The Moon and the Other

by John Kessel

  Persepolis had no monarch, but every politician drew on the culture’s affinity for sacred kingship. The Shahnameh was taught in every school. Though its kings were subject to grave errors of judgment, hubris, or even incompetence, every generation might still throw forth a supernatural hero, a Rostam, relentless in war, magnanimous in victory, compassionate toward the suffering.

  The just and righteous king. Cyrus Eskander saw himself as one.

  His charities were legion, a testimony to the grandeur of his family name. In addition to Tehran Beach, he had constructed within the city twelve elaborate hammâms, bath houses male and female. Such was his noblesse oblige that he was known on occasion to bathe in these places himself.

  Still, even though Amestris had told him to expect it, and named the time and place, Erno was surprised to find Cyrus waiting in the steam room. Cyrus, towel around his taut belly, his shoulders well but not ostentatiously muscled, reclined on a bench reading a tablet. Erno tried to seem at home as he sat beside him on the warm tile.

  “Good day, Mr. Pamson,” Cyrus said, putting aside his reading.

  “Good day, Mr. Eskander. May I be your sacrifice?”

  Cyrus smiled. “Perhaps we shall be one another’s.”

  The three other men in the steam room ignored them. Cyrus’s glance swept casually over Erno. “Have you taken the waters yet?”

  “No.”

  “You must. We will go in a few minutes.” Cyrus leaned back on his elbows and closed his eyes. Erno did not know what to say. He let the heat soak into his body, inhaled the scented steam.

  Eventually Cyrus asked, “Did you participate in your Society’s athletic competitions? Were you perhaps a gymnast? You look as if you might have been one.”

  “No more than any boy. We have competitions. Mostly individual, except for hockey and football.”

  “As one would expect, your women’s teams are formidable. Yet I was most impressed by the Society’s Ruăn tā squad in the last Olympics. It’s a paradox to us—I know you will not take offense if I say it—how Cousins men, lacking in so many of the qualities that make a man, show such excellence and sportsmanship.”

  “Mothers, wives, sisters, aunts—they all support male athletes. We’re proud of our teams.”

  “It’s interesting to me, Mr. Pamson, that despite your years of exile, you still use ‘we’ when speaking of the Society.”

  “Old habits, I guess.”

  Cyrus gestured toward his tablet. “I was just reading a book by one of your athletes. It’s called Lune et l’autre. Clever title—you understand the pun?”

  “I don’t know French.”

  “The Moon and the Other. But if you add an apostrophe to lune you get l’une, ‘the one,’ so the title becomes The One and the Other. But who is the One, and who the Other, eh? Male or female?”

  Erno shook his head. “I doubt you’ll learn anything worthwhile about us from that book. He’s not a serious person.”

  “I understand that he—this Mr. Evasson—is challenging the Society’s rules of fatherhood.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  Cyrus inhaled deeply. After a moment, he said, “My beloved daughter has told me that you need to gain access to the Society in order to grow this wood for our friend Mr. Kazedi.”

  “That’s true. If you—”

  Cyrus held up his hand. “I think we should try the bath now,” he said, rising.

  Despite Cyrus’s status games, there was nothing for Erno to do but follow.

  The floor of the domed central bath was decorated in a complex abstract pattern of blue and white. Sunlight drifted down from a circular opening at the apex of the dome. Decorating the walls were bright images of figures from the Shahnameh, including one of Rostam grappling with the white demon Div-e Sefid. Rostam had severed the demon’s legs, which seemed to be floating in the air. The demon looked rather unperturbed by this development, though Rostam was plunging a dagger into its heart.

  Cyrus and Erno dropped their towels and joined the other men in the heated octagonal pool. The water smelled of roses. Faint music played in the background. Two men sat conversing in a corner, and on the other side a young man was washing the face of a much older man—perhaps his father—with a blue cloth.

