Well, it was not particularly traumatic, after all. The trip down in the diving saucer was dark, cramped, and dizzying, but mercifully brief. And the surgery was almost as brief! There was no pain, although it felt peculiar in the extreme, after weeks of independence, to allow the intrusion of the Christmas Branch. John's remote manipulation of the various tiny tools was swift and as non-invasive as possible, and I made an effort to trust their expertise and relax.
John's manner to me was grave and polite, as always, and I maintained a cheerful composure I was far from feeling. John sensed this, I think, for he did ask, suddenly, "Aren't you being hypocritical, Reiki? You must be still reluctant about this whole project, so are you just pretending to be agreeable?"
"Certainly!" I answered, startled into honesty. But I did explain a little: "It helps, you know. More false cheer and less honest griping makes it easier all round."
It seemed very strange to be back in the Dragonfly, and to know it was so hopelessly submerged by the dark water. I tried not to look at the black windows, and as soon as Josephine had completed the battery of tests and examinations she required of me, I turned my attention to the accessible ship's lockers.
For most of my day of recuperation and observation I was busy, sorting and selecting objects suitable to take back with me. We are all doing this, and it calls for considerable thought; the items must fit within the diving bell, and be of genuine worth in our present non-technological situation. With regret, I passed over my discs of favorite books and music, in favor of coils of useful wire and sturdy containers. Of course, I had no way of playing those discs in Eden—I should have to manage without the precise directions for creating true Valenciennes, and without the rules of Victorian fan etiquette! These volumes of such exquisite refinements had made me chuckle, and I had never longed for a society in which women were placed so protectively on pedestals that they could not take a free step; but my current style of living seemed to give new meaning to the term "rude." Considering this, I firmly added yet another lacy collar to my choices. Then, more sensibly, I gathered an armful of fresh, unworn slippers and sandals. Fitting the practical bits and pieces compactly around me, I submitted again to the confinement of the bell, and was soon scrambling out onto the shore. Arielle was waiting, ready and relaxed.
"I want to play with little sub, later!" She smiled.
Five days later it was all over, and John returned to the surface. That night, as we rested, he addressed us women in his coolest clinical tones:
"You all probably know this, but I'm going to remind you anyway, since things are slightly different here on Eden. Living so closely together on Prometheus tended to synchronize your menstrual cycles, and they haven't drifted too far apart yet, so all of you were just past your normal ovulation time when Josephine and I did the operation. It is very unlikely you will get pregnant between now and your next period. You will then be fertile, if everything proceeds as we planned it, between fourteen and sixteen Earth days after your period is over. However, since the day is thirty hours long on Eden, that will be eleven to thirteen Zuni days, subject, of course, to individual variation. You know your own cycles better than I do, and living in the open air will tend to increase the variables, so your behavior will be governed by your own judgement."
During the silence that followed this pronouncement, I thought, rather sourly, that judgement had not recently been much help. I had sincerely hoped that with the conclusion of the restorations to full manhood and womanhood, we would resume our normal work and pastimes completely, but I was rather too sanguine. Not that there was anything overtly different immediately, or that my friends altered their behavior drastically, but subtle inflections, glances, and casual touches began to occur. They were so slight I fancied I was imagining them, at first, but I should have known I am never wrong about such things. The alteration showed itself in such minor ways!
Fortunately, there is no real indication anyone is in a hurry actually to become pregnant. Even Carmen is now reconsidering, more realistically, the possible difficulties inherent in childbirth. The talk of the responsibilities of raising children has also become more serious.
"Cuddling a tiny baby is so nice!" said Cinnamon dreamily. "But trying to soothe a screaming toddler—I never felt that was any fun at all."
