Join (17 page)

She turns around. She's shaking, staring at him. He's afraid that she'll fall.

“I do. That's what I want,” she says.

“I don't think it would work,” he says.

“Why not? You're not a stranger. I've known everyone who's joined with you. I love you all.”

Leap takes his jacket off as she watches. He's trying to think of a response that will make sense.

She says, “Ah, to hell with you.”

The next two weeks are
difficult. The arthritis is in retreat. For another person, dissatisfaction with Leap might be an excuse to exaggerate her discomfort, to emphasize her anguish and his guilt at not being able to relieve it. At not being willing to. Instead, what follows are many good days for Josette. She's more active. She's in a good mood. She's more of her old self, the self Leap remembers from when she was fighting with the corporate board and growing the company. She's gracious around all of his drives, but not excessively so. She's gracious to her normal degree.

She even spends a week back at her own home. She brings in help to pack it, and she works hard at getting things straightened up, stored, cleaned, arranged. She says that no matter what happens, her home should look good.

They interview a few more candidates. She seems ready to accept one, a join of nine who has achieved a minor international reputation, first as a logistics expert and now as a philanthropist. The join, Accord, is enthusiastic about her, believes she will strengthen it. But she can't bring herself to agree. She says the join is just too attentive. She can't see herself joined with a psyche that's so nice.

During this time, Leap tries to forget that she asked about joining and attempts to return to a more typical routine, with Leap One studying, Two and Three working, and Four spending some time doing both.

It's not that family joins
are more or less risky than any other kind. It's just that something about joining with family members trips a boundary wire that sets off dull thudding explosions of disgust in most people. Leap can't imagine joining with a parent. Leap mentally inventories each drive's parents, all of the people who raised someone who joined Leap, in search of one who won't provoke the reaction, but all of them do.

Though Leap tries to behave as though the question weren't asked, it's not quite possible. Leap takes breaks from other readings to peruse articles and discussions about intrafamily joins. Most people avoid them, but they are done occasionally. There are many otherwise unremarkable joins who have added parents or children as drives. There are even some joins who raise children specifically to join with them. They're sometimes associated with evolutionist sects—fringe groups who aggressively proclaim that joins are the next step in human evolution. Who believe society should be designed around that central tenet. But there are others as well.

Leap notes an insistent internal hum of queasiness. There are plenty of published intellectual justifications for avoiding it, but none of them is fully satisfying. It just strikes Leap as wrong.

Josette is struck down. The
weather has changed. It's a damp, cold, and windy November. Josette's arthritis is stopping her completely. She doesn't return Leap's calls, but her nurse, Jenny, tells Leap that she's in great pain, and she wants to come back to Leap's house. That night, she returns.

Leap is shocked by the sight of her. Her nurse wheels her in. Her lower jaw won't stop trembling. Her eyes are half open, and she wears an expression of deadening effort, as if just sitting requires all of her focus and attention. The nurse takes Leap Three aside and tells him that Josette has made arrangements to poison herself but will need help.

The next day, at around 4:00
p.m
., Leap One goes into the room where she's lying on the bed. She has recovered a bit, as if the change of location is doing her good. She smiles when she sees him and says weakly, “You keep a good inn.”

“It surprised me when you asked,” he says. “It never felt right to imagine that. Jenny tells me you've made other arrangements, though.”

“You don't have to be here,” Josette says. “Jenny and I can manage it. I just hate the thought of it. I'm having trouble bringing myself to do it. I'm being weak, so it's taking longer.” She tries to smile, but her lips are trembling and won't quite curl upward.

“Mom, what I want to say is, it's okay. If you want to do it, I do. I think Oceanic would help us join.”

There's a long silence as Josette digests the news. “I'm ready to go, Leap. I don't need to stay or to join,” she says. “I'm ready.”

Leap is struck that she says his name without a modifier or sarcastic addition. Leap knows that despite what she has just said, the two of them will join. Leap is relieved.

