Refugee (15 page)

She shifted herself again, getting her balance, then used one hand to catch and guide my member, pointing it the way she wanted. She raised her hips, then slowly settled on me again. So gently and easily that I could hardly believe it was real, I found myself inside her.

“Now tell me this is evil,” she murmured, letting her thighs settle all the way against me, and bringing the rest of her body down so that she lay as she had before, her breasts pressing me down. Only one detail had changed, a small detail, yet with an overwhelming significance.

Still I would not move or speak. It was fear as much as stubbornness. I really did not know what to do, and was afraid that anything would be wrong, and would make her angry or hurt her.

“Tell me you are raping me,” she said, putting her hand behind my head as her whole body pressed more tightly against mine. Her weight was light, less than half-gee; it might have been uncomfortable in full Earth gravity, but even so, her body was the most wonderful thing I could possibly know.

“Tell me you love me,” she whispered, and now her tone of challenge had become one of urgent pleading. When I still was silent, she dipped her head and kissed me again, but this differed, as the other position differed from before, from the prior kiss. This time her mouth was open, and her tongue came through to touch mine.

I was at last overwhelmed. “I love you!” I breathed around our tongues, and was transported by a paroxysm of amazing sensation.

I woke, it seemed, an eon later. Helse lay beside me, her hand holding mine. She squeezed my fingers, and I knew she was awake.

“What is it that you want, that cannot be bought?” I asked, remembering what she had said before.

“You know it now.”

I knew it now, I discovered. “To love and be loved,” I said. “But why me?”

“You're a decent person, and you need me,” she said simply.

“I need you,” I agreed. And slept again, my hand in hers, without ill-dream.

In the morning, bubble time, I found her still beside me, sleeping. Still I could not see her, except as the vaguest outline, and I discovered I did not dare touch her body, for fear that everything would turn out to be illusion. I realized that she had been kind to me, and more than kind; she had shown me in an absolutely believable manner that sex itself was not evil. In the time following, that realization was to expand and deepen, becoming a fundamental aspect of my philosophy. This was Helse's invaluable gift to me: my honest acceptance of my male nature.

But right then I did not perceive that essence so clearly. I was only aware of Helse herself, and of my need for her. Had she given me her body for a night, to tide me through the storm of my guilt and grief, or was there more to it than that? I had said I loved her, and indeed I did, in that overwhelming flush of feeling that a person my age and temperament is capable of; it was sudden but profound. But she, she had not said she loved me, and she was a year older than I...

In my desperation to know, I reached out and found her shoulder. She woke immediately, and caught my hand in hers.

“Helse,” I said, but then could not find the phrasing for the question.

“Yes, Hope,” she murmured.

“Is—will there be another time?”

She brought my hand to her lips and kissed it, sending a sweet tingle through me. “If you ask me.”

“Ask you?” I repeated, perplexed.

“I won't do it for you, next time, Hope,” she explained. “You will have to ask me. Then I will do it.”

That wasn't enough of an answer. I struggled to formulate my objection. “I don't want your acquiescence. That could be for any reason. I want your love.”

She frowned against my palm. “I never said I loved you, Hope.”

“I know. But I love you! ”

She sighed. "You are less experienced than I am, Hope. You mistake rapture for love. Your emotion is shaken by tragedy. It is right for me to ease your confusion in my fashion, but not to ask too high a price.

When you are able to put it in perspective, you will know that love is not made in a single night."

I jerked my hand away from her, hurt.

She apologized immediately. "Hope, I did not mean to imply your emotion is not real or strong. Only that it is too soon to distinguish passion from love. I have been loved for a night by many men. By day they have other interests. Had I loved any of them, I would have been hurt, for my love is not just for a night.

Give me leave to protect myself from heartbreak, as I protect my body from abuse by concealing it from strangers."

I began to understand a little better. “But you could love me, if you were sure of me?”

“It is my dream, to love and be loved.”

Still that gentle evasion. She was being honest with me, and I appreciated that, but still it was hard to accept. I sat up, disgruntled, wanting more than I had any right to ask.

“May I kiss you?” she asked.

“I would like that,” I said, somewhat stiffly.

She got to her knees, leaned across, found my face, and kissed me. Her lips were warm and moist, and her body where it touched mine was wonderfully soft. “When you ask, and it is granted, it is good,” she said.

