Recognition

by Ann Herendeen

  Slowly his third eyelids retracted, the pupils dilating slightly, the irises showing their natural pale gray. “Only the most promising among us are chosen to work in the stations,” Dominic said. “And they train from the time the gift stabilizes, soon after puberty.” He stared blankly at the bathroom door. “For those not chosen, the only use of crypta is personal, and, of course, the obligation to produce more of it, in the form of children.”

  I fastened onto the one part of this speech that was vulnerable to my criticism. “Well, that’s what I said before. All I want is personal, practical information. I won’t be trying to change the world or even change jobs. It’s just a one-day test. Why can’t I take it, and worry about the rest of my life tomorrow?”

  “Perhaps that’s as good a solution as any.” He was able to look at me again, shaking his head at my feminine dismissal of his depressing logic.

  I dared to study his face now that we had arrived at our uneasy consensus. He looked, if possible, more uncomfortable than on his arrival after climbing all those stairs. His face was unevenly red, bright patches standing out on cheekbones and forehead against the bloodless white of the rest of his skin. Sweat ran from his hairline in rivulets and glistened in the creases between wide mouth and jutting nose in his long, narrow face.

  “How can you live in this?” he demanded, before I could inquire. The heat, that was barely tolerable to me in my flimsy dress, was sickening to him in his uniform made of a heavy cloth of woven animal hair. He stood up to unbutton the tunic, took it off and opened the collar of his shirt.

  I went to the kitchen to get him some water. When I returned he had removed his shirt as well. He took the bottle gratefully, gulped most of it in a couple of swallows, but saved some to splash on his face and chest. He fanned himself with his free hand, his sweaty torso radiating a subtle odor of clean, masculine skin. A proud, dignified man with patrician manners, yet he had not asked permission nor apologized. For him, with me, it was as though we had been lovers for years.

  But for me, with him, it was not so simple. I could not take my eyes from his slender, muscular arms and chest. Despite the thatch of mane on his head, he was relatively hairless for a man, with only a smattering of wiry strands around his small, light-brown nipples. Slim and long-limbed, his shoulders ever so slightly narrow in proportion to his towering height, he was not perfect—merely outstanding. The muscles were like a sculptor’s first chisel marks, sharply defined without an ounce of fat to smooth them under the fine skin. Nobody looks like this on Terra. The models are always beefy and overdeveloped; even ordinary people aspire to the brawny ideal.

  Dominic smiled down at me, accustomed to admiration, accepting it as his due. He was commandant and senior weapons instructor of the ‘Graven Military Academy, a master swordsman, teaching the noble art to the sons of lords and gentry. A thoroughbred and champion in perfect condition, his looks were proof of his qualifications. He raised an eyebrow at my continued silence, still waiting for an answer to his last question.

  What had he asked? I thought back. Oh, yes—heat. “The thermostat is down as low as it can go. The thing that controls the heat,” I added at his puzzled look.

  “Why don’t you open the window?” he asked, grimacing at such lack of initiative.

  Dominic has an aristocrat’s impatience with compromise. When I showed him how the window was made on purpose not to open, he drew his sword and began using the heavy handle to smash the plastic pane. “You’ll set off the alarm,” I warned as I grabbed his arm to make him stop.

  Instantly we were in communion; apparently any touch was all it took. Unlike last time I sensed a reticence in him, a self-imposed mental barrier against complete openness. What is it? I asked, surprised by the paradox of selective totality.

  He answered me honestly, as I had come to expect. I’ve never had such intense feelings for a woman.

  Dominic is vir, a form of what on Terra we used to call gay or queer, before we gave up trying to categorize such elusive concepts. I had known this from the beginning, as I had known his sex. It was as much a part of his essence as his noble status and his telepathic ability, and, like those defining qualities, I had given it no more thought nor seen it as an obstacle. New as I was to communion, I could tell that, although it brings a feeling of contentment like the aftermath of lovemaking, the communion itself is not based on physical attraction. It does not require sexual compatibility to form the connection, nor does it necessarily create it. That I was female, and small, and less than beautiful, should not matter.