Sometimes the expression of new feelings brought us all pleasure; Arielle, and Carmen too, have begun to dance for us more often. David had brought up, from his own trip to the Dragonfly, his tenor recorder and some excellent strings for a much better harp. As he played, the two women sometimes improvised their own dances, although never together. Arielle's lithe and graceful movements are nothing like the earthy rhythms of Carmen's flying feet, but both are exciting to watch. They create a tension in us, the audience, that is both pleasant and unsettling. I noticed the growing electricity first a week or so ago; the dancers had stopped, but David's lilting music continued, and suddenly I heard Richard's voice very soft beside me.
"Would you care for a stroll in the moonlight, ma'am?"
I was quite startled, but managed to smile as I refused.
At the same time, conversely, our fireside evenings are more relaxed. We have settled down to daily routines that are satisfying, as we work to explore and understand Eden's ecology, and physically very strenuous, as we carry out the labor of necessary daily chores. Without any necessity for arbitrary assignments, we seem to have developed a division of responsibilities that is both fulfilling and busy. For a time I feared that the change in our sexual capabilities might make for jealousies or dissension, but so far, at any rate, that has not occurred. A rather spicy hint of flirtation has quietly crept into some behavior, but it is only a hint. There is private speculation, I'm sure, because there are four men to six women; it's rather amusing to listen to the calm academic discussion of gene pools and hybridization concerning the gardens we have begun!
And the men, especially, are transparently posturing when there is anyone to watch. When I arrive at the edge of camp with a load of either firewood or fish, one or another is instantly at my side, gallantly taking the burden from my hands! David and Richard vie with each other in their fearless climbs, and John and Nels revel in hauling massive nets ashore, although frequently most of the catch must be released, because it is more than we can consume!
Cinnamon's shyness so far disappeared that she clings openly to Nels's arm, while Shirley's former forthrightness with male and female alike has changed into a coy helplessness that make me, personally, want to throw something at her. The men, responding to all the melting glances and soft touches, are now showing off like stags in the rutting season—I suppose we can only be thankful they have too much sense to do physical battle!
It is particularly irritating to watch David, whose long friendship with Arielle has obviously turned into something much more intimate, keep the girl very much under his wing, while still casting a roving eye at the rest of us! And Nels, with all his tenderness towards his adoring assistant, still is eager to lift Jinjur, or Carmen, when their short stature makes this desirable—and both lifter and liftee prolong the contact with evident pleasure! John and Richard are, frankly, strutting—and all the conversations that used to flow so factually and easily are now brimming with innuendo:
"The bark of this tree has a curious aroma, doesn't it, John? It smells like a really good soap—shall I try steeping a bit of it, and scrubbing, oh, say, someone's back with it?"
"Ummm," responded John. "Of course, it really might be . . .safer . . .to do that, than to try it on skin as soft as yours!"
Only Arielle reacts to all this nonsense with such genuine laughter that I, too, can smile—especially when that "soft soap" produced an itchy, though temporary, rash!
There is obviously some serious courting going on, as well. Our duties are not so stringent as to disallow private conversations. And certain advantages are taken, when the occasion arises; Arielle seldom finds herself alone among the high branches where the ripe fruit grows, and when I return to the surface after my deepest dives, I frequently find company awaiting me aboard the raft.
We have found another mutual pleasure, simple in the extreme but thrilling—it is singing! It began with some of the songs David was playing one night, when Shirley began, struggling to remember the words. Her voice is very sweet, and soon Cinnamon's lower voice began a harmonic addition. Nels' surprising tenor, and Richard's booming deep notes were added, and, to my own surprise, I heard myself in the high descant I had been born with, and which is so different from the husky tone when I speak. It was glorious, making such splendid sounds into the gloom around us. But it was very brief, because, apart from a few Welsh hymns and American folk songs, we could remember so little. David was delighted, however. One of the songs we had recalled was a Christmas carol, and after we'd finished, Jinjur said abruptly, "We ought to have a holiday."
"Why?" asked John.
"Why not? For fun!" said Arielle.
"We can make up whatever we'd like, of course," said Jinjur, "And celebrate any way we want."
"Birthdays!" said Carmen. "And Christmas and anniversaries, and . . ."
