THE SHIPS OF EARTH

by Orson Scott Card

  "But will she be a good wife in five years? In ten?"

  He looked at her strangely. "How should I know?"

  "But you must think about it, Elya. What kind of wife will she be in fifty years?"

  He looked dumbfounded. He had not thought ahead on this issue, and did not even know how to pretend he had thought ahead, it took him so much by surprise.

  "Because what Shedemei was pointing out—confirming my own thoughts on the matter—is that there's no chance that we can continue the marriage customs of Basilica out here in the desert. Basilica was very large, and we will be but sixteen souls. Eight couples. When you abandon Eiadh for another, whom will she marry then?" Of course, Rasa knew—and knew that Elemak also knew—that it was far more likely that it would be Eiadh deciding not to renew her marriage contract with Elemak, and not the other way around. But the question was still the same—whom would Eiadh marry?

  "And children," said Rasa. "There'll be children—but no schools to send them to. They'll stay with their mothers, and another man—other men—will rear them."

  She could see that her account of the future was getting to him. She knew exactly what would worry him most, and Lady Rasa wasn't ashamed to use that knowledge. After all, the things she was warning him about were true.

  "So you see, Elemak, that as long as we're just sixteen souls who must stay together in order to survive in the desert, marriage must be permanent."

  Elemak did not look at her. But his thoughts were visible on his face as he sank down on the carpet that had been spread to make a floor for the tent, covering the sandy soil.

  "We can't survive the quarreling," she said, "the hurt feelings—we'll be too close to each other all the time. They must be told. Your spouse now is your spouse forever."

  Elemak lay back on the carpet. "Why would they listen to me on such a subject?" he said. "They'll think I'm saying that in order to try to keep Eiadh for myself. I happen to know that others have already looked with longing, expecting to court her when we've had our few years of marriage."

  "So you must persuade them to accept the reasons for lifelong monogamous marriage—so they'll understand that it isn't a self-serving plan on your part."

  "Persuade them?" Elemak hooted once, a single bitter laugh. "I doubt I could persuade Eiadh."

  She could see that he regretted at once having said that last remark. It confessed too much. "Perhaps then persuasion isn't the term I want. They must be helped to understand that this is a law we must obey in order to keep this family from coming apart in an emotional and physical bloodbath, as surely as we must keep quiet during each traveling day."

  Elemak sat up and leaned toward her, his eyes alight with—what, anger? Fear? Hurt? Is there something more to this than I understand? Rasa wondered.

  "Lady Rasa," said Elemak, "is this law you want important enough to kill for?"

  "Kill? Killing is the very thing that I most fear. It's what we must avoid. "

  "This is the desert, and when we reach Father's encampment it will still be the desert, and in the desert there is only one punishment for crime of any kind. Death."

  "Don't be absurd," said Rasa.

  "Whether you cut off his head or abandon him in the desert, it's all the same—out here exile is death."

  "But I wouldn't dream of having a penalty so severe as that."

  "Think about it, Lady Rasa. Where would we imprison somebody as we journey day to day? Who could spare the time to keep someone under guard? There's always flogging, of course, but then we would have to deal with an injured person and we couldn't travel safely anymore."

  "What about withdrawing a privilege? Taking something away? Like a fine, the way they did it in Basilica."

  "What do you take away, Lady Rasa? What privileges do any of us have? If we take away something the lawbreaker really needs— his shoes? his camel?—when we injure him anyway, and have to travel slower and put the whole group at risk. And if it isn't something he needs, but merely treasures, then you fill him with resentment and you have one more person you have to deal with but can't trust. No, Lady Rasa, if shame isn't strong enough to keep a man from breaking a law, then the only punishment that means anything is death. The lawbreaker will never break the law again, and everybody else knows you're serious. And any punishment short of death has the opposite result—the lawbreaker will simply do it again, and no one else will respect the law. That's why I say, before you decide that this should be the law during our travels, perhaps you ought to consider, is it worth killing for?"

