The Braided World (4 page)

Someone drew a wall partition aside, and in climbed a young man from a boat anchored in the water below. It was unnerving how some screens could be doors and others were fixed. You never knew where, exactly, doors were.

She considered borrowing the young man's boat, but he might want it back. No matter. There were plenty of boats; it was a world of boats.

Anton had asked her not to mix with the Dassa without him. But what did he mean by
mixì
There were degrees of mixing. Bailey wasn't going to interfere with the king or with politics, especially now, with the attempt on Zhen's life last week and Zhen being under close guard. No, she would let Anton deal with the royals. In her life, she'd had her fill of important people.

Meanwhile, a little boat ride, to discover more fully who these people were. What they knew. How they could help.

Eyes on the prize, my dears.
You didn't get to be diva of the Western world without focus.

Because it was all here, everything that the Message had promised. It was simply a matter of figuring it out. The answer lay with the hoda, surely. Unless she was just a very foolish old woman, lacking—as her detractors claimed— the sense and the loyalty to stay home and tend to the Earth. But of course this mission
was
her way of tending to the Earth, to restore what humanity used to have: vitality, immunity, depth.

They must hurry, though. Captain Darrow would have had them combing that Quadi archeological site by now, refusing to take no for an answer. He really should not have died. Not that Anton was botching the job. He had, after all, made a friend of this King Vidori, and they certainly had need of friends. But he might be carrying the niceties too far. Darrow was not one for niceties, nor was she. Case in point: When the virus broke out on board, the two of them agreed that the ground mission would go forward anyway. Despite the risk that inhabitants would be exposed to a human disease. They'd come thirty light-years, and those handy little black holes were a new concept. Who knew if they would even be there for any future expedition? Besides, the incubation period was safely past. They were clean.

She watched the hoda slaves as they milled in the palace byways, watched them very carefully They were all women, of course. That was the definition of
hoda:
born to bear. But what sort of children did they bear? No one knew, for slaves were not allowed to bear children. The Dassa, unfortunately, had no concept of proper conjugal relations. Regrettably, they were a species that farmed its babies… in ponds. The term was
varium.
Where men and women swam, and the result was a very ex-uterine gestation and birth.

Once the crew had accepted how Dassa babies were brought into the world—once they fully absorbed this bizarre circumstance—then the whole Dassa culture became
more disturbing. A varium birth wasn't a natural birth, nor a lab birth. Neither this nor that. So people on board the ship were upset—the very crew she'd picked for their tolerance of possible contact with alien cultures. But the Dassa weren't aliens. They were badly altered humans, and more disturbing in some ways than any exotic being could be. As though you could choose the aliens you got!

Dassa women passed her, sometimes with a child bundled on the back, peeking over the mother's shoulder. It seemed no one around here believed in day care; they took the infants with them everywhere, even though all mothers had slaves to assist them. Men were no use at all in helping to raise children since—given the nature of their “families”—men and women lived separately. And some women had many children, and sometimes several infants all at once. Although the variums were inefficient for reproduction, the Dassa did have the duty to swim every day. Babies resulted, and were welcomed by devoted mothers, aunts, grandmothers—and hoda.

Shim was standing before her. She was the king's chief of staff, or whatever the Dassa word was. A
viven
, a noble, palace-raised.

Shim had lovely reddish brown hair swept up into the most astonishing chignon. No hair out of place. Why the baby on her back didn't muss her hair was a question she really must ask one of these Dassa women.

“Shim-rah, thank you,” Bailey said, using the standard pleasantry. Of course, one didn't shake hands, nor ever touch a Dassa's skin. Which was why they wore so many clothes in this hot climate—to prevent accidental touching. And not because they were so virtuous, either. Far from it. It was, in fact, a free-for-all, where the words for
sex
and
courtesy
were the same. It was just that their skin was considered highly sexual and an accidental touch might be more courtesy than you had in mind.

Shim said, “Oh, Bailey, thankfully I have found you.”

The baby looked about a year old, with big blue eyes taking in everything in big gulps.

Bailey peeled off down a new walkway leading out under yet another arcade. “Walk with me, Shim-rah, I have work to do.”

Shim cocked her head. “Work? Oh Bailey, I will send for a hoda.”

“No, no. I'm having fun.”

Shim scurried behind her, and Bailey slowed her pace out of consideration for the small woman carrying a heavy baby She was a noble, and the king's highest chancellor, or one of them. Bailey hadn't quite got the pecking order down. Nick had drawn all the ear ornaments—worn by both men and women—so one would know whether one was speaking to a very high pooh-bah, or a person of moderate standing, or someone lowly, and so forth. Shim wore the half-orb so typical of the king's court.

“Captain Anton sends for you,” she said, mangling his name. “I can take you to him, thankfully.”

“Oh yes,” Bailey said without breaking her stride. They pronounced his name
Andon
, struggling with hard consonants. Only Bailey's name came easily.

They walked through an outside gallery that was several meters wide, with vendors on the pier and in boats in the water, selling food, textiles, animals in cages, and jewelry. She kept a lookout for an unoccupied skiff. A line of people waited for the “talk hut,” the room with their ten or so communication devices: little ceramic telephones that made few connections and poor ones. Really, they might as well go in person to talk. But it was a novelty

Shim, who was tense to be dealing with one of the humans, especially one who wasn't following suggestions, repeated her request. “Shall we attend Captain Anton?”

“Oh yes, but first…” Bailey noted that up ahead, where the inner pavilions gave way onto the big pond, many Dassa had gathered. “Let's see what's going on.”

“Thankfully, that is just my point, Bailey. Anton and the king require your attendance for the ceremony.”

