I don’t think either of us fully understood how dangerous was the territory he was leading me into. His indulgence tempted my thoughts into unrealistic paths. Not that I was in danger of forgetting I was a bland—the other blands saw to that. It is impossible to sleep in a roundroom and maintain any sense of separation. But I was getting far too interested in humans and their doings.
***
It was shortly after Leastday that we learned that one of the aliens was coming to Menoken Lodge.
Down in the roundroom, we had been only vaguely aware that another, larger, delegation of aliens had arrived on our planet. Looking back on it, I realize WAC must have sent the second contingent before the first had even arrived. They must have been very confident of their diplomats’ ability to win us over. I wonder what they would have done if we had proved to be hostile barbarians who had killed or enslaved their First Contact team. Fortunately for them, we were ready to give their researchers a courteous welcome.
Well, almost all of us. Even in such an enlightened roundroom as ours, a great deal of ignorance lingered, and ignorance breeds prejudice. When Pelch came down, looking slightly flustered and worried, and told us the news, some of the blands declared they wouldn’t have anything to do with an alien.
“Who knows what we might catch, touching its towels or washing its dishes?” said Dribs, one of the cleaning blands. “Do you know what kind of diseases they carry?”
“The aliens are humans, just like our humans,” Pelch said, scowling.
“That’s not what I heard,” Mimbo said. “I heard they’re deviants, born with sexual organs. They can copulate in their cradles.”
“You’re a fine one to be criticizing anyone’s sex,” Pelch said tartly. “Remember your place. The alien is our guardian’s guest, and that’s how you’ll treat him.”
But a core of the neuters stayed fearful and rebellious, and nothing Pelch could say would sway them. Pelch finally looked at me. “You’re not going to give me any back talk, are you?” it said.
“No, Pelch,” I answered. In fact, I was almost equally torn between curiosity and revulsion. Everything Dribs and Mimbo said was true. But if Squire Tellegen was going to let an alien in the house, then I wanted to see it.
“You see?” Pelch said to the others. “Tedla’s not scared, and it’s going to have to serve the alien. You others should be ashamed of yourselves.”
From their looks, I could tell that if I did end up serving the alien, no one was going to let me in the roundroom without a thorough washing.
The only way for Pelch to have won would have been to tell the squire and have him talk to the rebellious blands. But Pelch never wanted our guardian to know that it had less than total control of the situation downstairs, so the trump card was out of the question. In the end, Pelch had to compromise. It agreed that no one would have to wash a contaminated dish or towel or sheet against their will. We would make separate arrangements to clean everything the alien touched, in a kind of quarantine. Pelch itself would do the dirty work, assisted by Britz and me.
The night the alien was scheduled to arrive, it was cold, so I went to the river room to light the fire and prepare hot drinks, just as if we were expecting normal guests. Squire Tellegen was waiting there, reading as if aliens came to his house every day. When I heard their voices approaching down the hallway I busied myself at the sideboard, my back turned to them.
There were three of them: Elector Hornaday, a vestigator named Nasatir, and the alien. When the elector introduced “Magister Galele,” the alien spoke up in enthusiastic but wildly accented Argot, saying that “Magister” was his title, rather like “Questionary.” It sounded like something he had had to explain quite a number of times.
Squire Tellegen offered them all drinks. When I turned around with the tray, I got my first good look at the alien. My first impression was of a little brown troll-like man. He had a mop of thick, uncombed brown hair and a mustache. He looked rumpled and studious. When I held out his drink on the tray, he looked straight at me with a sharp, humorous twinkle in his eye. Startled, I quickly lowered my gaze.
I went into the next room and ducked through the graydoor. The other blands were all clustered by the peephole into the river room, taking turns staring at the alien with exclamations of thrilling horror. “Get back to work, you bums,” I hissed. “Do you want me to tell Pelch?”
“Oh come on, Tedla,” Britz said. “You get to see him all evening.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “I can’t just stand there staring at him, you know.” I joined them at the peephole. “Let me look,” I said. When Dribs moved away, I pressed my eye to the hole. The alien was sitting there, listening alertly to a conversation between the elector and the squire, his eyes shifting from one to the other as if looking at them would help him understand. When he spoke, he waved his hands in a jerky, uncoordinated way, and I feared for the drink on the table beside him.
I backed away from the peephole. “Get the hors d’oeuvres,” I said to Britz. Then, to Mimbo, “How’s dinner coming?”
“Not ready yet,” Mimbo said.
“It won’t ever be, if you don’t get downstairs,” I said.
“All right, all right.” They broke up and trooped away, exchanging whispered comments.
When I went back in to serve the hors d’oeuvres, their toddies already needed replenishing, so I went to the sideboard to heat some more. The alien was giving an enthusiastic account of his researches. Whenever he came to a word he didn’t know he just blundered ahead, making up something. Listening to him, it was sometimes hard to keep a straight face; but all the humans were being polite, and not letting on.
He broke off in the middle of an explanation of alien theories of individualistic and communitarian cultures, and which ours was, to say, “I have wanted to ask most ardently, do you have concept of natural equalism here?”
