“I believe so, if they could be assured we will not attempt to meddle in their culture or violate their laws again. The delegates are here to evaluate us. We are on probation, as it were.”
The thought of another expedition to Gammadis made Val’s heart fly. She leaned across the table and said intently, “If we go back to Gammadis, Magister, I want to be on the team.”
He evaluated her with an enigmatic smile. “First we must convince them to allow us back.” His smile faded. “Unfortunately, Tedla’s presence here is one of the principal grievances to be ironed out. When they first asked about Tedla’s welfare, we had completely lost track of it. We led them to believe—in fact, we thought ourselves—that it was still on C4D. When we found we were mistaken, WAC launched an all-out search.”
“I understand,” Val said. She also understood why the news of Tedla’s mental condition had so upset him. It did not make Capella look good.
“What are you going to tell the Gammadians?” she asked.
“Nothing, right away,” he said, looking troubled. “First, we need to find if there is a way to repair Tedla’s problem—somehow make up for the damage we have done.”
He seemed to be taking it very personally. Val said gently, “Tedla’s problem may not be our fault.”
“I’m afraid I can’t be as sanguine as you,” Gossup said. “Tedla was never supposed to be here in the first place. Its transportation was one of the many breakdowns in our procedures during the debacle of those last few days on Gammadis. Quite a few things went on that never should have happened. From the Gammadians’ point of view, Tedla’s immigration here was little better than a kidnapping. If Tedla has suffered harm, that can hardly help but be our fault.”
Knowing how carefully planned expeditions were, and how extensively the researchers were trained, Val found it hard to imagine such a total breakdown. “How did it happen?” she said.
“Most of it can be laid at the door of Alair Galele.”
“The team’s exoethnologist?” Val said.
“Yes. He lost his objectivity about Gammadian society. He formed some sort of idea of bringing them more into line with Capellan values.”
“But that’s...self-defeating,” Val said. She had almost said “unprofitable.” Every exoethnologist she knew cursed the rapidity with which cultures blended when exposed to one another. The ethnologist’s job was often a race against inevitable assimilation. True cultural isolation was vanishingly rare in the information bath of the Twenty Planets—and correspondingly valuable. New variants of culture, like new variants of biology, were rare jewels—which was exactly why WAC wanted them.
“This man had unorthodox professional ethics,” Gossup said with a tight-lipped reserve. “He never would have been on the team if they hadn’t had so much trouble recruiting. Perhaps I am being too easy on him. He was not just misled; he was evil.”
A startled silence followed. Val had never heard Gossup speak so forcefully against someone.
He went on, “But we compounded his corruption by failing to realize what was happening. We failed to protect Tedla from him. In that way, we were culpable. I would prefer the Gammadians not know how badly.”
Val was drawing breath to ask a question, but Gossup said, “I’m sorry, I can’t be more specific, Valerie. Take my word for it.”
“So what do we do now?” Val said.
Gossup appeared relieved to turn away from the past and toward the future, where he could be in control. “The first step is obviously to get Tedla admitted to a curatory, to be thoroughly evaluated by our mentationists. I will speak to Monseigneur Bolduc at the Connuic curatory, and ask him to make a place available. They are very good, and very discreet.” He paused, looking carefully at Val. “I need not mention, Valerie, that discretion is essential. What the delegation and the public learn, and when they learn it, must be under our control.”
For the first time in her life, she had the heady feeling of controlling some truly valuable information. “I can be very discreet, Magister,” she said, “as long as I am part of the team dealing with the situation.”
He paused; perhaps, she thought, she hadn’t bargained with the proper delicacy. At last he said, “Of course. That goes without saying. We will need your help, Valerie. There is a great deal of research to do.”
Research wasn’t what she’d had in mind, but she would settle for it. After all, a magister minor couldn’t push her luck too far. “I suppose,” she said, “if I’m to help with research, that I’ll be given access to WAC’s proprietary files on Gammadis.”
