“Will it …?” Hasalalo stumbled over the pronoun, and spat water again. “I mean, he be going with you this time?”
“No,” Avariel answered. Her gaze was on me, and the smile had seemingly vanished. “He won’t. In fact, he shouldn’t be here now.”
She started to get up; I reached out and found her arm.
“Avariel, I’m sorry. Really. Please, don’t go.” In the dim light, her eyes were bright with reflections. “The Great Darkness took my legs,” I said. “I think that’s all the motivation I need. Avariel, you knew you were coming back as soon as the Green Council would allow it, but you weren’t sure that I would. I wasn’t the one who left the relationship as soon as possible after I was hurt.” I saw a trail of moisture on her face, and I suddenly hated myself. “I’m sorry,” I said. “That was unfair.”
“No,” she answered, very softly. “I don’t think that was unfair at all.”
“Then we could still do this together?” Optimism rose like a bird …
“No.”… and plummeted stricken back to the floor. “But I understand why you had to ask.”
Neither of us said anything for long seconds after that. Avariel sighed and reached down below her chair, pulling up a backpack. She put the straps around her shoulders and cinched the left side tightly, muscles knotting along her jaw. “Getting to the bottom of the Great Darkness was the only time I failed at something I tried,” she answered finally. “That’s why I’m here.” Avariel adjusted the other strap and got to her feet, hefting the pack. “People sometimes need something so badly that they’d sacrifice nearly anything to attain it,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to be any other way. Not for me.”
I thought it was you, I wanted to tell her. I thought it was you that I needed like that. Now, I just don’t know, and I thought if I saw you again, I might find out. “I understand,” was all I said.
“I hope you do,” she said, slinging the pack over her shoulder, then her voice and her face softened. “I never wanted to hurt you, Tomio—I hope you can believe that, at least. I’m sorry I wasn’t the type of person who could share her life with you, and maybe that was more my fault than yours.”
I shrugged back at her. “If you had been that person, I probably wouldn’t have wanted you so much,” I told her.
She lifted her chin at that, then her gaze slid over to Hasalalo. “Make the arrangements, Hasalalo,” she told the Venusian. “I’ll come to you tomorrow with the final part of the fee, and we’ll do this.”
“Yes, Avariel.” Yessh … With a hiss and a lisp. The liquid affirmation came wafting over the table laden with the odor of cinnamon. Avariel nodded once before turning and leaving.
After Avariel had gone, I looked at Hasalalo; it looked at me. “So you were the other human who descended with her,” it said, halfway between question and statement. “You were the reason she never reached the bottom of the Great Darkness, and saw the ancestor-bones or the Lights-in-Water.”
“Yeah,” I told it. “It was my fault.” The words tasted far more bitter than I intended, and I tried to temper them with a smile that I wasn’t sure the shreeliala would understand. It only nodded.
“I’ll never see the Great Darkness or the Lights-In-Water either,” it said, and it touched the pale bar tattooed on its head. Its gill bubbler hissed; it sounded like a sigh.
I didn’t quite know what to say to that. I knew from my time on Venus that when a shreeliala dies anywhere on this world, no matter how far away the colony might be, its body is carried out to the Great Darkness—a deep canyon just off the shore of Blackstone Mountain—with great ceremony by a group of shreeliala dedicated to that task: “priests” might be the best term, but given that the shreeliala don’t have organized religions in the sense that we think of them, it’s also a very wrong term. (Hell, I wasn’t entirely certain how the shreeliala even reproduced, though I’m certain some of the scientists stationed here could have told me.) The body is released over the Great Darkness with a prayer—or maybe it’s just a ritual statement—and, shreeliala bodies with bones-of-stone being heavier than water, the dead one drifts steadily down through the blackness of the waters into the depths toward …
… well, toward whatever’s at the bottom, which no human has ever seen. We know what the Great Darkness is: once a long, vertical hollow in the volcanic rock, perhaps a lava tube reaching up from the plumes far, far below. But the thin roof of the vertical cavern collapsed under the corrosion and weight of the water above it, leaving the Great Darkness. Beyond that, the shreeliala are closemouthed about it, and they refuse to allow any of our cameras or robotic instruments to accompany any of the bodies on its journey: as sentient beings, we have to respect that, and we have. To them, it’s a sacred place, and not to be violated.
