Chapters Eighteen and Nineteen

The lights were low, the Brazilian jazz mellow and smoky with sax.  I was curled up on the sofa next Eran, my head resting on his shoulder.  I could feel his warmth along my right side and the weight of his arm around my waist.

“Had an interesting chat with Jordi this afternoon,” he said.

“Hmm? What about?”  But I wasn’t really listening.  I was thinking—okay, it was more like brooding—about ….

“Monogamy.”

Bingo.  And now I was listening.

“Kai?”

“Yes?”

“Did you know he asked Lexi … that they’ve taken vows, returned to the old ways?”

“Uh, yeah.  She … Lexi told me.”

“She told you?  When?”

“A couple of weeks ago, I guess.”

“Funny, you didn’t mention it.”

I lightly shrugged my left shoulder.  “I figured it was their decision; they should be the ones to share it.”

“Umm.  So … what do you think?”

“About their decision?”

“Yes, and … well … about monogamy.  In general, I mean.  You know, as a concept.”

Since he wasn’t looking at my face, I allowed myself a pained grimace.  What did I think?  I think I’m tired of thinking about monogamy.  I think thinking about monogamy is giving me a lot of crazy ideas, most of which involve you.  Last, but not least, I think I absolutely do not want to discuss this.

Was it just me?  Maybe it was.  Maybe Eran hadn’t given tonight’s invitation to mix it up with our friends a second thought, and I was the only one suddenly put off by the idea.  I was beginning to suspect those parties left a lot to be desired.  Oh, not physically speaking—the expected sensations were always present and accounted for.  But I was glad we hadn’t joined in tonight, because I couldn’t escape the growing, totally offbeat conviction that the decision to get up close and personal should involve something more meaningful than physical pleasure.

“Well?” he said, yanking my attention back to the topic obviously uppermost in his mind.

I squirmed inwardly.  “I dunno,” I mumbled.  “What do you think?”

Silence.  “I think I asked you first.”  Now, that was interesting.  Maybe Eran wasn’t all that comfortable with the subject of monogamy, either.  “Red?”

“Okay,” I sighed.  “When Lexi told me, I reminded her monogamy was illegal.  I also said I thought it sounded kinky.”

“But?”

“But now, after watching them together … I’m not so sure.  I think they’ve really found something special, Eran.  I’ve never seen two people mesh like that.  It’s like they complete each other, more so every day.”

“Jealous, darling?”

“I didn’t say that.”  Yeah, maybe.  A little.

“Hmm.”

I quashed a discomfited wriggle.  “Listen, do we have to talk about this?”

“Sooner or later, I think.  What’s the problem?”

The man was clearly clueless.  I guessed I would have to be blunt.  “The problem is, if I tell you I am kind of jealous of Jordi and Lexi, if I tell you I’ve started to wonder what it’s like to … to … join with someone that way, you might think I’m trying to … you know, that I want you to ….”  I lapsed into miserable, tongue-tied silence.  So much for bluntness.

“I might think you’re trying to manipulate me into proposing a similar arrangement?”

Blushing furiously, “Yes.”

“Ah.”

“Eran.”  I leaned back so I could look him in the eye and said as reasonably as I could, “Do me a favor, okay?  Give me something besides ah to go on.  I’m dying here!”

The arm around my waist tightened briefly as he chuckled ruefully.  “Sorry, love.  I know I’m not being fair.  Coward that I am, I wanted to sound you out on the subject.”

“Sound me out?”

“You know, find out whether you would be completely averse to the idea.”

“What idea?”

“The possibility of, ah, entering into a similar arrangement.”

“A similar arrangement?”  I tried to moisten my lips, but found my mouth had gone dry.  “With you?”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.  He sat straight up and glowered down at me.  “Don’t be dense, woman!”  He tossed up his free hand.  “Of course, with me!”

I realized several things simultaneously:  One, he was incredibly nervous; two, I wasn’t anymore; and three, happiness was bubbling up inside me.  All of a sudden, I wanted to laugh out loud, but judging by his expression, that would have been a really bad idea.