"And dress up and act polite!" said Richard, glancing at me with a laugh.
"Why not?" I retorted. "Refreshing, any change in a routine!"
"How about the anniversary of the day we crash-landed?"
"Rather grim, wouldn't that be?" responded Shirley to Jinjur's suggestion.
"I think that's the most important one of all," said Cinnamon quietly. "And I think I'd be thinking about it anyway."
"Traditions have a way of forming themselves, in time," I said comfortably. "We can start by remembering the dates, from my little journal. Any celebration can be left to inspiration!"
Richard's invitations for a nightly stroll steadily persisted, and I continued to decline them. I am not sure, in my own mind, whether I do so out of genuine disinterest, or a hitherto unfamiliar perversity—I cannot deny I rather enjoy the invitations! All about me the little games go on and on, but I try to maintain my long-standing resolution: to be responsible for my own behavior, and not worry about that of others.
However, when I last went foraging for firewood, I made an unsettling discovery. I had followed my favorite little stream for quite a distance, and plunged into a small clearing along its banks. What first caught my eye was one of our few blankets, neatly folded, and hanging over a low limb. As I stared around, I realized that the soft pile of leaves and branches in the center of the clearing was, literally, a sort of nest; a comfortable cushion for two people, private and secluded, and within the sound of the noisy ripples. I felt oddly shaken by the sight of this little retreat, and turned to leave, when I saw the imprint of a large bare foot in the soft earth. I bent over it to look more closely—there was no mistaking that distinctive shape, with only four strong toes!
I straightened, and returned to my task. Arielle had requested a supply of a particular sort of wood—it burns very hot and is perfect for grilling fish. It is also difficult to cut, being very tough, but I found it much easier on this occasion! It was unreasonable of me to be so angry, and I was only thankful that I was out of sight and hearing of anyone, so that my helpless stamping could go unnoticed. I was still upset when I returned with my burden, dropped it beside the cooking fire, and walked away at some speed, determined to stay away until I was calm.
I was soon on the shore of Rain Lake, and thought a swim might be therapeutic, but on impulse I stopped, and bent to see my reflection in its flat surface. I was dismayed to observe that the black curls I had been struggling to keep under some sort of control had got completely out of hand, writhing about my head until I bore a definite resemblance to portraits of Medusa. It had a barbarian aspect which distressed me very much, and I determined to enlist the assistance of the first person I met. Accordingly, I returned straightway to camp, found Shirley's scissors, and looked about. Richard was standing by the spring, dipping water into our biggest container. I quailed momentarily, but then my irritation returned and I marched briskly to him, and thrust the scissors into his hand.
"Here! Please! Just pull on a curl, and when it's a couple inches from my head, cut it off!"
"Cut off your head?"
"Uurrgh!"
"Okay, okay! Sit down and hold still."
Tensely, I huddled on the rock while Richard was silent, lifting one lock and then another. Finally, joyfully, I heard a snip, and then another, and when he began to whistle idly, I relaxed, while the black pile grew around me. Finally he stopped, and I turned to face him.
"Thank you very much! Does it look alright?" I asked anxiously, while he surveyed me coolly, grinned, and then grabbed my head and kissed the top of it. I was most inordinately pleased! However, I refused his invitation that evening with distinct coolness.
We began a series of daily visits to the Jolly Giants, taking turns in pairs, and carefully selecting our most urgent questions. Useful information began to accumulate rapidly in my journal as the reports came in.
"The slopes of the sides of the volcanoes look to be our best bet for a big garden," Nels enthused. "The soil is rich there, and the Jollys don't like to cultivate on such a slanting surface, so we won't be taking space they'd want."
"Won't the heavy rains wash all the seedlings away?" asked Carmen. It was raining again, but not torrentially as before.
"The Jollys say, if we plant now, the seedlings will be well established soon. This particular season brings only light rains, and by the time we get real storms, in about forty-five days, the new plants will have strong roots and be ready to assimilate all the moisture."