Gossup paused. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Good,” she said.
“As well as a stipend,” he added.
“If you think WAC can afford it,” she said wryly.
“I’ve always enjoyed your honesty, Valerie,” Gossup said inscrutably. He pressed his thumb on the menu screen to pay for their drinks. “WAC will want to send someone to fetch Tedla to Connuic. You can come, if you like.”
“I would like,” Val said. “Besides, I think Tedla might be more comfortable having a friend along.” The thought of turning Tedla over gave her a pang, but it was the only moral thing to do. “Give me an hour before you send someone, so I can get Tedla used to the idea.”
***
She saw her family coming up the walk as she was approaching the copartment complex: Max and Tedla on either side, Deedee in the middle, holding Tedla’s hand. The neuter was still wearing the scrounged clothes from the clinic: baggy, dilapidated pants and a clashing pullover. Between that and the bandage on its head, Tedla looked like a good candidate to be locked up in a curatory.
Deedee saw her and came racing down the pumice walkway. “Mama! I learned a song! Do you want to hear it?” Without waiting for an answer, Deedee sang out,
***
Inky dinky diddle die
Tell a patternist a lie
She will sell it by and by
Inky dinky diddle die.
***
“That’s very nice, Deedee,” Val said.
Max and Tedla had come up during this performance. Val looked at Tedla and said, “Gammadian, I presume?”
Tedla blushed. “It’s not a very polite limerick, I’m afraid.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Deedee pulled on Tedla’s hand. “You were going to come see Biff.”
“All right,” Tedla said.
“We’ll join you in a second,” Val said. They watched Deedee dragging Tedla to the door. “They’re getting inseparable,” Val said with some misgivings.
Max looked at her inquiringly. She said, “I’ve been busy this morning, and found out a lot. Max, you’ve got to keep this absolutely quiet, but there’s a delegation from Gammadis here, negotiating about reopening their planet. WAC has been looking high and low for Tedla. I’ve managed to wangle myself a contract with them in exchange for letting them know where Tedla is. It could be really profitable.”
She had expected him to be overjoyed, but he only said, “What happens to Tedla?”
“It’ll be admitted to a curatory for treatment.”
“If you want my layman’s opinion,” he said, “Deedee’s better therapy than a whole herd of mentationists.”
Val felt a pang of self-doubt.
When they came into the copartment, Max went to order lunch, and Val went into Deedee’s room. She found her daughter and the alien both sitting on the floor conferring over a toy.
Val said, “Tedla, I’ve got to find some better clothes for you. You look like a ghoulnight effigy in those. Come here, I think some of Max’s clothes might fit you.”
Tedla rose and followed her obediently, but said, “I don’t mind these clothes, really.”
“Well, you’ve got an appointment this afternoon at the Connuic curatory. I don’t want them to think I dressed you out of the recycle bin.” She went to Max’s closet and chose some pants that had gotten too tight for him, and a white shirt.
&
nbsp; “Nothing too masculine,” Tedla said nervously. “I hate it when people treat me as if I were a man.”
Surprised, Val said, “Don’t worry, we’ll be in UIC; it’s gender-neutral.”
“There’s no such thing,” Tedla said. “You think so, but laws can’t change people’s instincts.”
She smiled. “I think you overestimate how steeped in sexuality we are. It doesn’t dominate our waking thoughts, you know.”
“You’re not even conscious of it, for the most part, but it’s always there. It’s very subtle: levels of formality, types of language, deference, rivalry, respect. Even your voices and the way you hold your bodies change, depending on which sex you’re with. I don’t know why you don’t find it oppressive, except that you’re so used to it.”
This statement would have surprised her before this morning. “So,” she said, “you were a student of xenology at C4D.”
“Oh. Yes.” Tedla looked as if she had reminded it of something that had happened decades ago, and had long since ceased to be relevant.
“Who did you study with?”
“Magister Delgado.”
“He’s good. You must have been very good yourself, to get in his program.”