“Sorry,” I said, struggling to clamp a lid on my rising giddiness.  “Stupid question.  I wasn’t expecting …. It’s just that I …. Oh, by the great, gray-bearded Sage!  Eran Symon, you’ve got me all discombobulated!”

“Discombobulated?” he repeated slowly, then shook his head and laughed softly.  “As well you should be, Red, as well you should be.”  He slumped back against the sofa, scrubbing his hand over his face before giving into a wry smile. “Bloody hell!  I’ve made a mess of this, haven’t I?  I wonder if Jordi mucked it up this badly?”

“Probably.”  Figuring it was safe, I smiled and brushed at the ever-errant lock falling across his forehead.  “I wasn’t much help.”

“No,” he said, taking my hand.  He pressed my fingers to his lips.  “No help at all.”

“Eran,” I murmured, no longer smiling, “are you sure?”

“There’s none dearer to me than you, Kai, you know that.”

I nodded, blushing again, because this was the first time he had ever said as much.  “Same goes.”

“You and I have always been unusually close—best friends and lovers.  If there’s such a thing as a soul mate, you’re mine.  But if there’s a way we can be closer still ….”

“It’s a big step,” I whispered.

“Yes.”  His gaze grew intense.  “And as far as I’m concerned, for life means exactly that, Kai-Lee.  If and when we decide to take that vow, there’ll be no going back—not for me.”

“Me, either.”  When had I started trembling?  Could he feel it?  “So … so, maybe we should think about it some more.  You know, be sure.”

“Reading my mind again, darling?”

“Maybe you’re reading mine.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”  His index finger traced down my cheek, across my lips.  “So we’re agreed?  We’ll seriously consider it, but we won’t commit to anything, until and unless we’re both convinced it’s the right choice for us.”

“Agreed.”  I gazed up at him.  “It’s funny, isn’t it, Eran?  Once you realize how precious life is, once you understand you get just this one shot at it, you’re more careful.”

“With your own life and the lives of the people you love.  I agree.  Remember our first discussion, when we talked about wrong choices?  I find myself trying to consider all the angles before I make a decision, especially a decision as important this one.”  He kissed me lightly, then stood.

“Well, sure.  A commitment like this would change the way we live the rest of our lives and ….  What are you looking for?”

“My boots.  Ah.”  He scooped them off the deck, padded back to the sofa, and sat.

“Why?”

“Because it’s bad form to wander down the corridor in one’s stocking feet.”  He pulled the boots on and stood.

“You’re not staying?  I mean … I thought ….”

He leaned over me, palms on the back of the sofa, bracketing me between his braced arms.  “Nothing, I assure you,” he murmured, dipping his head to kiss me tenderly, “would give me greater pleasure.”

“Mmm.”  I looped my arms around his neck and kissed him back, then mumbled against lips, “But you’re leaving anyway.”

“Yes.”  He kissed me again, gently removed my arms from around his neck, and stood staring down at me.

“What?”

“This brings up something else I want to ask you.  A favor of sorts.”

“Okay.  What is it?”

“From now until we decide one way or another, I suggest we abstain.”

His meaning took a second to register, but when it did, my mouth dropped open.  “Abstain?” I sputtered.  “As in … abstain abstain?”

“Exactly.  No mixes, no physical intimacy with anyone, including one another.”

“Why?”

“Because it will cloud the issue.  Don’t you see?  Physical pleasure can skew the emotional readout.  Removing that particular variable will make the indicators that much clearer.”

I felt my lips twitch.  “You make us sound like a science experiment.”

He had the grace to look sheepish.  “I do, don’t I?  What I meant to say was, abstaining will make it that much easier to decide whether or not our proposed arrangement will fly.”

“Because we’ll know our relationship doesn’t depend on mere chemistry?  Don’t we already know that?”

“Maybe,” he conceded, “but we’ve never tried it without before.  Can it hurt to be sure?  Besides, I have a second motive for asking.”

