Dryland's End

by Felice Picano

  “Do we say She was escaping with Her Centaur lover?” Mart asked.

  “It certainly looks like it. Adds sort of a romantic, even a softening touch to the scheming old hag. I’m certain some enterprising young Hesperian is right now on the comm. gathering financial support for an epic PVN on the life and death of ‘The Last of the Matriarchs.’”

  “How will this be taken on the Center Worlds? In Melisande?” Mart wondered.

  “Regarding that, what would you say to appointing North-Taylor Diad and Gemma Guo-Rinne as co-governors of Melisande?”

  “Rinne’s reputation and local knowledge and Diad’s recent heroism should make a formidable combination,” Mart said.

  “I’ll present it at the next full Quinx,” Llega Todd said. “And here’s your overpriced son, Di’mir, and his counterpart, the ever-resourceful P’al Syzygy-”

  “Lady Todd, Lord Kell,” P’al spoke first.

  Llega Todd teased, “We were wondering if, when you two are together, you speak at all or merely toss algorithms back and forth.”

  P’al ignored her witticism, “Actually, we overheard you saying something about PVNs. Although Ser Sanqq’, Mer Clark, and I told you and the Inner Quinx something of our travels on Pelagia, naturally we told only a tiny portion relevant to the matter at hand. Di’mir agrees that a full PVN of our encounters and adventures might prove both popular and an excellent propaganda tool for the new male-gender-breeding project.”

  Llega shrugged quickly at Mart, as though saying, “It’s new to me, too.”

  “By the way, Lady Todd, Father,” Di’mir interjected, “P’al and I came up with a name for the new project. Vir’ism. It comes from an ancient Metro.-Terran word ‘vir,’ meaning male. But it’s also found in Universal Gal. Lex. usage – in ‘virile,’ for example.”

  “Vir’ism.” Llega Todd rolled the word around her mouth.

  “Or Neo-Vir’ism,” P’al suggested. “Although it wouldn’t be a real return to olden ways.”

  “P’al and I would be happy to help script the PVN, with Quinx approval, of course.”

  “And funding,” Llega added.

  “And we’d go to Pelagia to holo it.”

  “Naturally, the more Vir’istic aspects of it will be played up,” P’al said, “Ay’r Sanqq”s and ’Dward Ib’r’s growing affection for each other. Sanqq”s realization of his love for ’Dward at the moment the youth was kidnapped makes for a naturally romantic high point.”

  “Now you know, Lady Todd, what bio-Cybers talk about when they’re alone,” Mart couldn’t help saying. “Romantic PVNs!”

  The two were immediately embarrassed, but Llega Todd and Mart Kell both said they thought it was a good idea, and a project outline should be drawn up for Quinx consideration.

  Kars Tedesco arrived at the party with his wife and two adult sons, and Llega and Vinson went to greet them. She commented to Mart that Tedesco would be put in charge of Wicca’s murder investigation.

  Di’mir also moved off, and Mart was left with P’al Syzygy, who had begun detailing a few of their adventures on Pelagia, when the young Pelagian woman appeared at his side and demanded P’al’s immediate attention.

  Slightly abashed, P’al introduced her to Mart, who noticed immediately how much she resembled her brothers not only in appearance but also in her sense of self-worth, self-importance even, doubtless because of all the attention she was receiving in the City. She greeted Mart as though she were an equal, then quickly congratulated him on his recent victory, which she had heard about from everyone, she said. Unlike her brother, she flirted with him openly – a trait Mart always found delightful in females – and also, unlike ’Nton, she never once stammered or seemed anything but bold and forthright – which Mart found definitely in her favor.

  He was beginning to think, yes, he would invite these young Pelagians to his sphere, throw a dinner, a party for them, when the third sibling appeared – evidently Ay’r Sanqq”s spouse – and pulled his sister away to meet someone else. Mart noted that Oudma looked back and smiled meaningfully at him, then said outright she hoped to see Mart again.

  “They’re in great demand tonight,” P’al observed laconically.

