“Have you told him?”
Frania shook her head. “I couldn’t do that now.”
“Look,” Mahala said, “maybe it’s normal to feel this way. You’re making a pledge to share your life with someone else.”
“Ten years of my life, anyway.”
“You’ll probably renew your bond after that, the way most people do. Letting a pledge lapse isn’t that easy when you have children and other members of a household involved, along with dividing up belongings and deciding where one of the partners is going to live, so—”
“I thought of telling Ragnar we should wait,” Frania said, “and maybe I should have right away. But if I do it now, with all of these guests coming and his parents staying with him and Solveig being here—it would humiliate him. He’d never forgive me.”
“But it might be worse if you go into this thinking it’s a mistake. Going through a hearing to break your bond would be a lot more trouble than calling everything off now.” Mahala put a hand on her friend’s arm. “What is it, Frani? Are you thinking you might not love him enough for this?”
“Oh, no. I can’t imagine not caring for him. It’s Ragnar I’m worrying about, not my own feelings. He’s so unhappy—I can see it even when he tries to hide it. He does his work with the diggers and crawlers, but he resents every bit of time it takes away from his drawing and designing and sculpting. And he can’t earn any credit with his artwork that he could use later, so he could take longer breaks from his shifts.”
Mahala frowned. “I would have thought he could make a lot of credit with his pastime.”
“There are some people who asked him to make things for them,” Frania said. “Two months ago, Li Po—one of the workers on his team—asked Ragnar if he would make a small metal sculpture of his two children. He told Ragnar he would give him holo images to look at and that he could come over to his home anytime if he needed to have his boy and girl model for the sculpture. Ragnar did some sketches and cast the molds over at the refinery, but he never finished it.”
“Why not?” Mahala asked.
“He lost interest. Of course Li Po had given him some credit to buy materials and for his time, and the children were complaining about all the time they’d had to sit still modeling. Ragnar paid him back, but Li Po won’t ask him for anything again. And there are others who had similar things happen when they asked Ragnar to make things for them.”
“I see,” Mahala said. She suddenly felt a rush of pity for Ragnar, along with tinges of her old feelings for him, but pushed those feelings aside. “Maybe what he should do is make whatever objects he likes and then make sure that others happen to see them sitting around in his house. That way he could sell or trade finished items to people later on.”
“That might work,” Frania said, a note of hope in her voice. “I could tell him—” She sighed. “I wonder if he would even listen to me. Sometimes I think he’s making this pledge just to get it over with. He knows that I’ll be gone for stretches of time—pilots always are. He can have a bondmate and have all of that settled without having to actually live with me all the time. He can go to his shifts and spend the rest of his time on his art. I should be grateful for that, knowing that he probably won’t miss me that much while I’m away.”
“Can you live like that?” Mahala asked.
“Yes.” Frania’s voice was low, but determined. “I’ll have to. After a while, I’ll get used to it, and so will he.” She stood up. “We’d better get to sleep. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”
Frania and Ragnar held hands while reciting their pledge to be bondmates. The custom was for the couple to memorize the clauses of their pledges and then recite them in front of witnesses. As was also the custom, someone who could read always stood by with the text of the promises on a pocket screen, in order to prompt the couple should they forget any of the agreed-upon clauses. Frania had asked Amina to take on that role, but she and Ragnar rattled off their pledges without a single lapse.
Frania, clothed in a long blue silk tunic over dark blue trousers, was as beautiful as Mahala had expected her to look. Ragnar’s long blond hair was pulled back in a long plait that fell halfway down his back, and he wore a bright red tunic with black pants. He had arrived with his parents at Dyami’s house only moments before the time set aside for the ceremony. The assembled guests were growing restless by then, and Mahala had spied a few surreptitiously helping themselves to dumplings and pastries before Ragnar took his place next to Frania.
Maybe he had been thinking of postponing this ceremony. That would be ironic, Mahala thought, if that was what they both wanted and neither had been able to admit it to the other. She watched as people lined up and congratulated the couple, then filed past Amina to have her enter their names as witnesses. They could hardly back out of their bond now, with all of these witnesses and their pledge now part of the public record.
Mahala lingered at the edge of the crowd. Solveig, with her long braids pinned up on her head in a crown and wearing a dark green tunic and white pants, was over by one of the tables, pouring glasses of fermented juice or whiskey for a few of the guests. Mahala went to her friend. Solveig set down the bottle from which she was pouring and moved toward the kitchen; Mahala followed her.
“I spoke to my parents before,” Solveig said as the door dosed. “My mother said that they’d wait about two or three hours and then announce that they’re going to walk with their son and his new bondmate to their home. Thorunn figures that most of the guests will decide to join them for the walk, and presumably the ones who don’t will take the hint and leave. Otherwise, Dyami might be stuck with some of these people until first light tomorrow.”
Mahala smiled. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Never underestimate how much advantage people will take of food and drink paid for by someone’s else’s credit.” There was a bitter edge to Solveig’s voice.
“We’d better go and have Amina record our names as witnesses.”