  Erno considered it quite likely that the ice that had produced this water had been mined from the gap where he had lost his hand. He held his replacement just below the surface, fingers spread. It looked completely natural. So many false appearances. He ran over the arguments he was prepared to use to get Cyrus’s help, and waited.

  After some ten minutes Cyrus gave the slightest of nods to the other men, and as one they rose from the waters, gathered up their towels and robes, and left the room.

  When they were gone, Cyrus said, “Here is the situation. Though the decision has not been made public yet, Organization of Lunar States Resolution 1146, establishing an investigative committee into the condition of men in the Society of Cousins, has gained the grudging acquiescence of the Board of Matrons. They have agreed to allow a visit from representatives of the committee. There will be four lead investigators: two physical scientists, one social scientist, and one designated observer. The OLS has agreed that the observer must be acceptable to the Cousins.

  “I have been involved, in a quiet way, in these deliberations. I have argued that this observer must be someone who has intimate knowledge of the Society, and that suggests it should be someone raised there. This narrows the field of candidates drastically. My current proposal to serve in this capacity is your friend Mr. Thomas Marysson, who calls himself by this nom de guerre Tyler Durden.”

  “They’ll never agree to that.”

  “They are not in a strong bargaining position.”

  “What have they said?”

  “They protested in the strongest terms possible. They say they will not accept a delegation if it contains Mr. Marysson.”

  “I’m not surprised. If you want my opinion—”

  “Your opinion will be very useful to me, in its proper time.”

  Erno sank deeper into the pool, letting the steaming water rise to his neck. He had no status. The exile. The guest worker.

  “My beloved daughter tells me that the materials you need are under tight security.”

  “Yes.”

  “I therefore am prepared to propose that the fourth member of the investigative team be you.”

  Erno gave a single, brief laugh. “They won’t accept me, either.”

  “They will if their only alternative is Mr. Marysson.”

  Though Amestris had told Erno that Cyrus might be able to get him back into the Society, he had not thought there was any real chance. “Does Amestris know about this?”

  “It was her idea.”

  She had not said a word about it. Did she think he would refuse? He thought about that for a moment. On the wall across from him, the greatest hero of the culture’s founding epic fought with a half-human monster.

  “You’ll have to use considerable influence to make this happen,” Erno said. “Unless you’re acting solely out of the goodness of your heart, you must want something in return.”

  “My heart, Mr. Pamson, is indeed good. I love my daughter.”

  “She’ll be very grateful. So will I.”

  “Have you ever heard of something called an IQSA?”

  “No. What is it?”

  “It is a device rumored to exist in the Society of Cousins,” Cyrus said, “something that interests me a great deal. I would like you to help me learn more about it.”

  Cyrus rested his arms along the ledge of the pool. “Do you know the story of the Sasanid King Bahrâm Gur and the disrespectful village?”

  “No. I’ve not heard it.”

  “You will indulge me, then. King Bahrâm Gur was a good and beneficent king, and under his reign all was in order in his kingdom. But one day he visited a village, and instead of being greeted by the leading men, offered bread and salt, and refreshed f
rom his journey, for an hour after he entered the center of the town he was left to wait. Bahrâm Gur did not give any sign of his displeasure, but he vowed to destroy this village. He let a month pass, and then sent his priest to grant the people of the village a great boon: The social hierarchy was to be abolished. Instead of having a headman, there would be complete equality among men, women, and children.

  “The people were overjoyed. They celebrated into the night, ate and drank and made love. They reveled in their new freedoms, where no man was above any other, where no wife was involuntarily subject to her husband, where no son need without protest obey the command of his father.

  “Soon, having no one to hold them to a standard, they began neglecting their work. Having no respect for the law, they fell to fighting. Dogs ran in the streets. Within a year the village lay in ruins. The remaining citizens petitioned Bahrâm Gur for help, and he graciously interceded. He had the insolent whipped, the fornicators killed, and the children bound to their work. He appointed a new and strict headman, answerable only to himself. Only then did the village recover and prosper.