  “They’re a sensation. But tell me: Why did Ay’r Sanqq’ retain his Pelagian disguise when he returned?”

  “You’ve seen Creed Lars’son’s coloring? Ay’r was ’xchanged as a young neo. to better fit into Matriarchal life when his parents were forced to go into hiding and abandon him. He now has his natural physical coloring.”

  “So this new age is to have new colors of Humes?” Mart said.

  “It would appear so,” P’al commented dryly, then went on to explain more of how the planned PVN would aid Vir’ism. “Yourself will no longer be quite so unique!”

  Mart finally made his escape from P’al, only to find that he had to avoid Debr’a, too. He evaded her and slipped to a higher level, near two of the remaining refining tubes, where colored gases pirouetted. Behind them, the tinted glass wall had been removed for several meters to allow a small balcony providing a spectacular overlook of the Domenica Heights area. Standing on the balcony was Ay’r Kerry Sanqq’.

  For a moment, Mart thought he would leave Ay’r alone with his thoughts. He was turning to go back inside The Blue House when Ay’r turned, spotted Mart, and saluted him. “Lord Kell.”

  Mart advanced to where Ay’r stood.

  “Do you know this section of the City?” Mart asked.

  “I’ve never been in the City before, much as I would have liked to.”

  “If Premier Todd and some others have their way, Hesperia will become your new home,” Mart said.

  “I look forward to it. I’ve spent the last five decades traveling about. Perhaps now, with Oudma and ’Dward and the infants on their way, it’s time I settled down. It will certainly provide me with the needed extra income, if, say, I could obtain a university post in Species Ethnology.”

  Mart couldn’t hold back a laugh.

  “What?” Ay’r asked.

  “Didn’t P’al say that you hold the patent to the Relfian Viviparturition Procedure? And that your patent was refiled here on Hesperia upon your arrival a few days ago?”

  “Yes. So?” Ay’r asked.

  “So? How many possibly fertile males are there in the known galaxy? A few thousand billion?”

  “I suppose.” Ay’r still looked confused.

  “That number times whatever royalty percentage you decide upon will soon be your personal net worth. In a few decades, you should be wealthier than any Beryllium tycoon. And don’t tell me you won’t charge a fee. You must. If it’s free no one will take it. Especially among the Hesperian Thwwing Racing Set. We will be the first to have the procedure, and you’ll charge us each a great deal of money. Only later on will the procedure’s cost be scaled down to match income.”

  Ay’r looked stunned.

  “You never thought of any of this?” Mart said.

  “Truthfully, I didn’t let it go that far in my thoughts. I was still thinking about how enormous a change it will make in ... well, everything!”

  That statement impressed Mart more than he would ever reveal. “Not in everything, surely?”

  “I think so, yes. Certainly socially. I’ve seen that RV can work in a controlled small-population environment. But on Hesperia? On Electra and Trefuss and Curie and the rest of the Center Worlds?”

  “From fairest flowers we desire increase,” Mart quoted an old Metro.-Terran poet. “When we were negotiating with them, the Deneban pioneers told me they needed children as much as they needed air and food and water. Even the most sophisticated Humes will jump at the procedure once they see how easy it is.”

  Ay’r looked confused again. “You argued against it. What changed your mind? Was it seeing Cas’sio?”

  “I did see Cas’sio, but, no, he didn’t change my mind. It’s simply the only viable future we have left now. And it’s not a bad one, considering that the alternative is no
future at all.”

  Ay’r turned away. “I know all that. But what bothers me is that in, say, a thousand years to come, all will be turned around from how it has been. Males mating. Males being born. Far fewer females. Will they be considered and treated inferior, or as precious objects? We don’t know. Then, too, males as domestic partners... . I’m just not sure. In the past, they have never evinced as much interest in stable relationships as females. Was that a function of the social mores of their time, or is it psychobiological? Will the family unit as we know it alter drastically? Will it even be recognizable? Will some new social form take over? It all seems so unpredictable, such a total contradiction of how it all worked under the Matriarchy that I feel it’s somehow not the final answer.”

