Melissa Scott - Shadow Man

“Welcome to Hara,” %e began, and Tatian braved the failing implant to speed-search the file. A progress bar appeared, going from green to red, and the face in the screen writhed soundlessly until he’d found the section he wanted.

“—two things that fuck up people on Hara,” Masani said, “and those are sex and drugs. Drugs—you know my policy. You play in the illegal marts, you’re out. I can’t afford what a run-in with Customs, or ColCom, or the IDCA would eventually cost me, and don’t kid yourself that you’d make enough to cover the fines. You want to fish in that pool, you do it outside of my company. That’s my final word on the matter.” %e drew breath then, and the fierce stare eased a little. “The only gray area I’m prepared to see is where new drugs are concerned. You find something interesting, you bring it in, develop a product, and I’ll back you to the hilt—as long as you file the proper papers, and keep me informed. I’m not averse to recreationals as long as I have lead time to get Legal to clear it. But make sure you keep me informed.”

There was more, but Tatian touched the implanted pad again, dragging the file forward a little farther.

“—sex,” Masani said, “and sex is likely to be the biggest problem. Now, everybody knows the facts about Hara. They were settled late, right at the end of the First Wave, and then when the First Wave collapsed, they were one of the colonies that got lost in the chaos. So by the time we reestablished contact, we’d pretty much resolved all the issues around hyperlumin-A, and they’d never even heard of the problem. Which means that, while they look normal enough, they only admit to two sexes. And that’s where the problem comes in. The indigenes don’t understand our expectations, and we don’t understand theirs. You can meet a perfectly normal-looking person of your personal preference—because, remember, they actually have five sexes, they are normal human beings that way—but if that person’s an indigene, they won’t know how to respond. And neither will you.”

Tatian lifted his bottle in silent toast. It had taken him most of the first year to learn to look not at bodies when he met an indigene but at the clothing that signified “real” gender.

“Now, if that were the only thing, I wouldn’t bother doing more than mentioning it,” Masani went on. “You’re all grown-ups now, and if you want to fuck things up for yourself, that’s your business. But I will not have my company involved in trade. Hara attracts a lot of players from the Concord Worlds. They’ve found a whole planet just as abnormal as they are, and they’re willing to pay for sex. They’ll pay the indigenes in metal, and anyone with a backcountry exploration permit for the use of it. This is illegal, and the IDCA runs patrols and spot checks and does everything it can to stop it, so you will get offers. People will try to buy your landing permits, your exploration permits, your housing vouchers, anything that will give them an excuse to go into the city. And I won’t have it. Anyone caught playing trade will be fired. No appeal. Do trade, and you’re out.”

%er face softened again. “This is not to say that I care what you do yourselves. As long as you’re not selling NAPD’s rights, you can screw what you like and in whatever combinations. One thing Hara has going for it is no native HIVs. I know you’re going to meet indigenes who are attractive and intelligent, and I know some of you are going to fall in love, and that’s fine. But I want you to remember a couple of things before you let yourself take this too seriously. Hara’s a funny world, with funny morals; you may find yourself doing things here that you’d never think of doing on any of the Concord Worlds. And the people are even stranger. So my advice to you is, whatever you do on Hara, don’t take it off-world with you.”

There was more but Tatian flicked the screen off again. Masani had been one of the people who had built NAPD’s Haran business in the first place, and %e clearly knew and loved the planet. And %e had been right about one thing: people felt free to do things on Hara that they would never dream of doing at home. Trade existed everywhere in the Concord Worlds, of course; in the Concord, it was more a matter of how much space each world allowed it, and how much the players were looked down on, how much they had to hide their tastes. The Concord was relatively rigid in its roles, its acceptable sexualities—it had to be, with the dozens of HIVs that circulated among the planets despite the IDCA’s best efforts at control…. But there were always people who didn’t fit in, always some desires that weren’t fulfilled. The biggest group were the ones who couldn’t quite accept the new roles that came with the five sexes, the ones who looked back to the good old days when there were only two genders, two roles, two complementary parts to play. Even if those days had never truly existed, it was still a compelling image to a certain minority, and in Hara, those people had found their sexual paradise. On Hara, players could always find someone of the sex they desired who was willing to play boy to their girl or girl to their boy, regardless of actual sex and without the complications of Concord society. In effect, Hara was a whole world that practiced boy/girl trade, and it was no wonder that even the most secure and normal people found themselves occasionally doing something outside their norms.

Like Prane Am, who had called herself man-straight, a woman who liked men, but was now seeing, maybe even sleeping with, a mem—if, of course, Jons Kaialis had the story right. Tatian stared back out the window, at the cityscape only partly obscured by the sun-screen, suddenly, violently disgusted with it and himself and everything around him. There was only one cure for that, as he knew perfectly well. He reached for the keypad again, tied a secondary screen into the Nest’s housekeeping systems, and called up the schedules for the racquet courts. At least two people at his rating were currently seeking partners, and he hastily put his name into the system. A moment later, the screen beeped, and offered him the chance to play Lefsin Morley if he could get to the EHB Two courts in ten minutes. He pressed the accept button, and headed for the door. The confirmation chimed as the door closed behind him, and he grinned, anticipating losing his bad temper in a simple, physical, game.

Man: (Concord) human being possessing testes, XY chromosomes, some aspects of male genitalia; he, his, him, himself.

The library was cool, the night breeze blowing in through the open windows. Warreven could smell the ocean, the pungent smell of Ferryhead at low tide, could smell, too, feelgood drifting in from the braziers in the compound itself. The faitous and other workers at Stane house were celebrating Aldess’s return to normal life. He stretched his legs, feet digging into the thick carpet. It was imported from off-world at God and the spirits alone knew what expense—carpeting wasn’t common on Hara, especially not along the coast, where mildew was a constant problem—and the deep wine-red color matched the strips of silk between and above the tall bookcases. Tendlathe saw him looking, and grinned, reading the thought.

“Yes, it cost a small fortune. Father’s idea.” He gestured to the jug of wine that sat next to a platter of fruit on one of the low tables. “Help yourself, I remember you could always eat sweets.”

Warreven smiled back, acknowledging his weakness, and took one of the chunks of sourcane. He turned it so that the fibers ran perpendicular to his fingers, and bit carefully into the sour-sweet flesh. It had been soaked in sweetrum, but the natural flavor was still there. The juice was as sweet as the sweetrum, the plant itself sour, with a bitter-sharp aftertaste that clung to the tongue. Tendlathe lifted the jug in silent query, and Warreven nodded, waited while the other filled a pair of tall glasses. He recognized the work—out of the Stiller glassworks, sand from their miles of beachfront tinted with sea salts and blowers’ clays and the powders ground from half a dozen plants—and wondered if Tendlathe was making a deliberate point, or just using the best he had.