The Best of All Possible Worlds

by Karen Lord

how distressing and strange to spend decades on some kind of genetic backroom shelf waiting one’s turn to clinically contribute to the expansion of the species! I said something of the sort to Dllenahkh. He let me know my views were inappropriate. I shut up.

The Hall of Names is a very complicated place. The obvious part of it is the walls with the names of the thousand dying nations who came here or were brought here, but there is also a low susurration of a thousand extinct languages; the occasional whiff of smoke, incense, or perfume from various half-forgotten rituals; the distant moan and skirl of ancient instruments that no one knows how to make anymore. It’s a very apt place to ponder the future of an entire world, but it’s a little depressing as well.

Ain has been quarantined. Nothing goes in, nothing comes out.”

“The trial isn’t over, but Ain is incommunicado.”

People are saying it was the Caretakers.

The Caretakers! It was as if angels had descended to avenge the Sadiri. “I guess they don’t like people undoing their work.

The sequestering of Ain was a big change in more ways than one.

New Sadira was a small planet, a former science outpost that had gained an unexpected promotion.

Little choice has been offered where these births are concerned. Three of the fathers have been unable to obtain anything more than visiting rights, while a fourth has been charged with sole custody. Two are in a particularly difficult situation—

In only one case has there been the formation of something resembling a bond, and that man has requested to move to the homestead of his child’s mother, there to live, no doubt, according to the culture of her people.”

The thing is, we’ve always been a matriarchal society.

Cygnian fathers have little say in decisions about child rearing.

“Dark they were, and golden-eyed,” I quoted dreamily.

“It’s a classic work of fiction about Terrans who go to colonize Mars. Except Mars colonizes them.

It turns them into dark, golden-eyed Martians who exactly resemble the extinct indigenous people.

If there is one thing a Cygnian cannot bear, it’s the stench of superiority.

“Dark you are, and golden-eyed,” Dllenahkh said quietly.

“I understand that on Terra gold is considered a rare and precious metal. To be golden is to be special, cherished.” He looked at me. “To me, your eyes are golden, because they have perceived who we truly are.”

Oh—” I began to swear. One of the advantages of having languages as a hobby is that it can take you quite a while to run out of swear words. I hadn’t even exhausted my list from the dead languages I know when I paused for breath and Dllenahkh spoke up, still apparently addressing his fingers.

Dllenahkh turned and looked at me in a way that I fancied meant, When you lose your home and all but a remnant of your people, feel free to return and lecture me on the ethics of purity.

Freyda Mar dressed normally, drank water, remembered everything, and … okay, she was a little eccentric, but in a way that everyone could appreciate. She bore a striking resemblance to a tall, middle-aged Wicked Witch of the West except not, you know, being actually green. A few days before our first field trip, I looked at her long, wavy black hair, and all I said was, “Are you sure?” She took one look at my own close-cropped do and said, “You know, you’ve got a point.” Whereupon I step out to get us some coffee for the mid-morning break, and when I get back, the scissors are out of the drawer and on the desk and the wastepaper basket is bristling with a meter-length’s worth of hair. I’m telling you, my mouth fell open, but she just laughed at me and took the mugs from my hand before I dropped them.

Road trips, now, are a real test of character, and I had no idea how she would handle the long and sometimes boring drives. I soon discovered that you could get her to sing from any musical or opera, very loudly, as the car rolled along, and sometimes I’d join in, though with less volume and skill.

Lian is … Lian. Lian has chosen to live without reference to gender. This may or may not mean that Lian is asexual, though many of those who are registered as gender-neutral are indeed so. However, it doesn’t matter, because this has no bearing on our mission and is thus none of our business.

“They say it’s unlucky to urinate in the waters of Candirú,” he said. “It’s true. There’s a parasitic fish in the river that’ll swim up your urethra and get wedged in good and proper. Very painful. Don’t risk it, but if you must, the Commissioner might be able to remove it without calling for medevac.” The smirk that had appeared on my face at the word “urinate” slowly transformed into a look of sheer horror; my smothered chuckle ended in a sickened gulp. “Oh. You’re not joking, are you?” Fergus scowled down at me from his two-meter-plus height. “I do not joke. My job is not a joking matter.” “Okay,” I murmured meekly. Pincushion plants and perverted parasitic fish. I could tell this place was going to be lovely.

