Decision Point (ARC)

by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  She looked indignant. “Is anything wrong with that?”

  “Yes,” Ryly said glumly. “I’m supposed to hate you.”

  *

  They walked together to the place where the waterfall

  cascaded in a bright foaming tumble down the mountainside, and

  they talked. And Ryly discovered that Clingerts were not quite

  so frightening as he had been led to believe.

  His wanderings had brought him close to Clingert territory;

  Joanne had been but an hour from home when she had met him.

  But he nervously declined an offer to come to the Clingert

  settlement with her. That would be carrying things much too far.

  After a while the Clingert said, “Do you hate me yet?”

  “I don’t think I’m going to hate you,” Ryly told her. “I think

  I like you. And particularly every time I think of Hella—”

  “Hella?” The Clingert’s eyes flashed angrily.

  “The Baille who was my betrothed.” He accented the was.

  “Clanfather gave her to me last month. We were supposed to be

  married when I returned to the settlement. I thought I was

  looking forward to it too. Until—until—”

  A wabbler mooed somewhere deeper in the forest. Ryly

  stared helplessly at the Clingert, realizing now what was

  happening to him.

  He was falling in love with the Clingert.

  Ever since the days when Thomas and Doris Baille first came

  to The World, Baille and Clingert had kept firm boundaries.

  Baille had mated only with Baille. And now—

  Ryly shook his head sadly. In the blue-and-gold brilliance of

  the afternoon, this Clingert seemed infinitely more desirable to

  him than any Baille woman ever had.

  She touched his hand gently. “You’re very quiet. You’re not

  at all like the Clingert men.”

  “I guess I’m not. What are they like?”

  She made a little face. “Much shorter than you are, with ugly

  straight dark hair and black eyes. Their muscles bunch up in

  knots when they draw bows; your arms are long and lean. And

  Clingert men get bald at a very young age.” Her hand lightly

  ruffled his Baille-yellow hair. “Do Bailles lose their hair young?”

  “Bailles never get bald. Clanfather’s hair is still as yellow as

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  mine, and he’s past fifty.” Ryly fell silent again, thinking of

  Clanfather and what he would say if he knew what had taken

  place out here.

  Not since the days when Thomas cast the first Clingert from

  his sight has this happened, he would probably intone in a deep,

  sententious voice.

  Ryly remembered a time far away in his childhood when a

  Baille woman had birthed a dark-haired son. Clanfather had

  driven child and parents out into the forest, and there other

  Bailles had stoned them. Ryly was not anxious to share that fate.

  But yet—

  He scrambled to his feet. The Clingert looked at him in alarm.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Back. To the Baille settlement.”

  There was a moment of silence between them. Finally Ryly

  took a deep breath and said, “I’ll return. Meet me at this place

  three days from now, at Dorisrise—I mean, when Secundus rises.

  Will you be here?”

  Uneasiness glimmered in her dark eyes. “Yes,” she said.

  *

  He reached the familiar Baille territory near nightfall the next

  day, having covered the outlying ground as rapidly as he could

  and with as few stops along the way as possible. He ducked

  back onto the main road around the time of Thomasset on

  Fiveday. He had had little difficulty in locating the tree that bore

  his name in its bark. Only the blue sun shone now, and it was

  low above the horizon; the moons were beginning their

  procession across the twilight- dimmed sky.

  Ryly stole into the settlement on the back road. That route

  brought him past the crude little cabin which Thomas had built

  with his own hands as a place for Doris and himself to live, long

  ago when the first Baille had tumbled out of the sky and settled

  on The World. Ryly quivered a little as he passed the dingy old

  shrine; the sort of betrayal he was contemplating did not come

  easy to him.

  Above all, he did not want to be seen. Not until he had spoken

  with his phenotype-brother Davud.

  A cat mewled. Ryly ducked into the concealing darkness of

  a vine bower and waited. A stiff-necked old man passed by:

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  Clanfather. Ryly held his breath until the old one had entered the

  Clan house; he slipped out of his shelter, then padded silently

  across the main courtyard, and ran into the open archway that led

  to Davud’s cabin.

  The light was on. Davud was inside, drowsing in a chair.

  Ryly tiptoed through the rear door. He sprang across the room in

  four bigbounds and clapped his hands over Davud’s mouth

  before the other had fully come awake.

  “It’s me—Ryly. I’m back.”

  “Mmph!”

  “Keep quiet and don’t make any loud noises. I don’t want

  people to find out I’m here yet.”

  He stepped back. Davud rubbed his lips and said, “What in

  Thomas’ name made you want to scare me like that? For a

  second I thought it was a Clingert raid.”

  Ryly winced. He stared intently at Davud, wondering if it

  was safe to tell him. Davud, of all the Bailles, was closest to him

  in physique and in attitude, which was the reason Clanfather had

  designated them phenotype-brothers even though they had

  different parents. Among the Bailles, actual parentage meant

  little, since genetically every clan member was virtually identical

  to every other.