From my own questioning, I had learned that the fishing in Sulfur Lake was equal to that in the ocean, and easier. Jinjur and John had, on the Jolly's advice, begun a small husbandry of the jookeejooks for our own use.
In addition, Arielle and I had examined some of the cloths the big plants use for ceremonials; these are not woven, but are somehow formed from pounded sheets of bark, somewhat like the tapa cloth of Earth's Polynesia. It is very soft and almost white, and light and cool against the skin. Our own garments are becoming woefully threadbare; the fabric was never meant to be particularly durable, when the Christmas Bush was so capable of supplying more on demand. And, while the hot climate encourages us to shed excess clothing, none of us is willing to abandon it altogether! There are likely-looking fibers in the bamboo-like peethoo supports, but spinning and weaving them would be dauntingly time-consuming; we'd much prefer to use the bark-cloth. I held up one of the long sheets, studying it.
"Look, Reiki!" Arielle summoned me to see her instant creation. I had been thinking along the lines of a simple tunic, possibly with straps of vine—there are plenty of sharp thorns to fashion into needles, and the peethoo fibers make serviceable thread. But Arielle had draped and folded the supple fabric into a sarong, as easy to move in as air, and endlessly adaptable. I was delighted.
"Perfect, Arielle! And the dyed design along the border—I've never seen anything lovelier!"
The fashion was an instant success, and we are eager to learn how to make the cloth ourselves, and how to obtain the bright dye from the clamshells.
"Maybe we could trade something with the Jollys for a supply of the cloth, and for instructions in how to make it," suggested Jinjur. "But what?"
We considered the problem in silence, once more on Council Rock. Many of the hands are busy, now, in these nightly sessions, but all of the minds pounce as eagerly as ever on any new topic for discussion.
"Let's see, we made the bridge," mused Shirley. "But though we've used it every day, I doubt if a Jolly will ever enjoy it!"
"And they already have better knives and tools than we can make yet," said Carmen, looking ruefully at her own latest effort. John frowned over the meshes he was tying, sitting very close to Carmen.
Our crude handicrafts must go on, despite the frivolity of the vanilla-scented flower tucked behind Cinnamon's ear, or the oh-so-casually twisted strip of cloth around Nels' massive biceps! I patted my own neatened head with curious pleasure.
"That's the difficulty, isn't it," said John. "We've no idea of their needs, or even if they'll like anything we can do. What don't they have that we are used to having?" There was a brief silence, and then Jinjur and Cinnamon spoke at once.
"A wheel!"
"Of course!" said Shirley. "There's always a use for some sort of cart to haul things around in, isn't there!"
"Pull instead of push for easier steering . . ."
"Just a deep bin with two wheels in the back and two drawbars in front . . ."
"A belt between the drawbars for their 'waist' so they can use all six legs for walking . . ."
As in so many of our projects, enthusiasm and intelligence made up for lack of tools, and the resultant cart was soon completed. It went sadly against Jinjur's training to have no way to paint it!
Although the Jolly's eyes had kept our construction effort under surveillance, we had not mentioned our purpose aloud, and when we trundled the bulky but maneuverable vehicle to the Jolly enclave, the plant's surprise and pleasure were apparent—the giants ripple visibly when having emotional feelings. Very shortly, the new device was in constant use in the Jolly camp, hauling food and other materials here and there.
While the goodwill engendered by our gift was still most noticeable, we broached two subjects; one was our desire for some of the precious cloth, and help in creating some of our own, and the other was the proposed introduction to the flouwen. Both topics seemed agreeable to our large new friends.
We had decided that there was no real need to explain the flouwen to the Jollys, nor the other way around, even if we were capable of doing so. The two aliens would have to work out their own relationship in any case, and would probably do so more quickly left to their own intelligence. Accordingly, Nels simply escorted three of the more curious Jollys down to the shore, at a place where the beach ran long and flat. Meantime, Jinjur and I went quickly to Flouwen Beach and summoned them; they had been staying close to the area for several days, hoping for just such a meeting.