But they did, once, allow Avariel and myself to undertake the journey, on our own. And we failed. Or, rather, I failed and therefore Avariel also failed.
I saw a flash, or thought I did, and something like an undersea wave pummeled me and I hit the side of the canyon. Rocks began to fall, and I shouted for Avariel, but then I felt the crushing pain, and … When I awoke again, I was back in Blackstone, in the hospital. Or, at least, half of me was …
I must have spent too long in reverie, because Hasalalo’s bubbler hissed again as it spoke. “You and Avariel were … lovers? That’s not a relationship we can understand.”
“Neither can we, most of the time,” I told it.
Hasalalo burbled more to itself, its large eyes blinking and its hands spreading so that I could see the translucent, speckled webbing between the long fingers. The skin glistened with the gel the shreeliala use to retain moisture when they’re on land. “Why did you want to see the Great Darkness and the Lights-in-Water?” it asked. “Before.”
“I didn’t, particularly.”
Hasalalo blinked. It seemed to be thinking through the English. “It … If … How …” It stopped. Breathed. “Then why?” it asked.
“Avariel wanted it. And I wanted Avariel.”
Hasalalo shivered. I seemed to remember that was the Venusian equivalent of a human shrug. “That is the explanation?”
I grinned at the shreeliala. “It’s all I got,” I told it. “Maybe my grandmother could explain it better for you—if you ever meet her.”
The memories flooded back with that.
—–—
The affair was more or less in honor of Avariel. I say “more or less” because back then Obaasan Evako arranged gatherings every month or so whether there was an excuse or not. Avariel had just completed the ascent of the previously unconquered eastern cliffs of Olympus Mons on Mars, an expedition sponsored by the family company Norkohn Shuttles—our PR department was already churning out ads trumpeting our involvement. I’d been on the support team, my own climb confined to a leisurely ascent of the lower lava flows. I had shivered a lot in the shelter of Base One while Avariel and her support team of genuine climbers went on; they’d go to Base Two, and Avariel would finish the climb solo—as she always did.
She and I were lovers already; I’d wondered about that at first, suspicious that the primary reason she’d come to my bed was because I’d been the one who had talked Obaasan Evako into parting with the grant for the climb. Still, we were good lovers, comfortable with each other. We were friends. I was well on the way to considering making the relationship more permanent, in love with the idea of being in love.
Mobile fabrics were the fashion that season. Most of the people wearing them shouldn’t have been, though I thought Avariel looked fine. Her blouse, restless, crawled slowly over her shoulders. I’d be talking to her, but my gaze would be snagged by her neckline slipping suggestively lower: that was a good time for voyeurs.
The evening was turning cool and I was getting tired of smiling at people I really didn’t like that well. I found Avariel in the garden and detached her from the gaggle of admirers around her. The hover-lamps had just turned themselves on, flickering like huge fireflies aroun
d the lawn while Mount Fuji turned golden on the horizon. Touching her arm, I inclined my head to the blaze of lights that was the house. “Let’s go inside. I’ve a few people you should meet.”
She nodded and made polite noises to her crowd, but when we were away from them, she sighed. “Thanks. I’ve been trying to lose them for the last half an hour. I have to say that sometimes I miss being all alone up on Olympus Mons. Shame on you, Tomio, for leaving me to those wolves.”
“Part of the bane of being the host.”
The party was noisier and brighter and more crowded inside: lots of glitter, meaningless laughter, and full glasses. As we stood watching in the doorway, Obaasan Evako waved to us from where the caterers were setting the buffet. “Tomio!” she called loudly. “You’ve been hiding the guest of honor from me all evening. I refuse to be neglected any longer. Bring her here.”
