Joan Vinge - Heaven Chronicles

“Yin and yang ?”

He nodded. “Do you know what it stands for?”

“No.”

“It stands for Man and Woman. On Morningside, that means two equal halves merging into a perfect biological whole. A spot of white in the black, a spot of black in the white … to remind us that the genes of a man go into the creation of every woman, and the genes of a woman go into the creation of every man. We're not men and cattle, Abdhiamal, we're men and women. Our genes match; we're all human beings. It makes a lot of sense, when you stop to think about it.”

“Odd—” Abdhiamal smiled again, noncommittal. “Somehow I didn't think yin and yang would have been a part of Morningside's cultural heritage.”

“Your people and ours all came from the same Old World in the beginning. In the beginning yin and yang didn't mean much to us. We had a lot of symbols to separate us, then. We just need one now.”

“ Yin and yang and the Viking Queen …” Abdhiamal murmured; his smile turned rueful. “And Wadie in Wonderland. Why were there more men than women in your—family?”

Because it happened to work out that way. Clewell almost answered him with the truth. He paused. “Son, if you have to ask me why a marriage needs more men than women, you're younger than I thought you were.” He grinned. “And it's not because I'm slowing down.”

Abdhiamal drew back, disbelief ruffling his decorum. He held out the wristband.

Clewell shook his head. “Keep it. Wear it.… Think about it, when you wonder why we're strangers to you.”

Betha reentered the control room; Shadow Jack and Rusty still lay head-to-head on the grass-green rug. She moved quietly past them, sat down at the control board, and pulled Discus into focus on the screen, a small silver crescent like a thumbnail moon. All that mattered now, and nothing else. She would get this ship home; this time they would succeed. Nothing must get in the way of her purpose, no man, living or dead, no memory.…

Her torn hand burned. She pressed it down on the cold panel, leaving a spot of blood. Her mind crossed three light-years and a half a lifetime to a factory yard on the Hotspot perimeter, where she had burned her hand on hot metal, inspecting the ideal made real. She had gone outside to see her first engineering design passing in sequence on the assembly line—unbearably silver in the blinding noon light, unbearably beautiful. She was in the third quarter of her twentieth year, fresh from the icy terminator. The golden rain of heat, the battering flow of parched desert air on this, the perimeter of total desolation, dazed her; pride filled her with exhilaration, and there was a certain student-worker.… She waited for him to stand beside her and tell her that her design was beautiful. And then he would ask her—Rough gloves caught her arms and turned her back, “Hey, snowbird, you want to go blind?” She saw Eric van Helsing's adored, sunburned face laugh at her through the shield of his helmet, as she caught the padding of his insulated jacket. “They always said engineers were too quirky to come in out of the sun. You'd better go back.”

“For a social scientist, you haven't learned much about motivation, Eric van Helsing.” Angry because he had ruined everything—and because, like a fool, she had waited for him—she pulled away, almost ran back across the endless gravel yard, escaping into the cool, dazzled darkness inside the nearest building. She stood still in the corridor, fighting tears, and heard him come through the doors behind her.…

Someone entered the room; Betha smelled the scent of apples. She looked for Claire's smooth moon-round face and golden tangled curls … found Bird Alyn again, thin and brown and branch-awkward: a dryad in a pink pullover shirt and jeans, with flowers in her hair.… Bird Alyn, not Claire, who tended hydroponics now.

Shadow Jack stirred as Bird Alyn dropped down beside him, her freckled cheeks blushing dusky-rose. Betha turned back to the screen, hiding her smile.

“… like some apples?”

“Oh … thanks. Bird Alyn.” He laughed, self-conscious. “You always think of me.”

She murmured something, questioning.

“What's the matter with you? No! How many times do I have to tell you that? Get out of here, leave me alone.”

Pain knotted in Betha's stomach; she heard Bird Alyn climb to her feet and flee, stumbling on the doorsill. Betha turned in her seat to look at Shadow Jack; kneeling, he glared back at her as he pushed himself up.

“Maybe it's none of my business. Shadow Jack, but just what in hell is the matter with you?”

“There's nothin' the matter with me! You think everybody has to be like you? Everybody isn't; you're a bunch of dirty perverts!” His voice shook. “It makes me sick.” He went out of the room. She heard him go down the steps too fast.

Betha sat very still, clutching the chair arms, wondering where she would find the strength to rise.… Rusty sidled against her legs, mrr ing. Stiffly she reached down, drew the cat up into her lap; hanging on to meaning, to the promise of a time when Heaven would be no more than one of countless stars lost behind the twilight. “Rusty, you're all the things I count on. What would I have done without you?” Rusty's rough, tiny tongue kissed the palm of her hand twice in gentle affection. “Oh, Rusty,” she whispered, “you make misers of us all.” Betha got to her feet slowly and looked toward the empty doorway.

Shadows moved silently over the tiles, moist and green, like the waters of a dream sea. Bird Alyn sobbed against the cold hexagonal tiles of the seatback, touched by the fragile fingers of a hanging fern. “… not fair, it's not fair …” Her love was an endless torment because it fed on dreams. He would never touch her, never stroke her hair … never love her, and she would never stop wanting his love.

She heard him enter the lab, and the sob caught in her throat. She pushed herself up, eyes shut, wetness dripping off her chin.

“Don't cry. Bird Alyn. It wastes water.” Shadow Jack stood before her, hands at his sides, watching her tears drip down.

She opened her eyes, saw him through lashes starred with teardrops, felt more tears rise defiantly. “We have … plenty of water, Shadow Jack.” Misery coiled inside her, tightening like a drawn spring. “We're not on Lansing; everything's different here!”

His eyes denied it; he said nothing, frowning.

She turned away on the bench. “But I'm not … I know I'm not.Why did this happen to me? Why am I so ugly, when I love you?”

He dropped down beside her on the seat, pulled her hands, one crippled and one perfect, down from her face. “Bird Alyn, you're not! You're not … you're beautiful.” She saw her image in his eyes and saw that it was true. “But—you can't love me.”

“I can't help it … how can I help it?” She reached out, her wet fingers brushed his face. “I love you.”

He caught her roughly, arms closing over her back, and pulled her against him. She struggled in surprise, but his mouth stopped her cry, and then her struggling. “… love you. Bird Alyn … since forever … don't you know?”

Her outflung hands rose to tighten on his shoulders, drawing him into her dreams, joy filled her like song—

“No—” He pulled back suddenly, letting her go. He leaned against the cold tiles, gulping air. “No. No. We can't.” His hands made fists.

“But … you love me …” Bird Alyn reached out, astonished by disappointment. “Why can't we? Please, Shadow Jack … please. I'm not afraid—“