by Lea Daley
Taylor released an eerie wail. “I waaant Bahjiii!”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away, yet saw almost nothing. In a nanosecond, Aimée rewove the fiber of her being until Bahji stood before us, whole and lively.
“Hi, Mom!” she said, leaping onto Taylor’s lap. Mother and daughter sat entwined, hugging, crying, filled with disbelieving joy.
Now I couldn’t see because my eyes were wet. Moving as one, Shiante and I left the room.
We waited in a place I’d never been. Taylor’s study, maybe—though without all the gizmos from my era I couldn’t be sure. Shiante waved me to a seat and offered tea.
“No thanks…but can I ask you something while we’re killing time?”
“Sure.”
“That stuff you said yesterday? About life expectancy?”
“I owe you an apology, Leslie…I shouldn’t have jumped your case. Aimée probably thinks it’s premature to discuss longevity with you.”
“Seems like that’s one of the first things I’d be told!”
She shook her head. “Double negative. Think back to when you were revived. When all you could focus on was everything you left behind, everyone you’d lost. How would you have felt if somebody said you might survive for centuries?”
I groaned. “Like I’d been sentenced to an eternity of torture.”
“Right. Then after a while—if you’re like the rest of us—you started wondering what to do with yourself here. You didn’t understand anything about the culture…how to fill your days…how to use whatever knowledge or skills got you by back home…You probably felt adrift and purposeless…useless…friendless…maybe even invisible.”
“Been there, done that.”
“So imagine being told then that you’d live a zillion years—”
“I’d have wanted to slit my wrists!”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. I’m beginning to get the picture, Shiante. When would I have been clued in? And what’s the average life expectancy on Jashari now?”
“Those are questions for Aimée. You’re kind of a special case—as your old-timers would have said, the details are above my pay grade.”
“Guess I should let you off the hook then. While we wait, why not tell me a bit about your past?”
She smiled broadly. “It was a wild, wild ride, sister…”
* * *
Shiante and I spent several hours trading trivia about life on Earth. We were easier with one another when Aimée rejoined us. Might even become friends, I thought, given enough time…and it seemed there was no shortage of that on Jashari! But just then, we cared only about Aimée’s report.
“Taylor is sleeping, Shiante-ahn. She will not wake until morning. You will find her much improved. Offer a light breakfast and fetch anything she requests. In the next day or two, she will want to view Leslie’s mural. However, when she is out in public, she must make every effort to appear deeply depressed, incapable of action. Otherwise, the Elders will begin to monitor her closely.”
Shiante’s eyes were suspiciously damp. “Thank you, Aimée. Thank you so much!”
The two exchanged bows, then we departed. On autopilot, I turned toward home. “Leslie-ahn? Shall we go to the ocean instead? We could inspect the progress on your new house.” I wanted to see it, of course, so we set off for the beach. But I suspected Aimée had an ulterior motive. She’d fill me in on the meeting between Bahji and Taylor once we were alone.
For the first time, we strolled the beach as lovers, reveling in all the seductions of Jashari’s shoreline. Soft breeze, luscious light, lazy tides. The suggestive friction of hips barely brushing. A hundred salty kisses. Aimée tasted like the first woman who’d ever risen from the waves. In a sheltered cove, under the heat of two suns, I caressed her until the pounding of our hearts drowned out the sound of the surf.
Perhaps we slept briefly. Perhaps I dreamed of Earth. When I woke, the beach seemed unnaturally quiet and barren. Aimée lay in my arms, waiting for me to give voice to my thoughts.
“Is Taylor right? Could there really be birds and fish and crabs here? And sea oats? And bay bean?”
“You would like this, I think.”
“I’d like it a lot. Do you remember when I showed you a beach on Earth? I still miss that—miss all the crazy ways life can assemble itself.” I smiled wistfully. “Whenever Meredith and I vacationed at the ocean, we’d hunt crabs at night—with flashlights, I mean.”
“Crabs?”
