“Geographically I can see that makes sense,” Monty said as they went into Ingelligence, looking at the map on the walls. This was something Cholayna had done, evidently. Jaelle had not seen it before. “But then, why didn’t Ardais break away from the Comyn too? It seems, geographically speaking, that the country would be divided between the Lowland Domains—” he pointed, “the Aillards and Elhalyns in the lowlands, Ardais and Aldaran in the Hellers, and Altons, Hasturs in the Kilghard Hills, with the Ridenow ‘way over here almost in the Dry Towns—”
“You ask me for the answer to a riddle that no one has ever been able to understand,” said Jaelle stiffly, “yet the Aldaran are exiled from Comyn—perhaps for some old crime? No one truly knows; yet the Ardais have always been loyal to Comyn, though once, I am told, the Aldarans of Scathfell fought to make themselves Lords over Ardais too.”
“I don’t, of course, expect to understand a thousand years of the History of the Domains overnight,” said Monty. “Anyhow, the Aldarans have put through a formal request to the Empire for technological help and assistance; Medic personnel, and—this is where I come in—helicopters and men to fly them. It seems that conventional aircraft are useless over the Hellers—as you may remember from that episode in Comyn Castle when we were called there to talk about the Mapping and Exploring plane that went down, they’re not even really safe in the Kilghard Hills. Of course what you call hills on Darkover would be pretty formidable mountains on almost any other planet I can think of But helicopters, and some kinds of vertical take-off-and-landing aircraft, might be usable in spite of the thermal conditions in and around the Hellers, so I am being sent to do a feasibility study. Of course I’m only in charge of protocol and liaison; Zeb Scott’s going to handle the aircraft itself. And so I need a last-minute Intelligence briefing—damn Cholayna for taking this particular day off!”
“Cholayna has a right to a holiday, too,” Jaelle said, so fiercely that Monty flinched.
“Yes, of course, it’s damnably inconvenient for me, that’s all,” he said. “But perhaps you can help; find me an outfit, tell us how to arrange transport. They’ll ship in the aircraft by cargo freight, of course, but we will have to have transport through the hills; foot transport. Your business, Cholayna told me once, was travel escort.”
“Yes; my partner, an Amazon, and myself,” Jaelle said quietly. “Let me send a message to the Guild House and my partner Rafaella can be arranging the transport.” And suddenly she knew the answer to the whole complicated business. Peter could not prevent her from doing the work she had been hired to do in the Terran Zone. She would assign herself on this mission— she had enough authority for that—to guide them into the Hellers to Aldaran. And this would remove her from Peter’s presence, which had been so galling to her for so long, and when she came back—which would hardly be before the autumn—she could quietly file for divorce by Terran law.
She took paper and writing stylus and quickly scribbled a note to Rafaella, to be sent to Guild House at once. “Rafi may still be sleeping.” Last night was a holiday and probably Rafaella danced in the dawn. But as soon as she wakes, this will bring her, and she will start assembling people and horses, guides and pack animals. How many men will you have for escort?“
Monty gave her the details. She picked up, dimly, that he was astonished at her efficiency; he had not seen her before this in the special sphere of her competence. They talked about days on the trail, man-days of food, the best purveyor for travel clothing, which she insisted should be of natural leathers and furs rather than the Terran synthetics, and he managed to requisition purchase orders for the supplies they would need. Men had to be chosen too for the mission; Monty had access to Personnel records and knew which of the available men came from cold, inhospitable or mountainous planets and could therefore tolerate and even enjoy an excursion into the worst terrain and worst weather on Darkover.
This work was so familiar to her that by the time she had made out the preliminary listings, and arranged for Rafaella to meet with Monty at noon, she was over the worst of her ill-humor. She checked out his clothing carefully, and even went to her own quarters for the small packets of sachet that she had rubbed into the seams of her dress last night; then, hesitating, stopped to ask herself whether the scents and herbs she had used might not be unsuitable for a man’s clothing. She went and sniffed the seams of the holiday gear Peter had flung on the floor, when he came in drunk. No, these were different—or as nearly as she could make out through the overwhelming smell of whisky on them.