“I wish I could ask for your love.”

She smiled, a faint gleam of teeth in the dark, and separated. We dressed, then went out in the guise of two boys to visit the head. Helse had opened a door to a new dimension to me, the dimension of love, but some things had not changed.

Jupiter Orbit, 2-15-'15—Bubble life was routine, as far as possible. I still felt the terrible loss of my father, and knew it was worse for my mother and sisters. Helse had taken a huge segment of my aroused emotion and turned it positive, so that I had a kind of internal counterbalance. But my mother and sisters lacked that. I realized that, thanks to Helse's gift, I was now stronger than they, like a shipwrecked sailor who has found a barrel to cling to while others had nothing. I could not share my support with them, and could not even confess its nature, for they believed Helse was a boy like me.

Except Spirit. She caught me alone in the course of the day, and had to needle me. “How was it, brother?” she asked snidely.

A host of flip answers escaped before I could formulate any of them verbally. “I love her,” I said simply.

She glanced at me a long moment, having the grace to be embarrassed. “I'm sorry.”

I put my arm about her shoulders, forgiving her. “I know how it is,” I said, remembering how snappish I had been before, when my internal problem radiated sparks at other people. I had no need of that anymore. “You're still my sister. You're the only one who shares that secret.”

“Still, I'm jealous,” she admitted.

“You have no need to be. You aren't competing with her.”

“Yes, I am! If you had to throw one of us into space, which one would it be?”

The way to counter a question like that is to reverse it. “If you had to throw Faith or me into space, which would it be?”

“That depends who I'm mad at at the moment.” But Spirit turned sober, considering the implication.

“When you grow up and love a man, I'll try not to be too jealous,” I said.

“Oh, go ahead and be jealous!” she muttered. But she smiled. Then, in the treacherous way she had, she returned to her opening question. “Tell me what it's like,” she begged. “Please, Hope—I really want to know.”

Spirit was twelve. Did I have the right to tell her about sex? I had just learned about it myself! Of course we both knew the sterile mechanics as taught in school, and the applicable terms; we also both knew that such things had almost nothing to do with real sex or love.

I remembered the way older children, both male and female, had teased me in past years about my curiosity and ignorance. It seemed to be a conspiracy of silence, and I had never believed it was justified.

I resolved not to do that to my sister. “I was inside her,” I said carefully. “And heaven was inside me. I wish it could have lasted forever.”

“What about all the pain and blood?” she asked, and I saw that she was really worried. She, too, had seen the rape of Faith. I should have been aware of her natural reaction before. I had to reassure her about the other side of sex, as Helse had reassured me, so she would not fear it.

“There was no pain or blood. Nothing but joy.”

“But—”

“Give me your hand.” I took her small hand in mine and squeezed it cruelly.

“Ouch!” she shrieked.

“That's rape,” I said. Then I took her hand again, smoothed it out caressingly, and kissed it. “That's love.”

She looked at her extremity. “But that's only my hand!”

“Just one part of you—and me,” I agreed. “Another part was used to hurt Faith terribly—but last night I used it to love Helse. The difference is in how you use it. That's what she taught me.”

Spirit smiled quirkily. “I thought you used it to pee.” She was being humorous, resisting the notion, as I had resisted it during the night. Too simple a telling does not necessarily get the point across, because the listener isn't ready to believe. So I took stock again, pretty much as Helse had.

“That too,” I agreed. “But not last night. Just about every part of the body has more than one use, like the mouth that is used to eat and to talk or the nose used to breathe and smell. You just have to keep in mind which use you want.”

“Yes, it's hard to talk with your mouth full,” she agreed. She still didn't accept it.

I caught her shoulder, making her face me, suddenly finding it vitally important to spread the new message. “When you grow older, Spirit, and you love a boy, and he loves you, don't be afraid of his body. What he has for you is not cruel and not dirty; it's a form of love. The great crime of the pirates is that they take something perfect and abuse it, making it terrible. Don't judge all men by them!”

“Oh, I don't judge our father by—”

“And how do you think you and I came to exist?”

“There is that,” she agreed, with a wan smile. But her brow furrowed again. “Still, I don't know.”