“Ghost crabs. All different sizes. Sometimes we found them by the hundreds. They were comical and wondrous, Aimée, with an existence I couldn’t begin to imagine. But I never questioned their equal claim on the beach. We came from the same place and craved the same things—to be swept away, then restored by the sea.”
Aimée surprised me by whistling. “Does sex always make you so philosophical, Leslie-ahn?”
“Dunno. Maybe.”
“If that is true—” she said, kissing me “—then by following a regular regimen—” lips trailing lower—“we might greatly improve your mind!”
Chapter Forty
I was still weak in the knees as we walked to the building site. Aimée led me up wooden stairs and onto a boardwalk. And there it was: the shell for the graceful, light-catching cottage of my dreams. Soon I’d live in this house, the most beautiful I ever owned. I hadn’t given voice to the question yet, but I hoped Aimée would stay here with me. Forever.
Darting ahead, I raced for the entrance. Made my way through every room. My studio! An actual kitchen! Each detail perfect—up to a height of about seven feet. There progress stopped abruptly, leaving walls, doorframes, even windowpanes, incomplete. Beyond those ragged edges, only the bright Jashrine sky.
I laughed. “Attractive…yet somewhat drafty…”
Aimée looked upward with a calculating eye. “By tomorrow night, the roof will be complete.”
I sat on a windowsill, my windowsill, analyzing the room. The finished structure would precisely match my original vision—assuming those partial panes of glass would become the soaring windows I’d requested. “But, Aimée…no workers, no tools, no construction debris…? How does this happen?”
“Come outside.”
When I cocked my head, she nodded. I’d heard her right.
In the dunes, Aimée stooped to gather a handful of sand, then trickled it into my cupped palm. “Have you ever really looked at this, Leslie-ahn?”
“The sand?”
“The sand.”
I shifted it back and forth. It was fine and dry and white. Grainy. It sparkled. Sand.
“What am I missing?”
“Hold it tight.”
“Got it.”
“Now hold me.”
“Willingly. Does this have anything to do with the sand?”
She actually giggled. “Not really.”
I enveloped Aimée, leaning down to touch my forehead to hers. But she drew back. “You have the power to do this by yourself, Leslie-ahn. Look—really look at the sand. Feel it.”
Suddenly I saw those granules at the microscopic level and white-hot enlightenment scorched through my brain. I opened my hand, releasing all but a dusting of crystals, which clung to my skin. Those few glittering grains still sang to me. They were nothing so simple as sand, though they had the potential to become sand. Or anything else. They were, in fact, all the elements combined, the building blocks of the cosmos. I let another handful filter through my fingers. “Whatever we need—whatever we want—comes from the sands of Jashari?”
“And returns again, Leslie-ahn.”
“Bahji?”
“Bahji is here.”
“And my house?”
“Is being…grown…Just as you described it.”
Grown. I could see it now, the organic quality, the way the frame rose from the ground like part of the planet itself.
“What’s the process?”
“How much detail do you wish, Leslie-ahn? We could activate another module
dedicated to science.”
“A rough approximation will do.”
“Then think of Jashari’s infrastructure as a giant computer that operates a remarkably diverse factory. The sands are the raw materials. Do you begin to see how this could work?”
I clenched a fistful of sand and felt it again, the deep potential for becoming contained within. A metaphor far preferable to the one Whitehall had offered me.
Awed, I entered my home again. Maybe it was pure fantasy, but I thought I heard a faint rustle of growth, the sound of atoms splitting off and recombining. The walls seemed slightly higher now. The smallest windows were nearing completion. The irregular edges of glass had smoothed out.
“Unbelievable! I’m impressed.”
“This technology was perfected several thousand years ago, Leslie-ahn, when the creation of Jashari was first contemplated. Our very lives depend on its integrity.”
No wonder the Elders worried about changes to the planetary ecology. But were Taylor’s goals and the core imperatives of Jashari mutually exclusive? Aimée turned the question back on me.