By the time the Jollys had approached the water as closely as they cared to, the flouwen had each formed an eye so they could look at things outside the ocean and were waiting with obvious delight, looking with their eyes at the approaching Jollys while at the same time trying to see the insides of the giant plants with their high-pitched ultrasonic pings.
"Wow! Funny-looking plant!" chortled Little Red. The Jolly's eyes fluttered low over the water, and Little Red splashed playfully as he bombarded them with questions. "How do your eyes tell what they've seen? Do the pictures come up, like on the screens we saw on Prometheus? Do you see when eyes fly back, or all the time? How do you tell the eyes where to go?"
Little Purple also spoke. "Greetings, strange creature! I must seem a strange creature to you, too, living in the water while you live always on land. I would like to know more about you, please!" Little Purple's sonorous words thrilled me; he is learning the arts of diplomacy! And, to my satisfaction, the Jolly elected to respond to him, ignoring the shouted comments of Little Red.
"Greetings to you, there in the water! In all my life my eyes have not observed creatures like you in these seas!"
Little White hurried to explain that they were newcomers indeed, modulating his tones and adopting the gentle courtesy of the other. While we listened, saying little, the amazing dialogue continued. The tall civilized plant then extended a root out over the water, to touch lightly the translucent color of the fluid civilized ocean-dweller. It was a sight to store with great care in our own minds, and I made sure to insert a number of still frames in the memory of my journal.
At length, the meeting ended in mutual agreement to meet again. We may find ourselves serving as intermediaries, or the two species may simply seek each other out, but I am well pleased with their initial confrontation. It had been a conference with some possibility for misunderstanding, and I am relieved that it is successfully concluded.
Richard's gentle invitations of an evening persisted, and I rejected them with increasing asperity—the memory of that pretty little private nest continues to rankle! Last night I could bear it no longer, and I declined, politely, and then burst out with a remark that I was "sure he could find more accustomed companionship, even perhaps in his very own—gazebo!" It was a stupid thing to say—I cannot understand myself these days!—and I was heartily discomfited when his eyes widened, and he retorted indignantly:
"My private . . .Do you mean the little nest I saw you leaving, up there where you walk so often for . . .firewood?"
The dark eyes were very serious, and I stammered some quick denial and ended the conversation abruptly.
The confusion, and the shifting alliances all around, are disturbing. The lovely hours of single-minded work, and peaceful evening discussions have been altered, perhaps permanently, by all this physical uncertainty. Within a week, of course, the situation may settle down temporarily, but I foresee the whole absurd cycle will have to be gone through again and again. Almost I wish they would all get pregnant soon, if that is what they wish, so that we could have peace! Struggling with these elemental drives is so much harder than coping with the mild demands this gentle world places upon us!
My little boat has been my own delight, and escape—I'm drifting on it at the moment, contemplating the shifting water beneath me with calming mind and heart. The boat was a tremendous joy from the very beginning! At my determined insistence, Shirley kept it both small and very flexible.
"But, Reiki, that's not big enough to hold more than . . .two"—she gave a sidelong glance at John—"and, just flat like that, you'll be right out in the open, sort of vulnerable . . .exposed . . ." I could have smacked her!
"It's just perfect, Shirley!" I said sweetly. "I only need it for a diving platform, mostly, and I know you're anxious to get to work on building that outrigger from the boobaa treetrunks!"
From her expression, I saw she had completely forgotten that earlier idea. For Shirley, the passionate engineer, to have become so dreamy as to abandon a new project was such a shock to me that I instantly forgave her—she really is helpless, just now. I left, quietly, tugging my new little raft into the shallows, while behind me John began talking in deep tones about cutting down the largest tree single-handed with an obsidian axe.
