by Neil Clarke
That was the attitude that was behind what Kislan had said. He had not mentioned “rodela” like something he could easily do without, he had mentioned it with regret, like something denied to him. Even if the words were translated with their correct meanings, the sentence made no sense, at least not on any world in the Allied Interstellar Community. Men are not regarded as masculine if they learn writing.
“Is it forbidden?” Toni asked.
Kislan frowned, nodding. “It is not done. I know no man capable of rodela.”
Toni took a deep breath. Suddenly everything about the Mejan looked completely different. The world had tilted and turned upside-down, and now the Christmas tree was right-side up. She couldn’t believe how blind they had been, how blind she had been.
Except, perhaps, Repnik.
Of course, the first contact team had been plagued by bad luck from the start—or was it?—with no sociologist, no one to talk to the women, and a xenolinguist who was deliberately deceiving everyone. But that did not excuse the extent of the misunderstanding, and it certainly did not excuse her own mistakes. She’d felt that something was off, but she had allowed her own inherited attitudes to keep her from figuring out what it was.
“And the wall hangings?” she asked, beginning to pace. “What are those?”
He shrugged. “Genealogies, histories, famous stories. Fashar.”
Documents, books perhaps. Another word which would have to be changed. Translated as “lace” in the present dictionary. The books, the writing, it had been there right in front of their faces all this time. This had implications for their whole analysis of the language.
She stopped and turned to face him. “I have to speak with Repnik.”
“Dai eden mashal.” Which meant the same as “good” but was expressed in verb form. And if she had said the same thing to another woman, it would have been “dai desh mashal.”
But after this, she would probably never trust her knowledge of another language again.
17
The story of the young poet
Recorded 30.09.157 by Landra Saleh, retranslated 06.12.157 (local AIC date) by Antonia Donato.
As long as she could remember, Zhaykair had only one dream—to become the greatest poet the Mejan had ever known. All young girls are taught the basics of writing, but Zhaykair would not stop at that. She begged the women of her village to teach her their way with words, the patterns they created, and she quickly found the most talented writer among them. Saymel did not belong to Zhaykair’s house, but the families reached an agreement, and the little girl was allowed to learn from Saymel, although the job of Zhaykair’s house was raising cattle.
But before she had seen nine summers, Zhaykair had learned all Saymel had to teach her. She begged her clan to allow her to go to the city of Edaru, where the greatest poets of the Mejan lived. Her mothers and fathers did not want to send her away, but Saymel, who could best judge the talent of the young girl, persuaded them to inquire if the house of Mihkal would be willing to take her on.
The elders sent a messenger to the Mihkal with some of Zhaykair’s poems. They had feared being ridiculed for their presumption, but the messenger returned with an elder of the house of Mihkal to personally escort Zhaykair to the great city of Edaru.
Zhaykair soon learned all the Mihkal clan could teach her. Her poetry was in such great demand, and there were so many who wanted to learn from her, that she could soon found her own house. Her works now grace the walls of all the greatest families of the Mejan.
18
Toni found Repnik in the main square of Edaru, leaving the school of the house of Railiu, where boys memorized a wealth of Mejan legends and songs and were taught basic mathematics and biology and navigational skills.
But no crocheting.
“Sir!” Toni called out, rushing over to him. “I need to speak with you. Can we perhaps return to the contact house?”
“You can return to the contact house, Donato. I am going out to lunch with Sebair, the rector of the Railiu school.”
Sebair strolled next to Repnik with his hand to his forehead, and Toni returned the gesture, greeting him less graciously than she should have.
“Sha bo sham, tajan,” Sebair said in response, smiling despite her lack of manners.
“Mr. Repnik,” Toni persisted. “I really need to speak with you. It’s very important.”
“I am sure you think it is. But you have a job to do, and what you have to tell me can wait until I get back to the lab.”
Toni took a deep breath. “I know. What you’ve been trying to
hide.”
Repnik’s stride faltered, but his confidence didn’t, at least not as far she could tell. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know that as far as the Mejan are concerned, I am the head of this contact team. And I know that they do have a system of writing.”
Repnik stopped in his tracks. “You know what?”
So it seemed he hadn’t gotten that far. He wasn’t a good enough actor to fake that stare of surprise. He knew the women were the ones with the final say around here, but not what the crocheting really was. Toni felt a surge of satisfaction.
“And I also know that you’ve been trying to hinder the research of the first contact team.”
An angry flush covered the chief linguist’s face. “Ms. Donato, you are hallucinating.”
“I don’t think so. So don’t you want to know what the system of writing is?”
Repnik snorted. “There is none. I knew before you came to Christmas that a woman dealing with a woman’s language would lead to problems.”
Finally, Toni could no longer control her temper. “Obviously not as many problems as a man dealing with a men’s language,” she spat out.
She saw his hand come up as if the moment were being replayed in slow motion. She knew it meant he was about to slap her, but she was too surprised to react. From that observing place in her mind, she saw Sebair start forward and try to stop Repnik, but then the flat of his palm met her cheek, the sting of pain sending tears to her eyes.
