Halfway Human

by Carolyn Ives Gilman

  Nasatir said, “We were quite chagrined to hear the story of its shameful behavior. Please accept my apologies. I’m afraid it’s badly disturbed—you can scarcely blame it, after all it’s been through.”

  Val should have been prepared, but still she was taken aback to hear him speak of Tedla as if it weren’t in the room. She said, “Believe me, I don’t blame Tedla.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause. Nasatir had clearly heard something in her voice that wasn’t in her words. He said delicately, “I understand that it has been full of stories.”

  Val glanced sharply at Gossup. He looked noncommittal. Tedla’s face looked gray. “I have conducted some interviews,” she said. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Has Magister Gossup spoken to you about them?” Nasatir said.

  “No.”

  “I have to warn you, then, not to give this bland’s tales much credence. I have no idea what has inspired it to utter such falsehoods and filth. It’s beyond my understanding, except that the poor creature is quite unbalanced.” He finally looked at Tedla. His outward benignity clearly hid a steely anger.

  “I’m sorry if we have gotten the wrong impression,” Val said. “Can you give me an example?”

  “Quite easily,” Nasatir said confidently. “There is a place called Brice’s on my planet. It’s an experimental training center, serving the academic and scientific community. Not the kind of place that would train blands for a mattergrave’s house, or for any domestic position at all. This bland got all that wrong, because it was never at Brice’s. Doubtless it heard of the place, and thought that having been trained there would sound more prestigious than the truth. The whole story was fabricated. Believe me, we made it a point to look up this neuter’s past.”

  Val looked to Tedla. Its face was chalky white. It sat with its shoulders hunched forward, staring at its knees.

  Nasatir went on, “That part is relatively trivial and easy to disprove. The allegations concerning Lexigist Tellegen...” Here his voice changed. It was clear he took a personal affront. “I knew Prosper Tellegen. Many people did. He was a deep thinker and a highly moral man. One of the few truly great men I have known. Why this bland should turn on him, with these revolting slanders, I have no idea. Certainly, Tellegen never showed it anything but the greatest kindness. Too much kindness, perhaps. And this is the way it repays him.”

  Val was staring at Gossup. She had sent him the interviews about Tellegen only this morning—she glanced at the time display on the room screen—a little over an hour ago. How had he watched them and conveyed their essence to Nasatir in that time? And why had she not told him they were confidential?

  She looked at Tedla, expecting reproach, but its face looked completely blank. “Tedla?” she said. “Do you want to answer?”

  Tedla shook its head.

  “He’s saying you lied. That you made it all up. What are we supposed to believe?”

  In a dull voice, Tedla said, “He’s right. I did make it up. It’s all lies.”

  Nasatir settled back in his chair, at ease.

  There was a long silence. At last Val said, “You’re saying I’m a complete dupe?”

  Tedla wouldn’t look at her. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Magister,” Nasatir said sympathetically. “I’m sure it was very convincing. Perhaps the bland even convinced itself, in its confusion. Living among you has obviously sexualized it. You would have had to know our culture very well to see how preposterous it all was. Believe me, for any true Gammadian, the thought of physical contact with a neuter is completely revolting.”

  He sounded sincere. If Val had not been watching Tedla closely, she would have missed the expression that glanced across its face—a look of deep outrage, swiftly hidden. Until then, she had been uncertain what to think. After that, she knew.

  Nasatir went on, “The whole controversy over this bland has been one unfortunate misunderstanding after another. From our point of view, the sooner we get it all behind us, the better. We don’t wish to make an issue of it from now on.”

  “That is very generous of you, Delegate,” Gossup murmured.

  Nasatir smiled at them both genially. “Well, no harm done.” He rose. “Come along, Tedla.”

  Tedla sat unmoving, looking dazed. “Excuse me?” it said uncertainly.

  Patiently, Nasatir said, “We’re sending you home, Tedla.”

  Tedla looked at Val. “Do I have to go?”

  Val managed to keep her voice even. “It’s up to you.”

  Turning back to Nasatir, Tedla said carefully, “Under what circumstances will I return?”