  "But no one will believe you'd kill anyway, would they?" "You think not?" said Elemak. "I can tell you from experience that the hardest thing about punishing a man on a journey like that is telling his widow and his orphaned children why you didn't bring him home."

  "Oh, Elemak, I never dreamed…"

  "No one does. But the men of the desert know. And when you abandon a man instead of killing him outright, you don't give him any chance, either—no camel, no horse, not even any water. In fact, you tie him up so he can't even move, so the animals will get him quickly—because if he lives long enough, bandits might find him, and then he'll die far more cruelly, and in the process of dying he'll tell the bandits where you are, and how many you are, and how many you leave on watch, and where all your valuables are stored. He'll tell other things, too—the pet name he calls his woman, the nicknames of the guards, so the bandits'll know what to say in the darkness to confuse your party, to put them off their guard. He'll tell them—" "Stop it!" cried Rasa. "You're doing this on purpose." "You think that life in the desert is a matter of heat and cold, of camels and tents, of voiding your bowel in the sand and sleeping on rugs instead of on a bed. But I tell you that what Father and you and Nafai, bless his heart, what you've all chosen for us –"

  "What the Oversoul has chosen!"

  "Is the hardest life imaginable, a dangerous and brutal world where death is breathing into the hair on the back of your head, and where you have to be ready to kill in order to maintain order."

  "I'll think of something else," said Rasa. "Some other way of handling marriages…"

  "But you won't," said Elemak. "You'll think and think, and in the end you'll come to the only conclusion. If this insane colony is to succeed, it must succeed in the desert and by desert law. That means that women will be faithful to their men, or they will die."

  "And men, if they're unfaithful," said Rasa, sure that he couldn't possibly mean that only women would be punished.

  "Oh, I see. If two people break this marriage law, you want them both to die, is that it? Who's the bloodthirsty one now? We can spare a woman more easily than a man. Unless you propose that I train Kokor and Sevet to fight. Unless you think Dol and Shedemei can really handle lifting the tents onto the camel's backs."

  "So in your man-ruled world the woman bears the brunt of…"

  "We're not in Basilica now, Lady Rasa. Women thrive where civilization is strong. Not here. No, if you think about it you'll see that punishing the woman alone is the surer way to keep the law. Because which man can whisper, ‘I love you,' when they both know that what he really means is, ‘I want to tup you so badly that I don't care if you die.' How much success will his seduction have then? And if he tries to force his way, she'll scream—because she'll know that it's her life at stake. And if he's taken for raping her, as she screams, why, then it is the man who dies. You see? It takes so much of the romance out of flirting."

  Elemak almost laughed aloud at the stricken look on Rasa's face when he turned and left her tent. Oh, yes, she still fancied herself a leader, even out here in the desert where she knew less than nothing about survival, where she was a constant danger to everyone, with her chat, with her supposed wisdom that she was always so willing to share, with her air of command. She could bring off the illusion of power in Basilica, where women had men so fenced around with custom and manners that she could make decisions and people would comply. But here she would soon find—was already finding�
�that she lacked the true will to power. She wanted to rule, but didn't want to do the hard things that rule required.

  Permanent marriage indeed. What woman could possibly satisfy a man of any strength for more than a year or two? He had never intended Eiadh to be anything more than a firstwife. She would have been a great success at that role—she'd adorn him in his first Basilican household, bear him his firstborn, and then they'd both move on. Elemak even planned that Rasa herself would be his children's teacher—she did a fine job of schooling youngsters; Elemak knew what her true value was. But now to think that he would be willing to endure having Eiadh clinging to him when she was fat and old…

  Except that in his heart he knew that he was lying to himself. He could pretend that he didn't want Eiadh forever, but in fact the only thing he felt for her was desire. A powerful, possessive desire that showed no signs of slackening. It was Eiadh, not Elemak, who was changeable. She was the one who had so admired Nafai when he stood against Moozh and refused the warlord's offer of the consulship. So pathetic, that she would admire Nyef more for refusing power than she admired her own new husband for having and using it. But Eiadh was a woman, after all, and had been raised with the same mystical dependence on the Oversoul, and since the Oversoul had so clearly "chosen" Nafai, it made him all the more attractive in her eyes.

