Key to Chroma

by Piers Anthony

  "Acknowledgment."

  "I am Nonesuch the Songstress.” The Amazon surely already knew, but the formalities were important.

  "Angina the Amazon."

  That made Gale pause. Names were generally descriptive in some way, as was Gale's own: she had been named after the strong wind she had claimed to have encountered as a child, when covering up a secret matter. Havoc had been named for the havoc he wrought when taking vengeance against bullying boys who had threatened Gale. But angina was a form of physical ailment, painful spasms of choking or suffocating, or even heart trouble.

  The woman saw her confusion. She produced a short length of cord: a garrote. “I don't suffer it; my opponents do."

  Oh. She was of course a warrior woman, and that was a weapon that did not require male muscle. Gale glanced down at the baby she was holding. “May I continue—this?"

  "Granted. You may take the baby to your wagon, if you wish, while we travel."

  "Appreciation. Parting.” Gale turned and walked back to her wagon as she changed the baby to her right breast, which seemed about to burst. Dour followed silently. He had, after all, tried to warn her.

  "Chagrin,” he said as he helped her climb into the wagon, for it was awkward with the baby, who continued to nurse blissfully.

  "Negation. I ignored your cautioning, and reaped the consequence. It is, I discover, no bad thing.” Had the dragon seed known this would happen? Probably not; all it knew was when there was a lie or a threat to her, and there had been neither.

  The Translucent Chroma travel contingent arrived. They were semi-transparent men and women paddling large flat boats or barges across the liquid terrain. They brought these to the wagons, and the Amazons pushed one wagon after another onto the craft. When all wagons were loaded and secured, the Translucents resumed paddling—and the boats moved forward. But the little paddles couldn't be providing that much thrust.

  "Magic augmentation,” Dour explained. “The paddling is mainly guidance."

  "Comprehension.” Then she returned to the subject of the babies. “They do seem to be taking good care, though I am amazed to see Amazon warriors doing it."

  "They are ideal dual purpose guards,” he explained. “They can fight ferociously to protect the caravan and its cargo, but betweentimes can sustain the babies. No diminution of their defensive prowess is implied."

  "So I gather,” Gale agreed, remembering the garrote. That was one wicked little weapon, capable of killing a person quickly and silently, or of merely subduing him if that were the preferred option. “But this business of selling babies—who would ever voluntarily give up her baby?"

  "These are legitimate,” he said. “But if raiders should get them, they would become illegitimate, for criminals have no decent standards. Sometimes parents are killed, and neighbors lack the resources to take their orphaned children. Sometimes a mother bears a fifth, and can't support it. The value of such a baby is enormous; that family can trade it for a significantly more comfortable situation. Some girls prefer not to marry, and to give up their babies. They apply for special license, and may produce eight or ten healthy babies in the course of their fertile careers. They are doing the adoptive parents a favor."

  "Maybe,” Gale agreed reluctantly.

  "Without this service, those children would go hungry or find themselves in adverse situations. As it is, they go to families that truly desire them and can sustain them. The baby merchants are scrupulously screened; they abuse no babies."

  "I suppose.” The nursing little bundle was changing Gale's mind about the business. She had taken care of children in her family and village, but never before experienced this particular role.

  The water craft were now moving swiftly across the terrain. The land was visible under a thickening coating of water that followed its contours, impressive water magic. Gale had thought all water had to be flowing in rivers or flat in lakes; this was another interesting aspect. To the side she saw the Translucent Chroma Volcano, a shimmering cone of water from whose apex flowed an even spread of fluid. No doubt an eruption would hurl water into the sky, and be dangerous, but this quiescent flow was nice.

  Dour lifted his shield from his back, turned it around, produced a stylus, and began writing on it.

  "This is a scroll?” she asked, surprised.

  "Yes, in its fashion. It is standard cartography equipment. I see that the water terrain has shifted somewhat, so I am making a note."

  "Of course.” It did make sense; the reason Cartographers were constantly traveling was to keep abreast of the lay of their territories. They were always on duty, in this sense. He knew where he was going because he had made notes before, keeping his geographic information current. She simply had not considered the mechanism of it before.

  He completed his note, which seemed to consist of coordinates and spot diagrams. “When I return to Triumph City, I will post my corrections on the master chart, as we all do,” he explained as he returned his shield to his back.

  Then she felt wetness. “Complication."

  Dour saw—and smelled. “I must fetch an Amazon!"

  "Negation. I am competent to change a baby. See if there is a basin and a fresh diaper handy."

  He checked behind them in the wagon, and in a moment found what she needed. This was after all a baby caravan; baby supplies were surely in every wagon. He dipped the basin in the surrounding water while Gale lay the baby on a water resistant surface. She washed the filthy bottom, needing to rinse the cloth several times, as the excrement was liquid rather than solid. Dour kept changing the water for her.

  At last she had things all the way clean, and re-diapered the little form, and resumed her seat with the baby in her arms. The baby was no longer nursing, but sleeping, so Gale could relax.

  "You are competent,” Dour remarked.

  "I was a big sister. I learned how to handle babies. All except—” She shrugged, glancing down at her bosom.