  That was the problem. He saw how I had been affected by his nakedness, knew he could not experience the same thrill for my body…

  Beloved, he interrupted my growing discomfiture. What is this foolishness? He deliberately shifted the focus of the communion, scrutinizing my face and what he could see of my body, in the kind of inspection that most men give women automatically if surreptitiously, that Dominic usually applies only to men. Such delicate beauty, such sensitivity in communion, he declared after a breathless interval. I am vir, not dead from the neck down. A sensual inflection colored his thoughts, as it would deepen his voice.

  He bent low from his great height to put his arms around me as I reached up to clasp my hands around his neck. My breasts pressed against his chest, the nipples stiffening through the light material. Our communion expanded, magnified with the increased physical contact. We had found the other, the counterpart in communion, a communion of love. There could be no “wrong” sex, no sense of unattractiveness or unsuitability—only delight at the meeting.

  We’re both new at this, I concluded, glad we had something in common besides the mysterious communion. I’ve never felt anything this intense for anyone, I admitted to him.

  Dominic looked into me with those eyes that were like piercing shafts of light, but now it was he who was revealed. So many thoughts were swirling around in his mind, over and under his direct consciousness, that he could easily have shaded the truth, but he bared himself to me with the extravagance of true communion. His was more an emotional queerness, a natural gravitation to the masculine. Uncomplicated sex with a woman had been required at times, once or twice desire had surprised him, but love was not something he expected to find with her. And behind it, a psychological wound, hurtful incidents from the past…

  Terrans have strange beliefs and uncouth standards of behavior. He was unable to chase the doubts from his mind. In the course of his service in the Guards he had encountered Terrans who consider men like him to be criminals, sinners. What if she was like them, he was thinking, if she was holding back because of it? What if, growing up on Terra, exceptional though she might be, she had imbibed these ideas from birth? What if, to her, I am—

  Yes, Dominic-Leandro, I answered him. I mean, no, I amended hastily. “I love you,” I said, thought and spoken word together, plain and direct, a truth that would escape from my lips or my mind, could not be contained in his presence.

  Dominic’s constraint evaporated at my frankness. He kissed me, and a shudder of delight moved slowly down my body, from the top of my head to the sensitive spot between my legs, to the soles of my feet. As he held me tighter I could feel his growing arousal and, for the first time in my life, my own genuine response.

  Full communion is already much like sexual intimacy. When this mental stimulation is combined with the ordinary physical acts of love, with kiss or caress, the result is astonishing—joy and exhilaration, triumph and abandon like a kind of omniscience, a revelation of something previously beyond the scope of human experience. To know the other, his worst fears and greatest pleasures, his thoughts and beliefs and motives, to be revealed to him in the same way, my hidden self unfurling at a word or a touch, open and receptive to his slightest wish—there could be no turning away from this.

  I returned his kiss with clumsy eagerness, unused to wanting to, my head swimming, overwhelmed with so many new emotions. I wanted this incredible feeling to go on forever, until our
minds and our bodies succumbed to the inevitable, became one being, as they were obviously meant to be. And all the time that we savored each other, through mouth and mind, tongue and brain, his thoughts spoke of love. Desire, yes, and passion, but more—that I was dear to him, necessary—

  A noise reverberated in my head and I came to the surface from our deep communion. The cracked window acted like a prism as the rising sun, still low in the sky, broke through the clouds, throwing a distorted rainbow of maroons and violets over us. I blinked in the light as if waking from sleep, my third eyelids descending with erotic languor, amazed to find myself tingling with excitement, standing on my toes, stretching to kiss this tall man who, even so, had to stoop to meet my lips—not that it appeared to bother him. At dawn, the dead zone for me, a time when, if I feel anything, it isn’t good. A line from an ancient poem came into my mind: When the dawn comes up like thunder…

  Dominic skipped ahead, pulling the verses from my memory. Bloody lot she cared for idols when I kissed her where she stood, he said, matching his action to the words. That is lovely, he declared when we parted to breathe.