They were all staring at him blankly, unable to decipher what he meant, so he tried again. “The notion that humans are made equal.”
“No,” Tellegen said. “That is absurd. All humans are unique. Each has his or her own blend of abilities, deficits, and moral strengths. To say we are equal is degrading, as if we were mass-produced machines, interchangeable parts.”
“Eh?” the alien said. It seemed to mean, “Please go on.”
“A notion like that would be pernicious to society, as well. It would mean that those blessed with superior ability would have no obligation to develop or exercise it for the common good. Talent comes weighted with obligation—a higher standard of behavior and achievement. We cannot encourage people to shirk that duty.”
“And what of those without abilities?” the alien said.
“Everyone has some sort of ability,” Nasatir said. I had come to his side to offer him hors d’oeuvres. He glanced up at me and said, “Even blands have abilities.”
I offered the tray to the alien. He was looking at me expectantly, as if for a reaction, but I kept my expression perfectly blank. I found it a little offensive to be noticed, but told myself he didn’t know any better.
“This is an interest,” the alien said. “I wanted to meet you, Lexigist Tellegen, because of your champion of asexual rights.”
When they had figured out what this meant, Nasatir said, “Rights may be a strong word.”
Tellegen suddenly spoke up, very forcefully. “It shouldn’t be. We shouldn’t have to backtrack and temporize at the thought that they have rights.”
“Well, in some abstract philosophical sense, perhaps,” Nasatir conceded.
“I’m not talking philosophically now,” Tellegen said. “I’m talking about the basic morality of our social system. It is simply unconscionable that two-thirds of us should live off the labor of the other third. The exploitation of blands is corrosive to our humanity.”
There was a startled silence. The alien looked very alert. “Then you do have concept of natural rights?” he asked. Since no one seemed to understand, he said, “Human r
ights?”
“Yes, of course,” Nasatir said. “It’s a subject much discussed.”
“But neuters aren’t human,” Tellegen said bitterly.
“You think this is wrong?” the alien pressed him.
Elector Hornaday interrupted. “That’s what we call the Troubled Question, Magister Galele. Their nature is something we haven’t resolved.”
I had never before heard her speak not as the squire’s friend but as the head of his order. Her tone was a clear warning to Tellegen. He looked disgruntled, but obeyed her by falling silent. The drinks were hot, so I served them in the quiet that followed. I noticed that the fire had gotten low, so I fetched more wood from the bin and knelt on the hearth to get it burning again.
The alien had completely missed the interplay between Hornaday and Tellegen. He said, “Your opinion, lexigist?”
Tellegen stirred uncomfortably in his seat, then gave his elector a stubborn, defiant look. “I can only give you the personal opinion of an old man. I have no evidence to advance, only experience.”
“Eh?” the alien said attentively.
“I have seen more genuinely noble behavior from certain blands than from three-quarters of humanity,” Tellegen said. “There are ways in which we could aspire to be more like them. Their innocence, their patience, their gentleness with children and animals, their fortitude in suffering. The fact that, despite all we have done to them, they can still love us.”
My back was to him, but I heard his voice change, and I somehow knew he was aware of me. He said, “The love of a neuter is more pure and selfless than any human love. They throw their very souls into your hands. It can cut you to the heart.”
The fire was going again, but I knelt there very still, not daring to turn around or face him.
The alien said, “So you think they are equal to humans?”
“Some of them are. There’s not a doubt in my mind,” Tellegen said.
“You are the first person I have heard to say that.”
“I am very nearly the first to think it,” Tellegen said. “It would make me very unpopular in certain circles.”
I rose quietly to escape the room. I caught a glimpse of Elector Hornaday’s face; she looked deeply troubled.
I crossed the empty dining room to the serving-pantry to see how dinner was coming. Britz was just bringing up the fruit plates. “What’s going on in there?” it asked eagerly.
“That alien is completely crazy,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“He thinks blands are equal to humans.”
In my mind, it really was the alien who had said it. The thought that my own guardian could hold such a belief was simply inconceivable.
I made my last-minute preparations, then returned to the river room to give Squire Tellegen the signal that dinner was ready. I stood in the doorway, but he was deeply involved in conversation, and didn’t see me at first.
“Give yourself some credit, Prosper,” Nasatir was saying. “You woke up the whole world to the abuse and inhumane conditions of their lives. Because of you, their lot has improved immensely.”
“There are still abuses,” Tellegen said. “It is an abuse in itself to have total power over them.”
“Speak for yourself,” Nasatir said, a little exasperated. “Most of us don’t have power over even one bland. Here you live, with half a dozen of them, whose only purpose in life is to keep you comfortable. If you’re so concerned about power relationships, why don’t you turn them all loose?”
It was a rhetorical question, of course; but Squire Tellegen looked troubled by it. He was about to answer, then decided against it, frowning at some inward debate. The alien’s head was turning from one to the other of them like a cat watching a ball. He obviously didn’t understand the nuances here. He finally ventured, “Is to turn them loose not possible?”