  "Of course."

  Then she thought of something else. “I should be able to put the baby down now, for a while, as her needs of input and output have been satisfied and she should sleep for at least an hour. I can't be sure of that at night. So this may be the expedient time to be a woman to you."

  "Declined."

  She glanced at him, reading his mind. This time he was not being shy; he meant it. Surprised, she explored farther, and discovered that he really liked the feeling of being a family man, traveling with a beautiful woman and a baby. As if they were married. He believed, probably with justification, that he would never have such an experience again, even in emulation.

  She was touched, but did not want to reveal her telepathic ability, so questioned him. “Explanation?"

  He struggled for the words. “You—you have been very—very good to me, and I—I hope I can—can share your embrace again. But this—I know I have no right—the baby—the feeling—"

  He wasn't going to get it out, so she helped him. “It feels like a family?"

  He nodded, blushing.

  "That's sweet,” she said, and leaned across to kiss him.

  "You aren't angry?"

  "At the notion of no fault travel marriage? No. Not as long as you understand—"

  "That it is strictly a term liaison,” he finished. “I do."

  "Would you like to hold the baby?"

  He was surprised. “You would allow that?"

  "I am no more the mother of this child than you are the father. We are all playing roles."

  He was gratified. “Yes, I would like to."

  She gave him the baby, and adjusted his grip to support her properly. The infant stirred, waking, but then burped and went back to sleep.

  The Translucent paddler nearest their wagon glanced across at them, evidently picking up Dour's mixed but highly charged thoughts. Gale leaned across again and kissed the cartographer on the cheek, in the manner of an affectionate wife. There was an explosion of appreciative feeling. The Translucent smiled and returned his
attention to his paddling. He knew the business of the caravan.

  They passed close by the volcano. A puff of vapor rose from it, and there was an extra surge of water from its brim, but this was merely a routine fluctuation. The barges slid down the descending slope, allowing the paddlers some rest. It was an easy voyage.

  Until the monster came. Suddenly a huge greenish head popped out of the water, and rose on a long neck to survey the caravan. “Plesiosaur!” a Translucent cried, alerting them all. There was a scramble to assemble defensive magic.

  But it seemed that the monster was not predatory at the moment, merely curious. The head could readily have swooped down to bite at a person, but it simply gazed for a moment, then sank silently back into the sloping water.

  "Lucky for us,” Gale breathed, relieved. Actually the dragon seed had not buzzed.

  "The reptile knew the shield would stop it,” Dour said. “It would have gotten burned on the nose if it came too close. Humans are not its natural prey, and it wasn't hungry anyway."

  "You know the native life?” Gale asked, impressed.

  "I have to. I am not always on a protected boat."

  She squeezed his forearm. “That's nice.” It was amazing how much private emotion such a simple gesture could generate. He was enjoying this minor role playing almost as much as he had the sex of the prior evening, albeit in a different manner.

  In due course they came to the far side of the Translucent Chroma zone, and landed at a staging point. Horses were ready to pull the wagons to the next zone, so there was hardly any delay. They moved out of Translucent and into the edge of a completely black region.

  "Black Chroma,” Gale murmured with a shudder. But again, the dragon seed did not buzz. It found no danger, though her prejudiced imagination did.

  "No need to be concerned,” Dour said. The baby still slept peacefully on his shoulder. “The Blacks know when there will be an eruption, and don't allow transport then."

  She was relieved. She knew that the Black Chroma volcanoes, unlike the others, were inverted: instead of blowing out, they sucked in. Anything caught within the range of their force was drawn into the black hole in the center and obliterated. Any volcano was dangerous when active, but like most people, she especially dreaded this type. The natives of course had their magic to protect them, but nonChroma folk were vulnerable.

  They circled the wagons at the staging area. “I am advised that the cone is restive,” the caravan master announced. “So instead of crossing the zone now, we'll night here and do it in the morning, if it is clear. Fall out for functions, food, and entertainment. Do not leave the demarked camping region."

  The travelers debouched. The baby woke when Dour got down, so Gale took her back and put her to her breast. The freshening stone had remained active, and she was now more than ready to feed the baby again. They walked to the separate sections marked for excretionary functions, and Gale managed to perform hers without disturbing the baby's nursing. Then she rejoined Dour for the midday meal, still with the baby. She saw a number of Amazons doing the same thing; they were taking good care of their charges. Now she understood why, on more than the intellectual plane. Maybe it was mostly the magic of the red gem, but it was a rare pleasure to be doing this. She had condemned baby trading in her ignorance; she would not do so henceforth.

  After the meal, the caravan master approached Gale. “Performance,” he said.

  She nodded. It was time for her to pay for her transport. They had taken her on faith so far, but now she would demonstrate that she was indeed a songstress.

  But what was she to do with the baby? She did not want to return her to the Amazons, for fear she would not get the same one back later. That might be foolish, in view of the random nature of her acquisition of the baby, and of course the time of this bonding was sharply limited anyway. But that was the way of it. So she tried for an alternative.

  "Favor,” she said to Dour.

  "Granted.” He was completely smitten, and would literally do anything for her.

