The Snow Queen

55

Jerusha stood in the fiery hell-glow of the red-lit docking bay, beneath the vast umbrella of the suspended coin ship. The final ship, taking on the last of her police officers — the last off worlders to depart from Tiamat. In the frantic finality of the past few days the ships of the Assembly had already lifted into planetary orbit, into the company of the other coin ships already there to take on shuttle loads of die-hard merchants and exhausted Festival refugees.

She endured the inventories patiently, checked and rechecked the data from reports and records, trying to be certain that no one was left, nothing vital left undone, unsalvaged, unsealed. It was her responsibility to make certain that the job was thorough and complete. She had done the job to the best of her ability, making certain that her men left no power pack in place, no system unstripped, no outlet accessible. And all the while she had known, with a strange double vision, that tomorrow she would be trying to undo again everything that she had just undone today.

But by the gods, I won’t make it easy on myself! Knowing that if she finished the career that had meant so much to her once with an act of betrayal, she would never be able to build a new life on its foundation that would have any meaning. Nothing worth having is easy to get. She looked away from the loading of miscellaneous supplies, away from the cluster of blue uniforms and containers by the coin ship’s suspended loading foot. The ship, the docking bay, beyond it the spaceport’s throbbing complexity that was almost like a living organism — all that they symbolized, she was giving up. Not in a year, or a week, or even a day — in less than an hour, all that would be behind her, would be leaving her behind. She was giving it all up… for Carbuncle. And before the last starship left Tiamat space, it would send down the high-frequency signal that would demolish the fragile microprocessors that made virtually every piece of technology left on the planet function. The tech hoarders would hoard in vain, and Tiamat would be returned to technical ground zero. She remembered with sudden incongruity the sight of a windmill on a lonely hilltop on Ngenet Miroe’s plantation. Not quite ground zero. Remembering that she had had no idea of what use he could possibly have for a thing like that. There are none so blind as those who will not see. She smiled, as suddenly.

“Commander?”

She pulled her eyes back to the space around her, expecting one more request or verification. “Yes, I’m — Gundhalinu!” He saluted. His grin highlighted the spectral gauntness of his face; his uniform hung on him like something borrowed from a stranger.

“What the hell are you doing out here? You shouldn’t be—”

“I came to say good-bye, Commander.”

She broke off, set down the computer remote on the makeshift desk of empty shipping containers. “Oh.”

“KerlaTinde told me — that you were resigning, that you’re going to stay on Tiamat?” He sounded bewildered, as though he expected her to deny it.

“It’s true.” She nodded. “I’m staying here.”

“Why? Your reassignment? I heard about that, too.” His voice turned flat with anger. “Nobody likes it, Commander.”

I can think of one or two who were overjoyed. “Only partly because of that.” She frowned through him at the idea of the force chewing gossip about her resignation like old men in the town square. Having decided that it would be useless to complain, she had kept her anger in; but there was no way she could keep the fact of her humiliation from the others. And she had refused to discuss her decision or her resignation with anyone — whether out of fear that they would try to change her mind, or fear that they wouldn’t, she wasn’t sure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her frown faded. “Ye gods, BZ. You’ve had trouble enough without me giving you another load.”

“Only half the trouble I’d have had if you hadn’t covered for me, Commander.” The point of his jaw sharpened with feeling. “I know if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t still have the right to wear this uniform. I know how much it’s always meant to you… a lot more than it ever meant to me, until now; because I never had to fight for it. And now you’re giving it up.” He looked down. “If I could, I’d do my damnedest to help you get this assignment changed. But I—” He was looking at his hands. “I’m not my father’s son, any more. ‘Inspector Gundhalinu’ is all I have left. I’m ten times as grateful to you that I still have that much.” He looked up at her again. “But all I can do in return is ask you, Why here? Why Tiamat? I don’t blame you for resigning — but hell, any world in the Hegemony is better than this one, if you want to make a new life for yourself. At least if you don’t like it you can leave it.”

She shook her head, with a small, resolute smile. “I’m not a quitter, BZ. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have something better I was going to. And I think I’ve found it here, unlikely as that sounds.” She glanced up and away, toward the line of high windows overlooking the field — the empty hall where Ngenet Miroe kept unseen watch on the Hegemony’s departure, waiting for the moment when she would become wholly and irrevocably a part of this world at last.