  As for Nafai… Elemak had known for many months that Nafai had his eye on Eiadh. That was part of what had made Eiadh so attractive to Elemak from the start—that marrying her would put his snotty little brother in his place. Let him marry her later, when she had already had Elemak's first child or two. That would let Nafai know where he stood. But now Eiadh was casting an eye toward the boy—damn him for being the one who killed Gaballufix! That's what was seducing her! She loved the delusion that Nafai was strong. Well, Eiadh, my darling, Edhya my pet, I have killed before, and not a drunkard lying in the street, either. I killed a bandit who was charging ‘ my caravan, bent on murder and robbery. And I can kill again.

  I can kill again, and Rasa has already consented to the justification. The law of the desert, yes, that is what will bring Nafai's interference to an end. Rasa is so sure that her dear sweet youngest boy would never break the law that she'll agree—they'll all agree—that the penalty for disobedience is death. And then Nafai will disobey. It will be so simple, so symmetrical, and I can then kill him on exactly the same pretext Nyef himself used for killing Gabya—I'm doing it for the good of all!

  That night, when the cold supper was heavy in their bellies, when the chill night breeze had driven them all inside their tents, Elemak set Nafai to keep the first watch. He knew that Nafai, poor fellow, was keenly aware of who was waiting for Elemak inside his tent. He knew that Nafai was sitting there in the cold starlight imagining how Elya gathered Eiadh's naked body into his arms, how hot and humid they made their tent. He knew that Nafai heard, or imagined that he heard, the soft low cries that Eiadh made. And when Elemak emerged from his tent, the sweat and smell of love still on him, he knew that Nafai could taste the bitterness of going to his own tent, where the awkward shapeless body of Luet the waterseer was the only solace the poor boy would find. It was almost tempting to take Rasa's law and make it real, for then it would be Nafai who would grow old watching Eiadh always and knowing that she was Elemak's, and he could never, never, never have her for his own.

  TWO—BINDING AND UNBINDING

  Nafai stood his watch as he always did, by conversing with the Oversoul. It was easier now than it had been at first, back when he and Issib had practically forced the Oversoul to talk to them. Now he would form thoughts carefully in his mind, almost as if he were speaking them, and then, almost without trying, he could feel the Oversoul's answers come to him. They came as if they were Nafai's own thoughts, of course, so that at times he still had trouble distinguishing between the Oversoul's actual ideas and the ideas that came from his own mind; to be sure, he often asked the same question again, and the Oversoul, since it was a computer and therefore never felt a sense of hurry, willingly repeated as often as he liked.

  Tonight, because he was on watch, he first asked the Oversoul if any danger was near.

  (A coyote, tracking the scent of a hare.)

  No, I meant danger to us, said Nafai silently.

  (The same bandits I told you about before. But they keep heating noises in the night, and now they're hiding in a cave, trembling.)

  You enjoy doing this to them, don't you? asked Nafai.

  (No, but I sense your delight. This is what you call a game, isn't it?)

  More like what we call a trick. Or a joke.

  (And you love the fact that only you know that I am doing this.)

  Luet knows.

  (Of course.)

  Any other danger?

  (Elemak is plotting your death.)

  What, a knife in the back?

  (He is full of confidence. He believes he can do it openly, with the consent of all. Even your mother.)

  And how will he do it? Blast me with his pulse and pretend it's an accident? Can he frighten my camel into throwing me from a cliff?

  (His plan is more subtle than that. It has to do with marriage laws. Rasa and Shedemei realized today that marriages must be made permanent, and Rasa has now persuaded Elemak.)

  Good. That will work much better than if the idea had come from Luet and me.

  (But it did come from you and Luet.)