  "Join me in my performance."

  He was abruptly appalled. “On stage?” Suddenly it was clear that his shyness was not just of women; he was subject to severe stage fright.

  "You can do this. All you have to do is hold the baby and look at me."

  "I don't know—"

  "Fortunately I do know. You will be perfect.” She held the baby in the crook of her left arm, put her right arm through his left, and urged him forward, into the ring. He was reluctant, but unable to resist her will. She had not changed to more revealing clothing, for this was not that type of show. She expected to satisfy this audience with her competence rather than her flesh.

  She brought him to the center and parked him there. “Greetings,” she said to the audience that surrounded them.

  "Acknowledgment,” the people replied together.

  "I am Nonesuch the Songstress. My man will assist. Call us a family."

  They nodded, understanding that she was about to do a song-skit. Those were popular.

  She turned to Dour, who was frozen in place. “Take the baby, dear, for I have somewhat to say to you,” she said clearly, and put the bundle into his hands. He had no choice but to accept. He was also half stunned by the appellation “dear,” even in an open skit. So he stood holding the baby, somewhat awkwardly with his left arm, holding the staff with his right, as the audience chuckled. How many wives did exactly that, to husbands exactly as awkward about it?

  Gale briefly embraced him and the baby, and kissed him tenderly on the cheek, the very picture of domesticity. Then she stepped back a pace, faced him, and sang a very old, very popular love song normally sung by a man to a young woman he was courting:

  Believe me, if all these endearing young charms,

  Which I gaze on so fondly today

  Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,

  Like fairy gifts fading away—

  There was a ripple of laughter, for Dour was anything but young and pretty. He was a somewhat hulking ugly man, completely out of place in any such role. The humor was what made it a successful skit.

  But it was a song, and Gale knew herself to be not merely adequate, but an excellent singer. She had specialized in music, and was competent to teach it; it was unlikely that many in this caravan had ever heard a finer voice than hers. Now she brought out her little hammer dulcimer, and put on her finger hammers. She played a chord, demonstrating her complete competence with the instrument, then accompanied herself as she sung into the refrain

  Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,

  Let thy loveliness fade as it will,

  And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart

  Would entwine itself verdantly still.

  The laughter had faded, for the song was beautiful and so was she; they were listening raptly. She continued, concluding with the ancient analogy:

  As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,

  The same look which she turned when he rose.

  And she favored the cartographer with a look of sheer feigned adulation, evoking a low moan of appreciation from the audience. It was almost as if he were bathed in a glow of grandeur, like that of the sun.

  After a moment, the applause started. Gale glanced at the caravan master. He nodded. She had earned her keep.

  She went to Dour and took the baby from his unresisting arms. She gave him another kiss on the cheek, then faced the audience and rocked the baby in the cradle of her arms. “Sleep my child, and peace attend thee, All through the night,” she sang. There was another ooooh of appreciation from the audience, for this was excruciatingly relevant to the situation of the caravan. Several of the Amazons rocked their babies, matching Gale's cadence. One did not: Angina, who had given her baby to Gale. Gale realized that each Amazon had a baby to care for, and so this one now lacked hers. But Gale couldn't bring herself to give it back.

  She continued with other songs, and the merchants, families, a
nd Amazons were all much with her. Sometimes she used Dour as a prop, and sometimes she didn't; it hardly mattered. Gale had won this audience, as she had known she would. This was, after all, her true profession. When the show concluded there was sustained applause, and Dour was no longer afflicted by stage fright. He had become part of a supportive family, right there on stage.

  Thereafter, the other members of the caravan were far more cordial than they had been. Part of it was the baby Gale still carried and nursed and cared for, but more of it was the songs. They had perhaps assumed that she would be a hack, depending more on her appearance than her skill with music; now they knew she was real. Among them was Angina. “Apology."

  Gale did not try to embarrass her by pretending ignorance. The woman had thought to put her in her place, but instead Gale had won her respect. “Needless.” She hoped the Amazon would not ask for her baby back.

  "Perhaps.” The Amazon departed.

  That evening Gale did set the baby down and had sex with Dour, having read the desire in his mind. “You did well with the song,” she murmured.

  "I was frozen."

  "Typical male response to the situation.” There was just enough truth in that to exonerate him.

  "Oh, Nonesuch, you are so good to me!"

  She kissed him and received his pulsing. “Your turn to repay me will surely come."

  In the morning the Black Chroma authority deemed the volcano to be sufficiently quiescent for travel. Black men pushed the wagons to a large portal in the slope of a black hill. Therein were huge black bubbles that surrounded the wagons, encapsulating them. Suction brought the bubbles rapidly through a long tube-tunnel. There was nothing to be seen, as the tunnel walls were black and there was no light, but they felt the motion.

  "Black Chroma folk live mostly in tunnels,” Dour explained. “That protects them from getting sucked into the volcano when it implodes. They use residual suction to move their bubbles through travel tubes."

  "It's actually quite comfortable,” Gale said. “But I'll be glad to get to the next Chroma zone."

  "I won't."

  "You like blackness?"

  "I like every moment with you."