Since then I've spent happy hours tinkering with the small craft. The slender poles bound together with strong vines make it both light and limber, and it was not too difficult to shape the front and the back into an upcurving sheaf. The low box along one edge serves as both seat and storage. I succeeded in stepping a short mast, and affixed an even shorter boom, but the skimpy sail is not very satisfactory, and without a keel my control over my direction is sporadic at best. Still, it is endlessly fascinating to play with, and has served, at any rate, to give myself the appearance of industrious activity, while absenting myself a little from the group idiocy.
But I must begin, now, to try to sail home for the night—it's growing late, and I fled early today. I've come a fair distance—my view of the volcano shows that—but the wind has shifted and will speed me homeward. Perhaps there'll be some change—my own menstrual period is already seriously delayed, no doubt due to the recent operation—but if one of the others' is beginning, there may be a resultant improvement in behavior. I dearly hope so!
I heard the laughter before I landed and moored the raft. It was so relaxed and delightful-sounding I hurried, hopefully, to the group about the fire.
"Here's Reiki! Home is the sailor, home from the sea—or lake, whatever. We've a discovery for you, Reiki, come have a drink!"
I stopped, startled. I'd been heading for the shelter to tidy myself for the evening, but this new statement called for investigation.
"A drink?" David was extending a cup to me, and I saw everyone was holding something—the liquid within was clear and pale, and I took a cautious sip. It was pretty bad—rather worse than the homemade parsnip wine I had once had from a villager in France—but it was most definitely wine.
"Where on earth—or Eden—did you get this?" I asked, incredulously.
"We made it! Ourselves!" David laughed. "Nels, and John, and I—and Jinjur helped. But you deserve some credit too, Reiki!"
"That's right!" Richard boomed. "You know those bitter little grapes we found, growing next to the sour fruits? Well, they both seemed pretty hopeless, so we decided to try the Reiki Technique!"
I heard the capital letters, but was too puzzled to interrupt.
"Yes, Reiki," said Jinjur, chortling. "We added some water to the little grapes, and went off and left 'em for a week. Then we took the sour things and boiled them until they were unrecognizable!"
I was a trifle miffed at that, but couldn't think of much of a reply. Fortunately, Cinnamon took pity on me and explained.
"The grapes fermented, Reiki, and these clever people just let the process go along naturally. The sour things cooked down into a sort of syrup, oddly enough—it's really too bland and cloying to be good on its own, but it's going to be very useful as sweetening—and it certainly helped the wine!"
I took another, more generous sip. The stuff tasted better, now, and its warmth was very pleasant going down.
"I like it, too," said Richard cheerfully, and I glanced at him with a twinge of alarm. He caught my glance—obviously the intensified awareness is still around—and spoke calmly. "The supply of grapes is so limited, we'll none of us be liable to have any problems with the wine—there just won't be much of it! But it's nice to have now, isn't it?"
I agreed, and went off to complete my dressing for dinner, if one may refer to such primitive procedures by so grand a title. When I returned to the circle I found the mellow mood to have increased. The others were waiting for me before beginning the meal, and I was oddly touched by that. We sipped the wine companionably, and the easy talk became relaxed and carefree.
"I don't want to embarrass anyone," said Jinjur quietly, "but unless somebody's managed to be a lot more discreet than I ever suspected, there's something screwy about our female cycles."
There was silence, and quick little questioning glances flashed around the circle.
"Now . . .no doubt there could be many reasons for that," continued Jinjur. "But in my case, the only one I can think of is that Josephine's surgery somehow interfered with the pattern I'm accustomed to."
I spoke up, trying to make my own words as clear and still impersonal as Jinjur's, to say that I, too, had not yet begun any menstrual flow. To my surprise, the others joined in! With the exception of Carmen, the other women were puzzled, but completely sure they had not conceived—they had been enjoying the processes of flirting and courting so much, they had deliberately postponed the inevitable conclusions, while of course having every intention of selecting a mate in the next month or so. The five of us stared at John in consternation.