“Only you will know this, Li’shayla Mar-Né. You will tell us, I think.”
Li’shayla Mar-Né. A jolt of bright energy shot through me when I heard that title. Which I’d done my best to shed since Bahji’s death. Now I realized—with mingled awe and apprehension—it claimed me still.
“Well, I don’t know the answer yet! If I have any brainstorms, I’ll share them.”
“Brainstorms?”
“Insights, my love.” I pulled her down onto the floor of the living room. “Right now, why not tell me about Taylor and Bahji?”
Aimée’s eyes took on a look of soft wonderment. “Oh, Leslie-ahn! It was a most incredible experience! There was so much love between them—yet love offers no insulation from pain.”
Too true—love doesn’t equal protection. Consider the agony I’d inflicted on Meredith. The grief I’d caused Taylor. The harm I’d done Bahji. All unintentional, unavoidable, irrevocable.
“What actually happened?”
Aimée bowed slightly by way of apology. “Please forgive me, Leslie-ahn. It was…deeply personal. Each had suspected they were destined to part in just such a way. And in this final encounter, they were able to express those things sudden death forestalls. Also Bahji helped Taylor understand that no good comes of retreating from reality.”
I’d wanted complete details—quotes, descriptions. Yet Aimée was correct. Full disclosure would have violated Taylor’s most privileged moment. “I’m so glad they had that time together—and that it went well.”
Aimée smiled with shy pride. “It went well, Leslie-ahn. Very well.”
And that was all.
Chapter Forty-One
Bahji’s death cast a pall over everything. Brief as our friendship was, she’d added a vivid dimension to my days. Without her, life on Jashari seemed flat and gray and pointless. Yet, paradoxically, it was hard to remember she was gone. I kept hearing that musical laugh. Kept expecting her to burst into my bedroom, leap into my arms, rummage through my drawers, inundate me with questions. I composed a catalog of regrets: Why hadn’t I taken Bahji to the beach? Taught her to paint? Introduced her to Aimée?
Dear, dear, patient Aimée. Who soothed me when I cried. Amused me when I was sleepless. Made love to me when I was mired in self-hatred. And who assured me it was natural to prefer crushing guilt to the feeling I’d had no control over Bahji’s fate. “But, Aimée,” I’d argue obstinately, “I did have control! I did have power! I just wasn’t smart enough!” In those most miserable moments, she simply held me until the storm subsided.
Hoping to make sense of the tragedy, seeking elusive comforts, I read then re-read Serenghi’s counsel on loss and mourning: Every seashore is a cemetery. Each abandoned shell tells the tale of a creature long gone, unsung and unmourned. This is the way of nature. Why should our fate be different? Why does the death of our race seem incomprehensible?
Yet, it is so. We rage at the injustice, deny evident reality, bargain with the Fates. Until finally we give ourselves over to grieving. We remember, we reflect, we memorialize. Anything less would dishonor those we have lost. And through these acts, we become our best selves—fully human, at last.
* * *
I was so depressed that a lengthy period passed before I noticed Aimée was struggling too. Her eyes were haunted, and she sometimes fell into uncharacteristic melancholy. When I finally pressed her about those dark moods, she turned an anguished gaze on me. “I provided the murder weapon, Leslie-ahn! I re-created that letter opener and placed it in your desk drawer!”
Remorse, culpability, grief—the most universal of passions. How could I claim to love Aimée when I’d never guessed she had an inner life every bit as complex as my own? Separate and distinct from anything to do with me? Burdens to bear, cares with no simple solutions, unassuagable sorrows? With effort, I refrained from quoting her words: shouldering guilt is far preferable to feeling helpless. Instead I said gently, “Whitehall would only have used something else, love.”
Aimée lowered her eyes. “There is more, Leslie-ahn…something I have not shared with you…”
“You know you can tell me anything.”
“Yet doing so may change everything.”
A spark of panic ignited at the back of my brain, but surely it was better if we were completely honest with one another? I drew her down beside me. “How bad can it be?”
