by Karen Lord
‘Home?’ he queried. The word was heartbreaking.
‘Home,’ she replied, ‘but I have one more appointment this afternoon at the Sadiri Consulate. I hope you can stay out of trouble until then. Do you want to stay in the city until I’m ready, or should I pack you into a car pre-programmed for Sadira-on-Cygnus?’
He shrugged again, but this time it was less obnoxious. ‘I can wait and travel with you. I promise I’ll be good. I have some research to do.’
She laughed at him. ‘Research, young man? Impressive! I’ll set up a libraries and museums list for your comm.’
‘And ministries,’ he said quickly. ‘Big project,’ he added in reply to her look of curiosity.
‘Fine, ministries, too. In fact, let me put you in touch with Gilda, my old workmate. She’s expert at city tours.’
His expression turned apprehensive. ‘Is that the woman Gran told me to stay away from?’
Delarua chuckled. Gilda could be a bit much. ‘I’ll tell her to keep it child-friendly.’
They took an autocab towards the bureaucratic quarter and parted ways at the main entrance of the tower that housed the Sadiri Consulate. Delarua started up the steps briskly, paused and looked over her shoulder, watching as Rafi chose a pedestrian path with only a touch of the homesteader’s hesitation in the city. He carried his weekend pack over his shoulder like a new, raw collegian and glanced often at his comm, but there was something to his posture and stride, an air of purposefulness that made it unlikely anyone would take advantage of him. He was distant from her now – her own fault – and she was worried about him. Nevertheless, there were other distractions that would not wait for a convenient time. She faced the doors of the Consulate once more, drew together what courage she could manage and went in.
It was no longer a friendly place. Naraldi was no longer the Consul, and the Government of New Sadira had sent a replacement who was, to put it mildly, tolerated. He had been obvious in his dislike of the creeping Cygnianisation of his staff, and brusque in his dealings with the settlement’s Councillors and was thoroughly hated by all female Sadiri for his inappropriate attentions. However, he was efficient, dedicated and the sole link with New Sadira. Tolerance was the only option. She tried to remember that when she entered his office and faced the man seated behind the desk.
‘Grace Delarua?’
When he greeted her, his nod not quite dismissive though never respectful, she was reminded that tolerance worked both ways.
‘Consul Vranhil,’ she replied, offering an empty answer to his useless question.
‘You are not the person I was expecting.’
‘I know. Those whom you were expecting believed it appropriate to send me to convey their apologies.’ She had honed her diplomacy dancing in the half-shadows of Dllenahkh’s mind, a quintessentially Sadiri mind if ever there was one.
‘I can accept the apology for the denied request – I understand that Dllenahkh has many demands on his time – but an order disobeyed? That requires more than mere apology. Where is Commander Nasiha?’
Delarua bowed her head for a moment. In that moment, Consul Vranhil affected to remember his manners and gestured to a chair. She sat, took a second moment and spoke. ‘My colleague has a number of demands on her time as well. Surely you have received her formal request for deferral of posting?’
Vranhil shifted, frowned and spoke with a harsher tone. ‘That is indeed the correct procedure, but I question whether it is appropriate given the lengthy duration of communications between Cygnus Beta and New Sadira.’
Delarua decided to be reckless. She leaned forward. ‘We will be guided by you, Consul. Commander Nasiha only wishes to do her duty to her people and to the next generation of her people.’ There. Nasiha had to have some status as the mother of a pure-blooded Sadiri child. What could the Consul say to that?
‘Lieutenant Tarik, is he well?’
Delarua resisted the urge to bite her tongue and smiled instead. ‘Busy. As you know, he is, like his wife, one of the foremost in research on Cygnian communities of taSadiri. As a result, he is much sought after as an intercultural liaison.’
‘So are you, Ms Delarua,’ said the Consul.
Delarua acknowledged the compliment with a nod and hid her suspicion at the flattery.
‘Perhaps you can manage with Lieutenant Tarik as your main partner in the consultancy and allow Commander Nasiha to return to New Sadira as ordered.’
‘Allow?’ Delarua said softly, nonplussed.
