About the Story:
"We are a living society— not freaks to be studied like those glass-sided insects' nests we give our little daughters to play with!"
And there the Matriarchy of Isis/Cinderella would not admit anthropologists to study their strange society—a society where women alone were citizens, and men were regarded as dangerous animals. For the rulers of the Matriarchy believed firmly that a society where men ruled, inevitably decayed and was destroyed by war and aggression. They had chosen, alone in the known worlds of the Galaxy, to return to an older social order—a world ruled by women, where society was in the hands of the Mothers.
Yet Isis was a world impoverished, desperately in need of trade with the Unity. And located on Isis was the great enigma of the known Universe—the Builder Ruins, last remnant of an unknown culture, millions of years old.
To Isis, then, Cendri came, with her husband Dal—Master Scholar of University, who must pretend to be Cendri's inferior and her Companion, a mere sexual playmate. Cendri's own status, as Scholar in anthropology, must be concealed from everyone. The strange society of the Matriarchy tests the marriage of Dal and Cendri to the utmost—causing them all to re-examine the roles of men and women in the known world— and in the Matriarchy.
For, within the strange Ruins of Isis, something survives—something which can speak to the women of Isis.
The Ruins
Edited and illustrated by Polly and Kelly Freas Starblaze Editions • Donning • Norfolk • 1 978
About the Cover:
Acrylic and collage, 20 x 26 inches, by Kelly Freas. The painting symbolizes the culture of the planet Isis, whose great, black, monolithic structures antedate Galactic civilization. The first settlers' ship stands safe inside the "ruins" as the two chief protagonists cling together against tidal wave and emotional storm. On the left, members of the male underground exchange recognition symbols, while above them, a noble lady, in noble dress, leads on a sturdy chain, her well-trained but notoriously unstable pet to the annual Games.
Large-size prints, without type, of this and many other science fiction subjects are available from the artist. For information write: Frank Kelly Freas, 4216 Blackwater Road, Virginia Beach, Va. 23457.
First Printing
Copyright© 1978 by Marion Zimmer Bradley
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book in any form whatsoever without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief passages in connection with a review.
For information, write:
The Donning Company/Publishers Inc.
5041 Admiral Wright Blvd.
Virginia Beach, Virginia 23462
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Bradley, Marion Zimmer.
The Ruins of Isis.
(Starblaze editions)
I. Freas, Polly. II. Freas, Kelly. III. Title. PZ4.B79968RU [PS3552.R228] 813'.5'4 78-14268 ISBN 0-915442-60-4
I am only a man
And I have no part in Paradise.
Twice have I tasted bliss
And twice have I been driven forth;
Once when I left my mother's womb
And again when I was driven forth
From my Mother's house.
When I am done with life
Will the Goddess take me, perhaps
To her loving breasts?
Song of
the Men's House of Ariadne
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
About the Author:
CHAPTER ONE
The pilot of the shuttle ship was a woman. Cendri had been prepared for this—intellectually—but the reality was a shock. A small, hard-bodied woman, hair clipped short, a band of metallic cloth around her breasts, another, wider, around her hips, low magnetized shoes, and a small crimson badge pinned on her shoulder-band. The observer in Cendri, the anthropologist she had been trained to be, asked automatically, uniform? Badge of office? I didn't think they had a space service of any kind, they have so little contact with the Unity.
She wanted to clutch at Dai's hand, all the time knowing perfectly well that this was the one thing, here at the very entrance—officially—to the Matriarchate of Isis/Cinderella, that she must not do.
The Pilot was waiting, with raised eyebrows.
"Scholar Dame Malocq?"
Cendri gathered herself together. Fortunately the pilot took it for granted that the brief disorientation of the transittube from the Unity ship had simply left Cendri dizzy and, for a moment, unable to speak. Cendri knew that the moment of truth was on her—truth? The moment when the impersonation must begin. She said, steeling herself for the lie:
"I am the Scholar Dame Malocq."
