He found her in the library of the citadel in Splash One. She was reading through accounts of old journeys, many of them first journeys, full of the mystery and wonder that had been Jubal. Her hair had grown long enough that it fell over her forehead, shadowing her eyes. He could not read her expression.
‘I was trying to remember how it was, before we knew what it was all about,’ she said. ‘You and Jamieson and I talked about how we felt. The marvel. The anticipation.’
‘It’s still there,’ he said.
‘Not for us,’ she said, laying the book down and looking up at him with that long, level look he thought of as so typical of her.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Oh, Tasmin, you know what the findings were as well as I do.’
‘You haven’t spoken with your father, then. I sent word to him this morning.’
‘No, I haven’t talked with him.’
‘If you had, he would have told you that we’re not leaving. At least he and I are not leaving. Most of the Tripsingers won’t be leaving.’
‘You mean they really … the Presences really want us to stay?’
‘They find us interesting, Clarin. They find our perception of them particularly interesting. They see us pretty much the way I’m beginning to see the viggies. The viggies – or at least the giligees – can go right into our bodies and tell us all about them. Things we didn’t know. We can do the same for the Presences. They had no concept at all of what they were until we came along and told them.’
‘That’s right. You’ve been negotiating.’
‘The Presences see no reason for us to go, so long as we’re sensible about Jubal. They don’t intend to keep their midbrains awake much of the time – evidently their philosophical life, down deep, occupies most of their interest – and they say we’ll still be needed to keep them from rolling over on us in their sleep. The ones that were destroyed are growing again, very quickly. Their roots are still there. They tell us there will be another Redfang in a few decades. Another set of Eagers.’
‘But what would we do? To earn a living?’
There’s still a market for brou. BDL won’t be available to handle it off-planet, of course, but some agglomerate will take us on. The provisional setup we have now will give way to our own planetary government. The viggies want us to stay because we provide good food. We’ll need Explorers. Less than a quarter of Jubal is even mapped.’ He took a deep breath, eyes shining. ‘Clarin, all that country out there! Presences we don’t know! Things we’ve never seen! All that wonderful….’ He caught sight of her unresponsive face and sighed. ‘The Presences even asked our advice about the viggies.’
‘The viggies?’
‘There’s the question of their eating some humans. Seemingly a back country troupe of viggies caught and ate a trooper named Halky Bend. I don’t know why, except that the Presence said it was justified. Things like that worry the Presences a little. They’re aware we don’t eat people, or viggies. They know something about taboos. They have some of their own….’ His voice trailed away into silence. She wasn’t reacting. ‘So,’ he concluded weakly, ‘there’s lots for us to do here.’
‘I’m not sure I want to be studied,’ she said, apropos of nothing.
‘Studied?’
‘Of course. The scientists will be all over Jubal. Just think! The first, nonorganic intelligences!’
‘They may come, but they won’t be able to sing their way past a waste receptable,’ he said. ‘They’ll need us, Clarin.’
‘Oh, I know that. But I don’t want to be their subject.’
‘You?’
‘Us. Oh, yes. They’ll study us along with the Presences, us and the viggies. They’ll write learned papers on “The Interactions of Human and Nonorganic Intelligences.”’
‘So?’
‘It’s just …’ Her objections sounded specious, even to her. She flushed and examined her hands intently.
He put a package in her lap. ‘Here’s something I found.’
She looked at him quizzically, opened it. The soft gray-green plush stared up at her. ‘A viggy baby,’ she said softly. ‘For your baby, Tasmin.’
It was a moment before he could respond. ‘Yes, for the baby. I’ve been wondering what to name him.’
‘I think there’s only one possible name. Call him Lim Jamieson.’
‘Lim.’ He turned away to the window, tears in his eyes. ‘Jamieson.’
‘You owe an indebtedness. There’s only one way to pay it. Honor their names. Care for their troupes. That’s what Bondri would say.’
‘What about Celcy?’ he asked her, looking her carefully in the face. ‘What do I owe her?’
‘You’ve already paid your indebtedness to Celcy,’ she said. ‘You never hurt her, at least not purposely. Everyone I’ve talked to says she was as happy and contented being married to you as it was possible for her to be. And now she’s gone.’
‘Don says she died because she wanted to do one, totally admirable thing.’
‘That’s possible,’ she said calmly. ‘There are other possibilities, Tasmin. An infinite number of them. With some things it doesn’t matter what is true.’
‘I thought it did, to me.’
‘Only because you were feeling guilty about it. You wanted something to exonerate you. Or maybe something to canonize her. Then when you found the truth about Lim, you felt even worse. None of that was your doing, Tasmin.’
He laughed, very softly.
‘I said something funny?’
‘No. You sing one song, and Don sings another, and Bondri sings a third, and I sing another one yet. I suppose we could get my mother in on this. And Jeannie Gentrack, and the other friends we had in Deepsoil Five. At the time, Celcy’s death seemed so silly, so futile, so meaningless. It made me so angry. More angry than sad, as I look back on it. I’ve wanted and wanted to know why she died, and I don’t know any more than when we left.’
‘And do you know something even stranger, Tasmin? If you could bring Celcy back and ask her, she couldn’t tell you.’
‘That’s true,’ he said with sudden enlightenment. ‘She probably couldn’t.’
‘It