"I don't understand that, at all," he said hastily. "I'd better ask Josephine some serious questions. David, can you set up the sonar scanner so I can talk to Josephine? We'll do it at next light."
The meal resumed, and we passed a normal night, but I was grateful for the relaxation of the wine—I might have otherwise found sleep difficult.
In the morning I joined David and the others at the sonar mapper. It was now safely ensconced in a rock crevasse situated well above high tide, with its long umbilical cord leading down the shore into the depths of Crater Lagoon and to Josephine in the Dragonfly.
"Josephine. Current activity status report, please." I addressed my old ally confidently.
"Current activity: Proceeding with emergency repairs. Number of repairs completed, thirty-two. Estimated number of repairs still to do, eighteen." Josephine's voice was warm and reassuring; I had designed her to be so in these circumstances, with all the emergency repair work still to be done.
"Request access to file of medical procedures, most recent, Josephine," David stated. There was a brief pause.
"Access granted, but John should be available for interpretation, if necessary."
"I'm right here, Josephine," said John. "What is the report on the sperm, ova, and tissue samples you kept for analysis?"
"Positive." Again, that brief and noncommittal answer!
"Josephine, we'd like a much more detailed summary of your findings, please," I directed. "John shall explain any terms we cannot understand, but we need to know the results of your examination and procedure. Are all of us returned to normal sexual functions? Are all of us in good health, and are the women capable of child-bearing? When can we expect ovulation?" I knew that my voice was harsher than I had used in some time to Josephine. In her programmed care for us she sometimes kept what she considered to be unnecessary or unpleasant details to herself. However, the words came readily enough at my command:
"All health checks are normal. All functions are normal. Ovulation for women will resume at conclusion of current pregnancy."
"WHAT?" Out voices screamed the word.
"Repeat that report, Josephine," David sternly commanded. "And clarify statement regarding 'current' pregnancy!"
To my horror, I heard the mechanical voice continue, repeating the report, and then came these dreadful words:
"While conducting requested operations designed to return the crew to complete human sexual function preliminary to breeding, I analyzed all combinations available from the limited gene pool. Best selections for each female were matched with best available male. Ova were selected and fertilized using the available sperm saved from the prior sperm-count analysis samples gathered from the males, then implanted along with hormones to initiate pregnancy cycle."
I stared helplessly at the sonar mapper, at David, at John . . .John!
"What did you do to me?" I shrieked at him. His face was white, and his eyes blank with astonishment.
"Josephine!" he shouted. "Why did you initiate pregnancy? That was not part of your instructions from me!"
Almost, I could hear the unemotional intelligence shrug: "The obvious objective to the directed procedure was to reproduce. So the best and most efficient reproduction objective was calculated and implemented. Consideration was given to possible implantation of two each foeti in each female using sperm from different males, but decision was made to simplify pregnancy and birth by limiting infants to one each female. All findings indicate pregnancies will be normal in duration, and deliveries will be uncomplicated. Expected date of births will be two hundred fifteen Zuni days from now."
In terror, I stared at Jinjur, and Shirley, and Cinnamon, and Arielle—eyes wide and faces pale—all of us were pregnant? By computer?
I got to my feet, somehow, and fled. By the time I reached the shore and fumbled loose the mooring rope, my tears were pouring, and blindly I released the small craft and flung myself upon it in despair.
While it drifted aimlessly, I wept, the tears going through the deck unnoticed into the sea. I felt I had been betrayed, even raped, by an intelligent monster at least partly my own creation! With hideous efficiency, the expert skill of the unfeeling computer had succeeded in an accomplishment which might well have been beyond our human ability. To have successfully impregnated all five of us was a task I should have doubted could be done, even had such an awful eventuality entered my mind. My feelings were chaotic, hysterical, wildly frantic as I realized the enormity of what had happened to me! I stormed aloud, then raged in silence, back and forth in desperate fury. I've no idea how long I howled my woe, but inevitably, eventually, I subsided in exhaustion and lay limp and miserable.
