The message ended. The screen hissed gray, empty. Magister Galele stood staring at it for several seconds, then turned around to look at me, his face a mask of dismay. “Tedla, I don’t know what to say. This is horrible. I can’t do it. I feel awful to deny a man’s deathbed wish, but it just can’t be done. He has no idea what he’s asking. I don’t have the power to take someone to Capella. I’m sorry. You understand, don’t you?”
I couldn’t imagine why he was asking me.
He paced around the room for a while, very agitated. “How could he put me in this position?” he said. “How could he do this to me?”
“You’re going to be late for his collation,” I said. My voice sounded mechanical.
He looked at me, terribly troubled. I recognized what was in his face: He had never expected, or wanted, to be responsible for me. The thought of it terrified him. “We’ll think of something,” he said, sounding far from sure. “We’ll solve this.”
He left then. I went over to the screen to replay the message. I didn’t listen to the words. I watched his face, seeing in it the knowledge of what he intended to do. For a moment, I felt a terrible anger toward him for abandoning me.
But when the message was over and the room was still again, what came to me in the silence was simply this: There was no one left to love me.
It was like floating in dead space, still able to breathe and think and live, but with nothing to do for the rest of my life but exist, never touching another living thing. The silence around me seemed absolute, the emptiness impenetrable.
Barely thinking, I walked into Magister Galele’s bathroom. He had some medications, so I swallowed a whole bottle, washing them down with water. Then I found his razor. While I could still think, before the drugs took effect, I sharpened it methodically, then ran a tub of warm water. I knelt beside the tub and laid my arm on the edge, wrist up. It was hard to bring myself to do it, and the first cut was not deep enough. After I had cut my right wrist and saw how fast the blood came out, I went back and cut the left again, then plunged my hands into the water, thinking it would keep the blood from clotting. The sight of the bathwater turning pink disgusted me, and I turned away, trying not to watch.
It seemed like I waited there a long time. Presently my stomach began to cramp and I felt dizzy, so I laid my head down on the edge of the tub, feeling cool porcelain against my forehead. My breath was short and I could feel my heart laboring. My last thought was to wonder how Squire Tellegen had done it.
***
From somewhere far away I became aware of a voice, an anguished voice, calling my name. For a moment, in my confused state, I thought it was Joby. Then the present seeped back into my mind, still indistinct and dreamlike.
I was lying on the bathroom floor where I had collapsed, and there was blood all over me. Magister Galele was kneeling beside me, a look of intense distress on his face. He was saying my name. When he saw me look at him, he jumped up, saying, “Oh my god, oh my god.” Soon he was wrapping my wrists tightly in bandages. He picked me up and carried me into the bedroom, laying me on the bed.
I heard him talking to someone on the viewscreen in a strange language. His voice was high and panicky. I was feeling horribly nauseous—sickening waves that made my throat contract and my mouth water. I knew I was going to vomit, but I didn’t have the strength to move. At last I groaned. He turned and saw me. Putting a strong arm around me, he helped me over to the basin and held me while I threw up all the poison I had taken. It felt good to be rid of it. I leaned weakly against him, and he hugged me tight, then made me drink some water. It tasted terrible, but he wouldn’t let me turn it down.
He took me back to the bed then. I was shivering now, so he fetched a blanket and wrapped me up in it. Then he sat down, taking me into his arms. My head was cradled in the crook of his elbow, and the warmth of his body made the cold of mine more bearable. He was talking constantly in a jumble of two languages, but I understood none of it. I thought he was being very kind, making me comfortable so I could die without suffering. I fell asleep in his arms.
It was a couple hours later that the curator arrived—an alien curator, only the second alien I had ever seen in the flesh. He examined me and tried to ask me questions, but I felt too sluggish to respond. Magister Galele hovered nearby, talking anxiously. He looked all nerves.
At last the other alien turned to him and said, “You ought to send it to a curatory.”
