Near + Far (33 page)

I leaned back, tired by the effort of talking. "All right. But bring me my datapad for when I wake again."

He nodded and complied, then went off to catch his own rest.

Jorie visited the next day and sat beside my bed, talking nonsense to me. Stentor hovered as a disapproving chaperone, ostensibly reading from the small book that he carried in his vest pocket.

Jorie had been in two skirmishes against the bandits. That was the sole extent of his military experience so far, he said.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"I believe the equivalent in old Earth years is twenty-three," he said.

"You looked it up?"

He blushed. "I was working at my desk and wondered."

"That's sweet," I said. Stentor cleared his throat and turned a page.

"How old are you?" Jorie said.

"I would be sixty-three now," I said, "but my physical development was halted at thirty-eight, which was when they snipped me."

"Snipped you?"

"Took me from my timeline."

There was a knock from downstairs. Stentor went to answer it, and Jorie took advantage of the opportunity to take my hand and press a kiss on the knuckles.

"I'm glad you're all right," he said.

I felt pleasant warmth throughout my body and smiled at him. He released my hand as Stentor came through the door flanked by two doctors.

"You'll have to be on your way," Stentor informed Jorie, and Jorie nodded.

"I'll see you again soon, I'm sure, Victoria," he said, and exited.

The doctors listened to my lungs, my guts, flexed my elbows and palpated my chest, throat and ears before pronouncing me fit enough to rest for another day.

I'd hoped for Jorie again the next day, but instead I had someone almost as interesting: Dame Ilias. She came bearing a huge basket of spiced nuts and dried fruit and trailed by several younger woman. Stentor dragged chairs in from the parlor and they settled to embroider while the Dame talked to me.

"You seem to be much recovered," Ilias said as I helped myself to a handful of the nuts. They were covered in some sort of spicy, sweet crystals, like pepper and honey mingled. "Stentor, perhaps you will go and fix us all hot klah? It is chilly outside and the girls had thin cloaks."

"I am feeling much better," I said as he bowed and left. "I don't remember much of the night, though."

She shrugged, flicking a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Chaos and shouting. You are better off without the memories."

"I don't like gaps," I said.

She paused for a moment before speaking. "Are there other gaps you object to?"

"It seems as though the first fifty years of this planet's history are gaps," I said.

She glanced over at the two girls. Without speaking they both went to the door and knelt beside it, listening for Stentor's return.

Ilias's voice was low and urgent. "You do not know about the council that was overthrown?"

I shook my head.

"I thought you did," Ilias said. "I thought you knew what had been done and were coming to help them."

"I don't understand."

"When we first came to this planet, we did not have harems or customs for 'decent' women to follow," Ilias said. "The council was, in fact, through accident more than anything else, mainly women. We were not a society that ruled things out for one gender or another at that time. The council wanted peace for all the settlements overall, but they had children who were merchants and who preferred war because of the profits that might be made. They overthrew the council and set laws and traditions in place so women could no longer come to power, lest they speak of peace. Every woman was subjugated, forced to act as the slave of the men who had overthrown them, each one bowing down to her son, and the men who had served on the council were set to death for acting against the newly created 'tradition'."

There was bitterness in her tone.

"And that's how it's been for a hundred and fifty years? Haven't you tried to rebel?"

"Rebel? Many times. Each time the ringleaders are killed. But we keep trying. We resist where we can."

"Like killing the bearers of new technology. You poisoned me."

"What would you do in my place?" she said. "We have so little we can do. We live in our poetry, our literature, trying to shape a revolution in couplets and tapestry needles. Even in your benighted time, you were not as wretched as we are."

Silence stretched between us.

"I don't think I can help much," I said. "Perhaps smuggle a few women offplanet."

She shook her head. "We will not leave our world. We will change it back to what it once was."

The girls stood, moving back to their places just before Stentor entered with a tray of cups and a steaming pitcher. He sat and read while we spoke of inconsequential things: the best treatment for headache, and the flavors of fish coming into season.

When they left, I said to Stentor, "What is the little book that you read from?"

"It is poetry that my mother's mother wrote," he said. He held it out to me and I leafed through it, looking at the spiky, alien script.