  “Circumstances?” Nasatir said, almost on the edge of laughter.

  “What will my status be?”

  As if to a silly child, Nasatir said, “What do you think it will be?” He turned to Val and Gossup. “You see how you people have confused it. I think it would be better if you left us alone.”

  Suddenly, Tedla rose from its chair, facing Nasatir tensely across the coffee table. “No. Please stay.”

  Neither Val nor Gossup moved. In a kind but stern voice, Nasatir said, “Tedla. You should know that the elector of the Tapis questionaries has empowered me to act as your guardian. You need to remember what that means, before I become displeased.”

  With an enormous force of will, Tedla looked him in the eye and said, “I am sorry, Delegate Nasatir, but I can’t acknowledge your jurisdiction over me. I’m willing to discuss returning to Gammadis, but not under those conditions.”

  Nasatir burst out, “Oh, this is ridiculous.” He turned to Val angrily. “What do you think you’ll gain by teaching it to talk like that to me? Who are you working for?”

  Val said, “Delegate Nasatir, your dispute is with Tedla, not with me.”

  With bitter sarcasm, Nasatir said, “Oh, yes. You are going to get me to negotiate with a bland.” He turned to Gossup. “Perhaps I have not made myself clear. The return of this neuter is an absolute prerequisite to diplomatic relations. This is not a negotiable point.”

  Gossup rose to calm the waters. “I think it would be better if we adjourned to think things over,” he said. “Delegate Nasatir, let us speak to Tedla. I’m sure we all want the same thing; we just need to find how to get there.”

  The delegate looked thoroughly displeased at the prospect of letting Tedla out of his sight. Gossup said, “Tedla, would you and Valerie wait in the blue room for a moment?”

  As Val rose to leave, Nasatir surveyed her with a cold eye. She didn’t bother with parting pleasantries.

  As soon as they were alone, Val said, “Tedla, I’m so sorry. I had no idea Gossup would tell the delegate what you told me. I’ve violated your privacy. It was totally unethical. I feel horrible.”

  “It was my own fault,” Tedla said.

  “No, it wasn’t. It was ours. Those interviews were confidential. I wouldn’t blame you for telling me to get out of your life forever.”

  Tedla gave her an apprehensive look. “Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not!” Val reached out and squeezed its hand. “I was so proud of you when you stood up to him,” she said.

  “You sound like Magister Galele,” Tedla said.

  “We Capellans like people with courage.”

  “I’d forgotten what it was like to be a bland,” Tedla said, preoccupied. “I’ve gotten so used to the way you people treat me. I didn’t know I was going to argue with him, till I did. It was horrible behavior. I acted human. But the strange thing was, I even felt human. What felt wrong was acting like a bland. He was right, you people have done something to me. You’ve corrupted me.” It turned to her with a troubled look. “Val, I don’t think I can do it. I’m not a bland any more.”

  She wanted to hug it. “Bless you, Tedla,” she said warmly. “It’s about time you noticed.”

  The door clicked, and Magister Gossup came silently through. He said in an undertone, “Valerie, I was not the one who told him about your interv
iews. He brought them up to me himself, shortly before you came. I haven’t even seen the latest ones. I don’t believe he’s seen them either; he’s only heard a summary. From whom, I don’t know.”

  Val felt the clutch of paranoia. “Someone must be listening on my home terminal.”

  “Well, it isn’t WAC,” Gossup said. “It’s someone trying to sabotage the negotiations.”

  “Epco?”

  “It’s a possibility. You need to be cautious; they are sabotaging you in the process.”

  He was right; the forces at work here would crush her career without a thought. There was nothing personal about it. She was just in the way.

  Gossup turned to Tedla. “Delegate Nasatir just reiterated how essential it is for you to return. He is quite adamant about it. I am not sure why. Do you know?”

  Tedla shook its head gravely.

  Gossup sighed. “At present, he is making it a condition for further negotiation. That means it will be WAC’s desire, and my duty, to persuade you.” His voice sounded perfectly neutral. Watching, Val felt her confidence in his support ebbing. He went on, “Is there any demand you might have, any condition that WAC can meet, that would make it possible for you to return? I can assure you, the company’s full resources can be brought to bear.”