“I can’t do that,” Magister Galele said pleadingly. “Don’t you see? They’ll blame me. I was supposed to be responsible for Tedla’s welfare, and then I let this happen. They’ll kick me out for sure. Oh god, how could I be so stupid?”
“Calm down, Alair,” the curator said impatiently. “They won’t blame you.” He paused. “Unless there’s a reason to.”
Magister Galele looked stricken then, as he realized even his own countryman doubted him. The curator turned back to me. “I don’t have any Gammadian blood, and it would be too risky to give it Capellan. All I can give it is saline.”
“Well, do that, then!” Galele said.
As I watched the curator insert a needle in my vein, it slowly came to me that they weren’t trying to help me to a painless death, as decent humans would. They were trying to make me live.
“No,” I protested weakly. “I’ve got to die.” I had to make these crazy aliens understand. They didn’t know what they were doing to me.
Magister Galele sat down at my side and rubbed my shoulder. “Tedla, forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t know you would take it like this. I had no idea how you felt. I promise I’ll be a good guardian to you, and do as Squire Tellegen would have wished.”
It all came rushing back to me then, why I was in this humiliating position. I didn’t want another guardian; I wanted Squire Tellegen back. Barring that, I wanted to die, but they weren’t going to let me. I began to cry in grief and frustration.
“Stop, Tedla, stop,” he pleaded, but I couldn’t stop. He took me in his arms again and rocked me gently, talking soothing nonsense. I buried my face in his shirt and cried till I fell asleep again.
Over the next few days, as I slowly recovered against my will, he was always there. He fed me and talked to me, and when I became distraught he comforted me. He held me in his arms to soothe me to sleep. By the time I was strong enough to realize it, there was a bond of love between us that neither of us had expected, and neither of us could escape.
Chapter Eight
As Tedla’s voice faded away, the only sound in the studium was the scarcely audible hum of the terminal. Val finally leaned back in her chair, letting out a breath. “Why didn’t you tell us this wasn’t your first suicide attempt?”
Tedla stared at its hands lying in its lap, wrists upturned. Val couldn’t see any scars. “I didn’t think you needed to know,” it said faintly.
“Are you out of your mind, Tedla? We could have given you some completely wrongheaded treatment, thinking all your problems came from leaving Gammadis.” She realized her voice had a scolding tone, and corrected herself more gently, “I’m sorry, it just upsets me to think we could have done you more harm, through our ignorance. It was crucial for us to know this.”
Tedla’s voice was so low she could barely hear the answer. “You people go around admitting things all the time, as if it made no difference.”
Val realized that it was shame preventing Tedla from looking up. “I’m confused,” she said. “I thought that on your planet, to kill one’s self is honorable.”
“For humans,” Tedla said.
“Not for neuters?”
Tedla shook its head. “It’s only humans who get to decide when to end their lives. Neuters are innocents, and ought to trust humans to know when their lives are drawing to a close. They’re supposed to let us die without suffering.” Finally, Tedla looked up at her. “I was so confused by the way I’d been treated, I started to act as if I were human. But I wasn’t, so I didn’t succeed. It taught me my place. I wi
sh I’d learned it better.”
Gently, Val said, “Well, I’m glad you didn’t succeed.”
“Failure is not permitted on Gammadis,” Tedla said. “If someone tries and fails, like I did, it’s so shameful the other humans just leave him alone till he does succeed. No one talks about it. It’s disgraceful. It would pollute his memory.”
“So that’s why you couldn’t believe Magister Galele was trying to save you?”
“No Gammadian would have done the same, except out of contempt.”
“That sounds terribly heartless.”
“Being human is hard.”
***
Max and Deedee returned from the playground before lunch, and Max suggested that Tedla might like to accompany them on a visit to his parents’ house. Val shot him a wary glance; but when Tedla was out of earshot he said, “We can’t keep it prisoner, you know.”
“Well, be careful,” she said.
