Storyteller

by Amy Thomson

  "I promise," she said. She gripped his hands, which were knotted together so tightly that his knuckles were white. "You're my son, Samad. Talk to me. Please."

  "I—" he began, but his throat was dry. He took a sip of water. "I like men, not women. As lovers, I mean."

  Teller's firm grip never wavered; her olive eyes never left his. "Yes," she said. "I was beginning to think so, too. I just didn't know if you knew it yet."

  "You knew?" he asked incredulously.

  Teller shrugged. "No. I suspected. Was that where you were going, those nights in Bindara?"

  He nodded, not quite able to believe how easily she was accepting this. "Are you angry?" he asked. "That I'm—"

  Teller laughed, "Lord no, Samad. Why would I be?"

  "Well, it's just that no one on Thalassa is . . ." He groped for words. "Like me," he finished.

  "Of course there are, Samad. What about Isidro and Demitrios? And there's Juana and Esther. And—"

  "Isidro and Demitrios? They're lovers?"

  "Why do you think they always convoy together? I thought you knew."

  Samad shook his head.

  "There are a lot of people like you on Thalassa, Samad. I'll make sure you meet them when we get home."

  "You're not disappointed? I mean, there aren't likely to be any grandchildren."

  Teller laughed, loud and long, harder than he'd heard her laugh in a long while. People at nearby tables stared at them. "Oh, Samad. I think I've got descendents enough,"

  she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "It really is all right. I don't mind. In some ways, it will be easier for you. You won't have to watch your children grow old. I of­fered rejuve to Barbara, and she refused it." Teller shook her head, eyes darkening. Samad could see her slipping back into the dark mood that had dominated her thoughts ever since she had learned that the rejuve had failed.

  "Hey," Samad said, deliberately interrupting her reverie, "the night is young, and we've escaped from the mau­soleum. Let's go dancing!"

  Teller smiled at him. "What a great idea! It's been ages since I've done that!"

  Teller's treatments ended two days later, and they flew back to Bindara. There was a message from the Pilots Union waiting on his console at the hotel, inviting Samad to visit their testing facility. He furtively memorized their address and comm code and then erased the message before Teller saw it.

  Teller kept him so busy with business meetings, shop­ping, and touring that it was a week before Samad was able to visit the Union's testing facility. The facility was elegant and expensive; something about it made Samad want to whisper so that he wouldn't disturb the quiet there. Turner ushered Samad into a well-appointed office. There was a tall console made of dark wood, with a panel of instruments. A pair of deferential technicians fitted a spiderweb of sensors over Samad's head and down his spine, dabbing anesthetic gel on each tiny lead. Despite the anesthetic, there was a prickling as the tiny sensors buried themselves in his skin. He flinched and shivered as they attached themselves to his nerves.

  After ten minutes, one of the technicians nodded to Turner. He turned a knob on one of the instruments and clicked a few buttons on his keypad.

  "Watch the red light, Ser Bernardia," Turner said.

  The red light danced and flickered for a moment or two, and then settled into a steady pulsing as it swung back and forth across the screen. The sensors seemed to generate a pleasant glow of warmth, and there was a steady humming that made him feel relaxed and a little drowsy. The red light receded into a dream of shifting lights and colors that felt timeless and very good in a way he couldn't quite find words for. It reminded him vaguely of the harsel's mindsongs.

  Then, suddenly, he was back in the testing facility, feel­ing disoriented and a little odd and disjointed. There was a tingle singing through his nerves. Turner handed him a drink. The tart, sweet liquid helped settle him back into re­ality. He glanced over at the technicians, who were examin­ing the printout with muffled excitement.

  "Well, Samad," Turner said, "how was your first taste of Jump Space?"

  "Was that what it was? I thought that it would be more . . ." He paused, shrugging. "Intense, I guess."

  "That was only a test, Samad. Real Jump Space is much more intense than that. Or so I'm told." One of the techni­cians handed Turner the printout. His face became carefully expressionless as he read it.

  "You're not a Pilot?" Samad asked when Turner looked up from his test results.

  Turner shook his head. "I only have a tiny bit of Talent. Enough to help set up the machines. But you ..." He paused. "Your tests are very promising."

