Choices (10 page)

Edwige stared back at me as if I had lost my
wits. “That’s up to you. If you want to leave, I’ll tell them
you’re on your way, tomorrow if you like. A squadron of aides can
escort you.”

“I don’t want to go,” I insisted. “Let me
send the message, tell them I want to stay here.”

“Amalie,” Edwige said with a patient sigh,
“what do you think the Terrans would make of a message, relayed
through your ‘captors,’ saying that you wish to remain in
captivity? It’s a classic terrorist ploy. The Terrans would want to
see you, speak to you in person, to determine whether or not you’re
acting under duress. And that is simply not possible in a Protected
World like ours.”

“Then what can I do?” I asked.

“If you do not want to go back,” Edwige was
trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice, “we must lie. I
will say, as will all the other sibyls and ‘Graven, that I do not
know of this Amelia Herzog, but should I discover anything I will
of course inform Lord Zichmni at once. And we will all express
suitable disdain at the idea of a reward. What do you suppose it
is?” she asked, momentarily diverted.

“Credits,” I answered automatically.

“No,” Edwige said, “I mean, how much?”

“How should I know?” I said. “What’s it to
you? You just said no one would want it.”

“Oh, Amalie,” she said. “You put so little
store in your abilities. I want you to have a little pride, some
confidence, to see that here at La Sapienza we are truly honored by
your choice. Whatever happened the other night, and whatever shame
you felt the next day, that is nothing. It is finished.” She
lowered her head conspiratorially. “I’m glad that message came so
late.”

Finally I felt free to breathe deeply, to
straighten my shoulders and sit up. “Me too,” I said with a grin.
“Me too.”

“Now,” Edwige said, lifting her head and
taking command again. “Here’s what will happen: I must go in
immediately, before the delay looks suspicious, and say we know
nothing of a Terran woman, but we will of course be on the lookout.
Then Lord Zichmni can report honestly to your consulate that nobody
in the ‘Graven Realms has sent in any information about you. The
Terrans will be caught between Andrade and Aranyi.”

My exclamation startled her.

“Pardon the expression,” she said, stifling a
laugh. “It’s our way of saying what the Terrans call ‘between a
rock and a hard place.’ ”

I wondered how Dominic felt about his Realm’s
name being used as part of a not-so-flattering idiom. “Why?”

“Because,” Edwige said, “Andrade and Aranyi
are the Realms with the rockiest and harshest land, straddling the
northern mountains, impassable in winter and hardscrabble the rest
of the year. I’m sorry, Amalie, but there’s no point in pretending
Aranyi is a pleasure garden.”

“No,” I said, frowning at what I guessed was
an honest description of Dominic’s home, “why will the Terrans be
in that position?”

“Think about it,” Edwige said. She had
reverted to her role of instructor. “The Terrans will naturally not
believe the report, but to disprove it they would have to send a
search party into the ‘Graven Realms, which they’re not allowed to
do. They might try to send a single agent, if they have one good
enough to masquerade as an Eclipsian, on horseback or mule, to
cover all the ‘Graven territory. That could take a while,” she
added with a smirk. “And even if he were to make it to La Sapienza,
it would not be safe for him to enter. That’s the rock. As for the
hard place, they can pretend to accept our answer and let the
matter drop. Let you go. If you change your mind at any time, we
can tell them you’ve been found. How’s that?”

I was amazed at how easily I had escaped into
another life. “Wonderful,” I said. “Perfect.”

Edwige was up at my words, bustling into the
relay room with a swirl of petticoats. She shooed Alicia off the
seat, thought her concise, empty message into the telescope, and
sat back in satisfaction when it was acknowledged and passed on.
“There,” she said, standing up, nodding to me and Alicia. “All
yours.”

We sat down again, and I stared at the
expanding ripples that were quickly dissolving to the usual
nothingness. “That should be the end of that,” Edwige assured us as
she headed out the door, “but if there are any more inquiries, I’ll
be right in.”