Gundhalinu followed the line of her glance, puzzled. “You always hated this world, even more than I did. What in the name of ten thousand gods could you have found—?”

“I’ll be swearing by just one, now.” She shook her head. “And working for Her too, I suppose.”

He looked blank. Comprehension came back into his eyes: “You mean… the Summer Queen? You mean Moon… you, and Moon?”

“That’s right.” She nodded. “How did you know, BZ? That she’d won.”

“She came to me, in the hospital; she told me.” The color faded from his voice. “I saw the mask of the Summer Queen. It was like a dream.” His hands moved in the air, touching something out of memory; his eyes closed. “She had Sparks with her.”

“BZ, are you going to be all right?”

“She asked me that, too.” He opened his eyes. “A man without armor is a defenseless man, Commander.” He smiled, bravely, barely. “But maybe he’s a freer man for it. This world… this world would have broken me. But Moon showed me that even I could bend. There’s more to me, more to the universe, than I suspected. Room for all the dreams I ever had, and all the nightmares: heroes in the gutters and in the mirror; saints in the frozen wasteland; fools and liars on the throne of wisdom, and hands reaching out in hunger that will never be filled… Anything becomes possible, after you find the courage to admit that nothing is certain.” His smile twitched self-consciously. Jerusha listened in silent disbelief.

“Life used to look like cut crystal to me, Commander — sharp and clear and perfect. My fantasies stayed in my pockets where they belonged. But now…” He shrugged. “Those clean hard edges break up the light into rainbows, and everything gets soft and hazy. I don’t know if I’ll ever see straight again.” A forlorn note crept back into his voice.

But you’ll be a better Blue for it. Jerusha saw his eyes search the vastness of the sunken field, settle on the nearest exit, as though he expected that somehow his new vision would grant him one last glimpse of Moon. “No, BZ. She isn’t here. The star port is forbidden ground to her.”

His gaze sharpened and cleared abruptly. “Yes, ma’am. I know the law.” But it told her he understood now that even the laws of nature were imperfect; that the laws of men were no less flawed than the men who made them; that even he could realize what Moon was and what she, Jerusha, intended to help her do… and look the other way. “Maybe it’s for the best.” Not even believing that.

“I’ll do my best to take care of her for you, BZ.”

He laughed shyly, the echo of a caress. “I know, Commander. But what force in the galaxy is stronger than she is?”

“Indifference.” Jerusha surprised herself with the answer. “Indifference, Gundhalinu, is the strongest force in the universe. It makes everything it touches meaningless. Love and hate don’t stand a chance against it. It lets neglect and decay and monstrous injustice go unchecked. It doesn’t act, it allows. And that’s what gives it so much power.”

He nodded slowly. “And maybe that’s why people want to trust Moon. Because things matter to her, and they do; and when she touches them they know they matter to themselves.” He held his hands up in front of him, stared at the scars still waiting to be erased. “She made my scars invisible…”

“You could stay, BZ.”

He shook his head, let his hands drop. “There was a time… but not now. It wasn’t just my life that was changed. I don’t belong here now. No,” he sighed, “there are two worlds I don’t ever expect to see again, barring the Millennium. This one, and my own.”

“Kharemough?”

He sat down unsteadily on the stack of crates. “My own people will see my scars forever, even when they’re gone. But what the hell, that still leaves six to choose from. And who knows what I’ll find where I’m going?” But his gaze returned to the empty exit, searching for the thing he would never find again.

“A distinguished career.” She flicked a switch at her throat as her communicator began to buzz again.

Gundhalinu sat on the crates, patiently watching while the final cargo was loaded, the final report given to her, the confirmation relayed to the heart of the looming ship. They stood together as the last of her men saluted her for the last time and self-consciously wished her well before heading back to the cargo lift.

Gundhalinu nodded after them. “Aren’t you coming aboard to give your final report?”

She shook her head, feeling her heart suddenly squeezed by a relentless hand, the moment of schism. “No. I can’t face that. If I set foot on that ship now, I don’t think I’d be able to leave it again, no matter how sure I was that this is right.” She handed him the computer remote. “You can give them the all clear for me, Inspector Gundhalinu. And take these.” She reached up to her collar again, unfastened her Commander’s insignia. She handed them to him. “Don’t lose them. You’ll need them someday.”