“No, of course not,” Tellegen said, dismissing the idea with a gesture. “They are incapable of fending for themselves. Their welfare is our responsibility.” He looked away toward the window, where the river gorge yawned. His voice was heavy with emotion. “We have an ancient myth, Magister Galele, about two brothers, one wise and one foolish. The foolish one was tricked by a jealous woman into putting on a shirt that then burst into flames, but did not consume him. He was in such agony he could not move or speak. There was no way to get the shirt off. For the rest of their lives, the wise brother was forced to carry the foolish one around on his back. He was horribly burned by the flames himself, but unable to abandon his brother. It’s usually taught to us as a fable on the evils of kinship, but what it really foreshadows is our relationship to the unsexed. Their agony is ours, because we cannot abandon them.”
There was a complete silence in the room. I stood there, transfixed by the conflict I saw in my guardian’s face, and horribly uncertain what it meant. At last he looked up and saw me standing there. For a moment our eyes met, and he truly looked like a man in flames. Then he said neutrally, “I believe our dinner is ready. Shall we go in?”
Magister Galele would have been glad to go on talking about neuters over dinner, but the others firmly turned the conversation to more polite topics. I had intended to keep a sharp eye on what the alien touched, but I found myself preoccupied and anxious for the squire. He kept up the conversation graciously—I think he could have done that in his sleep. But I knew him well enough to see his turmoil.
He urged Elector Hornaday and Vestigator Nasatir to stay the night, but they both had appointments the next morning in the convergence. I had expected the squire to stay up late talking to the alien, but when the other guests were gone he turned moody and pensive, and soon pleaded exhaustion. They touched hands and wished each other good night.
I was standing by to show the alien to his room. As soon as we were alone in the hall, he asked my name and what my position was. Of course I answered, but it made me nervous. He kept on asking things—how long I had been here, how old I was, whether I was happy here. It was so offensive to be grilled by a human who had no rights over me that I pretended to be dumb, and not understand him. He must have gotten the message, because he gave up by the time we reached the guest room. When I asked if there was anything else he needed, he said, “No, thank you, Tedla. You’ve been very kind.”
I quickly cut across to the squire’s room through human space. There was no one around, and it would have taken longer by the bland-run. I found him standing at the window, still fully dressed, staring out into the dark, ice-draped canyon. A cold wind was blowing snow against the glass with a hissing sound. There was something about the squire’s posture that filled the room with loneliness. It was killing him, I thought.
Softly, not sure he would want me there, I went to his side. He turned to look at me, his face a perfect mirror of the desolation outside. He put a hand on the back of my neck to draw me closer. For a while he was quiet, just looking at me. Then he whispered, “Tedla, do you have any idea how much I love you?”
For a moment I hung poised on the edge of the solid ground I knew, where I was a bland and he was my guardian and our relationship to one another was prescribed down to the last detail. Then, without ever deciding, I stepped off the edge and was falling. He had beckoned to me for help, and I threw everything I had after him.
I put my arms around him and clung tight, my face pressed against his neck, my breath coming hard. He returned my embrace strongly, protectively.
“I never intended to tell you,” he said. I could feel his lips moving close to my ear. “I thought it was better not to let you find out. But I realized tonight that if I don’t tell you, the whole world is going to know. I’m not going to be able to live with this inside me.”
I didn’t say anything. My self was rushing back into me with a painful force. I had fully expected never to be loved again. I had accepted a life without any individuality or worth. Now, I was cherished by a man I had come to trust and admire more than all the world. I knew I was really there, because I w
as the thing his arms encircled, the thing his love defined. I felt weightless, buoyed up by the intoxicating moment. We stood there for a while in each other’s arms, rocking a little to and fro.
“Tedla,” he said uncertainly. I felt tension return to his body. I pulled away and looked at him. The conflict was back in his face.
“I don’t want this to change you. I need you to stay just the way you are.” He took my face in his hands, gazing at me with a troubled smile. “I love the way you think, and the way you’re frightened to find yourself thinking. I love your patience with me, and the way you get annoyed when I am crotchety. I love your vulnerability, and your innocence, and your sadness. I love the fact that you are so much more than you think you are. You would not be precious to me if you were human. What I love is the fact that you are a bland.”
He drew a shaky breath, like a man who felt himself falling and couldn’t stop himself. “You trust me, don’t you.”
I said, “Yes.”
“I want to earn that. I want to protect you, and keep you safe. I never want anything to harm you. But—”
He ran his thumb over my cheek, very lightly. “God help me, I also love your beauty. Tedla, would you be willing to spend the night with me?”
It would be disingenuous to say I hadn’t seen it coming. But I felt completely different than I had at Brice’s. Here, I knew I was perfectly free to say no, and nothing would ever happen to me. But I didn’t want to say no. I loved the squire deeply. I wanted him to love me. He was so gentle, so generous, I yearned to be close to him, and if there were any pleasure or comfort I could give him, I wanted to do it.
All the same, a little quake of nervousness went through me. To give him my body as well as my heart would change everything between us. It would change our lives in a hundred ways I couldn’t imagine. It truly was a precipice.
Halfway Human Page 24