“What’s that?”

“I confess I’ve developed the rather quaint notion that abstention will actually strengthen the emotional bond between us.”

I smiled crookedly.  “Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder?”

“May do.  Besides,” he leaned down to plant a quick, platonic peck on my forehead, “consummation will be all the sweeter for having waited, don’t you think?”

Who knew?  But his expression was so boyishly hopeful, I caved.  “Okay, I’m game, if you are.”

“That’s the spirit, Red!  Now, A), it’s late.  B), you look entirely too inviting.  And C), we’re both new to this chastity business.  Ergo, until we get the hang of it, I’m off.”  He leaned down like he was going to kiss me again, but stopped inches from my lips, shook his head, and straightened.  “Better not push it.  Good night.  Sleep tight, darling.”

“You, too.”

After he had gone I carried our coffee cups into the galley before dreamily wending my way into the bedroom, where I undressed and climbed into bed.  Lying on my back, I hugged myself as I let my gaze wander into the shadows gathered under the overhead.  Half of me was almost dizzy with excitement, the other half scared witless.  It would be an awesome commitment, this business of partnering with one another for life.

“By the Sage!” I whispered.

The framed video of Tom and Anna Fox swam in front of my mind’s eye.  They looked like two people born to go through life together.  What had made me think so, I wondered, mentally re-examining the image.  The Foxes seemed to exude a togetherness light years beyond that enjoyed by casual lovers.  Was it the way their bodies leaned into one another, like two halves of a whole?  Or was it the shared curve of their lips—reckless, good-natured, full of life?  Whatever the medium, the message came through loud and clear:  This man and woman had been joined in profound, intangible ways.  They weren’t so much with one another, as part of one another.

Jordi and Lexi were starting to remind me of that photo.

Of course, formalized monogamy, though uncommon, wasn’t unheard of back in the Foxes’ day.  People still knew basically how to do it and what to expect.  Coming from a society where it had been outlawed, where nobody had tried it for centuries, could those of us who were inclined toward matrimony make it work?  Jordi and Lexi’s relationship seemed to be thriving, but twenty years down the road?  Who could say?

I lay there quite a while, trying to puzzle it out—long enough to get good and tired, anyway.  My eyelids weighed about ten pounds each, and I was yawning widely, when I finally admitted I wasn’t going to figure all possible angles before morning.

“Lexi said monogamy was hard work,” I yawned.  “I thought she meant after you got going.  I’m worn out already, and all we’ve done is talk about it.”

I rolled onto my left side and closed my eyes.  So, I mused sleepily, suppose Eran and I do decide to go through with this?  How will we ever get away with it?  Sooner or later, somebody’s bound to notice. I groggily worried that bone for a few minutes, but eventually gave it up.  Sooner or later, somebody was bound to notice any number of quirks among our bunch.

As it turned out, the number was one, and it was sooner.

Ω

Chapter Nineteen

Eavesdropping wasn’t my cup of tea, but sometimes, life or fate or whatever doesn’t give you a choice.

Gusto della Toscana Bistro was a small slice of Italy tucked in the far corner of the Club Deck.  Chef Achilleo Eustachio liked to say he served delectable food and fine wine to good company; and since crowds didn’t, in his opinion, make for good company, he had designed a restaurant just this side of cozy.  No table seated more than four, most seated two, and there weren’t many of either.  If you wanted to get in at all, you called a couple weeks ahead for a reservation, because not only was seating limited, but diners tended to linger, lulled into Mediterranean leisureliness by muted violins, warm pastels, candlelight, and Achilleo’s deliberate pacing of courses.

Lu, Lexi, and I were escorted to a small, square table in the back corner.  Our table was screened off from the table next to it by a wooden lattice and the artificial fronds of a five-foot sago palm.  Elbows resting on buttery scrolled damask, we gave the parchment menu our rapt attention as Sergei, a swarthy, tuxedo-clad android waiter with a suitably aquiline profile, hovered patiently.

