by Karen Lord
“I can’t find anything to wear,” I said.
She looked at the heap, then met my eyes. “I may have something that will fit you. I too am having difficulties with my wardrobe. Today we will go shopping.”
I came down to breakfast dressed in my own trousers and undershirt and a Sadiri tunic borrowed from Nasiha. I assembled a plate of food and poured a mug of hot chocolate, but before I had to brace myself to face the table where Qeturah, Fergus, and Lian were seated, Dllenahkh murmured at my shoulder, “It is a warm, bright morning. We should sit outside.”
I followed him, ducking my face into my mug for a sip as we passed my former colleagues. Outside was glorious, already starting to be scorching hot but with a fresh wind off the sea that eased the humidity. We took a table next to Nasiha and Tarik and were soon joined by Joral. I ate and drank, absently aware of the conversation in Sadiri but not really paying attention to what was being said.
“Are you Sadiri? Really Sadiri?” The slightly hushed query came from a little boy about seven years old standing on the pavement in front of us. He had straight dark-brown hair that spiked up messily, and the tips gleamed in the morning sun. “I’ve seen you on the holos.”
They all stopped talking and focused on the boy, their faces softening to near smiles.
“Yes,” said Dllenahkh, leaning toward him slightly. “We are really Sadiri. Are you Sadiri too?”
The boy grinned and shook his head vigorously, clearly pleased to have been asked. He looked ready to say more, but a girl walking about ten meters farther ahead shouted back at him, her expression that of an exasperated older sister. “Hurry up or we’ll be late!”
The boy dipped a quick bow, more of a nod, which the Sadiri gravely returned, then ran off to join the girl. Dllenahkh’s gaze was reminiscent, perhaps even wistful, as he watched him go.
“Do you have any children, Dllenahkh?” I asked curiously. The moment the words were out, I froze in openmouthed horror, too appalled at myself to even begin an apology. Although it was true that he might have grown children off-planet, it was still an impossible question to ask any of the Sadiri, with so many families in the past tense.
His expression was mild. “There is no need to be distressed, Delarua. I never had any children. The opportunity did not arise.”
There was definitely a slight ruefulness in his voice. Nasiha must have caught it too, for she said firmly, “You are still in your prime, Councillor. You should make it a priority after the end of the mission.”
Dllenahkh gave her a look that reminded me partly of Lanuri’s bemused irritation at being handled and partly of my own response to Joral’s comment that I was “too old.” I smirked, recalling Qeturah’s revelation that Nasiha had been taking an interest in my reproductive capabilities. Sadiri pregnancy hormones must be fierce.
“Thank you for your advice, Commander, but you must remember that I have recently been involved in helping to mitigate the consequences of overhasty attempts to pair bond by the young Sadiri of the settlement. To do something similar would set a very poor example. I would rather see many children in one stable Sadiri household than several ill-chosen unions producing one child apiece. To that end I congratulate you for your start—” Here he graciously inclined his head. “—and wish you many more offspring in the future.”
It was smoothly done and all the more so for being sincere. Nasiha looked—there’s no other way to describe it—misty. Tarik’s face held the admiring expression of a man who is taking detailed mental notes for future reference. I hid a smile, wondering to myself how Dllenahkh had learned to stroke the female ego so well.
Of course, Nasiha in a good mood meant she was in fine form when it came to shopping. She immediately discovered the port’s best bazaar, uploaded a map of the layout to her handheld, and began to list aloud her goals for the expedition.
I rubbed my head and tried to find the right words. “Ah, Nasiha, I can’t exactly splurge. I have only one month’s severance pay, and I shouldn’t touch my savings until I get another job—and an apartment too, seeing as how mine’s sublet for a few more months.”
“Do not concern yourself. I have in mind only a few simple garments such as would be suitable for both professional and everyday wear.”
