The Snow Queen

by Joan D. Vinge

  “... Who suckles us upon Her breast

  And makes Herself our grave?”

  “The Lady gives us all we need.

  We give her all we can.”

  Moon watched Fate begin to drift out in a counter circle bearing the mask, her expression intent but formless. She won’t recognize me.

  “Who fills our nets and pools and bellies,

  Who fills our hearts with grief?”

  “The Lady gives us all we need,

  And asks for all we have.”

  Moon bit her lip against panic, against more words, the urge to cry out, Here, here I am! Wanting to believe that it was predestination, but no longer certain that anything was predestined. She couldn’t leave it to chance—not after she had come this far, and seen so much. She has to choose me. But how—?

  “Whose blessings cause the sky to weep,

  Whose curse melds sea with air?”

  “The Lady gives us all we need,

  And makes us what we are.”

  Moon’s memory leaped forward to the next verse, and the two levels of her consciousness fused: “Input!”

  “Who knows the one that She will call,

  Or what their fate will be?”

  The refrain faded as she fell into Transfer, came back with a sudden intensity that deafened her. She felt herself lurch with the shock, tried to open her eyes. But her eyes were open, and still the world she saw was barely brighter than moonlight, its edges blurred and indistinct. Her other senses fed her perception all out of proportion ... because she was blind! In another second she had passed through terror to the understanding that she was—Fate Ravenglass. And that somewhere in that dimly seen line of figures circling past her immobile body was one that must be caught at the other pole of this Transfer ....

  She watched the dim figures pass, and pass, wondering what she would find, if she would even be able to tell what was taking shape. And then she made out the one figure that stumbled in line, supported, half-carried, on the arms of the indistinguishable women at either side: herself—she was seeing herself. And Fate Ravenglass looked back with her eyes; each of them seeing her own face and knowing they did .... Abruptly Moon felt her borrowed body unlock and move forward freely toward her real one, the mask held out before her in her hands. As she closed with herself she could see at last that the face was really her own. It stared at the mask, back at her, with wonder and wordless fascination. She lifted the mask with Fate’s trembling hands, moved again by its beauty as she set it firmly on her own shoulders.

  As the mask settled in place she felt herself wrenched back across the Transfer gap, into her rightful mind, and heard her cry as she ended the trance. Looking out now through the eye holes of the mask, she saw Fate standing dazed before her, felt her own arms still supported by the women beside her, heard the roar of the crowd’s jubilation. But all that she remembered of the moment was Fate touching the face that was her own again: “My face—I saw my face. And the mask of the Summer Queen ...”

  The crowd began to close in around them, smashing the fragile circle of hands, sweeping away the also-rans. Moon’s support broke away as she regained her equilibrium; she reached out and grasped Fate’s hands, holding her steady, face to face. “Fate—it’s happened! I did it! I am the Summer Queen!”

  “Yes. Yes, I know.” Fate shook her head, tears putting light in her darkened eyes. “It was meant to be. It was. It must be the first time two sibyls ever looked out of each other’s eyes, and saw themselves—” She smoothed her collar of white feathers distractedly. “You’ll be everything as Queen that I made your mask to be.”

  Moon felt her heart squeezed by a sudden, heavy hand. “But not alone. I’ll need help. I’ll need people my people can trust ... and yours can. Will you help me?”

  The feather collar rustled with Fate’s nod. “I’m in need of a new career. Whatever I can do to help I’ll do gladly. Moon ... Your Majesty.”

  The netted canopy shadowed them, and the Goodventure elder came up between them, gravely gay. “Lady!” The other Goodventures bowed around her. “Your duties today are three: To go among the people and show them that the Mask Night has begun. To be carefree. To rejoice. And your duties tomorrow are three: To go down to the docks when dawn comes beyond the walls. To deliver Winter to the Sea. To rule in her place as the Lady wills.”

  To deliver Winter to the Sea. Moon looked toward the palace. “I understand.”

  “Then come with us, and let the people see you. Until tomorrow we are all between worlds, between Winter and Summer, between the past and the future. And you’re the harbinger.” The Goodventure woman gestured Moon under the waiting canopy.

  “Fate, will you come with me?”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll be along.” Fate smiled. “This may be the last time I have a chance to see my fellow human beings in all their glory, and I want to make the most of it.” She touched her artificial eye with a loving fingertip, and sorrow. “All my masks, a lifetime’s work, will bloom and fade in this one night ... and soon my sight will go into the sea with the rest of Winter’s bounty, good and bad together.”

  “No!” Moon shook her head. “I swear to you, Fate—this will be a real Change!” The crowd began to pry between them.

  “Moon—what about Sparks?” Fate called it across the widening gap.

  Moon stretched her hand fruitlessly, losing control, lost in the mob. “I don’t know! I don’t know—” Strong arms lifted her up onto a garlanded litter, and she was borne away beneath the canopy down the Street, a leaf swirling on the stream.