  He and Davud were uncannily alike, though: both standing

  six- three, the Baille-norm height, both with the same twist to

  their unruly blond hair, the same sharpness of nose, and the

  same thinness of earlobe.

  He poured a beaker of thick yellow bryophyte wine and

  sipped it slowly to steady his nerves. “I have to talk to you,

  Davud. Something very important has happened to me.”

  Ignoring that, Davud said, “You weren’t supposed to come

  back until tomorrow morning. I saw Hella around Thomasset,

  and she said she couldn’t wait to see you again.” Davud grinned.

  “I told her I was enough like you to do, but she wouldn’t listen

  to the idea.”

  “Don’t talk about Hella. Listen to me, Davud. I went into

  Clingert territory on my trip. I met a Clingert girl. I … love

  her … I think.”

  Davud was on his feet in an instant, facing Ryly, brow to

  brow, chin to chin. His nostrils were quivering. “What did you

  just say?”

  Very quietly Ryly repeated his words.

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  “I thought that was it,” Davud muttered. “Ryly, are you out

  of your head? Marry a Clingert? That filth?”

  “But y
ou haven’t seen—”

  “I don’t need to see. You know the old stories of how the first

  Clingert quarreled with Thomas until Thomas was forced to

  drive him away. You know what sort of creatures the Clingerts

  are. How can you possibly—”

  “Love one? Davud, you don’t know how easy it is. The Baille

  girls are so damned big and brawny! Joanne is—well, you’d have

  to see her to know. The fact that Thomas and the first Clingert

  had some silly quarrel hundreds of years ago—”

  Davud’s face was a white mask of indignation. “Ryly! Get

  hold of yourself! You’re talking nonsense, man—absolute

  nonsense. Baille and Clingert must never breed. Would you want

  to pollute our line with theirs?”

  “Yes.” Defiantly.

  “You’re mad, then. But why did you come back here to tell

  me about all this? Why didn’t you simply stay with your

  Clingert?”

  “I wanted someone to know. Someone I could trust—like

  you.”

  “You made a mistake in that case,” Davud said. “I’m going

  to tell Clanfather the whole story, and when they stone you I’ll

  be glad to take part. That’s what they did the last time this

  happened, fifteen years ago, if you remember. When Luri Baille

  had a baby that looked like a Clingert. The line has to be kept

  pure.”

  “Why?”

  “It—it has to, that’s all,” Davud said weakly. As Ryly started

  to walk out, he added, “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Back to the forest,” Ryly said in a bitter voice. “I promised

  her I’d be back. I should never have come here in the first place.”

  He was shaking and perspiring heavily; somewhat to his own

  surprise he realized that by this conversation he had effectively

  cut himself off from the Bailles forever.

  “You’re not going, Ryly. I won’t let you.”

  Davud grabbed Ryly’s collar, but he pulled away. “Don’t try

  to stop me, Davud.”

  Without replying, Davud gripped the fleshy part of his arm.

  Calmly Ryly pivoted and smashed his fist into the face that was

  so much like his own. Davud blinked, half believing, and started

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  to mutter something. Ryly quickly jerked his arm free and hit

  Davud a second time. Davud sagged to the floor.

  Ryly stood poised indecisively for a second, watching with

  some astonishment the flow of blood from his phenotype-

  brother’s broken nose. Then he turned and dashed through the

  doorway, out into the dark courtyard, and ran as hard as he could

  for the forest road.

  He listened for the shouts of pursuers but could hear none

  yet. He wondered if perhaps he had hit Davud too hard.

  *

  Ryly spent an uneasy night in the forest not too far from the

  edge of the Baille territory; when morning came, he struck out at

  a rapid pace for the Baille-Clingert border. Joanne would be at

  the waterfall by Dorisrise—he hoped. For an instant he

  considered what would become of him if she had been playing

  him false, but he reached no answer. Could he return to the

  Bailles and marry Hella after all? He didn’t think so.

  The day grew warmer as he half trotted through the forest,

  following the series of trail-marks he had left to guide himself.

  When he reached the trysting place, it was not yet Dorisrise;

  Thomas alone was in the sky. Ryly sat by the water’s edge and

  splashed himself to clean away the sweat of travel.

  He heard footsteps. He looked up, hoping it might be Joanne.

  But it was Davud who appeared.

  “So you followed me?”

  Davud nodded. “I had to, Ryly.”

  “And I suppose you brought the whole tribe behind you, all

  of them foaming at the mouth and ready to stone me.” Ryly

  sighed. “I guess I didn’t hit you hard enough, then. You woke up

  too soon.”

  Davud’s nose was swollen and slightly askew. He said, “I

  came alone. I want to try to talk you out of this crazy thing, Ryly.