  "I see," Samad said. He felt a rising excitement. "So you think I could become a pilot?"

  "Absolutely. If your Academy scores are as high as your test scores, you would have your choice of missions. You could go anywhere in known space that you want," Turner

  assured him. "If you'll step this way, we have some informa­tional tapes for you."

  He was ushered into a hushed, darkened room and shown several enthusiastic tapes of the brilliant future he had as a Jump pilot and the training he would receive. Then Turner showed Samad into a brightly lit office.

  "Well, Samad, are you excited?"

  "Yes," Samad admitted.

  Turner laid a brightly printed folder in front of him and opened it. "You've seen what we have to offer you. Do you think you'd like to become a pilot, Samad? Do you want the stars?"

  Samad nodded, but inwardly, his gut roiled with guilt.

  "Well, then, all you need to do is sign some forms, and we'll get you enrolled in a pretraining course. The physical shouldn't be any problem for a healthy young man like you." He slid a pen over to Samad.

  Samad took the first form out and started to read it, his mind whirling with excitement. Turner sat beside him, watching his face intently.

  "What about the guardianship issue? Legally, I'm still a minor," Samad asked, when he was finished reading the doc­ument. "My mother would never sign this. She doesn't want me to become a pilot."

  Turner shrugged. "Our lawyers can find a way around it. It would be a shame for a brilliant career like yours to be blighted by a bitter old woman."

  Samad remembered Teller's face, contorted with anger, and nodded. But thinking of Teller reminded him of all she had been through since they left Thalassa. She needed him. How could he leave her now? And yet, he had only to sign the documents, and his life would be his own. He picked up the pen, and then set it down again, still uncertain. Teller

  was old. Her life was nearly over. He wiped his palms on his pants and looked up at Turner.

  "How old are your recruits?" Samad asked.

  "Well, we prefer younger recruits," Turner told him. "We find that they adapt better to the training and the rig­ors of interstellar travel. But people in their thirties and even their forties have become pilots, and, with rejuve, had long and productive careers. However, the sooner you start, the sooner you'll be a Jump pilot. And the training will be much easier for you now."

  "I see," Samad said. "In that case, I think I'll wait."

  "What! Why?" Turner said, suddenly a little frantic. "You could start tomorrow!"

  "I have some obligations at home," Samad said. "May I take these documents with me?"

  "B-but you're turning down the opportunity of a life­time!" Turner stammered.

  "Only for a while," Samad said. He tucked the folder un­der his arm and tried to walk calmly out the door. He didn't want Turner to know how very much he wanted to sign those documents. He was terrified that the man would say something that would change his mind. But he owed Teller, and he always paid his debts.

  "Samad! Wait!" he heard Turner call as the door swung closed. Samad glanced at his chrono. Teller would be ex­pecting him home soon. Walking out of the recruiting of­fice had been hard, but the more he thought about it, the better he felt. The stars were not going anywhere. Much as he wanted his own life, he could wait until Teller was gone. He owed
her his life for that long. But when that debt had been paid, his life would be his own. Someday he would come back. Someday he, too, would have the stars.

  CHAPTER 13

  SAMAD STEPPED OFF THE SPACE SHUTTLE into Thalassa's spaceport. It was much smaller than the spaceport on Bindara or any of the half-dozen other worlds they had visited on the way home. The people passing through the port seemed sparse and a little lost, even in that small immensity. Now that he had seen other worlds, he knew just how much of a backwater Thalassa was.

  Still, it was good to be home again. From the moment he arrived, everything—the just-right gravity; the smells of falafel, olive oil, and the nearby ocean; the kiss of the wind on his face; and the polyglot ring of Thalassa's blend of lan­guages—embraced him and welcomed him home. A ten­sion that he hadn't known he felt slid from him. His face was stretched into an idiot's happy grin. Home.

  "Glad to be back?" Teller asked, with a fond smile.

  He nodded. "I didn't know how much I missed Thalassa

  until we landed. It's like slipping into a favorite pair of old shoes."

  "I know," Teller said. "It's like that for me, too. Let's drop our luggage at the Guild House and go over to Carlucci's to welcome our stomachs home."

