“During carnival… one of the warriors said that during carnival there were always six big women with clubs near him, wherever he went, and if he even looked at one of the women, they landed all over him. I heard—I heard he even forced one of the boys.”
“Chernon! That’s absolutely forbidden.” Stavia bit her lip. Even in preconvulsion times it had been known that the so-called “gay syndrome” was caused by aberrant hormone levels during pregnancy. The women doctors now identified the condition as “hormonal reproductive maladaption,” and corrected it before birth. There were very few actual HNRMs—called HenRams—either male or female, born in Women’s Country, though there was still the occasional unsexed person or the omnisexed who would, so the instructors said, mate with a grasshopper if it would hold still long enough. If the warrior had indeed “forced one of the boys,” it had almost surely been done out of viciousness and dominance, not from any libidinal need. Libidinal need was fully accepted as a normal and useful fact of life. Viciousness was not; rape wasn’t tolerated in Women’s Country. “He could have been executed for that,” she said soberly. “I can’t imagine why he wasn’t.”
“No one could prove anything,” he said uncomfortably. “Anyhow, it was just a rumor.”
“Couldn’t they control him?”
“They? You mean the officers? Vinsas was in Michael’s command, and I suppose Michael could have done something, if he’d wanted to. But when Mother came to Michael it just made him stubborn, and he wouldn’t do anything. Vinsas was out of his helmet, really. Mostly they let him alone. And then he died. I think someone killed him.”
“Murdered him?”
“Just killed him. I think it was during a raid his century did on the bandits. Except we all suspected it wasn’t the bandits that did for him. Everybody was glad he was gone.”
Stavia bit her lip as she picked up the empty basket to carry it downstairs. Even though Chernon was unreasonably bitter toward his family, she excused it because of what he had gone through. The thought brought hot moisture to her eyes. She shook her head furiously, letting the nearest wet sheet flap in her face to hide her tears. “Do you think about coming home?”
“You mean like now, for carnival?”
“I mean for always. Through the gate….” She caught a glimpse of his face, suddenly remote and faintly contemptuous.
“Don’t say it, Stavia. Of course I think about it, but I don’t want to talk about it. It’s not something we talk about, that’s all.”
This withdrawal surprised and frightened her. He had not refused to talk about anything else. “All right. Let’s talk about something else. Do you know Barten?”
He relaxed, now on safe ground. “Oh, everyone knows Barten. You were talking about your mouth getting you in trouble. Barten’s mouth is a lot bigger than yours. He brags all the time. We’re going to be so glad when he gets to be twenty-five and can actually fight instead of just talk about how great he’s going to be. Maybe somebody will wound him around the mouth and make us all happy.”
“You don’t like him much, do you?” She thrust an extra clothespin over the corner of the nearest sheet, watching it belly into the wind.
“Barten likes Barten enough for all of us. Mostly because of who his warrior father is.”
“Who’s that?”
“Michael. They’ve always got their heads together. Didn’t you know that?”
Stavia shook her head, not trusting her tongue. So, in point of fact, Barten might be her half brother. Myra’s half brother? No. No, if that were the case, Morgot would have said something about it. Not that a liaison with a half brother was necessarily a bad thing. Depending. She sat down on the railing, staring out over the back courtyard wall toward the sea.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked her.
“Genetics.”
“What’s that?”
“The science of how things pass on their characteristics to their offspring.”
There was a long silence. He sat down on the railing beside her, his head turned away. If she could have seen his face, she would have seen it concentrated in thought, in sudden inspiration.
“What’s the matter?” she asked him.
“You make me feel… you make me feel ignorant,” he said in a wounded voice. “I don’t know about things like that.”
She gave him an astonished look. “It’s all in books! The garrison has a library.”
“Romances, Stavia. Tales of battle. Sagas. Designs for armor. Hygiene. Maintenance of garrison property. You know! Nothing about real things. Nothing about medicine, or engineering, or management.”
“Those are women’s studies.”
“I know what they are, I just said you made me feel ignorant, that’s all.” He looked hurt again. “It isn’t a nice feeling.”
“I could lend you some books, while you’re home. I’ll even give you some old ones to take back with you if you want.” She made the offer before she had time to think, and a part of her stood aside, aghast, as it realized what she had said. Giving Women’s Country books to a warrior was absolutely forbidden!
“I couldn’t do that.” His lips said it, but his eyes were looking at her from their corners, as though weighing the offer. “They’d have me up on charges.”
She almost sighed with relief. “You’re not allowed to read?”
“Not things like that. Not womanish things.”
“Ah.” She sought some compromise. “Beneda’s got books you can read while you’re home, though.”
“Hers don’t have the kinds of things I’d like to know,” he said with calculated sadness, eyes falling away from her own to contemplate something distantly chill, an attitude which had always brought Sylvia to him, begging him to tell her what was wrong, what she could do to make it better.
It had a similar effect on Stavia. She found herself wondering what harm it would do. After all, there was no ordinance against reading to him, or talking to him about anything she had read. What was the difference? It just showed how stupid some of the ordinances were. “I just never thought of a warrior wanting books.