“Inexcusably bad, Leslie-ahn—do you remember when the Turnabout pursued you so relentlessly? When you said that you would set the terms of a sexual engagement with her?”
“Of course. At least I dodged that bullet. Chastity and I never—”
“You never—”
I clasped her hands urgently. “What are you saying, Aimée?”
She pulled away, buried her face in both palms. “One night back then, Leslie-ahn, I went to Whitehall’s home…pretending to be you. To make sure she would not pressure you again…to protect you, as I thought my mission demanded. Or so I told myself.”
My stomach heaved. “Jesus god, Aimée! Did she…touch you?” An unbearable thought.
“I did not give her the opportunity.”
“Thank heavens! What happened?”
“I made a terrible mistake.” Aimée leaped up, began to pace the room. “I told you that I am human! And that is truer than even I knew. I lost control…and I hurt her, humiliated her…to keep her away from you…”
“You could never hurt anyone, darling.”
“Sadly, that is not true, Leslie. Perhaps I should show you?”
Aimée flashed me the scene, shocking in its intensity—doubly so since that appeared to be me doling out uncompromising punishment. I could feel my arm in violent motion, feel each moment of brutal contact, hear every shriek and whimper. And I’d be a liar if I said some part of me didn’t enjoy watching Whitehall get her just due.
Aimée pulled away. “So you see? I stepped outside the social system for my own selfish purposes, as you suggested humans sometimes do. Because I love you, because the knowledge that she was laying hands on you overrode all restraint. And I did hurt her—”
“Which she thoroughly enjoyed—”
“True.”
“—So I’m not sure you can vilify yourself for that.”
“Do you not see, Leslie? My attempt to shatter her ego only added fuel to her feud with you…and Bahran’aji-ahn paid the ultimate price…” Aimée bent her head in shame, dropped her voice to a whisper. “I have discovered that within myself which is rafe’la.”
I was reeling from the sudden influx of information, trying to quell my horror, to hold back an onrush of anger. I made myself say calmly, “Bahji was central to the prophecy from day one, Aimée. What were the odds for her survival?”
“Almost nonexistent.”
“Then can’t you forgive a single lapse of control? Can’t you see you’re not responsible for something that was foretold e
ons ago?”
“Have you not taught me that logic has little power over emotion, Leslie-ahn? No amount of rationalizing can prevent me from feeling guilty. Because the probability that a VTO would wreak havoc was negligible. And yet I did.”
“If not you, darling, then someone—something—else. Anyway, what was the alternative?”
“I do not know. Perhaps I should have trusted you to handle the problem. But as soon as I set my foot on this path, I saw no way to turn back.”
“Just curious—why did you choose that particular approach?”
“I had scanned Whitehall’s history. I knew she had pronounced masochistic tendencies, but I was so angry I failed to appreciate other critical information.”
“Such as?”
“Chances were high that she would rebound, then attempt to retaliate.”
An image flared through my brain—Whitehall’s fingers curled around a menacing black rod, snapping the snaky thing against her leg the day she informed me of my fate. A riding crop, I suddenly realized—or something much like one. So she’d come prepared for battle! She had good reason to assume I’d recognize that as a threat, probably wished I’d give her cause to deploy her wicked little weapon.
But wait! Whitehall had a much bigger ace up her sleeve during that visit, the ultimate revenge—the Council’s decision to divest me of my fortune, my future. So perhaps she was actually angling for a second act? Hoping she could provoke me into using that vicious tool on her randy little rear? I was sickened by the thought. But what difference did any of this make now? I pulled Aimée close. “What’s done is done, darling. We’ll just have to play things as they lay. And Bahji would want you to forgive yourself—you know that.”
She shook her head, still overwhelmed by regret, as well she might be. Because we’d all made tragic mistakes—every last one of us. We’d all have to acknowledge our failings and live with their consequences. Thrusting my own despair aside, I offered what Aimée had given in such abundance. Unconditional love. Unstinting support. Shelter in my arms.