  Tedla looked overwhelmed. “What could WAC do? Change a thousand years of history? Make me human?”

  Very delicately, Gossup said, “You realize, don’t you, that the latter option might be technically feasible?”

  Tedla drew back, and its voice turned frosty. “I know you could change my body. It wouldn’t make me human. Not for me, not for Delegate Nasatir.”

  Gossup quickly retreated. “I’m only trying to raise a variety of options.”

  “What options can there be?” Val said.

  “There are always options,” Gossup said sternly. She got his message: He was expecting her to be his ally. She could redeem herself by somehow twisting Tedla’s arm into consenting. The thing that left a foul taste in her mouth was the knowledge that she could probably do it if she tried—and Gossup knew it.

  “I need to think about it,” Tedla said. “I need to go home and think.”

  “Could I persuade you to take a room here?” Gossup asked carefully.

  “No.” There was a resolution in Tedla’s face that Val had never seen there before. “I will go home with Val.”

  “A number of people would feel more comfortable if...”

  “I will go home,” Tedla said firmly.

  “Very well,” Gossup said, with a significant look at Val. She had her assignment. At that instant, she felt a bitter anger at him, for putting her in this position.

  The Magister walked them out through the lobby, pausing for a low-toned conversation with the guard posted at the wayport. As they crossed the echoing dome, he said to Tedla, “What did the delegate say to you when you first came in?”

  “He asked me why I thought I could justify myself,” Tedla said expressionlessly. “But it wasn’t what he said. It was the language that mattered. All this time I’ve been wanting to hear my own language spoken, and forgetting that humans and blands speak it differently. It’s a dialect we use. It sounds simplified, almost childish. That’s why I had to speak your language. I realized I couldn’t answer him in a human dialect without sounding arrogant and presumptuous, and I couldn’t make myself talk like a bland. Not any more.”

  Val looked at Gossup. She wondered if he still thought there were options. To her, there only seemed like two: self-destruction or betrayal.

  ***

  The sun was setting when they reached their home wayport, giving way to a pink Gomb-light that made the egg-domes of the copartment complex look like fluffs of cotton candy against the jagged landscape. The port would normally have been crowded with commuters at this time, but it was Allday, and only a few stragglers were about, loitering around the shop displays where the autoclerks were ever ready to take their orders. UIC enclaves were secular, so commerce went on around the clock and around the calendar.

  Val and Tedla headed up the hill, side by side. Val was so preoccupied by her dark thoughts that she didn’t notice the steps following them till Tedla cast a quick glance over its shoulder.

  “It’s not the same two that followed us earlier today,” Tedla whispered to her. She also glanced back. It was a man and a woman, wearing green coveralls instead of the WAC security uniform of suit and tie. Each of them was carrying a shoulder bag. The woman was grasping something in her hand. They were walking fast; their purpose was clearly not to follow, but to overtake.

  Taking Tedla’s arm, Val steered it into the walkway of the housing complex adjoining her own. They were soon surrounded by the copartment domes, which met the ground in jagged shapes like broken shells. Breaking into a fast walk, Val ducked under the eaves formed by one of the overhanging dome-shells, dodging the clutter where residents had staked out patio space with lawn furniture, bicycles, and toys. Darting from dome to dome, she headed toward the fence separating this complex from her own. Behind, she heard a crash, then heavy footsteps, running. She broke into a dash, Tedla close beside her.

  Tedla was first to reach the gate, and jerked it open. Val glanced back. Their pursuers were rounding the last dome at a run. She could see now what was in the woman’s hand—a transdermal, doubtless a knockout drug. She dived through the gate after Tedla and slammed the latch down, but there was no way to bolt it. “Head for the main dome,” she said. It was the closest structure, and with luck there might be people there.

  They raced down the walkway. As they rounded the dome, they saw the entryway was lighted, and people were gathered on the steps. Tedla slowed hesitantly, but Val pushed it on through the door.

