

  "I promise, Wolf."

  "Good. I didn't want you waiting around only to find out that God had already put me to work designing solar systems, or some such thing. But I'm taking a chance that time isn't as important to Him as it is to us, and that a few decades more or less doesn't make any difference to Him. If God is anything, He has to be patient. Now, don't smile like that--don't you know it's not polite to smile around a dying man?"

  "I love you, Wolf."

  "And I love you," Jaeger said. "This had better work, or else I've spent the past one hundred sixty-seven years waiting around for nothing. Au revoir, Joan."

  The picture faded out.

  The news services Monday morning carried the story of Jaeger's death.

  VI.

  6000Å to 6300Å

  Chapter 26

  ON THE EVENING of Friday, September 18--three days after Wendell Darris left for St. Clive--Second Corporal Joan Darris was being drilled along with the rest of the 995th Dicteriat for their participation in Monday's Samhain Day Parade. Half an hour into the drill, Joan was called out of formation by her sorority's First Corporal, April Elman. "The Motherfucker wants to see you in her apartment on the double," Elman told Joan. "You bite a comman in the wrong place, Darris?"

  "Uh, not that I can remember, Ma'am."

  "Well, when the Motherfucker calls for someone on the double, it means something big. So don't bother gyning me; move your ass."

  Joan moved it. She grabbed the lift up to the penthouse and announced herself to the door; a moment later, a sharp "Come in!" answered and the door slid open.

  Joan went in, waited for Lieutenant Matron Perlulone to look up from a disc she was reading, then gyned and said, "Second Corporal Joan Darris reporting to the Commanding Officer as ordered, Ma'am."

  Since Perlulone was sitting, she did not have to return the gyne. That was why Joan was absolutely astonished when the statuesque blonde rose and gyned her in return. "Congratulations, Darris," Perlulone said. "Though you won't have to gyne me on your way out. It's Lieutenant Matron Darris now."

  Joan could barely believe her ears. "Ma'am?"

  Perlulone shook her head. "We're the same rank now. Call me Gerry. Would you like a cup of mocha?"

  "Uh, yes, please," Joan said. She still couldn't believe this was happening. "No disrespect intended, Ma--uh, Gerry, but are you sure?"

  Perlulone smiled. "Oh, there's no mistake. Do you think I would receive orders for a triple bump in rank without checking? I can't recall ever having heard of one in this Corporation before. Do you take sugar?"

  "Uh, just cream, please," Joan said. She accepted the cup and sat down in the opposite seat toward which Perlulone gestured her.

  She took a gulp of the mocha, burning her tongue, then said, "But why me?"

  "It goes with the transfer," Perlulone said. "You've received a Congressional Appointment to the House of Commen Dicteriat in Charlotte Amalie. You're on a week's leave as of now, and you report there on the twenty-eighth to Matriarch Lilith Graves."

  "Uh, you wouldn't happen to know who appointed me, would you?" Joan asked, though she felt she already knew.

  "Of course I know," Perlulone said, "it's right on the orders. His Excellency Burke Filcher, the Member of Commen from this parish. Each Member is alloted one appointment per year. Filcher has made appointments from this Cleavage before, but never from my dicteriat, and never--I believe--anyone below the rank of mistress before. Now," Perlulone went on, "I realize your appointment is probably as much as anything else a compliment to your uncle, but you've still brought a proud honor to this dicteriat, and I thank you for it."

  Joan couldn't think of anything more original to say than "You're welcome, Matron Perlulone."

  Perlulone put down her cup of mocha. "It's traditional when this happens to throw a party, but I'm afraid with the parade coming up Monday I couldn't manage that. But a friend came up with something perhaps even better. First, however--" Perlulone removed Joan's gold yonis and put them in a box for her. Then she said, "Come in, now."

  First Corporal Georgia McDonough came in from the bedroom and gyned Joan. Joan sta
rted to get up, but McDonough shook her head.

  Lieutenant Matron Perlulone went to a sideboard across her livingroom and ordered its top drawer to open. She returned with a small box, and handed the box to Corporal McDonough. "These belonged to Margaret DeJarnette," Perlulone said, "Georgia's and my commander, and the best raping officer in the Corps. She's a two-cross Matriarch now. When I took over the Nine Hundred Ninety-fifth, Margaret sent me two of her old sets of doves. I'm wearing one set now. Georgia was supposed to get the other, but she's asked me to give them to you. Corporal, would you proceed?"