“Ask Helse,” I said. “She will tell you.”

“I will.” Spirit left me. I hoped I had not wished something on Helse she would have preferred to avoid.

I talked with Señora Ortega, to learn how we were doing on our voyage. She squinted at me. “You're the lad who appointed me captain,” she said with the trace of a grim smile. “Yesterday you looked ready to die; today you are alive.”

“You're the right person,” I agreed. “That funeral service really made me feel better. And I had a good night. I'll be all right now. Are we on course?”

“A good night,” she repeated. “If I didn't know better, lad, I'd think you had discovered love.” Maybe she was teasing me; it was impossible to know how much she had guessed.

She got down to serious business quickly. “No, we're not on course,” she said frankly. “Our girls aren't as apt as the men were; we haven't had the training. The mechanism is simple, but the application takes practice. So we're handling the vectors clumsily. Oh, we're getting there, but it won't be on the original schedule. We'll have to stay on half rations.”

Well, it could have been worse. I moved on to talk with children. I did not consider myself a child anymore, and certainly it had been a man's duty I did with Helse, but my talent related well to the young folk. I tried to cheer them, for they had the least resources to comprehend or deal with the calamity that had befallen us all. We set up games in the Commons, even organizing a soccer match, using a tightly wrapped bundle of paper refuse for the ball. It really wasn't much, in this confined and curvaceous space and with the trace gravity, but it did bring a few smiles to some faces and kept the kids occupied. I felt this was the most useful thing I could do, for now, spreading some of the balm Helse had provided me, as it were.

Helse joined me in the afternoon. She still looked just like another boy, but now I fancied I could perceive feminine contours and mannerisms in her, hidden from other eyes. I still had not seen her body clearly in its natural state, and now I wanted to, knowing the rapture it offered me. “I have been talking with your sisters,” she said with a wry smile.

“I don't like keeping secrets from Spirit,” I said, knowing my little sister had wasted no time on her fact-finding mission.

“She said you said you love me, and had great joy last night.”

“It's true,” I admitted. “She asked me and I told her. I wouldn't lie to my little sister. I didn't think you would mind. Spirit's curious about everything, but she never betrays a confidence.”

“Then you don't mind if I tell her—” She shrugged. “—Anything?”

“No, of course I don't mind! I sent her to you. I don't want her to be afraid.”

She shook her head. “You are remarkably open.”

I frowned. “No, I'm not open with everyone. Spirit is special. We don't deceive each other. We fight sometimes, but we always understand. If she had a similar experience, she would tell me. Now that she's seen her sister raped, she needs to understand that it doesn't have to be that way.”

“Yes, of course. I was surprised, that's all. Men usually talk about such things to other men, not to their sisters.”

“Spirit is different,” I repeated firmly.

“Not Faith?”

“Faith is more like an ordinary sister.”

“She braced me,” Helse said. “I had to tell her my secret.”

“I don't see why,” I said, annoyed. “I try to protect Faith, but I don't share secrets with her.”

“She really cares for you, Hope. She appreciates what you've done for her. The siblings are much closer in your family than they were in mine; I envy you that. Faith saw the change in you today, and she worried.”

“But I didn't talk with her today!”

“Still, she noticed. She's not totally out of it, Hope; she's recovering. Your support really helped her.”

“Oh.” I was pleased. “She must have figured it would take more than a talking-to to put me back on track.”

“Yes. She guessed there was a liaison. And she thought I was male.”

I felt myself abruptly blushing. “She thought—?”

“She hoped it wasn't so. But she feared for your orientation, right now, under this terrible stress. So I had to tell her.”

“I guess you did!” I agreed, still embarrassed. “I'd better talk to her.”

“No need. She was relieved. I think she thought she could be responsible for you turning away from the opposite sex, because of the rape.”

“She was concerned for my reaction to what happened to her?” I asked, amazed. “Rather than for her own horror?”

“She's got that basic Hubris spirit of unity. It's a precious quality. She would do anything to spare the others in her family the humiliation she suffered.”

“I guess I didn't give her enough credit,” I said ruefully. “She, worried about me!”

“I was concerned too, maybe in a slightly different way. That's why I acted.”

“You sure did!” I agreed. “In one hour you changed my life forever.”