When they were gone, she sat down at her terminal to look up Galele’s reports again. As she had expected, there was not a hint in them of any suicide attempt. There was, however, a suspicious two-week gap, which had earned him a reprimand, to which he had replied with a defensive memo and a mass of cobbled-together information, much of it repeating earlier reports. It should have been obvious that something was going on. Clearly, no one had been paying attention.
She had gotten no further when the chiming of a priority message interrupted her. The preview button revealed that it was Magister Gossup.
He looked somber. “I am uncertain whether this will be news to you or not,” he said.
“I haven’t heard anything,” Val told him.
“The Gammadian delegates have learned about Tedla’s presence here, and the...circumstances we were attempting to deal with.”
Val gave a low whistle. So even WAC’s information-control had limits. “What does this mean?”
“They have requested to see Tedla immediately. We have no grounds to refuse.”
“All right,” Val said, letting out a breath. “Tedla will be pleased.”
“I am glad someone will.”
“Why did you think I might know?”
“Well, we have no idea who leaked the information.”
Val looked at him in astonishment. He should have known her better. “You think I did it? How could I? I don’t even know where the delegates are, much less how to contact them.”
“I didn’t say you had done it, Valerie. You simply might have been informed by...other parties.”
“Oh, I see—I’m a conspirator.” His lack of trust was galling, and unexpected. “What is my motive supposed to be?”
Gossup paused, as if considering the most diplomatic way to answer. “Someone less sophisticated than yourself might have thought that ingratiating themselves with the delegates would ensure a place on the next Gammadian expedition.”
“Well, I’m not that dumb,” Val said.
“I didn’t think so. I am glad to know I was right.”
There was an awkward pause. At last Gossup said, “Someone will be at your home soon to escort Tedla to WAC headquarters.”
“All right,” Val said, not daring to let on that she had allowed Tedla to leave the house. As Gossup was reaching out to cut off the transmission, she said, “I’ve gotten some more interviews. I think you ought to look at them.”
For the barest instant she could have sworn she saw apprehension on his face. “Very well,” he said. “Send them to my cache.”
When she had finished transmitting, she quickly placed a call to her in-laws. “They haven’t gotten here yet,” Joan told her. “Should I have them call you?”
“Yes,” Val said. “Instantly. Before they do anything.”
Out in the other room she heard the door open, and Deedee’s voice calling, “Momma! Momma!”
“Never mind, Joan, I think they’re here,” Val said, and quickly got up to see.
“Momma! Some men followed us,” Deedee informed her excitedly.
Val looked up at the adults. Max was trying not to show how disturbed he was. “We decided it was better not to lead them to E.G.’s house.”
“God, yes,” Val said.
“Is this because of me?” Tedla asked Val.
“Partly you, partly me,” she said. “It’s good you came back, anyway. I got a call from Magister Gossup.”
When she told the news, Tedla’s reaction was as much nervousness as pleasure. “I wish I’d had some warning. What am I going to say?”
It was the perfect opening for her to do some coaching. Instead, she deliberately smiled and said, “Just be yourself.”
***
The physical location of WAC headquarters was a company secret. Though thousands visited on business or to work there every day, its carefully camouflaged location on the moon’s surface was unknown to all but authorized employees—and, no doubt, to any rivals with the resources to find out. Since everyone arrived by wayport already inside the complex, there was no casual way to tell.
The buildings were constructed in one of the company’s proprietary styles of architecture—Ultrabyzantine, one of the old Earth styles WAC had purchased and vigorously prosecuted anyone else for using. From the central wayport, visitors poured out into a massive cathedral dome studded with glittering mosaics. As Val stepped onto the transparent floor she saw that it was, in fact, a reflexive dome—below them, another dome yawned, brightly lit, a perfect mirror image of the one above: an ostentatiously wasteful use of space. Walking across the glassy expanse, as if suspended in midair, was disconcertingly acrophobic. She saw Tedla staring down and drew close to reassure it, but what the neuter murmured to her was, “I wonder who polishes the floor to keep it so clear.”