  "That sounds great," he said. "I'm starving!"

  The next few weeks were an idyll of nostalgia and famil­iarity that all but erased his nascent desire to be a pilot. In between visits with old friends and familiar places, Teller took him to some of the better bars and coffee shops that catered to omophilos of both sexes. He was amazed at how many there we're, and the welcome they extended to Teller and him. Clearly Teller was as quietly respected here as she was everywhere else on Thalassa.

  While he appreciated Teller's kindness in introducing him to the other omophilos, he resented the number of older men who clearly considered it their duty to keep an eye on him for Teller. He remembered the forbidden excitement of his secret expeditions to the Bindaran bars. Looking for lovers with an audience of concerned parental figures watch­ing over him took the spice out of it all.

  In addition to introducing him to Nueva Ebiza's omophi­los community, Teller was busy catching up on all that had happened in their absence, reading back newspapers, meet­ing people, and listening. To his surprise, she took him along to the meetings and frequently asked his opinion on the discussions. Before the meetings, she was careful to ex­plain who they were talking to, and why these people were important, and what the purpose of the meeting was. After the meetings, she would quiz him about what he had learned and ask if he had any suggestions. It was rather like being an apprentice all over again, but what he was learning was so interesting that he did not mind.

  One evening, they were having a relaxing supper at a

  restaurant in the Old Harbor after a long afternoon of meetings.

  "I was rather pleased that we managed to keep Cabrillo reined in over the mining question." Teller was saying. "Mining's one of the hardest things to keep in check. Metal's in such short supply, even with the asteroid mining. I expect you'll have your hands full when you take over from me."

  "What do you mean, take over from you?" he demanded.

  "Samad, I've got maybe a dozen good years left. Someone needs to take over from me when I can't look after things anymore."

  "But why me?" he asked.

  "Because I trust you to do a good job. No one else knows my mind like you do. In many ways, I've been training you for this since the day I decided to adopt you."

  "Damn it, Teller, you could at least have asked me before you decided what I was going to do with the rest of my life!" He threw his napkin on the table and stalked out angrily.

  Samad walked down the waterfront, away from the pop­ular night spots and into the working part of the port, de­serted now that the workers were off shift. His anger cooled enough for him to think, but he was still furious at Teller for planning his future so callously. He leaned against a stack of empty shipping containers, feeling the rough wood catch on his shoulders. Perhaps he should go now, contact the Pilots Union, sign their paperwork, and leave Thalassa forever.

  He looked out across the graveled expanse of the ship­ping yard, across the dark, shining water that surged quietly in a gentle swell, to the lights of Nueva Ebiza, glistening like an overturned tray of jewels. A flock of night-flying kaala-oo birds flew by overhead, heading out to sea to fish. The sound of their wings was like rustling grass. He took a deep breath. Under the smell of oil, wet wood, and dry

  gravel, there was the scent of the sea, salty and familiar. Samad felt a lurch of sadness. It would be hard to leave again so soon. But living here meant being caged by Teller's plans and expectations.

  He heard footsteps on the dry gravel and looked up. A man was walking toward him; the collar of his dark wool fisherman's coat was turned up high against his face. Under his open coat he was shirtless.

  "Hey," said the man. "You here for some fun?" As he came closer, Samad could see that a small bead of bright steel pierced one nipple. There was a tiny bead of gold dan­gling from an earring, nearly hidden under the russet gleam of his hair. He was not poor, despite his shabby sandals and rough clothes.

  "Depends," Samad said carefully. "What kind of fun?"

  "Just guys, together. You know what kind of fun I'm talking about," he said with a sidelong look that was both flirtatious and challenging.

  Samad nodded, his breathing suddenly coming faster.

  The man came closer. "I was going to leave, but then I saw you, and suddenly I wasn't tired anymore." He stopped so close to Samad that he could smell the man's sweat and the familiar, musky scent of sex. "So. You interested?"

  Samad lifted his chin and leaned forward just a little. The man slid one hand behind Samad's head and drew him closer. They kissed. The man trailed one finger down Samad's chest, then cupped the urgent bulge in Samad's groin.

  "You're interested," the man confirmed with an eager grin. "Come on."