  “Because it’s not. It’s not stasis, but growth. Change,” Mart said.

  “Such an enormous change. And I’ll live out the rest of my years watching, waiting for it to go amok, and always feeling responsible.”

  “If you’re willing to do that, then we’ll all have someone to blame.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me. Did you know how much I admired you at the university? And how afraid of you I was?”

  “No?” Mart asked.

  “Truly! Will I really be so rich as you said before?”

  “Eventually, yes.”

  “That should help. ’Dward says he wants to have many children.”

  “Apparently so does ’Nton,” Mart let slip out.

  Ay’r didn’t comment on the ramifications of that remark. Instead he said, “I’ll always worry if we’re doing the right thing. I’ll worry every day of my life.”

  So Ay’r Kerry Sanqq’ was remarkable in more ways than one.

  “Since it evidently is going to happen and can’t be stopped, why don’t you and I meet again, right here, in, say, four centuries! We’ll meet and see how it worked out – or didn’t work out, whichever the case is.”

  Mart put out a hand for a wrist-grip, and Ay’r gave it to him, saying, “Agreement! We’ll meet again in four centuries, on Independence Eve, right here in Hesperia.”

  The vow made, the next few moments passed in silence. When they let their hands drop, Mart said, “So you had an Ed. and Dev. crush on me?”

  “I certainly did. So you’re going to espouse ’Nton Ib’r, are you?”

  “He certainly thinks I ought to.”

  “I suppose I’ll need a business manager,” Ay’r mused.

  “I know just the one,” Mart said. “Female, Hume. The best in the City.” They went back into the party.

  Epilogue

  Outside the observatory, the rain ceased.

  The Recorder waited patiently until the water-drenched panes before him began to clear. Naturally, every facet of the observatory was streaked and stained from the rainfall. Once the Recorder felt certain the rain had truly ceased and was not about to begin again, he would tell the Cybermechanism to air-hose them top to bottom.

  The Recorder could wait. Over decades, he had learned patience. Patience and discrimination. Better qualifications for a true Recorder than strong sight or deep perception. Lately, of course, he’d had to be more patient and truly discriminating than ever in his long life of observing. In new ways. Patient for the rain to stop. Patient for the Cyber-mechanism to check out all of its working parts, to repair what had been broken by mishap or corroded by the hours and days and weeks of rain, before it could properly air-hose the observatory. Discrimination as to new things, too: whether this was merely a momentary letup, so temporary it would be over before the mechanism could check itself out, or whether it was a longer one, long enough for him to observe and record. The last acceptable observation had occurred five and one-quarter days ago Sol Rad. Although the Recorder was not given to going back to his recordings, he’d had so much time of no observing of late that he had gone back over his recording of that last rain-free hiatus. Gone back to it, again and again, as though proving something to someone. Not to himself, the Recorder knew. Recorders made no value judgments. Ever. They observed and they recorded. Nothing more. Still, the data from that last two-and-one-half-hour-long observation and recording had been remarkable.

  For example, the fact that the Pelagian Ocean appeared at this area of southern continental mountain cliff to have risen so high as to be only three meters from the cliff top. The cliff top itself represented the highest flatland area upon continental Pelagia. Scarcely one-half Pelagian Year ago, the ocean’s greatest height at the four-moon aphelion had been thirteen meters from the cliff top – a rise of ten meters – suggesting substantial addition of water mass to the ocean.

  Of course, all previous observations and recordings of the many and varied aspects of the Pelagian Ocean were now doomed to history. Over the past several pauses in the rain, the Recorder had assiduously collated all of the new recordings, but despite the greatest efforts of a mind trained to observe and discriminate, and despite the greatest efforts of the Cyber-mechanism that tabulated and analyzed the data, he had been unable to discover anything vaguely resembling a pattern, rhythm, or series of patterns or rhythms in the new current flows or in the new marine topographies that had been revealed. Evidently, the enormous and continual downpour had added so massively to the ocean that only diagrams of chaos were now acceptable. Soon, the Recorder knew, even that chaos would reveal a pattern. Until it did, he could not feel completely easy or satisfied.