  “You, Mr. Pamson, come from that village. You will help me see it brought within the embrace of beneficent authority.”

  “Why would I help you do that?”

  “Erno,” Cyrus said, his brown eyes on his son-in-law, “you know that I was not happy to see my daughter marry you. I wondered what she saw in you. At first I assumed it was because she could make you obey her, which she could not do to a man of Persepolis. But I don’t think that’s true. I see you are a person of some puissance. The fact that you were involved in this rebellion against the Matrons confirms that you are not an ordinary Cousin. You have the makings of a man.”

  “A person of merit,” Erno said.

  “Yes. That is well put.”

  Ten years in exile. If he failed, he could be busted back to the mines, or the freezers. “I’m not going to undermine the Society,” Erno said. “Your commission will find little to warrant any interference, and if you count on me for that, you’ll be disappointed. And I won’t abandon Amestris to you.”

  “You see, I was right. You are not weak at all.”

  “I’ll go, but it will be for my own purposes.”

  “I would not expect otherwise. We have an agreement, then—between two men whose word is their bond.”

  Erno extended his left hand.

  Cyrus looked at Erno’s hand as if it were made of offal. He extended his right.

  Erno switched to his right, and they grasped hands. A man’s word was his bond. This was what men did—they said words and then died living up to them. The kind of thing that Erno’s teachers had mocked as a veneer over centuries of treachery. And here he was, playing that game with a man who had little but contempt for him.

  Cyrus explained that Erno would have to meet representatives of the OLS. He would become a public figure, and would draw attention that, Cyrus said, could only be beneficial to his and Amestris’s business.

  Erno said little. When Cyrus left, he retreated to the dressing room, wondering what must have been going through Amestris’s mind as she approached her father for help.

  Erno needed to get to the Society of Cousins to see Lemmy. He needed to see Lemmy to complete the project. He needed to complete the project in order to prove to Amestris that he was what he said he was. He needed to prove he was what he said he was so that he would be worthy of her love.

  So in order to stay with Amestris, he was going to have to leave her. And she had helped arrange this outcome.

  When he emerged from the building, he found Cyrus lingering on the esplanade. A small crowd had gathered around him and on the sand below, looking up with worshipful faces.

  Erno had taken a few steps past them when Cyrus called to him. “Mr. Pamson! One moment, please.”

  Erno returned. As the people parted to let him close, he saw, seated on its haunches beside Cyrus, a dog. A sleekly handsome Doberman wearing a dark pinstriped suit. The dog looked up at Erno, ears forward, with appraising eyes. It was the video reporter Sirius. The people were giddy at this brush with celebrity.

  “I’d like you to meet an associate of mine,” Cyrus said. “This is Carrollton’s Sirius Alpha-Ultra vom Adler. Sirius, this is Erno Pamson.”

  “An honor,” the dog said, holding out his handpaw.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  November 8: Organization of Lunar States Resolution 1146 establishes a Special Commission on the Condition of Men (SCOCOM). SCOCOM is charged with investigating reports of human rights violations in the Society of Cousins, the embargo imposed by the SoC on scientific information, the cyber attack by the SoC on data systems throughout the solar system, and potential violations by the SoC of OLS resolutions regarding the production of weapons on the moon.

  The Society of Cousins is requested to give “immediate, unconditional, and unrestricted access” to populations, individuals, social organizations, gendered associations, and political groups within the SoC, as well as to facilities, buildings, equipment, records, and any means of transport that SCOCOM may wish to inspect. The OLS offers the Society of Cousins a “final opportunity to comply with its obligations to human rights as set out in the OLS Charter” and warns that the SoC will face “serious consequences” if it fails to do so.

  December 16: The Society of Cousins announces that it will allow SCOCOM to visit the Society “without conditions.”

  December 23: SoC and OLS officials meet to discuss the logistics for the visit of inspectors and the composition of the investigating team. The OLS and the SoC announce that final arrangements will be made public at a meeting scheduled for the end of the month.