  Nobody else knows about it yet.”

  “Good. Now you go back and forget anything I said to you

  last night.”

  “I can’t do that,” Davud said. “I can’t let you mate with a—

  a Clingert. I came to bring you back to Baille land with me.”

  Ryly clenched his fists. He had no desire to fight with his

  pheno-type-brother a second time, but if Davud was going to

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  insist—

  “Get away from me, Davud. Go back alone.”

  It was almost Dorisrise time, now. Ryly hoped he would be

  able to get Davud out of the way before Joanne reached their

  rendezvous. But Davud was shaking his head stubbornly. “Baille

  and Clingert shall not breed. Thomas set that law down for us in

  the beginning, and it can never be broken. It is—”

  He stopped, jaw sagging, and pointed. Slowly Ryly turned.

  The first rays of Doris glinted blue in the flowing waterfall, and

  Joanne stood behind him.

  “Which of you is Ryly?” she asked plaintively.

  Ryly unfroze first. “I am,” he said. “This is my phenotype-

  brother Davud. He came with me to—meet you. Davud, this is

  Joanne.”

  “Is this a Clingert?” Davud asked slowly. “But—but—

  Clanfather always said they were ugly! And—”

  Joanne laughed, her special Clingert sort of laugh that Ryly

  had already grown to love. “He seems stunned. Just as stunned

  as you were, three days ago. Do all of you Bailles think we’re

  ogres?”

  Davud sat down heavily on a rotting stump. His face was

  very pale by the light of the double suns; he was shaking his head

  reflectively and seemed to be talking quietly to himself. At length

  he said, “All right. I apologize, Ryly. Now I see what you were

  talking about. Now I see!”

  There was an overenthusiastic note in Davud’s tone of voice

  that irked Ryly, but he refrained from voicing any annoyance.

  “What about Thomas and his laws now, Davud?” he said. “Now

  that you’ve seen a Clingert?”

  “I take everything back,” Davud murmured. “Everything.”

  Ryly glanced from his phenotype-brother to Joanne. “I guess

  we have his blessing; then. If—if you’re willing to become an

  outcast from the Clingerts, that is.”

  Now it was Joanne’s turn to look startled. “Outcast? For

  fulfilling the aim of the first Clingert?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  Ryly shook his head. “I don’t have the faintest idea of what

  you’re talking about.”

  “When it all started,” she said patiently. “When the spaceship

  exploded and the Clingerts and Bailles were thrown free and

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  landed on The World, hundreds of years ago, Jarl Clingert

  wanted to interbreed, but Thomas Baille wouldn’t have any of it.

  He wante
d to keep his line pure. So there hasn’t been very much

  contact between Clingert and Baille since then, ever since the

  time the first Baille threatened without provocation to kill Jarl

  Clingert if he came within ten miles of—”

  “Hold it,” Ryly said. “It was Clingert who tried to kill

  Thomas Baille and marry Doris, but Thomas drove him off

  and—”

  “No,” said Joanne. “You’ve got it all backward. It was

  Baille’s fault that—”

  “Let’s discuss ancient history some other time,” Davud

  interjected suddenly. There was a curiously pained expression on

  his face. “Ryly, do you mind if I talk to you alone a moment?”

  “Why—all right,” Ryly said, surprised.

  They drew a few feet farther away, and Ryly said, “Well?

  What do you think of her?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Davud whispered

  harshly. “I think she’s far and away above the Baille women.

  She’s so— different. Gentle but not weak, small but not flimsy—

  ” “I knew you’d like her, Davud.”

  “Not like,” Davud groaned. “Love. I love her too, Ryly.”

  *

  It came like a blow across the face. Ryly’s eyes widened and

  stared into the equally blue ones of his phenotype-brother. The

  Baille genes had been duplicated perfectly among them, it

  seemed. In every respect.

  “You can’t mean that,” Ryly said.

  “I do. Dammit, I do. How can I help it?”

  “We can’t both have her, Davud. And I think I have priority.

  I—”

  Davud gasped and seized him suddenly, spinning him

  around. Ryly looked, shut his eyes, touched his fingers lightly to

  his eyelids, and looked again. The mirage was still there. It was

  no illusion.

  He saw two Joannes.

  “Ryly? Davud? Meet Melena. Melena Clingert.”

  “Is she—your sister?” Ryly asked hoarsely. The two

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  Clingerts were, at this distance, identical.

  “My cousin,” Joanne said. “I don’t have any sisters.” She

  grinned. “Melena was hiding near the far side of the waterfall. I

  brought her along to have a peek at Ryly.”

  Ryly and his phenotype-brother exchanged astonished

  glances.

  “Of course,” Ryly said softly. “We Bailles all look alike; why

  shouldn’t the Clingerts? Three hundred years of inbreeding.