Consul Vranhil clasped his hands together, set his elbows on the desk and became stern. ‘You have shown me a very impressive blend of Ntshune and Sadiri diplomacy and speech, but the situation remains the same. New Sadira is awaiting the arrival of Commander Nasiha. Further delay will lead to unpleasant consequences beyond my control. Arrangements have been made for the Commander’s passage to New Sadira via Punartam. Please make it clear to her that acceptance is the most appropriate action.’
‘Passage . . . for the Commander only? Not for her son, nor her husband?’ Delarua had to ask. Every negotiation had its fallback position, and she knew that if Nasiha had to leave, she would not want to go alone.
‘New Sadira has a surplus of males, Ms Delarua. It would be foolish to waste resources bringing in more.’ Consul Vranhil met her eyes with a fleeting expression of mild shame, but then he quickly straightened and briskly spoke. ‘I have other matters to attend to today and I must not fall behind on my schedule. Farewell, Ms Delarua.’
She said her goodbyes in one last show of near-Sadiri diplomacy, maintaining as much poise and calm as possible. Then, as soon as the doors of the Consulate had closed behind her, she kicked the wall and silently cursed the men of New Sadiri and their inappropriate desire for every single pureblooded Sadiri female left in the galaxy.
*
A certain amount of quiet conversation took place during the latter part of the journey to the homestead. Worrying over the stalemate with the Consul preoccupied Delarua for a while, but Rafi’s casual stoicism gradually reminded her that here was a problem she had a better chance of solving. There had been a time when silence or humour was the easier option, but Delarua had learned to be brave since then.
‘She does love you. But . . . but . . . she’s stopped trusting her feelings. That’s going to take some time to come back. You understand what I’m telling you. If you don’t keep at it, if you back off because she makes it too difficult, she’ll convince herself that you never cared about her or Gracie.’
Rafi said nothing, and Delarua waited anxiously, biting back the urge to overtalk the issue.
‘You make it sound like so much hard work,’ he said at last.
‘I’m sorry, Rafi, but the truth is you’re much stronger than she is right now, and you have to be the mature one. I’ll try my best from my side, but all I’m asking of you is that you don’t give up on your mother.’
‘You’re more my mother—’
‘Stop that. That’s not a compliment, not now. Promise me, Rafi.’
He sighed, but promised. ‘I will not give up on my mother and my sister.’
Delarua smiled at last. ‘Thank you.’
*
After a late arrival and an even later dinner, Rafi felt himself relaxing immediately. There was a comfortableness about the main house of the homestead. The design was somewhere between communal and individual, and the result was kind to guests. Open rooms enclosed a small indoor garden in a configuration that was familiar in several Terran cultures: herbs, flowering shrubs and a small tree exuding a subtle, calming perfume. Stairs at the far end of the garden led up to the roof; broad, glassless windows throughout let in the starlight and the night breezes but kept out the insects and other, larger night prowlers. There were no closed doors within, no blind corners and no questionable shadows to make a stranger feel lost or uneasy.
Most of the familiar faces were present in the dining room. Nasiha had quickly finished her meal and excused herself to return to Ta
rik, who was in their rooms watching over their sleeping child. While he enjoyed the last of his dessert, Freyda told him that Lanuri was at a committee meeting for the development of Grand Bay and Joral was working at the Sadiri Sub-Consulate for the heritage communities of Vaya Province. The Sadiri settlement was another world with a buzz and activity that made the Lyceum feel artificial and trivial. Rafi especially admired Dllenahkh, his aunt’s husband and a former Councillor, who appeared to have an informal advisory role in everything from the new strain of sweetgrass in the greenhouses to the social fabric of the settlement itself.
‘Some of the men are asking to become co-husbands,’ Dllenahkh remarked casually.
‘What?’ Aunt Grace sounded wary and uncertain rather than shocked.
‘It is one of the options offered by the Ministry of Family Planning. It would reduce the number of single men and increase community bonds,’ Dllenahkh explained and drank his water peacefully.
There was a small silence, then, ‘Do you think I should take a second husband?’
Dllenahkh started. It had clearly not crossed his mind. ‘No . . . no. I do not think that would be appropriate.’
Aunt Grace looked down at her plate with a small smile. Dllenahkh blinked at the remaining water in his glass.