An imperious gesture accompanied the command. Those nearby tittered and smiled before turning back to their drinks.
I grinned. Avariel, glancing from me to my grandmother, smiled uncertainly in my direction. Obaasan could be intimidating to those who didn’t know her; I could feel Avariel’s fingers digging into the skin of my arm. Obaasan Evako was a small, thin woman; half Japanese and half northern European, with short, white hair, and a well-wrinkled face. She exuded energy and purpose, carrying a habitual frown on her lips. To those she wanted to leave with the impression, she was hard, brittle ice; most of the family knew better. “Don’t worry,” I whispered to Avariel. “She’s really a lamb.”
Avariel’s glance told me that she didn’t believe me. We made our way over to my grandmother, who stood waiting, one foot tapping the carpet. “Counteffia no Regentia Norkohn,” Avariel said, using Obaasan’s full title from the Asian Liánméng, and bowing as proper etiquette required.
Obaasan looked Avariel up and down as if she were a piece of furniture. Then she glanced at me. She spoke in Mandarin, not Japanese or English. “I’m surprised at you, Tomio. She’s not your type. When you talked about this Olympus Mons business, I expected to see one of the usual pieces of pretty fluff you drag down here.”
“I’m not fluff, Counteffia”—that from Avariel, who had straightened and now looked more irritated than flustered—“I can talk and I even understand what people say about me,” she answered in heavily accented Mandarin.
That snapped Obaasan’s head around. She stared at Avariel with line-trapped eyes, then nodded. “Good. See that you manage to stay unfluffy. It’s too damn easy to become comfortable. By the way, I assume you realize that your outfit doesn’t flatter you at all. Stay away from fashions unless they enhance your image. I’d use simpler and more classic clothing with that body.”
Avariel blinked. “Counteffia—” she began, but Obaasan cut her off with a wave of a thin hand. “Call me Evako. Anybody who can make Tomio behave sensibly deserves the courtesy of familiarity—he’s been paying more attention to the business lately, if only because I told him that he needed to pay back the sponsorship of your climb.”
“I want to thank you for that.”
“It was a waste of money.”
Another blink. “I’m sorry you feel that way …”
“Let me finish, child. It was a waste of money unless it’s finally taught Tomio what can be accomplished when you want something badly enough. He’s had everything too easily, and it’s ruined him. I told his parents it would.”
Avariel glanced back at me and saw that I was still grinning. She managed to look puzzled and faltered into a defense. “Tomio was a great help to me. Without him—”
“Bah!” With another wave of her hand. “Without him, you’d still have managed the climb, one way or another. You’d have found some other funding. Don’t delude yourself on that. Having Norkohn’s backing was convenient, but the loss of it wouldn’t have stopped you.” Then she gave her the briefest of smiles; it smoothed her face. “Gods, child, if you don’t allow us elders our bluntness, how am I ever going to convince the idiots around here that I’m not someone they can walk over?”
“I … don’t think that’s anything you need to worry about.”
“Oh, you’d be wrong. You’ll need to do the same. Let me tell you another truth. What you do is ultimately meaningless. You climb a thing or attempt things so that you’ll be the first one to accomplish it, so you’ll get to engrave your name in the record books. But that’s emptiness. You also climbed Rheasilvia’s central peak on Vesta, four years ago, and two years ago were the first person to take a submersible down through Europa’s ice pack to the liquid ocean below. But beyond that, do you know either Europa or Vesta? You climbed Olympus Mons, yes, but do you know Mars as a result? No—you made your climb and you left. You’ve no relationship with the places you’ve gone. Just like you have no real relationship with my Tomio.”
