all by herself. That naked fact continued to form a void deep within, despite a gradual deadening of her pain. Though lessening with time, the faint sense of loss would remain with her for as long as she lived, and she would call it childhood.
Consider the nightmares of children. Or your own fears, walking down some darkened lane. Do you invent ghosts? Beasts of prey? Or do most dire phantoms take the form of
Oh, often so does rescue. Our faction never claimed all men were brutes. To the contrary, history tells of marvelous human beings who happened to be male. But consider how much time and energy those good men spent just countering the bad ones. Cancel out both sides and what is left? More trouble than the good is worth.
That was the rationale behind early parthenogenesis experiments on Herlandia—attempting to cull masculinity from the human process entirely. Attempts that failed. The need for a male component seems deeply woven through the chemistry of mammalian reproduction. Even our most advanced techniques cannot safely overcome it.
Herlandia was a disappointment, but we learn from setbacks. If we must include men in our new world, let us design things so they will get in the way as little as possible.
5
The voice, reading aloud, was among the most soothing Maia had ever heard.
“ ‘…And so, now that you’ve left the coastal mountains far behind, the grassy plains of Long Valley roll by your window like purple-crested crinolines, starched for show. A vast sea of low, unmoving waves. From your hurtling chariot, your gaze reaches across the prairie ocean, seeking anything to break the undulating monotony, making what it can of any post or protuberance that might imaginatively be called topography.
“ ‘And you seek not in vain! For, far beyond this glorious expanse of blandness, you glimpse sequestered columns of wind-sculpted stone, green-crested rock monoliths, giving the eye something faraway to cling to. These are the distant Needle Towers, testaments to the power and persistence of natural erosion which carved them long before the arrival of humans on Stratos…’ ”
Already half-stupefied by the thrumming magnetic rails and the dusty sameness of the prairie, Maia listened to the other occupant of the baggage car orate from a volume with finely chased leather bindings. Though the air was parched, her companion never seemed to run dry.
“ ‘According to recent reports, the elders who rule Long Valley have ordained that male sanctuaries be built on several far-off Needles, breaking a tradition of seasonal banishment which started with the first Perkinite settlements…’ ”
The hitchhiker called her book a “travel guide.” Its apparent aim? To describe what the reader was seeing, while she was seeing it. But Tizbe Beller spent more time with her nose between the pages, making excited pronouncements, than actually looking through the grimy window at a succession of dreary farms and ranches.
“ ‘…Currently, all men of virile years are banished from the valley each hot quarter, and kept away until the end of rut season…’ ”
Maia’s fellow traveler lay atop a pile of coarse gunny-sacks, her blonde hair tied in a simple bun. Tizbe’s clothing, ragged-looking from a distance, proved on closer inspection to be soft and well-made, clashing with the girl’s claim of utter poverty. As Maia’s assistant, she was supposed to pay for her passage by helping sling freight all the way to Holly Lock. So far, Maia was unimpressed.
Before departing Grange Head, Maia had given the orthodox priestess a letter to deliver to any young woman passing through who resembled her. After all, Church doctrine held that miracles were possible, even in a world guided by chance and molecular affinities.
What luck that a railroad clan was just then looking for someone with a knack for figures. The work didn’t involve differential calculus, only simple accounting, but Maia had been pleased to find some part of her education useful. Leie, too, would have been a cinch, with her love of machines. If only…
Fortunately, Tizbe broke Maia’s gloomy thought-spiral.
“Listen to this!” The young hitchhiker lifted a finger and changed to a deep, somewhat pompous tone. “ ‘Of special interest to travelers is the system of freight and passenger carriage used in Long Valley, ideally suited to a pioneering subculture. The solar railway, operated jointly by the Musseli, Fontana, and Braket clans, should get you to your destination without excessive delays.’ ” Tizbe laughed. “That Fontana train was four hours late yesterday! And this Musseli clunker isn’t doing much better!”
Maia felt compelled to return a wry smile. Yet, Tizbe’s contempt seemed unfair. Musseli Clan ran their trains on time during the cool seasons, when men of Rail Runner Guild helped drive the engines. Most males were banished each summer, though, and the long-limbed, flattish-faced Musseli were left short-staffed. They might have hired female engineers just as good as men—itinerant vars, or even a hive-clan of specialists. That would put the enterprise solely in the hands of women year-round, like everything else in Long Valley. But the region’s leaders were caught between their ideology of radical separationism on the one hand and biological needs on the other. In order to produce clone-daughters, they must have men around from autumn to spring, to perform the vital “sparking” function. Keeping ample numbers of men occupied between brief sparkings meant giving them work. Here on the high plains, locomotives served the same secondary function as ships along the coast: to keep a small supply of men available, in compact, mobile, easy-to-manage groups.
Hence the dilemma. If the notoriously touchy male engineers took offense over the hiring of summer replacements, they might not return at all next year. Which would be catastrophic, like leaving the orchards unpollinated. So, each summer, the rail clans just made do.
Now, with its young men home from coastal sanctuaries, Rail Runner Guild was coming back to strength. Soon schedules would be met again. But Maia didn’t bother trying to explain any of this. Tizbe seemed smugly certain she and her book had all the answers.
“ ‘The three rail-clans operate competing freight lines, each in partnership with a male guild, with shared ownership of capital approved by an act of the Planetary Council in the year…’ ”
A surprisingly close working relationship between the sexes, Maia pondered. Yet, hadn’t Lamatia Hold once welcomed the same ships and sailors, year after year? Those flying the Pinniped banner? Preserving for them rights of all kinds, ranging from commerce to procreation? Who was she to say what was normal, and what aberration?