Alicia and I finished the shift in awkward
silence, tensed for a follow-up message, afraid to talk or even to
share thoughts that might be sent inadvertently through the signal
scope. When Cassandra Galloway came in to relieve us she was
smiling. “A personal message on your first shift! And to think of
all the empty shifts I sat through when I started—” She shook her
head in envy.

Cassandra had not exchanged two words with me
since my arrival. She had often projected a sullen animosity that I
was sure was not all my imagination, and her sudden friendliness
seemed to cover an underlying hostility. Seeing I was still upset
she softened her tone. “Honestly, Amalie,” she said. “It’s nothing
to worry about. Lord Zichmni will keep things quiet in the city.
And you’re safer here than anywhere else.”

As I returned to my room before supper, I
remembered Cassandra’s other words.
Empty shifts
. In my
Terran job as an information manager I had taken shifts, too. But
there we had all hoped for a slow shift, not to be deluged by too
many requests at once. Right now empty shifts, even turning my
brain into a microchip, sounded lovely. My contempt for the
Eclipsians’ laborious recreation of the Terran technology
evaporated as I began to appreciate the independence their tedious
method allowed. The satellites and the wires that powered our cubes
extracted a price, one we Terrans had long since forgotten:
privacy.

I wondered how many empty shifts it would
take for me to grow weary of them. I hoped there would be nothing
but empty shifts until I was certain that the Terrans had settled
for the hard place of forgetting about me instead of the rock of
searching.

Why should I dislike it so, to be sought
after?
I felt the reality of it now, the warning Dominic had
given me earlier. The Terrans had begun to value me, not for my own
sake, but for my telepathic ability that might gain them an
advantage in their war of conquest by consumerism. Just like
‘Graven, who saw in me a collection of desirable commodities: raw
crypta
, with the potential for technical skill, and
fertility. Only here, among the gifted, dedicated to the use of our
talents, could I be treated as a complete human being. Here we were
all equals; I would be judged, not on appearance or the possession
of any particular attribute, but on my entirety.

Five days after I had taken that fateful
shopping trip, my new clothes arrived. The package was delivered
late in the day, so that it was only as I was preparing for bed
that I had a chance to see what Madame Leslie had created from my
measurements and my choices. When I entered my room that evening my
aide, purring with delight, was laying it all out on my bed. He
helped me try everything on, including the formal gown that Edwige
had insisted I get. “Midwinter is coming,” she had said. “Even at
La Sapienza you will want to dress up for the feast.”

It was all miraculous. Every garment, from
linen shift to the gown in a lustrous teal green velvet, fitted me
like a second skin. They were loose enough almost to make me
unaware that I was wearing clothes, yet so carefully adhering to
every curve and line of my body that they revealed my shape, except
for the legs, as well as the Terran ones had. Their crafted,
graceful cut was, if anything, more flattering than the crude
stretch fabrics that, like brutally honest close-up photographs
highlighting pores and wrinkles, had accentuated every bulge and
crease. I twirled in front of the small window, a faint reflection
of myself glimmering against the darkness, until my aide made me
undress, put on one of the silk nightgowns and get ready for
bed.

In the morning I was quick to bathe so I
could choose which new work dress to wear. I had two—even wealthy
Eclipsians do not own half the possessions that the average Terran
calls necessities—and I dithered happily between the intricate
tweed patterns, one blue, one red, until I was almost late for
breakfast.

As on my first day, the reaction was
astonishment. This time I had been here long enough to have a
better understanding of why. Eclipsis was very much a class
society, no matter how the boundaries were necessarily shifting,
becoming more fluid. The ‘Graven’s powers were so revered, their
status inviolable after centuries of dominance, that having the
appearance of ‘Graven conferred as much prestige as the actual
gift. And unlike most of the others, I looked like ‘Graven.