She lifted her own palm to cover the spot. Suddenly, utter silence reigned in the main square, everyone gaping at her and her boss. Then, just as suddenly, chaos broke out. The men who had been going about their business only minutes before converged upon Repnik and wrestled him to the ground.
Toni stood frozen, staring at the scene in front of her. Repnik had struck a mother.
The old man struggled beneath the three young men who held him down. “What is the meaning of this?” he yelled in Alnar ag Ledar.
Suddenly Lanrhel was there next to them. Toni wondered when he had joined the fray.
“Let him rise,” the Councilor said.
The voluntary guards pulled Repnik to his feet, and Lanrhel faced him. “You know enough of our laws to know that to strike a mother means you must be returned to the sea.”
Repnik wrenched one arm free and pointed at Toni. “She is no mother.”
Lanrhel didn’t even bother to answer, turning instead to Toni. “Tajan, do you need assistance?”
She was too confused to come up with the right gesture and shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. Let him go, please.”
A firm hand took her elbow. “Come.” Anash.
“But Repnik . . . ”
“Come. He must go with Lanrhel now.”
Toni allowed herself to be led away to the common house and a small, private room. A basin of water was brought, and Anash pushed her into a chair and bathed her stinging cheek gently.
“You won’t really throw him out to sea, will you?” Toni finally asked.
“I do not know yet what we will do. We have a dilemma.”
They certainly did. Toni didn’t even know if Repnik could swim. And if he could, he wouldn’t be allowed to swim to shore. She didn’t like him, but—a death sentence for a slap? “You can’t give him back to the sea. He is not from this world. Where he’s from, it’s not a crime to
slap a woman.”
“Then it should be,” Anash said grimly.
Anash was defending her, but it didn’t feel like it. “Don’t do this to him, please.”
“How can you defend him after all the disrespect he has shown you?”
If Toni hadn’t felt so horrible, she almost would have been tempted to laugh. That was the kind of reasoning shown by aristocracies and intolerant ruling powers throughout the histories of all the worlds she had ever visited. Disrespect as a capital crime.
Repnik hadn’t been right to try to keep the truth from the first contact team, but he hardly deserved to walk the plank. Until this morning, she’d thought these women needed to be defended from the likes of Rep-nik. Now everything was on its head, everything.
As if to prove her point, Kislan entered the room, shutting the door gently behind him. He stared at her expectantly, and she finally remembered to greet him.
“Sha bo sham, Kislan.”
“Sha bo sham, Toni.” He approached and gave her a kiss, right in front of Anash.
His clan knew. They must have given him to her. Like a present. She was the visiting dignitary, and he was her whore. Had he thrown himself in her way willingly, or had he been forced to seek her out?
Toni pushed herself out of the chair, away from Kislan, and wandered over to the window. The central square of Edaru was unusually quiet for this time of day, just before the midday meal. People stood in small groups of two or three, speaking with earnest faces, spreading the news. By evening, the whole city would know that a man of the people from the sky had committed a grave crime against the sole woman of the contact team. If nothing was done, not only would Anash’s authority be undermined, the first contact team would be seen as lawless and immoral.
She glanced up, above the rooftops of the buildings on the other side of the square, to the faint daytime hint of the lacy patterns in the sky, formed by the rings of Christmas.
The sky.
The old man wouldn’t thank her, but she might have a way to save Repnik, keep him from being thrown into the ocean, and send him home safely.
“I have an idea,” she breathed. “Criminals are returned to the sea, because that is where they are from, yes?”
Anash shook her head, watching Toni carefully.
“But the people of the first contact team do not come from the sea, they come from the sky.”
“You are right,” the older woman said. “This might be a solution.”
Toni was the visiting dignitary, she had to remember that. “It is the only solution we can consider,” she said in what she hoped was a voice of command.
Anash gazed at her as an equal. “Then we will give him back to the sky.”
The ceremony took place on a sunny but cool afternoon three days later. Before arrangements could be made with the Penthesilea, they had to wait until the ship made contact itself. The taciturn Moshofski handled that end once Ainsworth overrode Repnik’s commands, while Toni spent her time at the house of Ishel and in consultations with Lanrhel—aside from the one-sided shouting matches with Repnik, who was being kept under guard in the common house. Repnik had made it very clear that he intended to take Toni to interstellar court on charges of mutiny and conspiracy.
And if AIRA believed him, she was saving him to dig her own grave.
A construction resembling a pier was hastily built on a plain outside of town, between Edaru and the landing base. Although it was something of a trek for the town residents, several thousand people had made the trip to see Repnik returned to the sky.
With his head shaved, the old xenolinguist looked even older, gaunt and bare and bitter. Toni wished she didn’t have to watch, let alone participate. The rest of the first contact team had elected to stay at home.
