John Varley - Wizard

Chris walked down the beach by himself, vaguely troubled. He knew he should be feeling grateful to be along with Cirocco and Gaby, learning all these things that should prove useful if he had to strike out on his own. Instead, he was struck by his own uselessness in the scheme of things. Everything seemed well under control. He couldn't cook, couldn't build a raft, row a canoe-he could not even keep up if called upon to walk. He was supposed to be seeking out adventure, finding a way to become a hero. Instead, he was along for the ride. He no longer truly believed they would encounter anything Gaby and the Titanides could not handle.

The beach sand was very fine. It sparkled, even in the darkness of Rhea. Walking near the trees was tiring, so he moved near the water's edge, where dampness had turned the sand into a firm surface. Nox was still for such a large body of water. Low waves undulated and crested in slow motion. The sound they made was more of a hiss than a roar. Foam lapped at his feet, then melted into the sand.

He had gone out with the intention of washing up. Two days of climbing rocks and riding muddy trails had left him gritty. When he could barely hear the sound of the Titanides' labors, he judged he had come far enough. He stumbled over something nearly invisible against the black sand. It was a pile of clothing.

"Did you bring any soap?"

He squinted toward the sound of the voice and saw a dark circle against the water. Robin raised herself from her squatting position, stood in water up to her waist. Concentric silver rings spread away from her.

"It just so happens that I did," Chris said, digging the soft round ball from his pocket. The Wi ... Cirocco said the water was cold."

"It's not too bad. Bring it out here, would you?" She sat again, until only her head showed.

Chris got out of his clothes and cautiously stepped into the water. It was chilly, but he had been in worse. The shore sloped gradually. There were no slimy creatures underfoot, or even any shells. It was smooth, uniform sand, suitable for the filling of hourglasses.

He swam the last few meters, then stood beside her and handed her the ball of soap. She began rubbing it over her upper body.

"Don't drop it," he cautioned. "We'd never find it again."

"I'll be careful. Where did you learn to do that?"

"What? You mean swim? I was so young I don't remember. Just about everyone I know can swim. Can't you?"

"Nobody I know can. Would you teach me?"

"Sure, if we have time."

"Thanks. Would you soap my back?" She handed him the ball.

The request surprised him, but he agreed readily enough. He used his hands perhaps a little more than he had to, and when she did not object, he kneaded her shoulders. There was firm muscle beneath the cold skin. She did the same for him, having to reach high to get his shoulders. He knew he had not even begun to understand her and wished that were not the case. With any other woman he would have felt at ease. He would have kissed her and let her decide what to do from there. He would have accepted her answer, yes or no. With Robin, he didn't feel he dared pose the question.

But why not? he wondered. Did everything have to be done on her terms? Where he came from, it was perfectly all right to make the offer, so long as one was prepared to be turned down. He had no idea how they did such things in the Coven, except to know that the situation could never arise between a man and a woman. Perhaps she was as confused as he, socially.

So when she stopped rubbing his back, he turned, put one hand gently to her cheek, and kissed her on the lips. When he drew away, she looked puzzled.

"What was that for?"

"Because I like you. Don't you kiss in the Coven?"

"Of course we do." She shrugged. "How strange. I hadn't realized it, but you smell different. Not actually unpleasant, but different." She turned from him and dived awkwardly toward the shore. She windmilled her arms and thrashed her legs without really getting anywhere and soon had to stand up and spit water.

Chris sank until the water lapped at his chin. He had never been rebuffed in quite that way before. He knew she had not been aware she was turning him down, but it was still deflating.

"I fell into the river when I got here," she said as they slogged through the shallow water toward the beach. "I did something to get to shore because I knew I had to. But I can't put it all together now."

"You probably didn't have far to go, or the current was helping you."

"Can you show me now?"

"Maybe later."

At the beach he tossed her the soap again. She stood with her feet in the water and washed her lower body. He watched her, wishing there were more light so he could finally get a better look at the tattoos. Abruptly, he decided he had better sit down.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"I saw what was happening." She frowned at him. "Don't tell me you thought you could-"

"It's called the gallant reflex, okay?" Chris was embarrassed and annoyed. "Reflex. I didn't plan to assault you or anything. You just look very, very good standing there, and ... who could help it?"

"You mean that just by looking at me ..." She covered herself with a hand and a forearm. To Chris, it made her look prettier than ever. "I didn't realize that's what my mother meant, or maybe I thought it was another mistake."

"Why didn't you realize? You seem to think we're so different. I'm just like you. Can't you get aroused by looking at someone sexually desirable?"

"Well, sure, but it didn't occur to me that a man-"

"Don't make it into such a tremendous distinction. We have a lot of things in common, whether you like it or not. We both erect, both have orgasms-"

"I'll bear it in mind," she said, tossed him the soap, scooped up her clothes, and hurried off down the beach.Chris worried that he might have killed a budding friendship. He did like her, almost in spite of himself. Or in spite of her. He wanted to be her friend.

A little later he wondered if she had left because of anger. Going back over the conversation, he realized that the point she had chosen to leave could be given another interpretation.

He did not think Robin would be too comfortable with the idea that he was like her. Or, conversely, that she was like him.

The completed raft would not have won any prizes in a boat show, but it was a marvel from the standpoint of size alone, considering the time it had taken to build it. It slid down the ramp which had been its construction site and hit the water with a mighty splash. Chris joined the Titanides in cheering. Robin was yelling, too. They had both had a hand in the finishing stages. The Titanides had shown them how to handle the glue and let them set deck planks in place while the railings were being installed.

It had ample room for the eight of them. There was a small cabin near the bow, large enough to bunk all the humans at once, and a canopy that could be hung to keep the rain off the Titanides. A mast amidships supported a silver Mylar sail with a minimum of rigging. Steering was done with a long tiller. Just aft of the mast was a circle of stones to support the cooking fire.

Gaby, Chris, and Robin gathered by the gangplank while the Titanides carried aboard saddlebags, provisions they had gathered near the beach, and heaps of firewood. Cirocco had already gone aboard and installed herself at the bow, gazing at nothing.

"They want me to name it," Gaby said to Robin. "Somehow I've gotten the reputation around here as the namer of names. I pointed out that we'll be using this raft for only eight days at the most, but they think every ship has to have a name."

"It seems appropriate," Robin said.

"Oh, you think so? Then you name it."

Robin thought for a moment, then said, "Constance. Is that all right, to name a ship after-"