  Corporal McDonough pinned a palladium Dove of Peace on each side of Joan's collar, then stepped back and gynuflected Joan again.

  Joan returned the gyne to her Drill Instructor.

  Perlulone kissed Joan on both cheeks, stood back, and presented a gyne to Joan herself. Joan returned this gyne also.

  Unaccountably, even though the Corps meant nothing to her, Joan found herself misting up--partly at how much this honor seemed to mean to the other two women, and partly at the great kindness they were showing her. "Thank you very, very much," Joan said, and she did not need to pretend any warmth. She felt it.

  Then Perlulone took out a joynette, broke it into three parts, and lit one for each of them.

  Corporal McDonough presented the toast. "To Lieutenant Matron Joan Darris--recently of Taurus Twenty-five Training Sorority, presently of Eleanor Roosevelt Nine Hundred Ninety-fifth Dicteriat, and soon to be of the House of Commen Dicteriat. May you always bring love into every room you enter."

  McDonough and Perlulone toked simultaneously.

  Then it was Joan's turn. "Uh, I don't know any of the right toasts," she said.

  McDonough smiled. "Any old toast will do."

  Joan thought for a moment, then raised her joynette and said, "May you always have an extra stash if you're out of money, or enough money to buy an extra stash."

  This time, all three of them toked, and--according to custom -- they crushed the three parts simultaneously into the ashtray.

  Lieutenant Matron Perlulone turned to Joan. "How would you like to sit with me, Monday, in the reviewing stand of the Samhain Day Parade?"

  Joan smiled. "I think I'd enjoy that--especiallly the look on Corporal Elman's face when she sees these doves on my collar. She'll probably scat."

  McDonough smiled at Joan. "If you don't mind my saying so, Ma'am, you've got a wicked streak in you a klick wide."

  Lieutenant Matron Perlulone nodded her agreement. "Widen it a couple of klicks, Matron Darris, and soon they'll be calling you the Motherfucker."r

  Rank Hath Its Privileges--and with Joan's new rank came a much higher pay grade, top priority on Peace Corps shuttles to any part of the globe--no charge, of course--and one heck of a pension plan. Joan didn't imagine she would be staying with the Corps long enough to have to worry about her retirement, though.

  The other privileges did come in useful, however. Right after the Samhain Day Parade, Joan hopped a shuttle to Newer York, checked into the Nova Cancy Hotel--watching the First Lady's speech giving thanks this day, among other things, "for the valiant women of the Federation Peace Corps who have wiped the scourges of war, poverty, and rape from the face of this planet" -- then phoned Jack Malcolm and talked him into the exclusive use of one of his domes for the week. He agreed--but only on the condition that she allow him to take her out for dinner and a show the next night. Joan agreed.

  The next morning, Joan phoned Deyo, Abrams & Greenberg and instructed Linda Klausner to send the bills for the custody lawsuit to her directly, rather than to Wendell. Her second call that morning was to the local Corps motor pool, giving orders for a skymobile to be placed at her disposal for a week. It was waiting for her in front of the hotel by the time she finished breakfast. Then she flew to the Malcolm Institute and spent the day making final sketches for The Helix Vistata.

  Joan completely forgot about time and about lunch. She probably would have worked all night long if Jack Malcolm hadn't come in at five-thirty to remind her of her deal. Joan changed into her dress uniform in Jack's bathroom, ordered the Corps skymobile to return to the hotel by itself, and flew with Jack in his craft back to Manhattan for supper atop the pyradome. After dinner, they went uptown to the Metropolitan Soap Opera House and saw its production of Luke and Laura.

  They stopped for mocha and a late snack at the Rinso Cafe across from the Metropolitan: then Jack dropped Joan off at the Nova Cancy and returned to Rainborough.

  Malcolm hardly saw Joan for the rest of that week, even though they were only a few meters away from each other. But by Sunday the 27th, Joan had a completed first draft of The Helix Vistata. She left a score of it with Jack for his critique, and flew off to Charlotte Amalie Sunday evening feeling more lighthearted than she'd felt in months. She slept Sunday night in the Commen Dicteriat's B.O.Q.

  Monday morning, Joan reported to her new commanding officer, Matriarch Lilith Graves. Except for ceremonial occasions, gynes were not used among officers of the rank of lieutenant matron and up, so when Joan greeted Graves it was with a handshake and a smile.