I surrendered and let Nasiha go into mother mode. She draped me in a long off-white wrap that trailed over the shoulder and picked out a week’s worth of undershirts in basic colors. She matched two split skirts, one long skirt, and two pairs of trousers with Sadiri-style tunics and selected two long dresses, either of which could pass at formal affairs with the right accessories.
“After all,” she said without a blink, “the dress you were given at the opera house event may not be appropriate for all venues.”
I was changing in and out of several outfits, all the while frantically calculating credits in my head, but by the time I approached the vendor, he shrugged and said, “The lady’s already put it on her bill.”
I went over to where Nasiha was frowning disdainfully at a large, shapeless dress with a lace-up front. “Nasiha! You can’t pay for all this!”
Her expression became artfully puzzled. “It is more efficient to charge all the items to one account, especially since I have been granted a maternity allowance specifically for the purpose of obtaining new clothing. No doubt we can settle the matter between ourselves at a later date. I understand it is a Cygnian tradition to buy educational gifts for one’s godchildren?”
I was stymied, and it showed in my face, because her eyes got that very Sadiri look of smug satisfaction as she said, “Now. Accessories.”
By this time I was starting to feel as if she were in truth using me as practice for any daughter she might have. She found a clasp for my wrap, which was sensible; selected two belts, which was practical; and then she was musing over decorative hair combs, which was frankly unnecessary.
“Look at me, Nasiha! My hair is this short!” I expostulated, showing her my finger and thumb one centimeter apart.
She looked me over. “Yes. I think you should let it grow longer.”
She bought the combs.
I realized she couldn’t be stopped, so I tried diversion instead, pointing out wraps and tunics and dresses for her own wardrobe. While she was in a changing room, I slipped away and bought something quickly, putting it aside till the right moment.
Still, I tried reason. “You say we can settle this at a later date, but I don’t know when next I will see you. Won’t you be returning to New Sadira after this mission?”
She looked into the distance, her gaze reflective. “I do not know.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. She glanced at me, then returned to looking over the fabric of the dress she was considering. “The Councillor has invited us to stay on Cygnus Beta. He believes that Tarik and I would help to promote the right image of Sadiri family life.”
“Well, you would,” I said sincerely. “They really do need more women there, and I don’t just mean prospective brides. Women who can be sisters, aunts, grandmothers. They’re half a people as they are.”
“You and the Councillor are much of the same mind. He has asked for female elders to come to the Cygnus Beta homesteadings.”
“Good for him. Very good.” I smiled with deep satisfaction. It was nice to know that Dllenahkh hadn’t pinned all his hopes on the bride-search mission.
She chose a dress, put it into my arms with the others I was holding for her, and started to examine another garment. “You have a particular regard for the Councillor.”
I laughed at her casual manner. “Oh, no you don’t. Whatever you may have thought, whatever speculations you and Tarik may have indulged in, we don’t have that kind of relationship.”
Again that quick glance. “But you could. You are already quite attached to each other, in more ways than one.”
I felt a twitch of warning and moved my tongue away from my teeth just in case she came too close to matters I couldn’t discuss. “You heard what
he told you,” I hedged. “He has to set a good example to the younger Sadiri. He can’t marry just anybody—and certainly not a disgraced ex-civil servant.”
“I only mention it because … who knows when next you will see each other?”
I stood still, half hidden by the clothing piled up in my arms and glad for it. That hurt. That actually hurt. I’d accepted that my career was over and I’d have to leave the mission to find other work, but I hadn’t paid attention to the fact that I’d never work with Dllenahkh again.
“Delarua?”
“I’ll miss him,” I admitted, my words somewhat muffled. “But that’s no reason for a shotgun wedding. Nasiha, I’m surprised at you. Are you …” I couldn’t say “hormonal.” “Is this because you’re …” I couldn’t say “pregnant” either. “Why exactly are you bringing this up?”
She took the pile of clothes from me and looked at me as if I were stupid. “It is obvious that he regards you highly as well. I was under the impression that Cygnians are accustomed to arranged marriages.”