I had not drifted far, I saw through swollen eyes. The light had nearly faded, and the sea around me was flat and calm. I sat up, trying to catch my breath, and to return to some sort of normal state of mind. However, I couldn't think at all, and simply stared at the little waves behind me. I felt betrayed, frightened, and, now that my anger was worn out, desperately lonely. Then I heard the sound of rhythmic splashing; it came steadily nearer, but I didn't move as Richard's face, dripping, confronted my own. His eyes were worried, and gently he put both big hands around my head.
"Reiki? Let me help." The sound of human compassion brought fresh tears, but the weeping was less painful now. I lay, held tightly against another living heart; and when this shower passed I felt able to return to the darkening shore.
I discovered that my friends had undergone, in varying intensities, all the same passions I had experienced, and were trying to assimilate all the implications of Josephine's thoughtless interference. However, they had gone beyond me in their decision-making, and were beginning to accept what had happened as fact.
"Josephine absorbed a lot of outraged yelling, after you left," Jinjur told me. "Apparently she's programmed to react, because she wouldn't speak a word for hours. Her persona was replaced by a mechanical voice."
"Yes, that was part of the program," I admitted. "If there's a real overload of anger from us, it means she needs to recalculate her entire position before she interacts again, so she was going through that."
"I wish that electronic moron had a head so I could knock some sense into her," muttered Shirley. I gripped her hand tightly, unable to speak. It felt good to realize I really was not alone in this predicament! As we went through a semblance of our normal routines, we talked, slowly beginning to comprehend what lay ahead of us.
We plied John with questions; we are all so ignorant, and feel so helpless!
"What will it be like?"
"How will I know when the baby is ready to be born?"
"Should I be doing anything different?"
John looked like he was trying very hard to be soothing, and knew he was not succeeding very well: "You just go on, living as usual, and when the babies come . . ." Here he looked definitely frightened. " . . .they come." Far from reassuring!
"There is one good thing, though," continued John. "You won't have to worry about infections in either you or your baby—unlike on Earth, where going to the hospital exposes you to drug-resistant germs. I took a sample of soil down with me and had Josephine analyze it. As I suspected, although there are the Zuni equivalent of bacteria and viruses in the soil, the bacteria have no defenses against our white blood cells, and the viruses are unable to use our cells internal machinery to replicate themselves—they use a different genetic code."
"I think I should tell you," said Carmen, later, "that I'm quite sure I'm pregnant too. I'm not so sure of my own due date, but I also think I should tell you that I'm pleased about it."
That produced a heavy silence, and I reluctantly faced reality, squarely. The men had said nothing at all, but now David cleared his throat, and spoke huskily.
"When Josephine is ready to talk with us again, she may reveal who is the father of each—baby," he said tentatively.
I looked around at the serious faces, and sighed.
"Well, I suppose that will matter to me, sometime. But all I can bring myself to do now is accept the fact that a baby is begun, and I'll do my best to do the thing right."
There was a soft murmur of agreement. Any alternative is more unthinkable than these present unthinkable circumstances! Each of us was busy with our own thoughts after that, although David found comfort, as always, in music. The soft melody of the little flute seemed unbearably sweet tonight, and if I had had any tears left I would have wept. But the gentle sound went on, and my sore heart eased as I listened to the beautiful song.
I was startled, yet again, at Richard's low voice in my ear. "Would you care for a stroll, ma'am?"
I stoo, to look at the man. Oddly enough, it was then, as I realized that there was no need for me either to avoid Richard or to seek him out, no pressure to conform or to rebel, that all my barriers came down. With no hesitation, I smiled up at the dark face above me, and said, "Thank you very much, I should enjoy that."
I think the polite response startled him, after the weeks of cool rebuffs, but he reached for my arm with a gentle force that made me melt against him as we walked away into the quiet darkness. It was not far along the trail before the whole of me was engulfed in that embrace, which made it extremely difficult to walk, but which I confess I enjoyed greatly.