“I hope this makes Ragnar happy,” Solveig said in a whisper. “Our parents are pleased—the way they look at it, he’s settling down and doing his work and they won’t have to worry about him. I’m the one they’re worrying about now.”
“Why should they worry about you?” Mahala asked.
“They don’t believe that it wasn’t my fault somehow, having to leave Island Two. Einar thinks that maybe the Counselors and Administrators were being a bit too lenient by not putting a mark on my record. I went to see them yesterday, over at Ragnar’s house, after I met with a couple of teachers at the primary school.”
“Were you asking about work there?” Mahala asked, surprised that Solveig had said nothing to her about it.
“They said that they needed two aides. They told me that with my record of studies, I could probably become a teacher within a year if I do well in the classroom and master some teaching methods. So if I want to stay here in Turing, I can, assuming I can find a place to live.”
“You can stay here,” Mahala said. “With Frani gone, Dyami would have room.”
“I don’t know if I want to stay.” Solveig leaned against a counter. “Of course Einar and Thorunn think I’m mad to turn down an opportunity to become a teacher. But I could put in for Bat duty instead, which would help me build up a fair amount of credit before I decide on what to do next.”
“You can’t.” Mahala stepped toward Solveig. “You couldn’t.”
“Why not? Because it’s dangerous?”
“Because you’re of much more use to the Project elsewhere. Because that would be a real waste of what you’ve learned.”
Solveig said, “Ragnar’s putting in for Bat duty. He told me that yesterday. He hasn’t told our parents yet, but they’ll find out soon enough.”
Mahala gaped at her friend. “Bat duty?” She took a breath. “Has he told Frani?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But Frani won’t try to stop him—she’ll go along with whatever he wants.”
“But why?” Mahala asked.
“Because it’ll give him extra credit. He’ll have more status, too. He won’t be just a worker who wastes his time making trinkets and little sculptures and junk no one wants—he’ll be somebody who was brave enough to put in shifts on the Bat. Maybe then, he can win himself more time to do what he wants to do, and maybe others will be more willing to let him.”
“Frani won’t accept that,” Mahala said. “She’ll try to talk him out of it.”
“Maybe, but she won’t get anywhere. He’ll just point out that she’s training on shuttles and that piloting isn’t without its dangers and that she might be ferrying workers to and from the Bats and so they could see each other more often if he’s working there.”
Mahala shook her head. “He can’t. And you—”
“I haven’t decided anything,” Solveig said. “I’m just thinking about it. I can’t do the only kind of thing I really want to do, and now I have to decide—” She gave Mahala a look of despair, then moved toward the convection oven. “We’d better warm up some more dumplings for our guests.”
In spite of Solveig’s prediction, Einar and Thorunn did not begin to extricate themselves from the celebration until a few hours later. By then, some of the guests had already taken their leave, and a few others were noticeably intoxicated.
“We are going to leave you now,” Einar called out to the assemblage, “and accompany our son and his bondmate to their new home.”
“You are all welcome to walk there with us,” Thorunn added, her arm around Frania.
People milled around, finishing the last of the food. Mahala glared at a man who was about to make off with an unopened bottle of whiskey; at last he put the bottle back on the table and wandered away. There were some people here whom no one seemed to know well; she wondered how many had been invited and how many had simply decided to come to the party with friends.
Small groups of people drifted outside. Mahala looked around for Solveig, saw her with Ragnar and Frania, then moved toward the door. More people had gathered near the footbridge that led over the creek; this bondmate ceremony seemed to be Turing’s major social event of the month. Risa would have said that this was what came of taking occasions that called only for simple and private ceremonies and turning them into public spectacles, as more and more Cytherians were doing. “If you insist upon making a display of yourself,” Risa would mutter, “even strangers will want to come and see the show.”
But Mahala understood why people were increasingly going in for more elaborate rites, now that her own life seemed marked out for her. The only truly significant events of her life were likely to be such occasions as taking a bondmate, giving birth to a child, marking the deaths of people close to her. She would want to mark those times with some ceremony. Even Risa, whatever her feelings, had sent a lavish gift of whiskey for these festivities.
People threw flower petals at Ragnar and Frania as they left the house. Thorunn and Einar followed, with Solveig trailing them. Tasida made her farewells and hurried off; she had promised to check up on a patient.
Mahala hurried to Solveig’s side. One of her friend’s blond braids had come loose and hung over her shoulder. “How are you doing?” she whispered to her friend.
“Fine,” Solveig said softly. “I’m fine, Mahala. It’s a long walk, though.”
“I need the exercise after all that food.”
“I need it after all that whiskey.” Solveig’s words were slurred; she giggled. By the time they came to the footbridge, a procession was following them. Mahala looked around, but did not see Dyami or Amina; perhaps they had decided to stay and clean up after all of the guests were gone.