I followed her to the vendor. “Within reason, Nasiha, within reason.”
“Is he not physically pleasing to you, perhaps?”
I pictured myself clapping my hands to my ears and humming loudly, then banished the image and tried to act like an adult. “I don’t find the Councillor objectionable in any form or fashion, Nasiha, but really. Now, if you were to find some other way—like maybe I could work for him on the homesteadings as an independent consultant or something. That would be fantastic.”
It was the perfect red herring. She dumped the clothes down for scanning and turned to me with sudden, swift energy. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course!” I exclaimed. “That way everyone benefits, no hasty decisions are made, and we pretty much continue on as before.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she considered me. “I believe you, not least because you have managed to discuss the subject of marriage without once resorting to a fight-or-flight defense.”
“Well, I can thank you for that,” I said heartily. “Oh, and by the way …” I fumbled in my pocket and brought out what I had purchased for her on the sly: a beautifully wrought cat clasp for her wrap. “I thought this might be an appropriate …” I shook my head and tried again. “It’s practical, but it’s also a reminder … Oh, screw it. I’m not Sadiri—I don’t have to deliver a formal speech just to say I like you. Here.”
With those eloquent words, I pinned it to her wrap.
She touched it gently with her fingertips. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I will treasure it.”
Getting new clothes was cathartic. I gathered up all the gear I had been assigned, put it into my field backpack, and brought it to my meeting with Qeturah the next day. When she saw it, she looked startled, then hurt. I really didn’t see why. She rallied, however, and soon we were deep in discussion about how and when to transfer my mission files and reports to Lian, poor Lian, who was going to have a time and a half fitting in all the work I had been doing. I supposed Fergus would have to be the sole security resource to ease Lian’s burden. They could have hired someone new, but with the mission already more than half over, I guessed it wasn’t feasible.
“Right,” I said, cheerfully. “So I’ll be sure Lian gets everything within ten days, some partial and some completed as we’ve agreed on here. Thank you, Dr. Daniyel. It’s been an honor to work with you.” I rose and held out my hand.
She shook it, looking confused. “I’ll be seeing you at dinner, won’t I?”
“Perhaps. I planned to turn in early, given my shuttle’s departure time tomorrow morning.”
“You’re leaving?” She seemed stunned.
“I … ah … thought that was the whole point of the exercise?” I said not at all sarcastically. I was getting confused too.
“I thought you would travel with us until we reach the next major city, probably Chukai, about two weeks from now, after our next scheduled stop.”
I frowned slightly. “I assure you, I will get all the documents sent to Lian within the specified time.”
“That’s not …” She trailed off, sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “Very well. I wish you all the best, Delarua.”
“And the same to you and the team, ma’am,” I replied.
News travels very fast. Lian was the first to corner me after the meeting. “You’re leaving tomorrow?” There was a definite note of accusation there.
“Lian, you guys are leaving tomorrow too. I don’t work for the government anymore, remember?”
“I thought you’d be around for a while, show me some lab procedures, that kind of thing,” Lian said almost plaintively.
I sighed. Apparently I wasn’t the only one for whom things were just now sinking in. “Lian, trust me; for your protection and mine, we shouldn’t work in a lab together.”
“You could appeal,” Lian insisted.
“No, no. I think my confession made it a pretty airtight case. Besides, appeals take forever, and I’d rather get on with my life. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” Lian said, and then, unexpectedly, hugged me hard.
(Yes, I know, and no, I’m not telling! If you want to know so badly, you can go ask Lian yourself!)
“Fergus is sorry,” Lian said, stepping back.
I chuckled. “No he’s not.”
Lian smiled wanly. “Well, you’re right. But he should be. You saved his ass from a useless last stand.”
“He’s never liked me. I’m too frivolous for him,” I said, speaking with just enough lightness to make it clear that this did not bother me.
“He’s jealous,” Lian said, blunt and unashamed of it. “He says I’ve gone all girly and giggly since I started hanging out with you.”