  Only when she saw the decorations in the brightly lit common room did she realize that they had barged in on a wedding reception.

  “Oh my god!” she said, horrified.

  “What?” Tedla stepped nearer, alarmed.

  “It’s Elise and Radko’s wedding,” she said. “I was invited. I completely forgot.”

  There was a sound of scuffling from the door, and an angry voice. Val dragged Tedla with her into the reception line. There were too many people here for a covert kidnapping. “Quick, Tedla, what do Gammadians say at weddings?” she said.

  “We don’t have weddings,” Tedla said, eyes on the door.

  “Oh, of course. Well, how do you wish each other good luck?”

  “We say, ‘May you die in the bed of earth.’”

  “Good Lord, that won’t do.”

  They had come to the front of the line, and the bride said warmly, “Val! Max said you wouldn’t be able to make it. I’m so glad you did. Thanks for your present.”

  Thinking she had the best husband in the world, Val said, “I’m so happy for you, Elise. May you sleep together on the bed of earth. That’s an old Gammadian wedding saying.” She dragged Tedla forward. “This is my friend Tedla, from Gammadis.”

  “Welcome to Capella Two,” Elise said.

  “I hope you’ll be very happy,” Tedla said, only a little flustered.

  There was no sign of their pursuers. They collected pieces of honeyed ricebread—Val noted that it was a Chorister recipe; Elise must have paid a fortune for the rights. The music was being provided by a lutska ensemble using live goats—not top-of-the-line, but still more expensive than she would have sprung for. She spied Max at one of the long community tables, Deedee beside him, wearing her prized rainbow skirt, the only nongeneric article of clothing she owned. As Val slipped into the seat beside Max, she said in a low voice, “Am I glad you’re here.”

  “I thought you’d forgotten,” Max said.

  “I had. Two thugs chased us in here. I’m sure they had more in mind than picking our pockets.”

  Deedee climbed out of her seat to show Tedla how her skirt flared out when she twirled around, a demonstration that always made her dizzy and giggly. Several older couples at nearby tables were looking
on fondly. Val leaned close to Max to tell him what had happened.

  “What are we going to do?” Max said seriously.

  Val said, “I don’t know.”

  “We can’t let Tedla go back to that planet.”

  “I don’t know if we can stop it.”

  “No. What you mean is, you don’t know if we can stop them from taking it.” Max had a challenging look. It made Val feel defensive.

  “What do you expect from me, Max? I’m up to my neck in trouble already.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Max said in a very low voice.

  Val glanced around to see who was listening. A young woman had settled down next to Tedla, and was talking to it earnestly. Her body language was openly flirtatious. Val thought of coming to the rescue, but Tedla didn’t seem in bad trouble yet, so she turned back to Max. “What?”

  “I think we should post Tedla’s story on the public nets,” Max said.

  “You’re crazy,” Val said.

  “I’m serious. It would rouse public interest, and public sympathy.”

  “Max, I can name at least thirty-seven reasons why that’s a terrible idea. For starters, WAC would hit the stratosphere.”

  “Let them,” Max said.

  “Easy for you to say. For seconds, that story is valuable. Tedla could probably get a good income from the royalties, if it were marketed right.”

  “And I suppose the xenologist who did the interviews would get a cut?” Max said.

  “Well, yes, but...” She realized she was groping for excuses and flared angrily, “Since when is it a crime to try to provide for my family?”

  Several people looked around at them, and Val tried to pretend it wasn’t her with the poor taste to have a marital spat at a wedding. Tedla and the young woman had gone off to the edge of the dance floor and were taking turns whirling Deedee around in imitation of the older couples. Deedee was in heaven. The young woman was in for a rude surprise, Val thought.

  “Val, can’t you see? You’re playing into their hands,” Max said softly. “You’re acting suspicious and proprietary, just like the marketeers want. The companies need us all to be alienated from each other, because it cuts off routes of communication they can’t control. If everyone shared information openly, it wouldn’t be a controllable commodity, and no one could profit from it. They need our behavioral collaboration to make their windfalls. Trusting each other enough to communicate honestly is the most subversive thing we can do.”