by Karen Lord
“It is.”
I pondered. Nasiha, Joral, Tarik, Freyda—quite a lot of my favorite people in one place. It sounded pretty cool, especially if the homestead were big enough for a balance of independence and interdependence. I shook my head, laughing inwardly at myself. Working with Sadiri, living with Sadiri, speaking Sadiri more often than not—it seemed that in my own life the Sadiri had won the culture wars quite handily. And then, of course, there was Dllenahkh himself. I freely confessed to myself in that moment that he was someone I didn’t want to say good-bye to, not ever.
“It seems to be an efficient arrangement,” I decided, looking up at him with a smile. “Yes. Thank you, Dllenahkh.”
Even after I said yes to Dllenahkh’s offer to live on his homestead, I had plenty of opportunity to ponder the decision anew. Some days later, as Gilda helped me pack up the last bits of my City life, she filled me in on what people were saying. Some felt Dllenahkh was besotted with me even though I was quite clearly not taSadiri and therefore completely unsuitable as a spouse; others believed I was besotted with him and therefore so desperate to stay near him that I was willing to molder away on a homestead. Some thought he was using me to project the image of a proper Sadiri family man, homesteader, and government representative; others were convinced I was using him to further my own private-sector career and gradually rehabilitate myself in the government and the scientific community. Finally, one rumor all but accused us of conducting an elaborate xenofetish experiment that would only end in tears.
To the general concerns, I could have added several more. Was he attached to me because of the mission experience? Did that mental connection that I couldn’t speak about and my helping him with his nightmares constitute some kind of undue influence? If so, would the influence fade as soon as he was once more in a full Sadiri community with all the telepathic support that entailed?
“Oh, shut up, Gilda,” I said irritably. “You’d think I was going to marry the man, with all that talk.”
She looked hurt, but before she could complain, there was a chime at the front door, and I gladly went to answer it.
“Excuse me. Ms. Grace Delarua?”
It was a government courier with one of those buff envelopes that had so often been the bane of my life. They tended to represent upheaval at the best and misery at the worst. I felt a pang of fear.
“What’s this?” I said, taking it unwillingly.
“Ministry of Family Planning and Maintenance. Sign here, please.”
I signed for it and closed the door, relieved but confused.
“Family Planning?” said Gilda with an arched brow.
“I registered. It was a whim,” I said. I had indeed registered, about three months back when we were in a fairly well-connected town. Nasiha had complimented my meditation progress that day, and Dllenahkh had also made some very favorable remarks concerning a report I’d produced in both Sadiri and Standard. For some reason, the resulting heady rush of pride had led me to do all manner of things to prove to myself that I was definitely one hundred percent fine in all areas of my life.
“Then why don’t they just contact you via comm or handheld? Open it!” she demanded.
Curiosity overcame prudence, and I opened it in her presence, laying the official document flat on the dining table. We stared at it. She swore softly, then laughed out loud. I said nothing.
“Well?” she pressed.
I put it back in the envelope. “Come on, let’s finish packing. I need to get down to the homestead as soon as possible.”
Even with nav and autopilot, the groundcar made it down to the homestead within about two hours, which was not long enough for my blood to cool. After the car passed the main gates but well before it reached the residences, I saw something in a field that made me put on the brakes.
It was the first time I’d seen them, but it was easy to guess what they were: Sadiri dogs. There were three of them, slightly bigger and thicker-bodied than the wild savanna dog, still adapted for a heavier gravity than ours. It was evident in the way they leaped and raced, testing their new strength and speed. Three men were with them, at times running alongside them, at times standing still and observing closely. I thought they were playing with them, and then I realized they were training them—without leash, whip, or biscuit. There was also a small group of horses fenced off in a paddock at one end of the field.
As I watched them, one of the men put his dog to stay and walked toward the paddock. The horses moved skittishly away, but one of them paused and sidled to the fence, quite possibly coaxed by some silent encouragement. The man gently put a hand to the horse’s shoulder and began stroking its nose reassuringly. The horse was calm and content, but suddenly the dog came trotting forward, making the horse startle, throw up its head, and scamper off. Unfortunately, the would-be horse whisperer was too close and got a faceful of hard horse skull that rocked him off his feet and onto his backside. The dog nuzzled him solicitously while his two colleagues unhelpfully burst out in loud laughter.
“Good day. You are Ms. Grace Delarua?” A young man peered into the passenger window of the car, leaning forward with a diffident curiosity that reminded me of Joral. He was dressed for rough, dusty work in trousers and shirt made of thick cotton twill. A canvas bag rode over his shoulder, clinking occasionally as he moved.
I turned off the humming engine of the groundcar, surprised that I had not heard anyone approaching. “Yes, I am. Good day.”
He bowed politely in greeting. “I am Kamir. I see you have noticed the animal trainers at work. Those are our new dogs, a small stock that we will eventually crossbreed with the local savanna dogs.” There was both pride and excitement in his voice.
“I thought they were restricted to New Sadira,” I said.
“Policies have changed. Hybridization is popular now.” His words sounded slightly teasing to my sensitive ears.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Where is Dllenahkh?”