The pilot, gravely and unsmiling, made the formal gesture— hands clasped before the face—which, on the planets of the Unity, was the universal greeting and mark of respect. Cendri wondered who had coached her.
"Welcome to the Matriarchate of Isis, Scholar Dame." Again, with detachment, Cendri took mental notes. They don't use the name Cinderella. She hadn't really expected them to, though the name was still carried double, Isis/Cinderella, in the Unity records, and on University.
"And this—"the look the pilot gave Dal was cold, clinical, impersonal; he might have been another suitcase or travelpak, "— this is the Scholar Dame's consort and Companion?"
Cendri nodded in acknowledgement. She and Dal had made jokes about this; it had sounded like a light-hearted imposture, a formality, a technicality. They had laughed together about the rigid laws of Isis/Cinderella, the Matriarchate. But before the unsmiling, uninterested eyes of the young woman pilot, it had suddenly ceased to be funny; and Dal was standing behind her where she could not catch his eyes, even for the momentary reassurance of the shared joke. She said "Yes. His name is—"
But the pilot was not listening. "The Scholar Dame is aware that the import of offworld males is technically an infringement of the laws of the Matriarchate. Concessions have, as the Scholar Dame knows, been made to the respected status of the Scholar from University; but certain formalities may not be waived. I am required to fill out a declaration in the name of the Scholar Dame." She whipped out a form and some kind of writing instrument. "Does it have a property tattoo?"
"Does it have—what?"
The pilot repeated, with well-concealed impatience, "A property tattoo or brand, an unremovable mark signifying permanent ownership and responsibility. Is my command of the Scholar Dame's language insufficient? Would the Scholar Dame wish me to summon an Official Translator?"
"No, thank you," Cendri said weakly, "the—the term was unfamiliar, that is all. No, Dal is not—not tattooed or branded. It is not—not our custom to disfigure males."
The young pilot's shoulders lifted in a faint shrug, without interest. "As I told the Scholar Dame, concessions have been made to her respected status; this requirement has been waived by special action of the Pro-Matriarch, as a diplomatic courtesy." Somehow she managed to convey, without the faintest change in her inexpressive, courteous tone, that she felt this concession had been a mistake. Cendri wondered if she was being hypersensitive. She clasped her hands formally before her face and murmured that she was appreciative of the courtesy of the Pro-Matriarch, wondering
who the Pro-Matriarch was.
"Nevertheless, as the Scholar Dame certainly understands, the formal declaration of responsibility, and some form of permanent identification cannot be waived, even for diplomatic purposes," the young pilot said. "If you wish, we can be met immediately upon landing by a malesurgeon, and arrange to have it branded or tattooed upon the spot. The process is quite quick and extremely humane, and the marking can be either inconspicuous or ornamental, as the Scholar Dame desires."
Cendri blinked, looked helplessly at Dal, but—as he had been carefully briefed to do—he was staring straight ahead and pretending not to hear. The one thing she could not do was to consult him. She had not been prepared for this. She swallowed, and said, with a firmness she was far from feeling, "We were not advised of this requirement, and we cannot accede to it. Since we are not intending to take up permanent residence on Isis/Cinderella, it would not be suitable to have him branded or tattooed."
What will I do if they insist? Bluff it out, threaten to turn around and go back to University?
The pilot raised her eyebrows again, and Cendri realized she had made two mistakes in one sentence. She had used the name under which the planet was still carried on the rolls at University, Cinderella. Even more serious, she had made a mistake in language against which she had been especially, and repeatedly warned; she had referred to Dal as him, instead of by the special neuter pronoun used for males except in a specifically sexual context. The pilot was actually blushing; and to apologize for the indecency was to compound it. Better to let the pilot think Cendri ignorant than vulgar.