A flock of doves flew artistically above their heads toward concealed nesting-niches in the dome. The WAC escort was heading across the transept toward the place where the altar should have been; there, gilded steps led up to a private wayport to the executive levels, under a canopy supported by writhing spiral columns and backed by a filigree reredo. Val wondered what it did to Pym and his ilk, to undergo a daily apotheosis just to get to work.
The guard disputed Val’s authorization to pass through the wayport. To her surprise, Tedla quietly informed their escort that it had no intention of going any farther without her. They stood waiting as the guard placed a call, then waved them both through. Her transubstantiation authorized, Val mounted the steps.
They found themselves in a sumptuous hotel lobby, deserted except for staff. Still following their escort, they ascended a brass and glass elevator to the third floor, where they found not a hallway full of doors but a turquoise-paved antechamber into a connected set of suites that clearly took up the entire floor. Their guide knocked on one of the doors, then held it open for them.
Magister Gossup was sitting on a couch with a tall man who rose as soon as they entered. He had a fine-boned face and fair skin that gave him a refined, slightly effeminate look to Val’s eyes—an impression reinforced by his luxuriant hair, which he wore swept back from his face and falling to his shoulders. But there was nothing effeminate about his icy blue eyes, or the frown line between them that gave him a critical expression even when he smiled.
The first thing out of his mouth, when he saw Tedla, was, “Yes, that’s the one.”
Tedla stopped dead just inside the door, and exclaimed, “Vestigator Nasatir! Do you remember me? We met at Menoken Lodge.”
The Gammadian said something in a strange language. His tone was imperious and peremptory. Tedla’s eyes fell to the floor, and the eager, hopeful look was bleached from its face. It muttered a two-syllable reply. Nasatir said something else, apparently a question. Tedla hesitated, then with a visible show of will raised its eyes to meet the delegate’s. “Are you able to speak Capellan?” it said.
“Of course,” the delegate said sharply, displeased.
“I would prefer their language, if you don’t mind,” Tedla said softly.
&nb
sp; Nasatir seemed about to give an indignant retort, so Val said, “Thank you, Tedla. That is very considerate.”
Nasatir’s eyes turned to her, so she said, “Hello. I’m Magister Valerie Endrada,” and held out her hand as Galele had described the Gammadian greeting-gesture. They touched palms and twined fingers, and Val decided it did have a sexual connotation, or at least a sensual one.
“I am pleased to meet you,” Nasatir said in a completely different tone—not warm, but respectful.
Val turned to Gossup. “Magister Gossup, I don’t think you have met Tedla in person.”
Gossup came forward to shake Tedla’s hand. “I am quite pleased to meet you, Tedla,” he said. “I wish it could have happened sooner.”
With a furtive glance at Nasatir, Tedla said warmly, “I feel honored, Magister Gossup. I have always admired your work.”
“That gives me pleasure. Please have a seat,” Gossup said. He returned to the couch himself.
Was he on Tedla’s side after all? Val glanced at Nasatir and saw the expression of bafflement that he quickly concealed. The Gammadian took a chair to Val’s left, across from Tedla. His back was rigid, and he sat tensely forward; his eyes flicked from Gossup to Val and back again, obviously uncertain of his footing. Tedla looked equally uncomfortable, but its eyes were on the floor.
“What is your role, Magister Endrada?” Nasatir asked. “Please forgive me if I get your language wrong. I’ve had very little practice.” He seemed to be trying not to look at Tedla.
“I am a colleague of Magister Gossup’s,” Val said. “I’m here as a friend of Tedla’s.”
Nasatir looked puzzled and slightly suspicious. “What do you mean, ‘friend’?”
She wondered what there was about the word that didn’t translate. “Tedla’s been staying at my house for the past several days,” she explained.
Much more warmly, Nasatir said, “Ah, you are the one who has been caring for it since...thank you. We are indebted to you. I hope you weren’t inconvenienced.”
“Not at all,” Val said. “It’s been a valuable opportunity.”
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