  The smile was not returned with much enthusiasm, but then again, Joan surmised that it probably hurt the woman's face. Graves was a large, square-faced woman in her nineties who looked as if she might have had a good figure three decades before. She kept her mousy brown hair cut in a short style that hadn't been popular for half a century, and wore far too much makeup.

  "Welcome to Commen, Matron Darris," Graves said. "Have a seat. Would you care for a cup of mocha?"

  "Only if you are, Ma'am," Joan said.

  "Never touch the stuff anymore," the officer said. "Keeps me awake nights, and I lose enough sleep over this desk. But feel free."

  "Thank you, Matriarch, but it's not necessary. If I may suggest it, Ma'am, I've found that a tryptophan, inositol, choline, and potassium compound conteracts the stimulation quite well for a night's sleep."

  "Do you have medical training, Matron?"

  "No, Ma'am. But I tend to be a night person, and when I had to get up for classes in the morning at school, I consulted a chemist for something to help me get to bed earlier. I should warn you, though, it tends to produce rather vivid dreams."

  The matriarch made a note on her desk terminal. "Thank you, Matron. I'll have the pharmacy make some up for me."

  "That's not necessary, Ma'am. It's sold commercially under the brand name Dreamspinners."

  Matriarch Graves turned to her terminal again and ordered a bottle to be on her nightstand by her bedtime.

  "Now, to business," Graves said. "Do you understand how the assignments work around here?"

  "Only what I read in the manual, Ma'am."

  "Well, then there's not much I have to explain. You'll be providing exclusive services to His Excellency Burke Filcher, at his convenience. I'm afraid that your days of set routines and limited duties are over: R.H.I.P., but Rank Hath Its Burdens also. You'll be escorted by His Excellency to state functions, will be on call to him twenty-four hours a day, and your leaves will be arranged according to his desires and schedule. You'll also find out that there is much more variety in the sexual services the Members of Commen are entitled to--no more andromen down the hall to burst in if there are any unusual requests. Do you follow me?"

  "Uh, yes, Ma'am."

  "Don't look so glum. He can't require you to do anything that would cause you physical harm."

  "What about emotional damage, Ma'am?"

  "That's what the Corps has Advisers for, Matron. If you have any difficulties in adjusting to your new assignment, I'll see that you get time off to have regular therapy sessions. Just remember that there is very little that's new under the sun, and there really isn't any sexual behavior that hasn't been practiced routinely by some civilization, group, or tribe throughout history--and considered by them perfectly enjoyable and valid. We of the Corps--especially of the Commen Dicteriat--pride ourselves on our ability to provide just about any service physically
possible--cheerfully, imaginatively, and expertly. Do you follow me?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "Good. His Excellency has informed me that he has obtained a private residence--conveniently near his own--for you to live in. Here is the address." She handed Joan a printout.

  Joan looked at the address, then did a double take. It was the address of Villa Olga--Wendell's estate.

  "His Excellency will be expecting you for dinner at his home this evening at eighteen hundred hours. A ground taxi will be sent for you at seventeen forty-five. Until then, you're free to get yourself settled in at your residence and acquaint yourself with the islands, if you'd like. You'll find this a remarkably beautiful place to live, year round."

  "I know, Ma'am. I've visited here before."

  "Fine. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Matron. I owe you one for the sleep aids, if they work. If you need a favor in return, let me know."

  Joan stood. "Thank you, Ma'am. I've enjoyed meeting you also. Good morning."

  Joan could hardly believe that she had this luxurious Caribbean estate all to herself. Villa Olga was almost as large as Helix Vista, but she did not have one "room" here that was hers; she had the whole estate--with every modern luxury available on Earth and a full staff of robots at her beck and call.

  Neither was she just a temporary guest in Wendell's house: she learned that the estate had been Wendell's only so long as she was in the Upper Manor; its title had reverted to the Federation, and Filcher had happened to be the sort of Member powerful enough to commandeer such a choice property for his own use--by largesse, now Joan's.

  Joan spent the day on her solitary beach, swimming and tanning, the latter aided by a drug that prevented freckling, burning or stroking. Then she prepared for her dinner with Filcher and met the taxi on schedule.

  At dinner--just the two of them and a staff of robots-- Filcher was just as charming as at their first meeting. His estate was not quite as large as Villa Olga--though much more modern--but possessed both indoor and outdoor swimming pools, full health-club facilities, the largest holy screen Joan had ever seen in a private home--and its own laserium dome.