The young pilot struggled with a nervous giggle as she said "In that case, the Scholar Dame must arrange for a temporary marking of some sort. It can be marked—" she very faintly emphasized it— "with an earclamp or collar tag, but the most effective method is for a subcutaneous electronic implant in one testicle. This is an excellent training and disciplinary device for a male not accustomed to civilized restraints, as it can be located and controlled at any moment."
The implications of that swept Cendri with shock and horror; but she managed, somehow, to keep her face and voice calm.
"No, I think not; that would be quite excessive."
"I compliment the Scholar Dame upon her confidence," said the pilot indifferently. "If she is willing to be content with an ear clamp or collar tag—"
"A collar tag, I think, will be quite sufficient," Cendri said, and didn't dare look at Dal. Not for the first time, she found herself admiring her husband's courage, and the scientific curiosity which had prompted him to accept this subordinate position.
"—in that case, we can dispense with the attendance of a malesurgeon," the pilot said, "I am licensed to install an earclamp myself; I have done it many times, and I assure you it would cause the male only temporary distress, if the Scholar Dame wishes for the added security." Cendri shook her head, and the pilot, although she looked doubtful, nodded in compliance. She said, "I am also equipped with a diplomatic collar-tag," whipped it out of a kind of utility pouch at her belt, and locked it, on a narrow metal chain, around Dai's neck; marked a number on it with a carbide pencil. She said, "The Scholar Dame is, of course, legally responsible for any damage caused by her property; does the Scholar Dame fully understand that it is liable to be summarily destroyed if it should attack any citizen of the Matriarchate?"
Cendri, in a daze, was wondering; how did we get ourselves into this? But it was too late, now, to retreat. The idea was ludicrous— that Dal was a dangerous animal, likely to attack a citizen, and to be summarily destroyed for it! The pilot's voice was pleasant, neutral, but it seemed to Cendri to hold sinister menace. "Will the Scholar Dame sign a form of legal responsibility?"
"Certainly," Cendri said, trying hard to steady her voice, and scrawled her name on the form held out to her. One part of her noted the ancient custom preserved—on University she would simply have presented her Scholar's identity number for registration. But she was light-years away from University, and a good way outside the Unity itself.
Formalities concluded, the pilot favored her at last with a smile. "We can get under way now, Scholar Dame. I will signal the Unity Ship for breaking orbit in minutes." Efficiently, she was stowing Cendri's luggage in special compartments, carefully indicating a padded seat, belts, restrainers. Cendri hesitated before getting into it, looking anxiously at Dal, and the pilot shrugged. "If the Scholar Dame is worried about her Companion—you can put it in the seat over there, and wedge it in with blankets. But I wouldn't worry. A few bumps and bruises don't hurt them, you know. They really don't feel things the way that we do. That is a scientifically established fact, Scholar Dame, and we have quite careful humane regulations to avoid accidental harm to males."
Cendri gulped and wedged Dal carefully into the indicated extra seat. She said in an undertone, "I'm afraid it's going to be a rough ride." This kind of shuttle ship was not very smooth even with proper restrainer seats. Without them, she didn't like to think about the surge away from the Unity ship, the long deceleration down into the atmosphere of Isis/Cinderella.
Dal smiled, and the smile heartened her. He said, in a voice low enough not to be heard by the pilot, who was getting into her own acceleration couch, "Relax, love, we had this all out before we agreed to come here. So far, I can cope with it. The shuttles on Pioneer weren't very smooth, either, remember; it was only when women started going offworld that we even bothered with couches in the shuttles." He chuckled softly, and the pilot gave him, over her bare shoulder, an irritable glance.
Just as if, Cendri thought, the noise of a barking dog had distracted her.
Yes, just exactly like that....
Cendri got into her own couch, carefully fastening the restrainer straps and pads. What Dal said was right, of course. He had grown up on Pioneer, and among the men of Pioneer, endurance of hardships of this kind were regarded as a test of courage and manhood. He was used to this kind of thing.
But he's not used to it now....