  Samad followed the man into a narrow maze of shipping containers. Then, suddenly, there was a gap in the rows of containers, and there, revealed by the fugitive moonlight were more than a dozen men, some watching, others having

  sex. Men appeared and vanished into the stacks of shipping containers. They skirted the opening and walked into an­other passageway. Samad could hear the soft sounds of flesh sliding against flesh and urgent cries of release or excitement.

  Then they were in a dark cul de sac, and the man knelt in front of Samad. It was so dark that Samad could only just make out the faint gleam of the man's reddish hair as the stranger took Samad's cock in his mouth. Samad lifted his head and stared up at the moon. He felt wild and free again, out from under Teller's well-meaning thumb. Samad gave himself up to the simplicity of sensation.

  Samad stayed until the sky grayed toward dawn and the other men scattered. He walked along the deserted water­front. The moon Amphitrite setting behind Mount Eularia looked pale and spent in the coming dawn. He was tired and sore, but his anger had vanished in satiation. He was too tired to think anymore. All he wanted was sleep. He would worry about Teller after he woke up.

  Teller cracked the door to Samad's room and peered inside. He was still asleep, which was no surprise. The gray light of dawn had been shining around the edges of the curtains when she finally heard him come in. She had been awake for several hours, worrying over his angry refusal of all she had offered him. If only she had not sprung it on him so abruptly. She cursed herself for her blunder. It was not how she had planned to tell him. But there was no taking back her mistake now. It would be best not to mention it for a while. She would wait until Samad came forward with some questions.

  Teller eased Samad's door shut again and tiptoed down to breakfast. Her business in Nueva Ebiza was nearly done. In a few more days, they would resume their usual peripatetic routine. Once they were traveling again, she would have to

  find ways to show him that no one else on Thalassa had the training and prepar
ation needed to keep their world green and peaceful.

  Samad woke in the late afternoon, feeling sore but pleased with himself after last night's adventure. At last he had found a place where he could escape Teller's all-encompassing oversight. He got out of bed and stretched luxuriously. He had no idea what to do about Teller's expec­tations for him. They were impossible to live up to. He hoped that she would soon realize it and leave him alone. But he wasn't ready to leave Thalassa yet. For the time be­ing, he would leave things as they were. There would be time for him to realize his own dreams later.

  The issue of whether Samad would take up Teller's mantle loomed silently between them for almost a year. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge its existence. Life was much the same as it had always been. But now Teller included him in meetings with an amazing assortment of people: everyone from important public officials and wealthy merchants to fishwives and members of the Beggars' Guild.

  "Teller, why are there beggars on Thalassa?" Samad asked one afternoon after leaving a meeting with the head of the Beggars' Guild about how the drought had affected their guild members in the Solegiatta Archipelago.

  Teller looked out across the hills to the deep blue sea and shook her head. "I tried for centuries to eliminate poverty, Samad. But you can't completely eradicate poverty without taking away people's freedom to make bad choices as well as good ones. At least no one starves on Thalassa, unless they're too stubborn to accept help."

  She sighed. "I'm not God, Samad. I can't control what choices people make. I have done my best to help generations of good-hearted, compassionate people provide help for anyone who needs it. If you are hungry, there is food; if you are naked, there are clothes; if you need shelter, there are places to take you in. If you're crazy, or poor, or escaping a bad marriage, there is help. And even that doesn't always work. I thought that everything was finally working well, and then I met a child who was hungry, cold, and had no one to take care of him."

  "Me?" Samad asked.

  Teller nodded. "So I took you in, but I also started work­ing with the Guild and others to help all the other lost chil­dren. We found homes for many of them. And best of all, we were able to keep others from getting lost. Every few years, I find a crack where people fall through. And I do what I can to make sure that it's filled. But new cracks are always open­ing up. And sometimes there just aren't any solutions. Peo­ple choose to drink, take drugs, gamble, whatever. And even if I did have some magic wand that I could wave to make them stop, I wouldn't. People have a right to make bad choices as well as good ones, Samad. If that choice was taken away from them, then this wouldn't be a world I could live on. I stopped trying to construct a Utopia a long, long time ago. I've just tried to help make Thalassa a world where it was easy to live a happy life."