Checking out the girls. It was an education in Sadiri flirting. One in particular must have been his favorite, because he all but disassembled one of the biosensors in order to spend time explaining its workings to her. Sadiri mating displays seemed to consist of flashing bright mental plumage at the object of desire in as cool and disinterested a fashion as possible.

part of me almost expected the Sadiri priest to come flying out, grab Dllenahkh by the head, look deeply into his eyes, and exclaim, “My God, get this man to a meditation chamber, stat! Can’t you see his rudimentary telepathic integument is about to disintegrate?” Or not. But the image almost made me giggle, which would have been unfortunate.

it hissed its contents into my bloodstream. Seconds passed. “Well,” I said, slightly relieved, “I’m not sure what—” Then I screamed. After an hour spent alternately laughing, weeping, screaming, and mumbling “Whoa … cool!” I went to Qeturah to complain. She refused to be swayed. “Psionic ability results from a combination of nature and nurture. It can’t be measured using genetic data alone, and it’s an intrinsic part of what it means to be Sadiri. We need this information.” “Yes, but why me?”

“I believe they had hoped to counsel and treat you, your sister, and her children as a family unit.”

When you start thinking of yourself as damaged goods, you put up defenses to make sure no one has the chance to reject you, so I told myself I would never get married, never have children, and never do anything to change who I was. It was only after I had my own status, my own money, and the contraceptive benefits of menopause that I began to allow myself to have a different view. Playing the cards I’d been dealt became my badge of honor, not a burden.”

I now had empirical evidence that I could project significantly on the pleasure scale. Was I like some bad drug, ruining good men? I was growing disgusted with my own self-pity. Fortunately, a distraction immediately appeared. He walked past me with a swagger, a bottle in each hand, and in his eye a twinkle that wouldn’t understand the concept of rejection if it was explained to him in nine languages and fourteen dialects. Then he paused and turned back. “I’m off to hear the bands. Would you like to come, my lovely?”

There are legends of remote monasteries where the monks walk on water and fly through the treetops.”

There are also reports of intricate, anatomically correct carvings on the walls of those temples which demonstrate the sixty-two approved sexual positions of the Marriage Code.”

Dark you are, and golden-eyed, I whispered to the beast.

“Stay still.”

Warm tendrils untangled from my nervous system, withdrawing gently but swiftly like the leaf-brush of startled mimosa.

“Is it you I should be thanking for the quick-heal?” I asked. “In part. The adepts showed me how to link to you and guide your body in the healing process.”

As for the adepts, apparently we had washed up at one of the legendary monasteries via some underwater cave or passage or secret way that lurked behind or beneath the falls.

This was not an Indiana Jones classic holovid; it was real life.

do not understand how they have managed it, but these savants possess knowledge that goes far beyond the era when the taSadiri would have arrived at Cygnus Beta.”

“Parallel development of theories and practices, perhaps? A kind of N...

“They have advanced the disciplines to a level even beyond what we attained in the monasteries on Sadira.”

“They do not wish to reveal themselves. Not even now.”

“They have women here!

“As they rarely use shielding among themselves, they are already aware of each others’ minds, and physical separation would not serve any purpose. Instead, they have an integrated society—celibates, singles, wedded couples, and children—all in full telepathic communication.”

a constant reminder of the thousands of ongoing conversations that I could not hear.

I have not sought the highest levels: the development of the skill required to pilot a mindship.”

“Unlike the Zhinuvians, who link and delink from their technology with ease, Sadiri pilots are uniquely bonded to their ships. I do not wish to deny myself the profound bond that may be experienced in the connection between human minds.”

“For me, finding this place is like finding a treasure. I have asked about leaving. There is no problem with us doing so. They only require that we leave behind all memory of this place so that it may remain hidden.”

He gave me an intent look. “But must we go?”

“Few choose to stay with us. This is to be expected. It is not a life that everyone can understand.”