  Behind him, the Recorder could hear the half dozen Mycophages who had taken refuge during the most recent downpour moving about in the observatory. Another aspect of his new patience: the fragile creatures were easily wounded by falling ice stones. He’d had to accustom himself to their suddenly entering and looking amid the consoles for medical supplies to tend themselves and one another. He’d had to accustom himself to having the most fragile remain sleeping in the observatory until the weather let up and/or they were well enough to be moved by their fellows back to their caves.

  Already, the lower levels of those caves were flooded from all the rain, Oo-lol-oo had told the Recorder. Already, the older Mycophages were complaining of the constant dampness and cold within their home.

  Although he was only a Recorder, he had taken pity upon them and given them some of his heating units. They’d shown the proper gratitude. He knew that they could no longer forage for food as easily or as far now, and subsisted on what they grew in their caves. He pretended to sleep while they rummaged through his own food supplies. It meant little to the Recorder. He had never eaten but a small portion of what the Cyber-mechanism prepared. Let them have it, the frightened and unhappy creatures.

  During the last hiatus, Oo-lol-oo told him, one great ice boulder had fallen and severely damaged one of their two main caves. The Mycophages had all moved into the other cave. They were coping well, the Recorder thought. But sometimes they needed to feel more security than a cave could provide, especially the very old among them and the very young, and thus he allowed them inside the observatory to sleep and feel secure.

  The Recorder could hear the air-hoses begin to work. It was fortunate that he had accepted the offer of that offworlder who had refurbished the entire Cyber-mechanism before he had left for ... Hesperia. That was what he had told the Recorder, who naturally had recorded the fact, as well as the conversation, like all offworlder conversations he had ever had.

  The Recorder had no idea what or where Hesperia was. That offworlder had been here before, scarcely a Pelagian year before. And with some of the same travelers. Only that time they had trekked up from the Great Valley below mounted on coleopteroid creatures. This time, they had simply arrived in their bubbles from above, frightening the Mycophages. Or so the Mycophages thought at the time. Since that time, they had learned true fear.

  He had told the Recorder his name was P’al Syzygy. With him were Ay’r Kerry Sanqq’ and the female, Alli Clark, all of them returned to Pelagia for ... well, although they had attempted to explain it, the Recorder hadn’t truly understood. Something
about “recording Dryland so all could experience it, now and in the future, forever, even when it no longer existed.” Which made sense to the Recorder. Although he wonder what type of Hume would be interested in Dryland.

  Only one of the Drylanders had returned with them, ’Harles Ib’r, now bonded to Alli Clark. They had remained together on Pelagia the longest of all the offworlders. Talked about remaining here, among the Mycophages, or even at the observatory. But once the ice stones began to fall heavily, they, too, had left, sad at having to go. The Recorder had especially observed ’Harles Ib’r’s sadness, after the two of them had returned from a brief air-bubble trip over the Great Valley.

  When the two pale and shaken bond-mates were done weeping, the Recorder approached them and asked for their observations. With much hesitation and more tears, they told him the extent of the damage they had observed: the Delta completely under water, the Great Temple sunk, Bogland vanished beneath its lake, the two rivers no longer visible since all of the valley was water. Finally, even the highest areas – the steep mountain valleys to the east – would be washed away.

  The Recorder noted down the bond-mates’ narrative as well as their grief and horror. But one incident had eluded his comprehension. Once, during their telling of their observations, ’Harles Ib’r had suddenly stood up and raised his fists to the ceiling and began shouting incomprehensibly.

  That, too, he had recorded, although the meaning of the gesture was lost to him. Only when ’Harles Ib’r had fallen back into the seating and was once again morose and thoughtful did he speak quietly, comprehensibly.

  What Ib’r said and what had been recorded was, “How many more worlds must we build up only to see them taken from us?”

  Now the Recorder could tell the air-hoses were having a beneficial effect. The facets were being cleared of streaks and stains. Behind him, he heard the Mycophages begin to murmur, and he wondered vaguely what they had found.