He straightened and pointed down the road. “Approximately five hundred meters farther along the road, working at the smithy with Istevel.”
“Thank you,” I said, making an effort at courtesy as I restarted the car. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”
The smithy was easy to find, a long, low building with the distinctive dish-shaped structure of a solar forge looming over it. Broad double doors stood half open to the breeze, showing two figures within. One man was holding something in a pair of tongs, moving it slowly back and forth under a beam of concentrated sunlight. Another man stood nearby, seemingly content to merely examine his colleague’s technique. Their reflective face shields reminded me of Sayr’s helmet, but everything else was low-impact, easy-maintenance technology that emphasized self-sufficiency.
I hesitated. There’s something very poetic and pastoral about men working at a forge—albeit a solar forge—and on another day I would have appreciated the scene, but I reminded myself that there were more important matters to be dealt with. I turned off the car, grabbed the envelope, and made for the two smiths. I nodded to the working smith first, then focused my attention on the other.
“You are the most indirect man I have ever met,” I snapped.
Dllenahkh pushed up the visor of his face shield and squinted at me. “I do not understand.”
I impatiently waved the official document at him.
“Ah.” He nodded to Istevel, stripped off his fireproof gloves, took off his face shield, and approached me cautiously. “Perhaps we should go elsewhere to discuss this.”
We walked about a hundred meters away to where the ground sloped under the shade of a few small trees. I sat down, carefully looking straight ahead. There was a faint rustle of leaf and dried grass as Dllenahkh seated himself beside me.
“May I?” he asked, and took the document from my hand.
I sneaked a look at him. Taking off the face shield had ruffled his hair into a slightly untidy tumble of sun-lightened brown locks. His skin had darkened after the year’
s break from office work. With a start, I realized that he now looked far more Cygnian than Sadiri.
He examined the document. “The Ministry is informing you that my application to be registered as your life partner has been approved. Our signatures and the signature of a witness are all that is needed to complete the process.”
“I know that.” I sounded a little frantic, so I made myself repeat the words calmly. “I know that. But how is this possible? The only way I could get this kind of document is if you registered before me and put me down as your sole preference. And at the very least I should have received some prior notification …”
My voice faded. I remembered a time when any government correspondence appearing on my handheld had been rapidly consigned to the bin after a cursory look. I’d received a lot of irrelevant notices in the days when the left hand of Central Government was still processing my resignation and hadn’t bothered to inform the right hand.
Dllenahkh merely blinked once as he watched my face change, but the amount of amusement he managed to convey was astonishing. “I am only surprised that they took so long. I understand that the testing is highly intensive, consisting of genetic profiling, psychiatric assessments, and financial auditing. However, due to the nature of our work, all of the data was readily available.”
“You … booked me in advance?” I was stunned.
He looked at my expression, parted his lips to speak, and paused.
“Go on,” I said resignedly. “You can tell me anything; you know that.”
“I have certain responsibilities,” he began tentatively, a man feeling his way on unexpectedly treacherous ground. “Not only as a councillor of the settlement but also as a Sadiri, one of few remaining.”
I turned toward him slightly, listening.
“Thus, it is extremely important that my actions are beneficial not only to myself but to the Sadiri people as a whole.”
“Understood,” I replied.
He looked at me closely. “I have tried to set an example. Careful and deliberate choice of a spouse, with objective assessment by a qualified, neutral third party, is precisely what the young Sadiri of this community need to see.”
“Well … congratulations,” I said awkwardly. It was difficult to be angry at him yet impossible to be pleased about the situation.
He sighed. “I do not know how to do this. I know I have displeased you in some way, but I am unable to ascertain how.”
I spoke honestly if impulsively. “I suppose it’s no secret that I’m fond of you, Dllenahkh, but whether that matters to you at all, I just—ngh!”
In a swift move that shocked me speechless, he set his hand behind my head and put his face into the side of my neck. He left the imprint of his teeth there, then soothed the skin with the tip of his tongue. It was a fraction more than a kiss and a little short of a marking. His hair brushed the lashes at the corner of my eye; there was the slight abrasion of his shadowed jaw against my cheek. He was tender and brutal, and I had no defense against him.
“Mmm,” I said, completely incoherent.
“I am relieved to hear,” he whispered under my ear, “that you are fond of me. It matters to me a great deal.”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know it,” I said shakily.
He rested his forehead against mine and spoke temptingly near my mouth. “It would not have been right to tell you before you told yourself.”
“I might have listened,” I protested weakly, focusing with difficulty on his lips and wondering if he could be slowly trained to find mouth-to-mouth kissing acceptable—enjoyable, even.
He drew back and gazed at me. “You know I will not give you emotional protestations,” he said, and his eyes seemed troubled.
“Then tell me what you will give me,” I said.
“Trust. Companionship.” His eyelids lowered, and his voice grew husky. “Children, if you wish. Will you consent to be my wife? I cannot imagine being better suited to any other person.”
“Me?” I laughed softly. “Undisciplined, emotional me? I’d rather not do without you, but I won’t be a burden to you, and I can’t change my nature.”