It was my turn to protest at that. “Obaasan,” I began, but she lifted her hand toward me without taking her gaze from Avariel. “I can tell that you’d be pretty if you wanted to make the effort,” Obaasan said to her. “You’re neither beautiful nor stunning, mind you, and I’m sorry if that bothers you, but you really don’t want false flattery. Still, you’d be easily as attractive as most of the people here tonight if you’d taken the hours they did to get ready. Yet you didn’t bother: very little cosmetics, no gloss, no fakery except that mistake of a blouse, which you probably chose because you thought it was expected. All that’s good. You look like someone out of the ordinary the way you are, while if you tried for looks, you’d just be one within the multitude. Well, I’m like that, also. I act just differently enough that no one makes the mistake of treating me like all the people I’d resemble otherwise. It’s a good trick. Keep it. Teach it to Tomio, too, while you’re about it. He’ll try to learn if only because he’s in love with you.”
“Obaasan—” I tried again, and this time I got a glance.
“Oh, she already knows it, Tomio. She’s too smart not to have seen it, and you’re just damned lucky that she’s not taken more advantage of your vulnerability. You should try to keep her, if you can, but it’ll take some doing. I don’t know if either of you are up to the task. You’re another little cliff she needed to scale, and though I love you, Tomio, you’re still trying to figure out what it is you want in life.”
Obaasan Evako gave a little start then, her mouth twisting back into a frown. “I’ve forgotten to check with the caterer about the wine. He’ll try putting it on ice again, and it should be served chilled, not cold. I want to talk to you later, Avariel; you can tell me how Norkohn’s going to get its money’s worth from this Venus expedition. Tomio, play host while I convince the caterer that it’s his decision to serve food the proper way.”
With that, she left us, moving away with her quick, unstoppable stride, already calling out loudly for the head caterer. Avariel laughed once, more in relief than anything else. “Good God. You might have warned me,” she said, staring at Obaasan’s wake.
“Hey, she likes you.”
“What does she do when she hates someone?” I saw her face scrunch into a scowl. “She doesn’t know me as well as she thinks she does.”
“You’d be surprised at what she probably knows.”
“Uh-huh.” Avariel glanced toward the bar and the restless tide of people around it. I couldn’t tell if she believed me or not. “After that, I think I need a drink,” she said.
I waved the bartender over to our table as thunder from outside rattled the windows and Hasalalo burbled in its gill bubbler. “What do you have that passes for Scotch?” I asked her. She was another adapted human native: even though her skin was brown, there was still a sense of pallor to her that only came with the eternal lack of sunlight here; her eyes had been surgically altered, the iris and pupil widened and a protective underlid added much like that of the shreeliala. There was webbing between her long, extended fingers also, and the twin lines of gills were on her neck, with long, scarlet fronds that said they’d been there a long time.
“Expensive,” I told her. “I’ve had the local.”
She sniffed and glanced at Hasalalo. “Hasalalo?” she asked—which told me that she knew it fairly well. Hasalalo didn’t reply immediately, and I prodded its arm.
“Nothing?” I asked the shreeliala. “I’m buying. Or rather, my pension fund is buying.” Hasalalo shook its head, and the bartender left. “You’re sure?” I asked it. “I know you shreeliala don’t care for our particular poisons, but I knew a few of you who could slam back sugar water like crazy.”
It ignored what I said entirely. Staring at me, it said, “You didn’t care if you saw the Lights-in-Water or the bones at the bottom of the Great Darkness? That’s what I want, more than anything. That’s why I pushed the Green Council to let Avariel come back. She said she would tell me what she saw in the Great Darkness, what my body will never experience with bones-of-air.”
“Bones-of-air,” I mused. “That’s all I have, now.”
I meant it as a joke. Hasalalo’s hissing was louder this time, more emphatic, and its voice had a timbre I’d rarely heard in shreeliala before. “I thought you would understand,” it said, though I wasn’t sure if that was agreement, sarcasm, or denial. “Have you seen the Pit, where those of us with bones-of-air go?”
I hadn’t, though sitting with Hasalalo, I wondered why. I knew about the Pit, the cauldron at the top of Blackstone Mountain, but Avariel had only glanced at the Blackstone’s paltry heights—no challenge to someone with her athletic ability—and shrugged. She’d had no interest in a walk to the heights, only in her descent to where no human had gone before, so therefore I had expressed no interest either. But that seemed too much to explain to Hasalalo, so I only shook my head.
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