  But only we and you are aware of that, and no one else will guess. They'll see the sensibleness of the law. And besides, I had to do something to stop Eiadh from trying to start something with me. I find it disgusting that it's only since I killed Gaballufix and refused to be Moozh's puppet that she finds me interesting. I think I was much nicer before … before all this started.

  (You were a boy then.)

  I'm still a boy.

  (I know. That's one of our problems. Worse yet, you're a boy who's not very good at deception, Nafai.)

  But you're a whiz at it.

  (You can't lead these people by relying on me to plant your ideas in their minds. On the voyage from Harmony to Earth I won't have the same power to reach into their minds that I have here. You will have to learn how to speak with them directly. Teach them to look to you for decisions.)

  Elya and Meb will never be willing to accept my lead.

  (Then they are expendable.)

  Like Gaballufix? I'll never do that again, Oversoul. You can be sure of that—I killed once for you, but never again, never, never, don't even make me think of it, no!

  (I hear you. I understand you.)

  No, you don't understand. You never felt the blood on your hands. You never felt the sword cut through the flesh and hack apart the cartilage between the vertebrae. You never heard his last gasping breaths through the bloody gap in his throat.

  (Through your eyes I saw, through your arms I felt, through your ears I heard.)

  You never felt the… that terrible irrevocability. That there's no turning back. That he's gone, and no matter how terrible a man he was, I had no right to cut him off like that…

  (You had the right because I gave it to you, and I had the right because humankind built me in order to protect the entire species, and the death of that man was necessary for the preservation of humanity on this world.)

  Yes, I know, again and again you tell me.

  (Again and again you reject the truth and insist on remaining in this meaningless agony of guilt.)

  I ended the life of a helpless drunken man. There was no glory in that act. There was no decency. There was no cleverness or wisdom. I was not a good man when I did that.

  (You were my hands, Nafai. What I needed to do, you did for me.)

  They were my own hands, Oversoul. I could have said no. As I say no now, when you hint of my killing Elemak and Mebbekew. It will not happen. I will take no more lives for you.

  (I'll keep that in mind as I make my plans for the future. But you can establish leadership. You must. Your father is too old and
tired, and he relies on Elemak too much. He'll give in to your brother far too often, again and again he'll surrender to him, until he has no will left at all.)

  So it's better that he surrenders to me?

  (You won't make him surrender anything. You'll always lead through him, with great respect for him. If you lead, your father will remain a proud and powerful man. I've told you this. Now stand up and take your place.)

  Not yet. This is not the time for me to challenge Elemak. We need him to lead us through the desert.

  (And I tell you that he has no such qualms. At this very moment, even though he's making love to Eiadh, he is picturing you tied up and abandoned in the desert, where you'll soon discover, Nafai, that while I can influence bandits I can't do a thing about the beasts and birds of prey, the insects that think of anything that doesn't walk or fly or slither away as their next meal. They don't listen to me, they simply act out what their genes require them to do, and you will die, and what will I do then without you?)

  Does he mean to act now, before we get to Father's camp?

  (At last you're listening.)

  What is his plan, then?

  (I don't know. He never thinks of it plainly. I'm searching as best I can, but it's hard. I can't just ransack a human's memories, you know. He fears his own murderous heart so much that he won't let himself think of his whole plan openly.)

  Perhaps when he's not distracted by lovemaking.

  (Distracted? He's even doing this for your benefit. He thinks that you still want Eiadh, so he's hoping you notice the movement in the tent, and the noises she's making.)

  It only makes me long for my watch to end, so I can go back to Luet.

  (He can't conceive of a man not desiring the woman he desires.)

  I did. I fancied that Eiadh was exactly what I needed and wanted. But I understood nothing then. Luet believes she's already pregnant. Luet and I can talk about everything. We've only been married for a few days, yet she understands my heart even better than you do, and I can speak her thoughts almost before she thinks them. Does Elemak imagine that I could desire a mere woman, when Luet is my wife?