Tedla looked away uncomfortably. “No. I wasn’t any good. He took me on as an experiment, to see if I could do it.”
“And could you?”
“No. I dropped out.”
“Why?”
Tedla paused a moment, as if trying to remember. “It wasn’t what I expected. It seemed as if we grad students were like a pack wrestling for dominance, determining who was the alpha male through the size of his bibliography.”
Val broke out laughing. “Yes, that’s right,” she said. Seeing Tedla’s startled look, she realized it hadn’t intended to be funny. She said, “Maybe you analyze too much, Tedla.”
The neuter shrugged. “It’s what I was taught. I don’t have any other skills.”
Val chose a different shirt. “Is this non-gendered enough?”
Tedla inspected it. “I suppose so.”
Tedla went into the studium to change, and Val sat down at the dinery table. Max said, “Did you tell Tedla?”
“Not the whole story,” Val said uncomfortably. “I got a critique of Capellan gender relations. I never know if I’m going to be talking to a child or a visiting xenologist. Why is this so hard, Max?”
In a low voice, Max said, “We could fight them, you know. They’ve got no right to control Tedla’s life. If Tedla wants to stay here, it has a perfect right.”
Val looked up in disbelief. “Go up against WAC? Maybe you can fight them. I’ve got a career.”
He gave her a long look, but didn’t answer.
Soon, lunch arrived, and Max called Deedee in to the table. Since there was no sign of Tedla, Val got up, tapped on the studium door, then looked in. Tedla was dressed, but sitting on the bed looking pensively at the picture of Deedee Val kept on the terminal. She saw at once that the mood had changed. She closed the door behind her. “Tedla?” she said softly.
Tedla wiped its eyes, then glanced at her self-consciously. “I’m sorry,” it said. “I was just thinking.”
Val sat down beside it. “What of?”
“It’s silly.”
“No, tell me.”
Tedla paused, not looking at her. “They say we’re not capable of love. They say all blands can feel is a kind of dumb, animal devotion. But I think of those blands who raised us, and I think of Deedee...” It turned to look at her. “What is it you feel for her? What is it like?”
“I don’t think I can describe it,” Val said. “If you feel it, you just know it’s love.”
“I wish there were some way for me to feel it,” Tedla said. “I envy you so much. To be able to give yourself to someone else, to have someone who trusts you like they trust the sun to rise, and to deserve it. It seems like something worth living for, to have a person you would never let down.”
Touched, Val took Tedla’s hand and squeezed it. This time, Tedla didn’t draw away.
“I wish there were some way to protect her,” Tedla said softly, “so she would never have to experience ugliness, or malice, or betrayal.”
I wish there were some way to protect you, Val thought.
They sat in silence for a while, holding hands.
There was a tap on the door, and Max looked in. “There are some goons from WAC at the door,” he whispered.
The moment was gone. But somehow, Val knew her heart had turned.
Briskly, she stood to evaluate the new clothes. “That bandage has to go,” she said. “It makes you look deranged.” She fetched a scissors and snipped it off, then brushed Tedla’s hair over the scab. Then she made Tedla stand up. The effect was rather masculine; she found it quite attractive, but was careful not to say so.
“Tedla, you don’t mind going to the curatory, do you?” she said.
“No,” it said. “I know there’s something wrong with me.”
A part of her ached as she turned to the door.
They weren’t goons, of course—merely two well-dressed young men with security badges. To Val’s surprise, one of them was from Epco. Polite and businesslike, the WAC man led the way from the copartment.
As they headed toward the waystation, Tedla whispered to her, “Why are these men here? Do they think I’m dangerous?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “It’s—well, a professional courtesy.”
“I see,” Tedla said, as if unconvinced.
It was evening in Connuic and Gomb was high in the sky, but since the curatory functioned on university time, everyone was still on dayshift. They were met in the lobby by a youngish man with a smooth, pale face and a fashionably receding hairline that gave him a large-brained look. He shook Val’s hand cordially and introduced himself as Magister Surin, a mentationist. Then he looked past her and said, “And this must be Tedla.”