“You don’t giggle,” I said indignantly. “You laugh mockingly. I should know; I’ve often borne the brunt of it.”
We laughed briefly at that. It helped.
Still smiling ruefully, I said, “He thinks I’m a small-minded bureaucrat, and Dr. Daniyel thinks I’m a loose cannon. I went too far, or I didn’t go far enough. I’m beginning to think I’m just an idiot.”
“What do the Sadiri think?” Lian asked with typical shrewdness.
I puzzled for a moment, then smiled more broadly. “I’d hazard a guess that they think my actions were completely unethical yet highly appropriate.”
Saying good-bye to the Sadiri was hard because I had to be stoic about it. Nasiha had all my details, and I knew I would see her and Tarik again, and perhaps a godchild as well. As for Joral and Dllenahkh, were there any professional reasons for us to associate again? I wasn’t sure. I spoke my farewells to them in the late afternoon. They unbent enough to shake hands, and Joral even looked a bit concerned. But Dllenahkh was quite cool and unfazed, and for some reason that upset me. I made some excuse about packing and turned to go to my room.
“Delarua, if I could have a word?”
I turned back. To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t only saying good-bye that made me feel odd around Dllenahkh now. There was a little voice in my head saying breezily, I don’t find the Councillor objectionable in any form or fashion, accompanied by the same comic image of myself tra-la-laing with my hands clamped to my ears.
“I have some matters to discuss with you. I would be grateful if you would consider having dinner with me this evening. I understand there is a restaurant not far from here which specializes in Ntshune cuisine.”
“Sure,” I said with a casual shrug, ignoring the little tripping sensation in my chest. Just to be certain, I put my mental shields higher.
The moment we were actually seated in the restaurant, it all clicked back to normal. He wanted my opinion on his idea of bringing female elders to Cygnus Beta, and it was such an interesting concept that I forgot to feel awkward. I talked about the importance of grandparenting for family groups, the stability that Sadiri societies seemed to find in the matriarchal model, and the need to mimic as far as pos
sible the societal structure of New Sadira so as to encourage a parallel cultural experience for the Sadiri of Cygnus Beta. He listened closely, absently plying his utensils as he ate, and at one stage he grew so absorbed that he sat back, put his hand to his mouth, and gazed at me intently. I believe I had just suggested implementing short-term apprenticeships for young Sadiri in the Interplanetary Science Council, the Galactic Foreign Service, and the Galactic Judiciary to cycle new parents out of active service for a long enough leave to spend the formative years with their offspring before opting—or not—to return to duty.
“You told me once that there are so few of you left that you must all consider each other as family,” I said almost breathlessly. “Well, this is the proof of it. I understand if the other Sadiri can’t find you wives, but surely they can spare you family.”
He nodded long and slow in a way that seemed an agreement to more than my last words. “I remember some months ago, you warned me that the Sadiri must beware of a misplaced sense of superiority. I have thought long and hard about this, and I have come to the conclusion that while superiority may be our most obvious flaw, it is not the most dangerous one.”
He pushed aside his plate, leaned his elbows on the table, and regarded me earnestly. “I believe that our main flaw, and one I acknowledge in myself, is not that we consider ourselves superior but invincible. This makes it difficult to ask for help, even from our own.”
He dropped his gaze and began to fiddle with the table linen, a departure from his usual self-control that was both touching and worrying. “We were sent off to Cygnus Beta, told it was for the good of all Sadiri. What could we do? We went bravely, convinced of our ability to withstand any trial … no, determined to do so. Failure was unthinkable.”
He stilled his hands and exhaled deeply. “I can only begin with myself, to set the example. I have a proposal for you.” Here he raised his hand and smiled slightly. “Not, let me hasten to add, of the kind that would please Commander Nasiha but one that I believe will not disappoint nonetheless. On several occasions you have proved your insightfulness concerning Sadiri society. Would you be willing to continue working for us on this mission?”