With a guard on either side, Repnik was accompanied down the waterless pier, Anash, Toni, and Thuyene a few paces behind. A shuttle from the Penthesilea waited at the end, Lanrhel and Ainsworth beside the door. Finally Repnik and his guards reached the councilor, and Lanrhel announced in his booming voice, “Mukhaired ag Repnik bonaashali der-ladesh.” Repnik’s shame will now certainly be purged. He then ordered the older man to strip. When Repnik refused, his guards stripped him forcibly.
Toni looked away. His humiliation was painful to see, his skinny, white flesh hanging loosely on his bones. He would hate her for the rest of his life, and she could hardly blame him.
Then Anash’s hand on her elbow was urging her forward, pressing a bit of lace into her hand. A written record of Repnik’s time on Christmas. Toni took a deep breath, looked up, and flung the fashar through the open doors of the shuttle.
Ainsworth nodded a curt goodbye, turned, and followed Repnik. The doors whisked shut, and the shuttle lifted off the ground.
After the ceremony, Anash led her to a small carriage to take her back to town. She was no longer surprised that the driver was Kislan again, and only a little surprised that Anash didn’t join them.
Kislan was her present, after all.
If only Toni knew what to say, what to feel. He was still just as handsome, but she wasn’t drawn to him in the same way as she had been only days before. She did not like what it said about herself, that she suddenly saw him so differently. Now he was a supplicant, whereas before he had been exotic and distant, a man of good standing in a powerful clan, nearly unattainable.
And she found that she didn’t have the same feelings for someone who had been given to her as a welcoming gift.
“What is wrong, Toni?” Kislan asked gently after she hadn’t spoken for minutes. His pronunciation of her name was a little like that of her Italian grandmother, and she had an odd impulse to cry.
“I don’t know. I can’t figure anything out.”
“I thought you did not like Repnik?”
“No.”
“Then why are you upset?”
“Things are so much stranger here than I thought. I’m confused. I need to think things out.”
“And thinking things out includes me, yes?”
For a moment, Toni couldn’t answer. “Yes.”
Kislan looked away from her, concentrating on the road, and didn’t speak again.
She arrived at Contact House One just as the lacy show of evening was beginning, her heart and mind a mess. The world was on its head and there were holes in the sky.
At the sound of hooves and wheels on the cobblestones, Sam, Jackson and Moshofski came out of the door to the courtyard, their expressions solemn.
Sam helped her down. “Ainsworth contacted us from the shuttle. They had to sedate Repnik.”
Toni closed her eyes briefly. “I’m so sorry.”
“No need, Donato,” Jackson said. “Repnik was deliberately hindering AIRA work. And your plan kept him from being thrown into the sea.”
“We’ve started to question what really happened to Landra,” Moshofski added.
“I’ve been wondering about that too.”
“We mentioned our suspicions to Ainsworth, and there will be an investigation,” Jackson said.
She could only hope their suspicions were unfounded.
But Jackson wasn’t done. “Given our new insights into the social structures on Christmas, you’re to head the first contact team in future when dealing with the Mejan.”
A smile touched Moshofski’s serious features. “But in the lab, I’m to be the boss. Seniority, you know.”
She could hardly believe it. “Certainly.”
“Sam baked a cake to celebrate the two promotions,” Jackson said. “Shall we test his talents?”
“I’ll follow you in a minute.”
The three men filed back into the contact house, and she came around the carriage to Kislan’s side. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He gazed at her, not answering.
Toni looked away, at the sky above, the fabulous sunset over Edaru. “I’m sorry. I do not know what to think now. I will come see you again soon, and we can talk. Perhaps I can teach you our way of writing.”
Toni shook her head. “Yes.”
Steve Rasnic Tem’s last novel, Blood Kin (Solaris, 2014), won the Bram Stoker Award. His latest novel, UBO (Solaris, January 2017), is a dark science fictional tale about violence and its origins, featuring such viewpoint characters as Jack the Ripper, Stalin, and Heinrich Himmler. He is also a past winner of the World Fantasy and British Fantasy Awards. A handbook on writing, Yours To Tell: Dialogues on the Art & Practice of Fiction, written with his late wife Melanie, recently appeared from Apex Books.
A LETTER FROM THE EMPEROR
Steve Rasnic Tem
Amishap occurred four sleeps from landfall. Jacob had been logging observations when he heard the alarm, so by the time he got down to the cargo bay it was all over. The bay door was breached. He stared at the switch through the window—it had been opened from inside the bay. Whatever had been inside the bay had been swept out into space.
“Anders?” he called through com. He waited. There was no answer. Ship command buzzed in his ear. There are indications that Anders Nils . . . Jacob shut the communication off. He didn’t want to hear what command had to say. He went looking for Anders.
The forward crew cabin was empty. As were the toilets, the shower, records, navigation, engineering, recreation, general stores. Jacob had been in the recording room when the alarm went off. He systematically tried every compartment, passage, pipe, even the output trays of the garbage grinders. There was no place left to look. “Anders, please report your whereabouts,” he called through com. Again no answer.
He waited. He turned the link to ship command back on. “Please report the whereabouts of Anders Nils,” he said aloud.