  December 31: The mutually agreed-upon members of the SCOCOM investigating team are announced. They are:

  • Myra Göttsch, Ubitech MicroFabrik GmbH, Stuttgart. Physics, Head of the team

  • Li Chenglei, University of Science and Technology, New Guangzhou. Biotech

  • Martin Beason, McGill University, Montreal. Social Science

  • Erno Pamelasson, Eskander Environmental Design, Persepolis. Observer

  • Staff and assistants

  Imbedded in the SCOCOM team will be Carrollton’s Sirius Alpha-Ultra vom Adler, Consortium of Lunar Media pool reporter, and his assistants.

  • • • • •

  By the time Mira and Cleo reached the cable station, five hundred people filled the road in front of the entrance, all the way to the edge of the park. Some carried banners reading “No Patriarchs Required!” and “OLS = Oppression Loathing Shame.” But another read “Welcome Home!” People held up bright blue paper books, fabricated by one of Hypatia’s students, copies of Stories for Men.

  Mira moved ahead of Cleo through the fringes of the crowd. She was supposed to have joined the welcoming delegation earlier, but she had missed her connection and hoped to join the party at the station itself.

  Reform supporters, wearing red, made up a good portion of the crowd. A dozen trans women wore identical red dresses. Men in work clothes—from the helium mines, the water and air recycling, a crew of hydroponic harvesters from Agriculture—were shadowed by constables expecting Spartans to create an incident.

  Mira tried to see over the people around her. “Wait for me,” Cleo said.

  “There’s no point in your fighting through this mess,” said Mira. “Once we get to the front, I’ll have to go on alone anyway. Climb onto that planter and you’ll see everything.”

  Cleo looked doubtful. “Okay. See you later, then.” She kissed Mira on the cheek.

  “Later.” Mira pushed forward, relieved to be rid of her.

  Cleo had been lobbying for them to start a family. Forget the Greens, Cleo said—if Mira could get Carey and Val to join, they would have the start of their own power network. It was a ludicrous idea. For one thing, Mira had not seen Carey much in recent weeks. He acted as if it were his new job and his responsibility for Val that kept them apart, but that wasn’t
it. Since election night he’d kept his distance from politics, while Mira was in as deep as ever. They hadn’t slept together in weeks. At least Carey wasn’t sleeping with Hypatia, either.

  Guards stationed at the doors to the terminal checked credentials. Krista Kayasdaughter and several other Board members, along with scientists in the areas represented by the SCOCOM team, would greet the delegation. Daquani Jeffersdaughter represented the Reform Party.

  “Daquani makes our point for us better than I could,” Hypatia had told Mira. “The fact that the only male who could get elected to the Board had to become a woman to do so will not be lost on the OLS. And the OLS is our best chance to force a change.”

  Even though Looker had posted nothing since the election, Hypatia still sought Mira’s opinions. Hypatia’s attention was now focused on the SCOCOM investigation and how it could be played to the Reform Party’s advantage. She saw Erno Pamelasson as the wedge to pry open the workings of the committee.

  “Can we trust the OLS?” Mira asked.

  “I trust you, Mira, to work your way into that reception group,” Hypatia had told her. “The fact that you testified at Pamelasson’s trial gives you credibility, if you’ll use it.”

  At the station entrance a constable stopped her.

  “I’m in the reception party,” Mira said.

  “No, you’re not. You’re out here.”

  “I work for Eva Maggiesdaughter. She’s right inside there—just ask her.”

  Reluctantly, the constable sent one of the others to get Eva. Eva looked toward the entrance, nodded, and the constable came back and let Mira in.

  The hall was full of people she did not know, but Eva and the reception committee had gathered beyond the customs station, just past a low railing on the platform. Daquani nodded to Mira. Among the others was Krista Kayasdaughter, current Chair of the Board of Matrons.

  “I wondered what happened to you,” Eva said. “Let me introduce you.”