  Everywhere as she was carried along she saw masks appearing as the revelers hid their faces, cast off their own identities; becoming their fantasies, as the Summer Queen had—as she had done. Tonight there would be no Winter or Summer, off worlder or native, right or wrong. Everywhere costumes blossomed, music played,masked faces laughed and sang and shouted for the Queen. Everywhere people followed alongside her litter, offering her food and drink and gifts, trying simply to touch her for luck. It was her duty today, tonight, to be the merry mayfly, symbol of life’s fleeting joy; because not until tomorrow would her rule and the world become genuine again .... And she was grateful for the mask she wore that was all those things to them, that let her hide the truth that whenever she became a part of the moment time leaped ahead again for her, and tomorrow took away her laughter. Because if her plan had failed, if Sirus had failed her, tomorrow she would speak the words and give the sign as Summer Queen, and Sparks would drown ...

  - 49 -

  So she actually believes she’s going to be chosen Summer Queen. She hears voices telling her she’ll win. Jerusha paced slowly in the rattling emptiness of the Chief Justice’s antechamber, too nervous to sit still on the forlorn assortment of abandoned furniture. Against odds of hundreds to one? No, Jerusha, the universe doesn’t give a damn what she believes ... or you do, or anybody else. It doesn’t matter.

  There was nothing to distract her mind but the fuzzy negatives of places where things had been and no longer were in this sad, anciently naked room. But a new set of things, and people, would be back in their place when the Change came again to enduring Carbuncle. Things change all the time; but how much of it is real? Does any choice any of us ever makes, no matter how important it seems, really cause a ripple in the greater scheme of things? Passing the window, she saw herself superimposed on the image of the metamorphosing city, studied the reflection silently.

  “Commander PalaThion. It was good of you to come. I know how busy you’ve been.” Chief Justice Hovanesse stood in the doorway, held up a hand in courteous welcome, and she managed to forget that she had been kept pacing out here well past the appointed time of the invitation.

  She saluted. “I’m never too busy to discuss the Hegemony’s welfare, your honor.” Or mine. Or to watch a man eat his words ... She touched his hand politely, and he gestured her ahead of him into the inner room. It was a meeting room, with a long table built out of smaller tables and clutt
ered with portable terminals. The usual assortment of local Hedge bureaucrats she had come to know and loathe sat around it, intermittent with actual assemblymen, mostly strangers to her. They had, she supposed, been making the last of the obligatory reports on every imaginable aspect of their occupation of Tiamat. Even on a world as unpopulated and underdeveloped as this one the process of departure was leviathan. The few Kharemoughi faces she could see clearly looked exceedingly bored. Thank the gods I’m only a Blue and not a bureaucrat. She remembered that since she had become Commander she had hardly been anything else. But yesterday I was a real officer again.

  She stood listening to the patter of their applause, of palms against the table surface, absorbing their reception while she compared it mentally to the one she had been anticipating until yesterday. Most of the civil officials assigned here on Tiamat were from the same part of Newhaven, like most of the police; the Hegemony felt that cultural homogeneity made for more efficiency. And today, at least, the fact that she was one of their own being honored in the presence of Kharemoughis seemed to outweigh the fact that she was only a female. She bowed with dignity, acknowledging their tribute, and took a seat in the mismatched chair at the near end of the tabl

  “As I’m sure you all have heard by now,” the Chief Justice stood at his own place, “Commander PalaThion uncovered, and at virtually the last moment thwarted, an attempt by Tiamat’s Snow Quee to retain her power ...”

  Jerusha listened covetously to the report, savoring every flattering adjective like the scent of rare herbs. Gods, I could get used to this. Even though Hovanesse was a Kharemoughi himself, he was aware that as Chief Justice he reflected her glory today, and he was laying it on thick. He sipped frequently from a translucent cup; she wondered whether it was really water, or something to numb the pain of paying her compliments. “... Even though, as most of us here are aware, there was a certain amount of—controversy about appointin a woman Commander of Police, I think she has proved that she is capable of rising to a challenge. I doubt if our original choice for the post, Chief Inspector Mantagnes, could have handled the situation any better if their positions had been reversed.”

  That’s for damn sure. Jerusha glanced down in false modesty, hiding the glass fragments in her smile. “I was just doing my job, your honor; as I’ve tried to do it all along.” With no help from you, I could add. She bit her tongue.

  “Nevertheless, Commander,” one of the Assembly members stood up expansively, “you’ll finish your service here with a commendation on your record. You’re a credit to your world and your gender.” One or two Newhavenese coughed at that. “It just goes to show that no one world, or race, or sex, has a complete monopoly on intelligence; all can and shall contribute to the greater good of the Hegemony, if not equally, at least according to their individual abilities..”

  “Who writes the graffiti inside his braincase?” the Director of Public Health muttered sourly.

  “I don’t know,” behind her hand, “but he’s living proof that living for centuries doesn’t have to teach you anything.” She saw his mouth twitch and his eyes roll in a fleeting moment of comradely aggravation.

  “Would you care to say a few words, Commander?”