Oceanic is calm and supportive.
As if she knew things would come to this. Josette is still in terrible pain, so they're very careful to work slowly, trying to ensure that she's making the decision she intends. She wavers at first, and then she says, “I'm curious,” and from that point forward she's firm. Oceanic has an inventory of questions for both Josette and Leap that she patiently works through. Some are asked individually and privately, some jointly.

They've talked about the effect of Josette's body joining while it's in so much pain. Oceanic isn't concerned. “A join can be very healing for a drive. I'm sure you've heard that. Terrible, terrible conditions sometimes heal. I'm not aware of cases where the join wasn't a positive for someone who was ill. Now, it might not make a difference, or much of one, but it won't put you in further danger, or her.”

There is one topic that Oceanic is adamant about. “A family join is a very sensitive thing. I have access to a privacy filter. I'm going to do the work required to mask this join. You will have the ability to hide the fact that you've done it. I think it's also important that it happen quickly, because Josette is so ill. So we're going to have to fudge the licenses a bit. We can fix them easily enough after. No one needs to know that you've joined. Your records won't show the join. Then, when you're completely comfortable, you can submit the form and officially become a five. But when you do, that will be your decision.”

Later, Oceanic tells the two of them that after the join, Leap will need coaching in special cycle-management techniques to handle the burden of Josette's body. “Have you ever had a drive with a serious physical injury?” Oceanic asks Leap. Leap is certain that Oceanic already knows the answer. If a drive has had a serious injury, there is almost always a record of it available to a CJA. If she's at all decent at her job, and Leap believes she is, she'll have done the research.

“No,” Leap One says, “I never have.” Josette is listening carefully. Leap expects Oceanic to go into detail, more for Josette's sake than for his.

Oceanic says, “Well, a join can kind of leave a drive. When you're focused, when you feel rested, you can leave a drive to sort of be and trust it to not do something terribly stupid. It can be very surprising at times. Sometimes, you might find that a drive has been talking, and you're not quite sure of what it's been saying, or it's been saying things that surprise you, or maybe a drive has been reading, and you, you remember reading through the words, but you don't really remember any of the content.”

Seeing that Josette is interested, Leap says, “Yes.”

“That's the kind of state you'll take advantage of with Josette's body. It'll require attention, willpower, but you'll learn to separate the body Josette has now from the rest of what you're doing, like an injured arm that's in a sling. Pretty soon you stop trying to use it.”

“It all sounds very unlikely,” Josette says with satisfaction, happy to play the skeptic in the face of Oceanic's reassuring certainty.

“I know. Before joining, I didn't believe it either. None of me did. But I see that it's true now. I don't think a solo can really imagine it. The experience of join is the good part of what you think it will be like, without the bad part. You'll go under, with the anesthetic. Then you'll experience the powerful psychotropic drugs, and when you come to, you'll find that you can naturally manage the activities of multiple bodies. You'll feel yourself blessed with companionship, even though you're the only person around. You'll begin to get used to the idea that you don't have to die.

“Some things that you believe strongly, you will probably no longer believe. For example, many people either become more religious or less. People's habits change. Their tastes often change. The changes are different for everyone, of course, because each join is a unique individual. But I have never talked with a join who regretted the changes. In my personal experience, the difference of perspective is most often compared to the change in perspective that a solo can experience after having a child. It can be a complete change of view, of values.”

Josette chews this over for a moment. She says casually, “Well, that sounds like it won't be me then.” She asks, “What about when I die? I mean, my body?”

“That's never easy,” Oceanic says. “And it may be especially bad in this case because of your illness. While your body may last years, there is a small chance it might go quickly. If that were to happen, you won't have fully integrated with the body, but your mind, your psyche, will be completely integrated. So of your several bodies, Josette—this one—will still feel special to you. And because it feels special to you, it will feel special to the whole of you, to the join. Initially, it could be very painful, very traumatic, when it dies. But you learn soon enough how to function without it. You will be okay.”