“Jaelle!” said Peter behind her, almost apologetic. “Love, you don’t have to deal with those things; you’re not my valet. Anyhow, in the shape they’re in, there’s nothing to do but chuck them into the disposal; they’re hardly worth cleaning.”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’ll have them cleaned in the Old Town,” she said. “They’ll look all the more authentic when you go into the field again. That’s why I’m here—Monty’s going into the field with a consignment—aircraft for Aldaran or something like that.”
“Damn! Of course, as the Old Man’s son he’d be in line for any favorable assignment,” Peter grumbled.
“If you think he really wants to take this away from you, you are very much mistaken,” she said slowly, “though there are other assignments in the field which will bring you more prestige than this. Monty would appreciate having your help in checking out his fitness for Intelligence—Cholayna seems to be taking the day off,” she added artfully, and immediately he was the Terran Peter again, eager to seize the slightest advantage.
“Right; I’ll go check out his kit,” he said. “He’ll probably have to requisition the right kind of boots.” He turned to go, saying, “Meet me for lunch, will you, Jaelle?” He came back to kiss her, and her heart almost melted then. He was so dear to her. Perhaps all they needed was time, time to adjust, to grow together…
“In the main cafeteria,” she specified. “I simply cannot eat the synthetics upstairs,” and he nodded, gently patting her tummy.
“Junior doesn’t like synthetics? All right; nothing but the best for my boy,” he said.
“Peter, Rohana told me it was a daughter—”
“Don’t be silly, darling. Even the Terran Medics could hardly be sure about it—you’re not even two months pregnant yet. We’ll wait for the scientific verification, all right? If you want to enjoy thinking about a daughter, all right, sweetheart—you’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of being right, after all—but I’m still betting on Peter, Junior! Anyway, I’ll see you in the main cafeteria at lunchtime or a little after.” He kissed her quickly again with the habitual, reflex glance at the clock, and was gone.
Jaelle smothered her anger and went down to talk with the supply people about horses for the journey. They were eager to supply trucks to carry the heavy equipment across the plains, but she pointed out that there were no suitable roads, and the days in the saddle before going up into the mountains would be valuable in acclimatizing the men to the altitudes of the Hellers. “Have you no knowledge of mountain sickness, if they are transported too swiftly to higher altitudes?”
“We can deal with mountain sickness, we have drugs for it,” the Transport officer said, but Jaelle insisted quietly, “It would be better not to let them depend on drugs, since they will be in the far country and away from your—” she groped for the word, to her surprise found it in the man’s mind without trying, “your— lifeline—of medical help.”
“You certainly have a point, Mrs. Haldane I understand from Monty that you’re coming into the mountains with us; you know the Hellers?”
“Lady Rohana Ardais is a kinswoman of mine and I have visited her in Ardais lands many times; also, my business partner and I have led expeditions into the Hellers before this,” she said. “Rafaella knows every trail in the Hellers.”
“We can certainly use someone who does.”
“It will not trouble you to work with a woman?”
“Look, M
rs. Haldane,” he said, so seriously that for once she did not protest the refused name, “When I have to work with somebody, I don’t give a cat’s whisker whether it’s a man, a woman or a sentient dolphin, providing it knows its job. I’ve worked on enough planets not to quibble with brains, whatever body they happen to come packaged in. Haven’t seen many women on this one, but I understand the head of Intelligence here is a woman, and I heard scuttlebutt around the Division that they sent a woman here, because there was a woman in the Coordinator’s office who had practically set up the whole Intelligence operation singlehanded by her fieldwork—you know who Magdalen Lorne was, don’t you? I mean, I figured Haldane would have told you, he was married to her once. Or have I spoken out of turn?”