  Jerusha flinched, until she realized the assemblyman hadn’t even been aware of anyone speaking besides himself. Don’t let me choke, gods. “Uh, thank you, sir. I didn’t really come here planning to make a speech, and I really don’t have the time.” But wait a minute— “But since I’ve got you all here listening to me, maybe there is a matter important enough to spend our time on.” She stood up, leaning forward on the slightly uneven tabletop. “A few weeks ago I had a very disturbing question put to me: a question about the mers—the Tiamatan creatures we get the water of life from,” for the benefit of any assemblyman who was or pretended to be ignorant of it. “I was told that the Old Empire created the mers to be creatures with human-level intelligence. The man who told me this had the information directly from a sibyl Transfer.”

  She watched their reactions spread like ripple rings colliding on a water surface; tried to guess whether it was genuine—whether the Assembly knew, whether the civil officials did, whether she was the only human being in this room who had been blind to the truth ... But if any of them were faking their amazement, they were good at it. The murmurs of protest rose along the table.

  “Are you trying to tell us,” Hovanesse said, “that someone claims we’ve been exterminating an intelligent race?”

  She nodded, her eyes downcast as she spoke, treading lightly. “Not knowingly, of course.” In her mind she saw the bodies on the beach: but killing them just the same. “I’m sure no one in this room, no member of the Hegemonic Assembly, would let anything like that go on.” She glanced deliberately at the oldest Wearer of the Badge among them, a man in his sixties who just might be left over from long enough ago. “But someone knew once, because we know about the water of Life.” If he did know, he wasn’t letting her see it on his face; she wondered suddenly why she wanted to.

  “So you are suggesting,” one of the other Kharemoughis demanded, “that our ancestors consciously buried the truth, in order to get the water of life for themselves?” She heard the extra grimness that weighed down ancestors, and realized that she had made a misstep. Criticizing a Kharemoughi’s ancestors was like accusing one of her own people of incest.

  But she nodded, firmly, stubbornly, “Someone’s did, yes, sir.”

  Hovanesse took a sip from his glass, said heavily, “Those are exceptionally ugly and unpleasant charges to bring up at a time like this, Commander PalaThion.”

  She nodded again. “I know, Your Honor. But I can’t think of a more appropriate audience for them. If this is true—”

  “Who made the accusation? What’s his proof?”

  “An offworlder named Ngenet; he has a land-grant plantation here on Tiamat.”

  “Ngenet?” The Director of Communications touched his ear in derision. “That renegade? He’d claim anything to make the Hegemony look bad. Everyone in the government knows that. The only attention he deserves from you, Commander, is a jail cell.”

  Jerusha smiled briefly. “I once considered it. But he claims this information was given to him by a sibyl; it would be easy enough to I corroborate by asking another one.”

  “I wouldn’t degrade the honor of my ancestors by such an insulting act!” one of the assemblymen murmured.

  “It seems to me,” Jerusha leaned forward again, “that the future of this world’s people, human and nonhuman, ought to be a lot more important than the reputation of Kharemoughis who were dust a millennium ago. If a wrong’s being done, let’s admit it and correct it. If we wink at mass murder here we’re as bad as the Snow Queen herself. Worse—splattered with the blood of innocent beings by the slaves and lackeys who only obey our demands, while we punish them for our guilt by keeping them in the Fire Age!” Stunned by the words she heard come out of her own mouth, she remembered abruptly who had put them into her mind.

  The silence of the grave met her on every side, and bore her back down into her seat. She sat still, very aware of her own breathing, and of then—goodwill draining away, emptying out of this husk of a room. “Sorry, gentlemen. I guess I—spoke out of turn. I know this is a hard accusation to face; that’s why I’ve had so damn much trouble knowing what to do about it myself, whether to file a report—”

  “Don’t file a report,” Hovanesse said.

  She looked up at him, questioning; back along the table’s length at the brittle anger of the Kharemoughis, and the resentful anger of the Newhavenese. You damn fool! What made you think they’d want to look Truth straight in the face, any more than you did?

  “The Assembly will take up the matter after we leave Tiamat. When we’ve made our decision, the Hegemonic Coordinating Center on Kharemough will be notified of any policy change that needs to be made.”

  “You will question a sibyl, at least.” She twisted her watchband below the table’s e
dge, longing for a handful of iestas.

  “We have one among us, on the ships,” not entirely answering the question.

  I pity the poor bleeder, with a clientele like that. She wondered in her heart whether this one question worth asking would ever be asked again.

  “In any case,” Hovanesse frowned at her silence, “whatever is decided won’t have to concern you, Jerusha; you’ll spend the rest of your career, and your life, light-years away from Tiamat. Just like we all will. We appreciate your concern, your honesty in speaking your mind. But the question and Tiamat become purely academic for us from here on.”

  “I suppose so, Your Honor.” And even the rain doesn’t fall if it doesn’t fall on you. She got to her feet again and saluted them all stiffly. “Thank you for your time, and for asking me here. But I’ve got to be getting back to my duties before they become academic, too.” She turned without waiting for a sign of dismissal and went quickly out of the room.

  She had gotten as far as the hallway before Hovanesse’s voice called her to a stop. She turned back, half hot and half cold, saw t him coming after her alone. She couldn’t quite read his face.

  “You didn’t give the Assembly the opportunity to give you your new assignments, Commander.” His eyes castigated her for her tactlessness and ingratitude before the Assembly members; but he said nothing more.