“Thank you, Commander.” His freckles crimsoned, making her smile. His good hand closed over the pieces of metal like rare treasure. “I hope I wear them with as much honor as you did.” He held up his twisted hand in an instinctive Kharemoughi gesture; she pressed her own against it in farewell.

“Good-bye, BZ. The gods smile on you, wherever you go.”

“And on you, Commander. May your many-times-great grandchildren venerate your memory.”

She glanced toward the distant, darkened windows where Ngenet waited; smiled privately. She wondered what those many-times-great grandchildren might say to his, on the day of their return.

Gundhalinu drew his healing body up with an effort, and made a perfect salute. She returned it — the final salute of her career, the farewell to a life and a galaxy.

“Don’t forget to turn out the lights.” He started away to where the other patrolmen waited, already in the lift and holding it for him. She turned her back on the sight of them, of the lift like an open mouth calling her, calling her insane… She went as quickly as she could without running to the nearest exit from the field.

She found Ngenet watching the doorway for her as she entered the deserted auditorium. She joined him at the wall of shielded glass, looking down across the field at the inert mass of the solitary coin ship, alone in the vast, ruddy pit, as they were alone. Miroe spoke quietly, complimenting her competence, asking innocuous questions; his voice was hushed, as though he were experiencing a religious event. She answered him distractedly, barely hearing what either of them said.

The ship lay in its berth for a long time — made longer by her straining anticipation — and she let him listen over her headset to the last drawing-in of cranes and equipment, the ship’s officers going through their final checks and tallies.

“Are you clear, Citizen PalaThion?”

Jerusha started as the captain’s voice addressed her directly. “Yes. Yes, I’m clear.” Citizen. An irrational disappointment stirred in her. “All clear, Captain.”

“You’re sure you want to stay behind here?”

Miroe looked up at her, waiting.

She took a deep breath, nodded… said, as an afterthought, “Yes, I’m sure, Captain. But thanks for asking.”

Life and noise continued at the other end of the gap for a few seconds longer, and then her communicator went dead. She stood very still for a long moment, as though she had heard herself die, before she pulled off the delicate spider’s web of the headset.

Below them she saw the hologrammic lights of the ignition sequence play across the ship’s hull and fade, mute warning. She stared until her eyes ached, searching for motion.

“Look. They’re lifting.”

Now she saw the motion, too, saw the ship’s structure tremble — as the grids of the star port repellers engaged and it began to rise — and the faint distortion of the air. It drifted up and up, toward the portion of the star port protective dome opening like a flower on the deeper, ruddy field of the star-choked night. It passed through into the outer darkness where, somewhere far above, it would join itself to a convoy of a dozen others, in a fleet of dozens and dozens more. And from there their fusion drives would carry them on to the Black Gate and they would pass through, and never in her lifetime would they come back to this world again.

The dome resealed far overhead, blotting out the stars.

Jerusha looked down, across the glowing grid work of the field, down at herself standing in this dark, empty hall, alone, like a castoff stick of furniture. Oh, my gods… She covered her face with a hand, swaying.

“Jerusha.” Miroe steadied her hesitantly. “I promise you, you won’t regret it.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together. “I’m all right. Or I will be, when I catch my breath.” She lowered her hand, tracing the seal of her jacket down. “Like any other newborn.” She smiled at him, uncertainly; he fed her smile with his own until it grew strong.

“You belong here, on Tiamat. I knew it from the first time I met you. But I had to wait until you knew it too… I thought you’d never see.” He was suddenly embarrassed.

“Why didn’t you say something, anything, to help me understand?” almost exasperation.

“I tried! Gods, how I tried.” He shook his head. “But I was afraid to hear you tell me no.”

“And I was afraid I might say yes.” She looked out the window again. “But I’ve belonged to this star port too. And so have you…” She sighed, looking back. “Neither of us belongs here now, Miroe. We’d better get out of here before they seal it up like a tomb.”

He grinned, easing. “That’s a step in the right direction. We’ll take the rest as it comes; step by step.” He turned solemn again. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Miroe. For whatever comes.” She felt her excitement and her courage coming back to her. “It’s going to be interesting.” She felt her face warm as he touched her. “You know, Miroe—” she laughed suddenly, “among my people, “May you live in interesting times’ is not exactly a benediction.”

He smiled, and then he began to laugh; and together they started back through the abandoned halls — returning to Carbuncle, going home.