‘Don’t you hate,’ murmured Freyda to Rafi, ‘how they pretend to ignore each other when they’re communicating without words?’ She spoke with humour and no bitterness whatsoever, but he felt a trace of wistfulness leaking through.
‘Do you want another husband?’ he asked her.
She smacked the side of his head lightly. ‘You’re too young for me,’ she teased him.
‘Aie! I didn’t mean me!’
She almost laughed, but her face sobered suddenly. ‘I want to go to Punartam, but Lanuri won’t . . .’ The unfinished sentence made Rafi itch. Won’t let me? Won’t come with me? ‘There’s a lot happening on Punartam, like research and debates on the future of the galaxy. Delarua doesn’t realise. She listens to Nasiha and Dllenahkh and their sources, and I doubt New Sadira is putting out objective reports on the state of galactic affairs.’
‘You’re a biotech specialist?’ Rafi asked, puzzled but taking care to match her light, conversational tone. Tell me your secrets.
‘Yes, and I talk to colleagues in other fields. They’re keen to talk to me. Everyone wants to know what the Cygnian Sadiri are doing and saying.’ She mumbled the next words, words he was sure he was not meant to hear. ‘Delarua is too busy living her dream life.’ She caught the edge of Rafi’s sudden tension, saw the way he bit his lip on a retort and became defensive. ‘It’s a beautiful place. A lovely community.’ That wistfulness again, trailing her final words into a fading fall. ‘We don’t all share the same happy-ever-after. Even if it existed.’ She paused. ‘But life is good.’
Good, Rafi thought. Good is better than a shared happy-ever-after. He didn’t trust those.
‘Well,’ said Aunt Grace abruptly, ‘I need to talk to Freyda and Nasiha about a few things. Dllenahkh, take Rafi for a walk and show him what’s changed since he was last here.’
Rafi blinked at the sudden dismissal and realised there was a very slight strangeness in the atmosphere, the kind of cautious air that comes from having a group of people talking around one person unaware of their greatest secret.
*
Dllenahkh took Rafi to the meditation hall, guessing correctly that he would be most interested in and distracted by their new microgravity Wall – not at all the standard for proper Wallrunning drills, but still useful training for those who wanted to keep their sense of three-dimensional space while planetside. It was especially popular with their growing community of pilots. Rafi gladly tried it out while Dllenahkh monitored the controls via handheld and pondered the discussion that was taking place back at the main house.
He was still very much absorbed when Rafi dropped down to the floor and suddenly demanded, ‘I want you to push me.’
Dllenahkh set the handheld back in its slot and gave the youngster a puzzled look.
‘You’re powerful. You stopped my father. Push me,’ Rafi insisted.
Still puzzled, Dllenahkh walked over to Rafi, set his hand under his sternum and shoved him so forcefully that he flew backwards, bounced off the wall and fell onto the floor. Rafi curled up slowly, holding his stomach and squinting hard as his eyes watered.
‘That’s . . . not what I meant,’ he gasped.
Dllenahkh crouched beside him but did not move to touch him or help him up. ‘No? But that was power, too, was it not?’
‘Your mind . . . I meant with your mind.’
‘Ah. I see.’
He sat on the floor, back to the wall, and waited. Eventually, Rafi’s breath evened out and his body uncurled slightly, though his eyes remained closed as he struggled with the slow ebb of the nerve pain.
Dllenahkh continued the casual tone of the conversation. ‘May I ask why you want to be pushed?’
He did not expect an answer and no answer was given. He sighed.
‘There are several possible reasons for such a request. I hope that fear of what I could do to your aunt is not included among them.’
‘No,’ Rafi whispered. ‘I don’t think you’d hurt her. Not ever.’
Dllenahkh grimaced. ‘Ever is too great an accomplishment for any mortal, as you well know. If you do not fear for your aunt, then perhaps you fear for yourself, that I might . . . stop you as I once stopped your father?’
Rafi’s breathing had been growing smoother and slower, but at that it hitched and quickened.
‘Or you fear that no one will be powerful enough to stop you if you need to be stopped,’ Dllenahkh concluded. He examined the wooden beams of the ceiling so that his nephew could take a moment to shed a few tears privately.