He didn’t offer to shake Tedla’s hand, a fact Val noted with an irrational surge of resentment. She glanced apologetically at Tedla, but the neuter appeared not to have noticed. Surin said to Tedla, “If you’ll come with me...” His voice signalled that he was taking over.
Val watched them go off together. The two goons were still at her side, and for a moment she had a ludicrous thought that they had been sent to guard her, not Tedla. The WAC man said, “I believe Magister Gossup is upstairs waiting for you, Magister Endrada. I can take you there now, if you like.”
“Yes. Please,” Val said.
The top floor of the curatory was quiet with private wealth. They passed down a corridor sumptuously furnished in rare antiques: hand-knotted Malvern wall hangings, Gundic roof tiles, a mint-condition Terran hubcap in a theftproof box. When she entered the meeting room, three men and a woman rose from leather seats. Magister Gossup made the introductions: Monseigneur Bolduc was the senior curator—a thin, delicate-looking, white-haired man. Pym and Shankar were capitalists. Pym was from WAC; Shankar, the woman, was from Epco. They had the look of people who could buy the curatory lock, stock, and barrel. The curator had the look of someone who knew that. The strong smell of politics filled the room.
“Thank you for coming,” Pym said, holding her hand slightly longer than necessary. He looked in his fifties, but it was probably a surgical youthfulness. He went on, “We are glad that you have signed on to help us, Magister Endrada. WAC will put your expertise to good use.”
He spoke like he owned her. Val felt a moment of rebellion, then stifled it. He did own her, as long as she needed that stipend.
The capitalist from Epco smiled warmly at her and said something complimentary. Val wondered again how Epco had gotten involved in the short time since she had spoken to Magister Gossup. Things moved fast in the infomarket world.
They all sat around a coffee table by a window looking out on a spangled cityscape of lights, lit twilight pink by the gas giant in the sky. There were the usual polite offers of drink, and comments on how the week
had simply flown by. Val was acutely aware that she was on exhibit, being checked over for trustworthiness. At last Shankar said to her, “We are in your debt for your quick action in finding Tedla for us, Magister Endrada. We had grown quite stumped as to its whereabouts since leaving C4D. There is no telling how long we might have looked if you hadn’t been so alert.”
At last remembering something Joan had told her, Val said, “Tedla was on an Epco scholarship?”
“Yes. We were extremely pleased with its progress, and were looking forward to giving it a contract. Another month, and it would have had a degree. Yes, Tedla has the best education Capella can offer, purchased at considerable expense.”
So that was why they were involved. They didn’t want their investment to go to waste. If WAC owned Val, Epco owned Tedla.
“It has occurred to us,” Monseigneur Bolduc said with a slight hesitation, “that the education itself might be what unbalanced Tedla’s mind. No Gammadian asexual has ever tried to compete in a Capellan-class institute. The stress might have caused harm.”
The same argument had once been used to deny an education to unpopular minorities. Val didn’t like the sound of it. She quoted the old slogan: “Culturally appropriate education?”
For a moment they all looked startled, and Val wished she had reined in her tongue. Bolduc said, “That’s not what I intended to suggest.”
Pym said, “No, of course not.”
Shankar looked at Val with an implicit wink, as if she were a secret ally.
“We have actually been quite impressed with the Gammadian state of knowledge in certain areas,” Pym said conversationally. “You should have heard the delegates talking genetics with the specialists at Paratuic. It was above my head, I can tell you that. It seems they are in the market for methods of artificial gestation. They have difficulty keeping their population up—not exactly a problem on the other worlds!” He chuckled. “Maybe we need to call in Imachinations.” It was a company famous for erotic simulations.
A little coldly, Shankar said, “That might be counterproductive.”
“That’s right,” Pym said jocularly. “Synthetic experiences aren’t what they need. They need the real thing.”
Halfway Human Page 9