"Will you read one to me?"

He shook his head. "Some things are private." Taking the book back, he gathered the empty cups and pitcher and withdrew.

I was furious to find my clothing gone and that I would have to wear one of the dresses for the presentation. Stentor claimed not to know where the jumpsuit had been sent to clean it, but promised to have it found by the time I returned.

I dressed in the brown. I hated it. It reminded me of the dresses of my time, the absurdity of bustle and corset, and thick heavy fabric on hot New York days. Women learned the art of swooning so when they were felled by their garments they would land gracefully. The boots were heavy but warm, awkwardly heeled.

I tottered on them in front of the eyes, explaining the advantages of the Institute. How our technology would allow them to harvest the best minds of their past, to bring them forward to enrich their culture.

They exchanged glances. "How much would it cost to bring a group forward from a century and a half ago?"

"An experienced agent could do it, depending on the size of the group, in a week or two," I said. "If you want to train your own people—which is the package we recommend to our customers—it will take them a week or so to get up to speed on the technicalities of timesnipping."

"So for a group of eight, a week," one said. He was an unpleasantly oleaginous man, his black hair worn in an elaborate, fussy style. "And another week for their women."

"Their women?" the General said.

"They'll need the cores of their harems if they're to function as part of our social system."

"But wouldn't that be dangerous?" another said. They started to lean together and argue but the General and the Mayor made gestures for silence before the General turned to me.

"Madam, I have arranged for company for you, while we discuss our questions and come to a decision." He ushered me into a small antechamber, where Jorie sat waiting with khav and sweet biscuits.

The two of us curled together. "They'll take hours," Jorie whispered into my ear. He kissed me, fumbling with the laces at my neck.

Afterwards, we drank the cooling khav and ate the biscuits.

"Do you have a harem?" I asked Jorie.

"You cannot be a functioning member of society without one," he said. "Without it, you are haraf, a motherless man. The harafs serve as soldiers in the wars."

"Is your harem very large?"

"It is only one woman right now," he admitted. "Leandra. The two of you should meet. You would both enjoy it, I think."

The General knocked at the door. At my invitation, he opened it and looked inside.

"We wish to debate another night," he said to me. "You may as well return to your lodgings and rest. In the morning, I think we will have a substantial contract for you."

"Perhaps Jorie might see me home," I said.

The General shook his head. "No, it would not be seemly. I will take you in my car."

Despite my disappointment, I appreciated the car's luxury.

"Please thank Ilias for her kindness during my illness," I said to the General.

He turned his attention back from the slick streets outside. "Ah, she has always been very kind. Did she bring you her fish tea? That always made me better when I was a child."

"You knew your wife when you were a child?"

"She was my mother then."

I blinked, agape.

"You have not done your homework," he said. "Our social structure is unique, I admit. I would have thought they'd include that in your reading."

"I focused on the trade and history," I said.

"Our harems have cores, which are our mothers. Only the oldest son may go on in that way; the rest are haraf."

The air in the car was stifling. My stomach roiled as though the poison had been stirred up again.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel well," I said.

He patted my hand. "I understand. Sleep until we get there, if you prefer."

I leaned my forehead against the window's cold glass and closed my eyes, my thoughts a dizzy whirl. The women, overthrown. Each son responsible for his mother's subjugation. Taking her into his harem—surely a position in name alone? Mothers, watching the next generation of leaders, knowing themselves helpless in the harem, the only space left to them. What would it be like, bearing a son here and knowing that he would be your eventual master?

I did not see Ilias again until the morning of my departure. She came into the room and I sent Stentor for hot klah for the two of us. That gave me enough time to give her the sample timebelt from my kit, and tell her the basics of its use.

"You'll want to take the council members unobtrusively. The originals will stay in the time line, but you'll have the copies," I said. "And at some point you'll have to tell them that they have counterparts, living in their sons' harems. I don't know how they'll react to that. But if anyone can help you plot a rebellion, they can."

Her eyes were dark with tears. "Thank you."

She hid the belt away before Stentor returned. We drank the klah together. She gave me the present she had brought: an intricate tapestry of rawrs, dancing or fighting, I couldn't tell which.