‘I cannot stop you. I can help you stop yourself. That is all I can do for anyone.’
The boy raised his head at last, no longer caring about hiding his wet face. ‘Do that for me. I can’t stand the nightmares any more.’
This was news to Dllenahkh. ‘How long have you been having nightmares?’
Rafi bit his lip hard. ‘Since they gave me the cap,’ he whispered.
‘Cap?’ Dllenahkh said, confused. ‘Please explain?’
Rafi told him about the cap and his brief research on the use of caps for diagnosis or punishment. He stuttered for a moment, and then slowly described his nightmares. Dllenahkh absorbed the information in a silence that was deeply ominous, not least for the sensation of growing tension like the silent, rapid build of a thunderhead.
‘Thank you for telling me this,’ he said at last. ‘May I discuss it with your aunt? It might be better for us to jointly assess whether the treatment you are enduring is in your best interests.’
Rafi exhaled loudly, a sound of utter relief. ‘Yes. Yes, please.’
Dllenahkh patted his shoulder reassuringly and got to his feet. ‘Concerning power, bear in mind that if you fear the strong, you should also fear the gentle. They slip under your guard so easily, and it takes only the smallest push to overwhelm an unsteady base.’
‘Like my aunt did to you?’ Rafi grinned at Dllenahkh.
He smiled and allowed the boy a few seconds of apparent triumph before replying. ‘There are times when taking a fall is the right strategy.’
*
They went back to the main house. Freyda and Nasiha were sitting on the edge of their chairs, leaning over a low table with scattered documents and three handhelds. Aunt Grace was perched on a stool beside the bar, empty-handed and frowning as she hugged one knee to her chest and looked at her friends. They had finished their discussion, but they quickly gave Rafi a small share of their secrets as he introduced his own dilemma.
‘Nasiha and the New Sadira government. You and the Cygnian government. That’s two of you I have to worry about now,’ his aunt fretted.
‘But I thought Nasiha was expected to return to service?’ Rafi asked in bewilderment, watching as
Dllenahkh sat beside Nasiha and picked up one of the handhelds with a heavy sigh.
Aunt Grace looked at him without expression. ‘New Sadira is not the best place to be right now. That’s none of your concern, however. Let’s talk about how we’re going to get you out of that school without you getting brain-tagged for the rest of your life.’
‘You’ve never asked me . . .’ He hesitated, as if all too aware that his words could smash the last unfractured security of his childhood. ‘You don’t ask what I can do. Is that . . . is that you or me?’
Aunt Grace gave him a puzzled, sympathetic look. ‘You don’t know?’
She reached out and took hold of his hand, pulled him close. She was now small enough to tuck under his shoulder, a new thing that made the once-familiar warmth strange. He awkwardly pressed against the side of her updrawn knee and the edge of the stool and hugged her.
‘It’s both. You and me. You’re a lot like me, but much stronger. You can charm, and you can . . .’ She stopped, seeking the right word. ‘Quieten. Lull. I never wanted you to be worried or scared of what you are, and you didn’t want me to worry either, so you persuaded me and I persuaded you. We mutually pacified our curiosity. Not the wisest thing I’ve done, I admit, but . . .’
She fell silent, but he imagined he knew her thoughts. They were both wondering how much should be allowed for the sake of wanting your loved ones to be happy.
He pulled away gently and sat on the stool next to hers. ‘You know, I’ll be fifteen soon.’
Aunt Grace smiled. ‘Counting down the days?’
‘Three weeks, five days,’ he replied with a laugh. ‘Then I’m a homesteader grown and no one’s responsibility.’
Her smile vanished immediately. ‘No. No you don’t.’
‘You’re not my guardian,’ he reminded her, keeping his voice low, reasonable and not in the least accusing. ‘I’m still registered as a homesteader, otherwise you could have kept me till seventeen.’
‘You can’t do this to Maria,’ she whispered angrily. The whisper was useless for privacy. Rafi saw at the edge of his vision when Dllenahkh raised his head and looked at them, perplexed, then returned his gaze to his handheld with a reluctance that hinted at divided attention. He continued to protest quietly. ‘I’m not trying to do anything to anyone. I’m trying to get control over my life.’