“Nor I,” he replied, “but if the past two years are any indication, we have had some success at meeting each other halfway.”
“Then … yes.”
His gaze grew tender. “I believe the arrangement will be mutually—”
“Satisfactory,” I interrupted. “Beneficial, infuriating, passionate—I’m sorry, did I hit a sensitive spot there?” I had grown courageous enough to touch him, and my hand’s light passage over his side appeared to be causing him some problems if the hitch in his breathing was any indication.
“There is something you must know before we proceed,” he said, capturing my hand. “I am aware that many Ntshune societies and a few Cygnian ones practice short-term monogamy. This is not the Sadiri way.”
“Don’t worry; it’s not the Cygnian homesteader way either,” I said. “And they wouldn’t have matched us if we didn’t agree on that.”
“I know. But, Grace, what I am asking is this: Do you want a Cygnian marriage or a Sadiri marriage?”
I silently questioned him with a puzzled frown. He let go of my hand and looked into the distance as he tried to explain.
“We have a need to form a meaningful telepathic bond with something or someone. There is a Sadiri saying: a man with a mindship is half immortal, but a man without a wife is half alive. Some men can overcome this need by using meditation techniques, but never before have so many men faced a future without hope of marriage. They had no choice but to send us away from New Sadira. There were terrible incidents—men fighting over women, assaulting women, harming themselves, even threatening mass suicide. Our society was breaking down. I saw such things—things I still cannot speak of.” He gripped his wrist, a sign of distress I knew too well.
“Then don’t speak of them,” I hushed him. “Not yet. Not till you’re ready. Never, if it comes to that.”
He spoke very quietly, still not looking at me. “I have relied on meditation for many years, and I can continue to do so for many more, but I ask you now: Will you bond with me?”
I leaned against him, feeling the tension in his body subside. “I said yes, and I’ll say it again. You know I trust you.”
He took my hand and pressed it to his cheek. I closed my eyes and felt a surge of energy pushing from him to me and back again, very like the warmth and reassurance of a rocking hug. At last, calmed and consoled, we moved away from each other. He returned the document to its envelope and handed it to me.
“We will speak more on this later, after you have rested and settled in.”
He left to return to the smithy. I lay back on the grass for a few minutes, mind blown. La, sir, this is so very sudden! And yet … it wasn’t, was it? We’d already moved beyond the baseline Sadiri courting rituals identified by Freyda. I knew we had been heading toward a declaration of sorts. I suppose I thought that the declaration would be multistage, perhaps an “I love you” followed by a “Do you love me?” rather than a “Here, sign this document that’ll say we’re married.” But dithering wasn’t a Sadiri habit, and neither were “I love yous.”
I heaved a huge sigh and sat up straight. I needed a drink.
By happy chance, so did Freyda. First I bullied her into helping me get my stuff into my rooms, and then we took a well-deserved break in her sitting room. She had already completed her own move-in, and as I complimented her taste, she looked around at the decor and furniture with contentment.
“I’m so glad Lanuri went along with my plan to move early and get things organized before our wedding,” she said. “I made it sound as if it was the obvious thing for me to do now that there’s a new biotechnician in place and I’m free to start my book, but I think he knows my real motive.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, making myself comfortable against the cushions as she poured the wine.
“I’m hiding,” she confessed in a
semiwhisper. “From Zhera.”
I rolled the name through my brain a few times. “Isn’t she one of the female elders who arrived recently?”
“She seems to be the head of them, and she’s terrifying. I thought they were supposed to be cuddly grandma and auntie surrogates for the settlement’s young men. She seems to think it’s her job to whip all the new wives and fiancées into shape. I saw her systematically interviewing a group of them at the Council Hall offices. Some came out in tears.”
“Well, as long as she doesn’t second-guess the Ministry,” I said. “I suppose she wants to stamp her authority on the community from the start. Oh, and speaking of fiancées …”
Freyda was overjoyed at my news but not in the least surprised. “Finally! Did you sign it?”
I grinned, feeling a bit bashful but very pleased at her reaction. “Well, not there on the spot, naturally, but I will. After you guys. Don’t want to steal your thunder and all.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “You and Dllenahkh were inevitable. Lanuri’s considered you all but bonded for ages.”
“Hmm. So has Nasiha,” I said wryly, taking a sip of wine. “Are Sadiri suitors too subtle for us, do you think?”
“I think it’s the lack of drama. Once they’ve got things figured out, they simply go forward without making a fuss.”
I sat still for a while, heedlessly letting the chilled wineglass warm in my hands and drip condensation onto my lap. I remembered when I first read Dllenahkh’s thoughts in my dreams. He had been trying, I think, to figure out how to signal his desire to move from friends to something more. I wondered if that had been when he’d booked me. Cheeky of him to assume I’d say yes—and yet he knew my mind so well that he’d probably been right to think in terms of when rather than if.
“Well, then,” said Freyda, eyes gleaming wickedly over the rim of her glass, “now that we’re in the same boat, let’s talk about how much of our privacy we’re willing to give up.”
“What?” I asked, confused.