  Yes, I agreed. Kipling.

  Is that what they call kissing on Terra? he said, laughing at his joke to show he had understood my meaning. His laugh was not yesterday’s grating screech. It was deep and warm, like his speaking voice, as he expressed his happiness.

  The intercom buzzed for the third time, in angry bursts. The concierge’s voice came through, harassed and irritable. The police were still in the lobby, she said.

  Dominic and I let go of each other, exchanging a guilty look. His guardsmen had been waiting all this while. We were hot, not just from the overheated apartment, and breathing heavily. “Come with me,” Dominic whispered. “Don’t go to the Terrans, who value you so little.”

  “But you’re the one who doesn’t want me to take this test,” I said. My voice was low, husky with the passion that still held us in its grip. Perhaps I should just stay here, I thought. Why expose myself to the unknown perils of this ‘Graven Assembly?

  And never explore your gift? he chided me. Never find a place for yourself? He touched his sword hilt in a habitual confident gesture. I will protect you. You have only to decide and I will support your choice against all challenge. He had reversed himself, as I had almost done, making my own argument to me, backing it up with his usual method of defense.

  I looked out the window toward the Eclipsian Sector of the city and its fortress, caught between two extremes, wishing for middle ground. “I must shower, get dressed, have breakfast,” I said, preparing him for the delay. It was my own form of declaration. I would go directly to the Assembly and take their test, not as Terran, nor as ‘Graven, but as myself.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dominic’s idea of escorting was very different from that of the young Terran who had met my transport. I had expected Dominic to walk beside me, making conversation or at least answering some of my questions. Instead he led from the front as the squad of eight men formed a hexagon around me. Dominic must have chosen the men for height; it was like walking in a dense forest where the trees moved with me.

  One of these men was also gifted. I was beginning to accept the idea of the existence of other telepaths, of ‘Graven, the shielding eyelid in the sunlight an easy clue in identifying my peers. This man gave me a brief smile in acknowledgement of our shared status. Sensing my disorientation at the surrounding escort, he permitted a kind thought to flow between us: You’ll get used to it, ‘Gravina.

  Dominic, without breaking step, let loose a stream of expletives, the harsh, foul-mouthed speech of the drillmaster, reprimanding his man with silent fury, mind to mind. I listened in fascination to the range of expressions available in the Eclipsian language compared with the meager, unimaginative selection of Terran profanity. The man reddened in embarrassment.

  Sorry to be the unwitting cause of trouble, I thought of intervening, saw Dominic’s fierce profile—a hawk stooping for the kill, the eye of opaque silver—and suppressed my charitable impulses. His anger stemmed less from the professed reasons of insubordination and dereliction of duty than from a personal jealousy. Dominic was guarding our special communion, and saw any telepathic exchange with me, no matter how innocuous, as an invasion of his territory.

  Our group made slow progress at first. The wide sidewalks of the Terran Sector swarmed with pedestrians. People gawked and commented, trying to peer in between my protectors’ bodies to see what unfortunate soul was being taken away, wondering with prurient interest what primitive punishment awaited me. Most of them recognized the distinctive uniforms of the Royal Guards but knew that Dominic and his men posed little threat to Terran citizens in their own sector of the city. Dominic had constantly to shout to people to make way. He walked with his sword held in front of him, like the man who had announced the ‘Graven participants at the meeting, yet had to rely on his height, the sinister look of his face, and his obvious willingness to use the weapon, to forge a path.

  We approached the broad avenue that leads to the Terran Protectorate complex. The center lanes were choked with traffic, the personal vehicles Terrans cannot live without. Despite the fact that the cars are restricted to the Terran Sector where everything is within walking distance, all attempts to prevent their importation had ultimately proved futile.