Bailey approached the crowd milling on the pier. Surrounding the lake were the tiered compounds of the king, enclosing in this season what amounted to a grand, submerged plaza. Canals—formerly walkways—gave access onto the drowned plaza from three directions, and each of these was clogged now with boats paddling toward the middle.

“The uldia will present the babes,” Shim said, referring to the order of women who presided over births. “But the king would have you watch from his veranda.”

“It's too late now. If only I'd known sooner.”

Bailey followed Shim's gaze up to the high deck of Vidori's quarters where his veranda fronted the plaza. As these quarters were the highest tier of the compound, the roof bore an imposing lightning rod here in this land of frequent rainstorms. On the veranda, she could make out his retinue. There, amid the plumage of state, she saw Anton's shabby green. Nick was at his side, the two of them like matching parrots, gone dull. Zhen might be there too, but was more likely hunched over her tronics than making small talk with the king. Bailey looked down at her own dreary jumpsuit, envying Shim's exquisite lavender and red ensemble.

Several nobles parted to allow Bailey and Shim a place in front. Bailey smiled at them, remembering not to show teeth. That close-lipped smile took some practice, and always made her feel like a cat with a mouthful of feathers.

Shim leaned in toward Bailey, murmuring, “See, by the flags there are eleven babes. The uldia have made a special display for so many babes. Most times they would not be in this place, but in the Amalang.” Shim's face brightened as she pointed to one of the skiffs. “That's Deeva, my cousin's cousin. She'll have a nice fat baby girl, thanks be.”

She nodded at the impressive barge in the middle of the pond. “Oleel is here, of course.”

Bailey had heard of the woman. Very much a pooh-bah. At the back of the barge, iridescent cloth hung from a hoop like mosquito netting. Within, she could just see the form of a person sitting.

On the barge, women in robes handed bundles down to waiting skiffs. Those would be the babes. Women receiving their babies. Through it all, the head uldia, Oleel, stayed behind the curtains. What was the point, Bailey thought, of Oleel's attending if she wasn't even going to poke her nose out of the tent?

At last, the task of allotting babies to the women completed, the barge of the uldia departed, poled along by slaves and accompanied by a flotilla of small boats, including those of the women who were taking their infants to the family compounds. The fathers were irrelevant for a few more years, aside from having sired the whelps… And aside from tithing for the maintenance of women and children in general, the fathers would not know their children until adolescence. When the youngsters’ scent developed.

These basic departures from normal human functions resulted in a distorted culture, one that elevated some family virtues and ignored others. No child went hungry, or so they claimed. Along with this happy fact was their casual practice of sexual liberty, even incest, for which they had no word. It was all so natural to them—as moral as sitting down to a good family meal.

Shim was waiting for Bailey under the roofed-in gallery

“I hope I didn't get you in trouble, Shim-rah,” Bailey said. “Tell them I saw the ceremony from down here. Very impressive. My compliments to Vidori.”

“Oh Bailey, thankfully you didn't say so to the king. That was the uldia's ceremony, not the king's.”

“Well, tell him it fell a bit flat, then.”

Shim smiled hugely, but still no teeth. “Bailey makes a joke.”

“Tell you what Bailey would really like,” Bailey said. “I'd
like to borrow one of those skiffs and practice my boat-craft.”

Shim looked blank.

“What do you say? Anybody here trust an old lady with a quick spin in their canoe?” Her plan was to paddle out of the submerged courtyard and explore the neighborhood. Right now, that neighborhood was a river. They called it the Puldar, one of the three great tributaries of the River Sodesh.

“Oh Bailey …,” Shim began. The Dassa loved to say her name, but it did get tedious after a while. “You may take a boat, certainly.”

“Well then, fine. Whereabouts?”

“Bailey. Any boat. Anyone will be pleased to give you a boat. Just ask.”

“How will I return it?”

“Oh Bailey, there are many boats. It doesn't matter where you leave the boat, but tie it to a pier.”

Now it was Bailey's turn to look blank.

“They belong to everyone. No one has just one boat. One has all boats.”

The light dawned on Bailey. “Oh. Well, then.” Waving her good-bye to Shim, she made her way to the pier. A hoda was just tying up a skiff. “If you don't mind,” Bailey said, “I'll take that.” The hoda made a hand sign that Bailey thought was a
Yes ma'am.
Unfortunately, hoda couldn't speak out loud, so Anton had the crew furiously at work learning the hand sign they used. Bailey was a little behind in her studies.

The hoda vacated the skiff, pulling herself onto the dock with arms grown strong from labor. She held the rope to keep the boat close as Bailey contemplated how to descend into the thing.

It was not going to be easy with the boat a full meter below the dock level. But it was at times like these that she saw the sense in wearing the military jumpsuit. Bailey sat on the dock, aiming her feet at the skiff Then, with a little hop, she
fell into it, tipping wildly to the side and nearly upending in the water.

Bailey smoothed her hair. Not very dignified. Around her, people in nearby skiffs had stopped all activity to watch this maneuver. They smiled when Bailey settled herself, kneeling, in the boat. Then they set up a patter of oars, slapping the water.

Applause. She accepted the paddle from the hoda on the quay and set off, determined to make a decent exit.

Anton watched from the king's balcony as the barge of
the uldia receded. King Vidori had already turned away, to confer with his military chief, Romang, and a dozen nobles.

“She didn't come out,” Nick said, watching the barge enter one of the canals, barely clearing the width of it. “That might have been lacking in respect to the First Dassa,” he said, referring to one of the king's titles. The uldia and the judipon, the Second and Third Dassa, were the other great Powers of the region—in competition with the king, Nick had said, suggesting at the same time that Anton might play them off against each other. If the king still refused to allow access to the Quadi site.