The original settlers had been a typical
Terran mix of ethnicities, but centuries of inbreeding among the
‘Graven, selecting for recessive traits of telepathy and
light-sensitivity, had accelerated their evolution into a
homogeneous population of pale aristocrats. Ordinary people,
including the gentry, had retained more of their distinctive
appearance, even as some of them inherited the inner eyelids that
accompanied telepathic ability. My red hair and the pasty white
skin that goes with it, and my hazel-green eyes, proclaimed the
“Lady Amalie” that Edwige had called me in the dressmaker’s shop.
She had traded on my looks then, for my benefit, to get me these
clothes. Now my coworkers were seeing me in a new way, wearing the
fine, adult clothing suitable for a Lady Amalie.

Just when I had become convinced that I had
found a place that accepted me for myself. Once again I questioned
the impulse that had led me to this new life. “It’s only me,” I
said, breaking what had become an overawed silence. “Amalie from
Terra. My new dress won’t make me pay attention on the signal
scope, or teach me better shield control.”

Matilda laughed. “We know that, Amalie. Our
minds know that, but our eyes tell us different, and we’re all
struggling to keep ourselves in balance.”

“Just look at my short hair if you need any
reminding,” I said. I had been wondering what to do about my neat
cut as it degenerated into scruffiness, whether to ask my aide to
trim the straggling wisps at neck and temples that always bothered
me. It might be easier to let it grow, but it would take a long
time for it to be something more than just shaggy, longer than the
six months I had committed to.

I caught only one thought, and then only
because it was so intense the thinker hadn’t been able to contain
it.
Don’t look at the hair
, Tomasz was telling himself.
By all the gods, don’t look at the neck
.

He meant my hair, my neck. What was so wrong
about that, that he needed to admonish himself for doing it? It was
from Alicia, his betrothed, that I got the answer. She pulled me
aside and explained what had been going on since my arrival, would
continue until my hair grew out.

All Eclipsian women except, as had been
pointed out earlier, some “professionals,” wear their hair long.
Adults don’t let it hang free, but coil it low on the neck or wear
a veil so that the nape is always covered. To expose the back of
the neck in public is the equivalent of baring their breasts, or
perhaps more like being naked below the waist with their legs
spread. It is the ultimate sexual invitation, debasing even for
prostitutes.

And all along Tomasz Liang, and Paolo di
Battista and Julian Vazquez had been seeing me like this. In my new
‘Gravina manifestation the provocation was greater, since the
higher rank made me more tempting. For Paolo it was funny but not
troubling; his sexual thoughts ran all to men. For Julian it had
been disturbing at first, but his years as a seer had brought him a
degree of control that allowed him to ignore it. For Tomasz it was
most difficult. I remembered that morning after my arrival, when
Matilda had noticed Tomasz ogling my neck and had ordered him
wordlessly to stop.

“You can’t help it of course,” Alicia said,
making me feel that, on some level, she thought I could certainly
help it if I only made an effort. “But it’s a strain for
Tomasz.”

“Why don’t I wear a scarf around my neck?” I
suggested. “Or a veil over the back of my head?”
Why didn’t
someone say anything before?

“No, Amalie,” Alicia said. “That would simply
call more attention to it. We didn’t say anything before because we
didn’t want to make you more uncomfortable. But I know you sensed
Tomasz’s desire just now—”

How painful it must be for her
. I
was sorry that she had had to be the one to tell me.

But Alicia seemed merely annoyed, more on
Tomasz’s account than her own. “Just let your hair grow,” she said
in a resigned way. “Besides,” she added, brightening, “Midwinter is
coming, and you’ll be working in a cell with the rest of them
soon.”

I didn’t see why these things should help the
situation, but I accepted Alicia’s view that if I ignored the
problem and got on with my work, Tomasz would be less
distracted.

It would take some adjustment on both sides.
In fact, if it were not for the
crypta
showing me
otherwise, I might have thought people were making fun of me. I had
welcomed the chance to be judged solely by my character. In the
Terran world it had been my only hope, since I certainly couldn’t
coast on my looks there. Now, by coming into this world, I had
moved from near the bottom of the scale of beauty to the top, a
transition that was turning out to be not so easy as it might have
seemed when it was beyond my reach. I must continue to watch my
every word and thought, no longer so that other people would not
mistake friendliness for a sexual attraction they could not return,
but from the opposite concern, to not encourage unwanted
attentions.