Melissa Scott - Shadow Man

Tatian said, “Will you?”

“I suppose I have to. I opened the fucking door.” Warreven made a face, reached for 3er hair again, twisting the loose strands into a solid bar. After a moment, 3e went on, in a smaller voice, “And, yes, I’m scared, Tatian. It’s not just that I don’t know what to do, or how to do it, which I don’t, but— It’s what I said, we don’t have a word for revolution or a word for herm, and I’m sup- posed to invent both of them. I’ve been a man all my life—yesterday, I was still a man. Now I’m a herm, and I don’t know what that means, except that half my own people say it’s not really human. How in all the hells can I lead anybody to anything when I don’t know what I’m asking them to become? I have to be able to offer something in place of what we’ve got.”

“You always were a herm,” Tatian said.

“Yes, but no one said it.” Warreven smiled. “As long as no one said it, it—I—didn’t exist. But now that it is said, nobody knows what should happen next. And I can’t act without knowing. I won’t.”

Tatian nodded slowly.

“And I’m sorry,” Warreven said again, “that I dragged you into it. I didn’t mean to do that. Out of everything, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Tatian looked at 3im, still in black from the night before, black hair wild, the bruises still very evident on 3er face beneath the dark bandage. He could see the shadow of the spirit in 3im, could see, too, the advocate he had run into at the courthouse. Behind 3im, light gleamed around the edges of the shutters, and he was reminded again of the people camped in the EHB court- yards. He still wasn’t sure it was right to leave them without a leader, was equally sure it was wrong for Warreven to stay if 3e didn’t know what 3e was doing. To stay was a man’s solution, in the stereotypes he had grown up with, to stay and fight. Maybe Warreven’s way, the herm’s way, to retreat to try again, would work better, this time, in this place.

“It’s all right,” he said. “You were right. That’s all there is to it, really. It didn’t work—it was the wrong time or something. But you’re still right.”

“I’ll cling to that thought,” Warreven answered, but the twist of 3er swollen mouth was almost good-humored. Tatian smiled back, and went to the media center to begin arranging his own departure.

They left for the starport in the first of the pharmaceuticals’ convoys, crammed into the cargo compartment of a six-wheeled triphibian along with a man and his two children and their lug- gage, and a trio of technicians, two off-worlders, a woman and a mem, and a fem who looked at least part Haran. There were more Harans in the other vehicles, and more families: hardly surprising, Tatian thought, shifting on his hastily packed carrycase. The companies were evacuating their most vulnerable people. Warreven had thrown a shaal over 3er head and shoulders, sat hunched in the corner of the compartment where 3e could see out the tiny viewport, but Tatian could tell from the sidelong glances that the others had recognized 3im. The father frowned, looked as though he might say something, but Tatian fixed him with a glare, and he subsided. Then one of the children tugged at his arm and he bent to listen to the question.

“—Mommy coming?”

“As soon as she can finish turning over the department,” the man answered, keeping his voice soothing with an effort.

“NeuKass thinks it’s that bad, then?” one of the technicians asked, leaning forward on the starcrate %e was sharing with the mem, and the man nodded before he thought.

“We’re just taking precautions,” he corrected himself, and nodded toward the children.

“Sorry,” the tech said, and leaned back again.

Tatian looked toward the viewport—really more of a strip, a narrow band of armorglass set into the wall of the cargo compartment to let the loaders check the cargo—as the triphibian tilted. They were creeping up the long ramp that led to the port road’s elevated section, and he could see past Warreven’s shoulder into one of the markets. It was busier than he’d expected, the central area actually crowded, and then he saw the four-up parked beneath the mural of the spirits, and the mosstaas milling on the ground beside it. On the wall above them, Madansa poured her bounty from outstretched hands, but Agede and Cousin-Jack stood to either side, offering their blessings as well. Agede, unmistakably, had Warreven’s face, and a herm’s breasts had been sketched, crudely, on the painted chest. Tatian blinked, and saw a group of workers raise a ladder under the mosstaas ’ supervision. One of them began to climb, dragging a scrubber and its hose, and then the triphibian lurched forward, cutting off his view.

“How the hell did they do that so quickly?” he said aloud, and Warreven looked at him.

“It’s easy enough to catch an image from the narrowcasts, use it to make a transfer. We used to do it for elections, things like that.”

The Haran technician glanced sideways at 3im, cleared %er throat. “Mir—serray, I mean?”

Warreven tilted 3er head. “Æ?”

“Will you come back?”

Warreven smiled, the same odd smile 3e’d worn the previous night. “Yes. Will you?”

The technician nodded, touching %er lips in automatic reverence, then blushed and looked hastily away. Warreven blinked, 3er smile changing again, becoming more human, and 3e resettled 3imself against the wall of the compartment.

They reached the port without incident, joined the lines of people hauling their baggage from the entrances to the boarding hall. All the gates were open, and the lines stretched back into the main lobby. Tatian glanced at the overhead screens, noting the extra ships— Perseus , converted from freight to passengers by its parent company; Djinni , due in orbit by midnight, diverted from Esperanza; and half a dozen others due in over the next few days—and wondered what Warreven had had to pay to get his berth. He himself would be sleeping in a port cubicle for the next two nights, until NAPD’s Polarity made orbit, but Warreven had managed to get a cabin on the Djinni .

“So—” he began, not knowing how, or whether he wanted, to say good-bye, and a voice called from across the crowd.

“Warreven!”

“Malemayn.” Warreven held out both hands to the approaching figure. “How’s—”

“Hal’s safe,” Malemayn said, almost in the same instant. “In the port hospital—Oddyny was right—and 3e’ll stay there as long as needed.”

Warreven’s unbandaged eye flickered closed, and Tatian heard 3im sigh deeply. “Thank the spirits.”

Malemayn nodded. “I brought what I could,” he said, and set an ordinary-looking carryall on the tiles at Warreven’s feet. “The mosstaas sealed your flat.”

“Tendlathe’s a petty bastard sometimes,” Warreven said.

“And I thought you might enjoy this.” Malemayn held out a quickprint sheet, another image of Warreven as Agede, firelit from the night before. Seeing it over 3er shoulder, Tatian had to repress a shudder, remembering what had followed. “These are all over the city.”

“Thanks.” Warreven took it, folded it carefully and tucked it into a pocket. “Will you be all right?”

Malemayn nodded. “For a while, anyway. There’s going to be hell to pay, Raven, there’s no way out now.”

“I know.” Warreven waved 3er hand, the gesture taking in the off-worlders filling the lobby and the boarding hall. “So do they.”

“You should get in line,” Tatian said. “It’s going to take a while to process everybody, and you’re going to have to pass the IDCA screening.”

Warreven nodded. “I— Thank you. I owe you—not least for being the only reasonable man in Bonemarche, these last few days. I won’t forget.” Ȝe hesitated, and Tatian held out both hands. After everything, it felt foolish to part with a mere clasp of hands. They embraced, cautiously because of Warreven’s bruises, and Tatian was startled again by the wiry strength of the body under his hands. Then Warreven released him, gave him one of 3er sudden smiles, genuinely amused this time, and turned and walked away across the lobby. Malemayn followed 3im, lifting his hand in farewell.