“I think Faith and I are going to be friends.”

“Yes, I think so.” I was both embarrassed and gratified: embarrassed for the way I had evidently seemed to those who were close to me, and gratified for the way they had tried to help.

After that I talked with Faith myself, explaining what Helse had done for me. “I'm not ashamed to be a man,” I told her. “I don't for a moment condone what happened to you, but—”

“It's all right, Hope,” she said. She looked better now; she had washed herself and brushed out her hair.

She was indeed recovering, having more inner strength than I had credited. “We have all had a terrible education in the past few days. I'm glad you found her. I should have known better than to worry.”

“How is Mother?” I asked cautiously. I was glad to see Faith regaining her equilibrium, but I wasn't certain how far it went.

“Hope, we have to take care of her! I thought I was badly off, until—it's so much worse for her!”

“What can we do for her?” I asked, surprised by my sister's animation. Faith had always been relatively sedate and retiring; Spirit was the wild one in our family, and I was in between. Now Faith was turning more decisive. Could her awful experience have changed her outlook?

“Helse told me a pirate tried to rape Mother, and you fought him off.”

“More or less,” I agreed. “Spirit smashed the pacifier box, so the rest of us could fight. I wasn't very effective. Spirit really saved us all.”

“I don't want—that—to happen to Charity Hubris,” Faith said firmly. “She's our mother , Hope! So if the pirates come again, and we can't stop them—” She broke off, evidently not finding it easy to speak her thought.

“We'll stop them somehow!” I said with a certain bravado.

“If they have that awful pacifier box, or something—” She took a breath and swallowed. “If it comes to that, Hope, I want you to send them my way, not Mother's way.”

I stared at her, horrified. “Faith! You know what they do!”

She smiled wanly. “I think I know as well as any woman can. But what have I to lose, now? Hope, we can't let our mother be defiled.”

“I hate even to think of this!” I exclaimed. “We should kill every pirate who comes into this bubble!”

“Yes. We should. But if we can't—then we must handle them another way. Promise me you will do it, if it needs to be done.”

I resisted, but she kept at me, somewhat the way Helse had—and in the end I had to yield and give my promise. There is something about the way a woman can importune a man, even if she is his sister. But I felt unclean.

Perhaps it was prophetic, for within an hour after that the pirates did come again. Not the same ones—but already the term “pirate” was generic.

We did not know at first that they were pirates. Their ship was in good repair and bore the emblem of the Mars Merchant Marine. That did not signify much, because for reasons of interplanetary commerce many non-Martian vessels elected to register with Mars. Martian taxes were less than those of Jupiter, Uranus, or Earth, and fuel was cheap there, as the so-called Red Planet had much of the fuel of the Solar System. But mainly, as I understood it from my school studies, Mars had extremely lax laws governing the wages and treatment of spacemen. The large trading companies could operate more profitably by economizing on safety measures and payrolls and retirement benefits, so they enlisted with the planet that permitted this. The maritime powers of Jupiter professed to deplore such shoddy mechanisms—yet quite a number of their ships operated under the emblem of Mars. So a Martian trader ship could be anything.

Except, we naïvely supposed, a pirate.

They locked onto us and opened the air lock. There was a pause before the inner door opened, and we knew they had discovered the dead and spoiling pirates. But soon the inner panel slid aside, and a man in a white uniform stood before us.

We had an innocent-seeming group of women near the lock to greet the intruders. Hidden around the curve of the Commons we had armed women, ready to fight viciously if that proved to be necessary.

Normally women were not warriors, but the brutal experience of rape and murder had forged a new temperament in many. Before we allowed more of the same, we would fight and kill. We all understood that. Twice we had overcome intruders, and twice had our situation reversed—and twice suffered grievously. Experience is a cruel but effective teacher.

Spirit, garbed as a boy, was one of the display children. They were innocently playing—but she was armed with her finger-whip, and the others had small knives. If the others turned out to be pirates, she and the children were supposed to scream in simulated or genuine panic and flee, clearing the way for our fighting forces. If anything resembling a pacifier box made an appearance, Spirit would go for it. But if the children were caught, they would fight. We had to give the outsiders a chance to prove they were legitimate, just in case they were, for we were in desperate need of food and help. We dared not alienate legitimate visitors.