“No,” she said. “I know Magda’s work,” and she wondered again if because of Peter’s personal limitations she had been drawn into wronging the Terrans. They had, after all, brought Cholayna here; and had been wise enough to see that the Renunciates would be the best beginning when the people of both planets must work together.
Maybe it is not the Terran in Peter I find objectionable; maybe it is his Darkovan side which insists I must be no more than his wife and mother of his children… other Terran men are not like that. And if Cholayna is right I must unconsciously be a child of the Dry Towns and unconsciously wish to belong to a man, claimed as his property…
The thought was so disquieting that she shoved it aside swiftly as the communication speaker interrupted them.
“For Mrs. Haldane; a personal message, a Darkovan woman at the gates.” And Jaelle went to hear Rafaella’s voice coming over the speaker.
“I understand I am to help you set up an expedition for these Terrans,” she said, and Jaelle turned to the Transport Officer with relief.
“Come down and I will introduce you to Rafaella n’ha Doria,” she said, and they went down to the Gates.
After a few minutes she could see that the Transport Officer liked Rafaella and would listen to her judgment; so she found them a map, signed Monty’s Requisition order for supplies, and went to join Peter in the cafeteria.
He was gentle and solicitous as he chose foods he had seen her enjoy, but her mind was filled with knowledge of what needed to be said, and after a few bites she put down her fork and said what had been on her mind all morning.
“Peter, I’m sorry I sounded harsh the other night. But it’s true and we must admit it. Our marriage was a terrible mistake. It’s time to end it, dissolve it by whatever means you think suitable, and let it go.”
His face crumpled.
“Oh, Jaelle, I was drunk. Can’t you forgive me? There are compromises to make in every marriage—now, with a baby coming, is this any time for that kind of decision?”
“I think it is the best time for such a decision,” she said, “because everything in my life will change; so this is the right time for that change too.”
“And do I have nothing to say about it? It’s my son too—”
“Daughter,” she corrected automatically and wondered when she had begun believing it.
He fiddled nervously with his fork in a pile of some white mashed root. “Look,” he said, “I admit we’ve both made mistakes—serious ones. But if you’ll try and tell me what bothers you, I’ll try and change. Jaelle, it’s wrong to give up on each other now. Among other things, the kid’s going to need a father. And I want my kid to have the advantages of a Terran education—”
“Surely that can be arranged without continuing to live together,” she said, not looking at him. Where had it gone, all the love?
“It’s a rotten thing to do,” he said angrily. “I didn’t think you were that kind of person. Use me to get Empire citizenship for yourself and the kid, then walk out on me—”
She started to her feet, eyes blazing, physically holding herself back from flinging her crock of soup into his face. “If you can believe that of me, then there is not even any basis for trying further—”
“Oh, God, Jaelle, I didn’t mean it,” he said, rising in his turn, stretching across the table to try to enfold her hands in his. She wrenched them angrily away.
“Jaelle, forgive me. Let’s try again. Remember how it was at Ardais and how happy we were there?”
She did not want to remember; she felt tears raining down her face. He said, capturing her hands again and holding them to his heart, “Please, Jaelle. Darling, don’t cry, don’t. Not here; people will think I’ve been beating you—”
“If you care so much what they think—” she began, then stopped. She owed him this at least, to finish this in decent privacy. She sighed and turned to follow him out of the cafeteria. But the intercom loudspeaker device interrupted them.
“Peter Haldane, Peter Haldane. Mrs. Haldane, Mrs. Haldane. Please report to the Coordinator’s office at once. Please report to the Coordinator’s office immediately.”
Peter swore. “I wonder what the old bastard wants now? For the love of God, Jaelle, stand by me now, don’t let him get this to hold over me too!” he pleaded. She did not fully understand but picked up something from his mind, if he thinks I can’t stick out what I finish, if he knows I have nothing to tie me to Darkover, and sighed. She said, “I won’t make any decision until we have agreed on it, if that’s what you mean,” and let him capture and hold her hand under his arm.