She told herself, firmly, to stop fretting. Dal had assured her he would be all right. The pilot turned briefly to check on her passenger, then spoke into an intercom of some kind, evidently getting clearance from the Unity ship and the port on Isis. Then she said, "Brace yourself, Scholar Dame; the first surge is powerful. After that, the braking rockets will fire on a count of three, after which we will spend approximately four minutes in free orbit before we begin to decelerate for landing. In slightly less than fourteen minutes we will be landing in the city of Ariadne."
As she had warned, the acceleration surge away from the Unity ship was forceful. Cendri, tense with anxiety about Dal on his restrainer-free couch, felt the surge of violent nausea as the violent reversing sensations turned her dizzy, then sick with the weightless feel of free orbit. The pilot, seemingly oblivious, whistled an odd little tune as she concentrated on her work.
Cendri clamped her teeth in her lip, and thought, not for the first time, I'll never be able to handle this. Not even with Dai's help. Never.
Maybe the Unity is right, not to give assignments like this to women. I know I'm going to make a mess of this one!
It's going to be rough on DaJ if I fail at this—and maybe worse if I succeed. Women on Pioneer are never Scholars; there hasn't been a Scholar Dame from Pioneer in the history of University.'
Cendri and Dal had met on University, the scholar's world, where all the knowledge of the known planets of the Unity was gathered in a single central location. Cendri had been already a Scholar, then, while Dal was still only a Student. At first—she knew it—the very difference had intrigued the young man from Pioneer. Cendri's own world did not regard scholarship in a woman as anything so very surprising, and there had been a few—though not many—Scholar Dames from her home planet, Beta Capella; mostly in education and linguistics, but it was not really unusual for women to excel in the social sciences.
She had found it intriguing when he had courted and flattered her. She knew that she her
self had been the first woman he had ever known who was genuinely his intellectual equal. She was flattered that he had turned to her, rather than to one of the men, for help in finding his way around the bewildering new world of University. And also, at first, she had been flattered that he had tried to meet her on an intellectual level, as a fellow Scholar, rather than as a man meets a woman. Later it had seemed almost a slight, and when he had begun to court her in earnest, she had felt relieved, as if, in some way, he had confirmed the quality of her womanhood. Soon sexuality had begun to shadow and compete with their shared interests and tastes; and before very long they were spending so much time together that it had seemed logical to marry instead of maintaining separate quarters.
They had been married, now, just over a year. Dal had been preparing for his examination as Master Scholar, and Cendri knew he was already regarded as the most promising Scholar in the Department of Alien Archaeology and Artifacts. He had chosen to do his thesis and graduate research on the very few remaining extant ruins of the mysterious, and still hypothetical, race known as the Builders. He had applied for, and been accepted, as Research Assistant to the Scholar Dame Lurianna di Velo.
The Scholar Dame di Velo was a woman of considerable age, powerful, important, author of many controversial, but impeccably scholarly, works on Archaeology. She was considered the foremost authority on alien artifacts; but she was notorious because she adhered, publicly, to the controversial theory that the entire Galaxy had, at one time, been seeded, or colonized, by a single race of beings which had been given the name of Builders. Master Scholars and Dames all over the Galaxy attacked her thesis; but they could not fault her scholarship or her respectable credentials; the theory had acquired respectability largely because of her defense of it. It had previously been considered questionable, if not completely crackpot.
Cendri herself should have applied, two seasons before, for a Scholar Dame's grant. But on her marriage, she had applied for a season's leave of absence, and had been granted it. Afterward, she had delayed. Cendri's own field, the Department of Xenoanthrop-ology and Comparative Culture, still insisted that all research theses be done as fieldwork, and Cendri did not want to be parted so quickly from Dal. She was hoping that Dai's first assignment with the Scholar Dame, while he qualified for his own credentials as Master Scholar, would take them together to a planet where Cendri could do her own thesis work at the same time.
Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Novel 19 Page 1