  The flow of vehicles is controlled by a signal of alternating red and green lights. Our group reached the curb just as the traffic was resuming after a long pedestrian interval. Dominic swore and pulled a dagger from his belt, holding its jeweled handle, with what looked like a large prism as the finial, to face the sun. The light turned green again for us; the vehicles, taken by surprise, were caught in the crosswalk. As we wove our way around and through the honking cars, Dominic slammed his hand down hard on the hood of one with a terrific bang. The driver almost abandoned his vehicle in fright. “Pedestrians have the right of way!” Dominic yelled at the closed window, an inch or two from the man’s cowering face.

  How he hates it! I felt a frisson of excitement, as when he had kissed me. Everything of the Terran world, the vehicles and the noise, the heated buildings with their elevators, was a reminder to Dominic of the encroachment that threatened him as Eclipsian and ‘Graven. My own alienation from the world I had been born into found vicarious expression through the anger of this man who was in some way my partner. I remembered the thought in my head when I arrived, the fierce exultation that the Terrans were not allowed to enclose their part of the city—Dominic’s thought undoubtedly, the first telepathic communication from my “lover.”

  Once we passed through the checkpoint dividing the two sectors of the city, the mood shifted dramatically. There was little of the curiosity about the situation or my identity that I had picked up from the Terran crowds. The Eclipsians were used to seeing Royal Guards, knew the ‘Graven prefer to shield their women from view and had no desire to risk staying within reach of Dominic’s long arms and weapon to find out anything more.

  Although the streets were narrow, with no real sidewalk separating pedestrians from the carts and carriages pulled by animals, we had a smooth passage. People melted away magically at the sound of the soldiers’ heavy footsteps, turning down a cross street or into a doorway, or simply flattening themselves against the buildings. The wagons managed to pull to one side well before we had to pass them; two curtained litters, carried by men wearing livery, also stood aside, the bearers welcoming the opportunity to put down their burden.

  ‘Graven Fortress, close up, was much bigger than I had supposed from my view of it across town. It loomed over us like a mountain, its wide, dark entrance like the mouth of a cave or a mineshaft. Guards at the avenue leading to it and outside the doors saluted Dominic smartly as we passed. We followed twisting corridors, tramped up and down stairs, crossed interior courtyards. I was hopelessly lost after the first few turns; after the second set of stairs I couldn’t even say if we were above or below ground. Our footsteps set off lou
d, echoing reverberations in some of the passageways. There were places with drafty damp breezes whistling through, others that were hot and close.

  We emerged at last outside a capacious high-ceilinged room with tiers of stone seats, an indoor amphitheater, the Sanctum of ‘Graven Assembly. Dominic thanked his guards gracefully and dismissed them at the door, all except the gifted one, who was entitled to take his own seat inside. We let him enter, then Dominic bowed and motioned to me to precede him.

  I felt it before I heard or saw—an oppressive telepathic presence like a heavy fog. After a few seconds my ears and eyes began to function again, noting the hum of numerous voices, the crowded seats. There were many more people present than the small contingent of the ‘Graven I had met with yesterday. It seemed that every Margrave, Landgrave and ‘Gravina, and every member of their extended family who could walk, crawl or be carried wanted to see the Terran woman with crypta. Narrow windows set high on the walls let in a few weak rays of sunlight, adding to my feeling of constraint, my fate about to be decided by people I did not know and could barely see.

  The seats were arranged in wedge-shaped groupings, like slices of pie, representing the twelve ‘Graven Realms, including a section of unoccupied seats that Dominic said belonged to an absent, renegade family. The head of each clan sat in a place in the front row marked by a pennant with a heraldic device, the direct family members fanning out above and behind in a rough triangle. I recognized ‘Gravina Ndoko, head of her matrilineal realm, in a seat midway along the front. Other women, relations of the patrilineal families, occupied a tier of closed boxes at the back. Although I could not see them, the presence of the women’s minds, with their own thought patterns, was unmistakable.