“I’ll never agree to let you go,” he said softly. It sounded like the old tenderness. But under the veneer of tenderness she knew that he was considering what this would do to his career and she hardened her heart again. Side by side, but inwardly as far apart as if they were on separate planets, they walked toward Coordinator Montray’s office.
Outside the clear glass expanse visible from the office, she could see heavy clouds hanging high in the pass. Before nightfall the city would be shrouded with it and the passes, perhaps, uncrossable. Montray was standing there, staring out into the storm, and again like a flash Jaelle caught the picture in his mind, a brilliant sun, a world of shining water and rainbows, and the pain he never allowed to surface because it would do him no good at all, marooned on this icy dark world where… “This doesn’t look much like midsummer to me,” he said grimly, without turning round, “Tell me, Haldane, you’ve lived on this planet all your life, do you ever have anything remotely resembling real summer here?”
“I understand that it’s much warmer in the Dry Towns and it’s much warmer down on the seacoast,” Peter said, “only almost no one lives there.”
“I’ll never understand Head Central,” Montray said, and Jaelle picked up the thought, sending me here, and wished she could comfort him somehow, but all he said aloud was “We could have built our spaceport there and not even interfered with the natives, which would have suited us and suited them and we’d all have been happy. Only first they set us down in a place like Caer Donn, and then they move down here—Jaelle, is there any proverb on this planet which means the same as we do when we say going from the frying pan into the fire?”
She picked it up in his mind that Magda had been accustomed to play this game with him, and that he missed Magda though he would never let himself say it or think it. She said gently “We would say, the game that walks of itself from the trap to the cookpot.” For the first and last time in her life she came close to liking Russell Montray. She wondered if everyone on the face of this world, or any other, covered desperate sadness with his own defenses, harsh cruelty, nasty humor, icy stone-cold refusal to communicate—are we all barriered from one another that way? Is there never any way to break through it? Peter and I thought we had found a way, but it was only a pretense. She was struck with such sadness that she wanted to cry, for herself, for Peter, even for Montray, who hated the very world on which he lived and the very air he breathed, and covered it by being hateful. But she was doing it too, she only wanted to cry and here she was covering her real feelings with obedient compliance because crying simply wasn’t done in offices like this one. She said, anticipating Peter by only a breat
h, “Surely you didn’t call us down here just to talk about proverbs, Mr. Montray, we were at lunch,” and then before he could answer, before she looked into the darker part of the room, she knew why he had summoned her there, and turned around to say coldly to Rohana “Lady.” She bowed.
But she felt tight all over. She has come to ask me again what I do not want to do.
Jaelle, no one living can do only what she wants. She could read Rohana’s thoughts as if the woman had spoken. I would have liked to spend my life in a Tower. You would have preferred to be only a Free Amazon. But do you think it is only women? Gabriel would have preferred to spend his life making songs to the lute. And you know better than I what Peter wants and cannot have, and what this man Montray would rather have…
Is this what it is like to have laran, knowing so well what everyone else needs so well that you have no time for your own thoughts and wishes? And then Jaelle slammed off the awareness, with an effort that turned her pale and cold, while Montray was blandly introducing them to Lady Rohana.
Rohana stretched out her hand and said, “But Jaelle is my kinswoman, Montray, the daughter of a cousin who was raised with me like a sister, and of course I have met her freemate many times. He was my guest last winter.” She went on to make some polite question about Peter’s health and his work.
“At least I don’t have to be out in the storm that’s coming,” Peter said, looking past Montray out the window. “I don’t envy Monty one single bit, starting out for Aldaran in this kind of weather.”
“Storm? I don’t see any damned storm,” said Montray truculently. “Dark and dismal, and nothing like Midsummer, or what I’d call Midsummer on any halfway human-type world—no offense intended, Lady Rohana, but do you really like this kind of weather? I suppose you must—”
“Not necessarily,” Rohana said, smiling. “There is an old story; at one time the Gods gave mankind control over the weather, but he foolishly asked only for sunny days, and the crops failed, because there was no rain and snow. So a merciful God took away control again…”