She slowed her pace, thinking of her uncle and Amina and Tasida and the effort they had put into this occasion, a rite they would probably never be able to celebrate themselves with those whom they loved. Some people in Turing might not see anything amiss if Amina and Tasida decided to pledge themselves as bondmates, but others would be appalled, and many of the Cytherians in other settlements would think it scandalous. People from Earth’s more rustic regions, people without much learning or many pretensions, probably made better settlers and harder workers for the Project, but such people had brought many of their prejudices with them to the new world.
The long line of celebrants wound its way through the western side of Turing’s north dome, past houses and the glassy square of the dome’s recycling center, then through the wooded region that bordered the small Buddhist shrine, which had a pale green roof and graceful dark columns that made it seem a part of the forest. People left their houses to walk with the procession; a few young people joined them, playing flutes and beating on small drums. By the time they came to the simple stone walls of the mosque, the evening call to prayer was sounding. A few of the older men dropped out of the line to unroll small prayer rugs and say their prayers, but most of the people continued to follow Frania and Ragnar toward the tunnel that led to the west dome.
People began to sing. As they moved along the gently sloping ramp that led under the north dome’s wall and into the lighted tunnel, people walking in the other direction moved aside to let them pass. The sounds of singing and flutes and drums echoed in the tunnel until Mahala seemed to feel the drumbeats throbbing inside herself. Others pressed around her; she realized suddenly that she had lost Solveig.
The crowd surged up the ramp and into the west dome. Mahala moved to one side, waiting for others to pass her. Ragnar and Frania had turned south, leading everyone toward a hill that was higher than any she had yet seen in the largely flat land that lay under the domes of Turing. The top of the hill had been planted with slender young trees, saplings that would grow quickly into an altered species of maple.
At first, in the fading light of evening, Mahala could not see the house. Then she glimpsed a glassy wall through the trees. She hurried toward the hill and followed the others toward the structure of wood and glass. Like Dyami, Ragnar had used a reflective material for one wall, so that he could look out but others could not look in. At the side of the house, surrounded by trees, was a triangular wing with a roof and a floor of green tiles on which a table and several low wooden chairs sat, but no walls. For a moment Mahala thought that Ragnar might not have finished building that part of the house yet, and then she realized that he had intended it to be an open space; the trees, when their trunks were thicker, would serve as a wall. The entrance to the house was under the open triangular wing.
People milled around under the wing’s roof, then began to drift away, calling out congratulations and farewells.
“What a strange dwelling,” a woman muttered at Mahala’s right. “I’ve never seen a house like that. Who ever heard of a room with no walls right in front of a doorway? It’s like inviting anybody who happens to wander by to sit down there.”
“Who’s going to wander by?” a gray-haired man near the woman said. “Being well away from any walkways, on this hill, with all those trees surrounding the place—I don’t get the feeling that young couple care to have many visitors.”
Mahala said, “I think it’s beautiful.” Seeing the house he had designed and built made her think that she was seeing a part of him. She suddenly felt a pang of regret that she would not be sharing this with Ragnar.
Frania and Ragnar lingered by the entrance as Einar and Thorunn hovered nearby. Mahala searched for Solveig again, then gave up and walked toward the couple. She had not had a chance to say anything to them after the ceremony besides a hasty “congratulations.”
She went to Frania, hugged her, then nodded at Ragnar. “I’m happy for you both,” she said, and part of her meant it.
Frania glanced at her bondmate. Mahala could not read the expression in Ragnar’s face. “I heard that you’re going to stay in Turing,” he said.
“Yes, I am.”
“Doing what?” he asked.
“Working with Tasida as a paramedic. She can use an assistant. She’s even thinking of adding anoth
er room to her offices, so we’ll have another infirmary—she doesn’t think the one near the refinery is enough, with more people living in Turing now.”
“Well, then. If I grow too discontented, you can always prescribe an implant or a metabolic adjustment or something else for me.” Mahala could not tell if he was joking or not.
“By the way,” Einar asked, “where is our daughter?”
“I don’t know,” Mahala said. “She was with me, and then I lost her. She probably went back to Dyami’s house.”
“Then you can tell her that we’re heading back to Hypatia tonight,” Einar said. “One of the pilots at the party told us there was room for more passengers on his airship, and better to leave this young couple by themselves on their first night in their new home.”
“They could use a few more teachers in Hypatia,” Thorunn added. “You might tell Solveig that, too.”
“I will,” Mahala said. “Farewell.”
“And thank Dyami and his housemates for us,” Einar said. “We reimbursed Amina for our share of the refreshments, but there aren’t too many houses that would have had room for all those people.”
“They were happy to do it,” Mahala said. “Farewell.”
Most of the guests had already left. Mahala went down the hill and back the way she had come, wondering if Solveig had gone back to Dyami’s house. She recalled what her friend had said in the kitchen, how unhappy and despairing she had looked, and suddenly feared for her.
She decided to take the long way back to Dyami’s house, along a pathway that led to the western side of the lake. From there, she could walk along the shore and then up the western side of the creek until she came to the footbridge. If Solveig was back at the house, there was nothing to worry about, and if she needed time to herself, she had probably gone to the lake, where few people were likely to be at this hour.
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