“The Veal Osso Buco sounds yummy,” Luana mused.  “White wine, tomatoes, onions ….  Have either of you tried it?”

“No,” said Lexi, “but you can’t go wrong with veal here.  The man has a master’s touch with animal protein.”

“I’ll have the courgette lasagna,” I informed Sergei.

“Excellent choice, signorina.”

Lexi nodded.  “It is an excellent choice.  The zucchini is ours, very nice.  I’ll have the same.”

“Make it three,” Lu decided.

“Of course,” said Sergei.  “Antipasto?”

“Absolutely,” I said, as my mouth started to water.

“And please bring us a bottle of your best Merlot,” added Lexi.

“But of course,” purred Sergei approvingly.  Giving us a gallant bow, he glided off to place the order.

“So,” whispered Lexi, once he was out of earshot.  “Have you and Eran made up your minds?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I whispered back.  Lu didn’t know what was going on, and I wasn’t sure the conversation could be contained once she found out.

“All right, but I want all the juicy details,” Lexi warned, waggling her eyebrows.  Before I could inform her there were no juicy details—only hugs, kisses, and a few close calls—she turned to say something to Lu.  The expression on Lu’s face brought her up short.  “Lu?  What’s wrong?”

Eyes big as saucers, Lu put a finger to her lips, signaling silence.  Shielding her right hand by holding up her left, palm facing inward, she pointed toward the sago-camouflaged lattice.  “They’re talking about Ke-Ling,” she barely whispered.

“Who?” I mouthed.

“Enid and Abila.  Listen.”  Lexi and I leaned in from either side toward Lu and the shielding plant behind her.  The conversation behind the fronds was muted but intelligible.

“—very concerned.  He seems deeply depressed and has stopped working all together.”

“No need to look so tragic, Abila.  We all become biochemically imbalanced now and then,” Enid reminded her companion.  “He’ll be fine.  All he needs is a slight adjustment.”

“That’s just it!” sighed Abila.  “He categorically refuses to get an adjustment.  Won’t even consider it.”

“Is that right?”  A hint of surprised concern crept into the psychologist’s voice.  “Does he say why?”

“He claims his psychological state is a perfectly rational reaction to a recent discovery he thinks he made.  As a matter of fact, he goes so far as to say any other reaction would signal a serious imbalance.”

“I see.”  Pause.  “You said, ‘a discovery he thinks he made,’ implying, I take it, that you both know what the discovery is and dispute its validity?”

Silence.  Then, “You’re very perceptive, Enid.”

“It comes with the territory.  Why don’t you start by telling me what Ke-Ling believes he has discovered?”

“All right.  If you think it will help.”  The geneticist gently cleared her throat, the way people do when a situation makes them feel awkward or uncomfortable.  “A couple of weeks ago, our Known Span research seemed to hit a wall.  On the surface, it appeared we had come up empty as far as any biological explanation for mortality.  It came as a shock for the whole team, but most of us bounced back.  We’ve decided there must be something else … some as yet undetected process, subatomic perhaps … that determines the Span.”

“Mm-hm.  But Ke-Ling didn’t bounce back?”

“That would be putting it mildly.  He went into a complete tailspin, culminating in a categorical refusal to continue the work.  His position is, we know all there is to know about molecular biology; therefore, only one logical conclusion presents itself.”

“That being?”

“The Known Span can’t be breached.”

On our side of the woody barrier, three panicked gazes collided and locked.  Judging by the faintness of Enid’s voice when she finally replied, we weren’t the only ones winded by Abila’s report.

“Can’t be—  Well.”

“He’s wrong,” Abila maintained calmly, “but we haven’t been able to convince him of that.  The way he sees it, his life’s work has been one long exercise in futility, and he’s taking it hard.”

“As would we all,” mused Enid thoughtfully.  “A loss of that magnitude, perceived or real, could in itself precipitate significant psychochemical degradation.”

“You haven’t heard the worst of it,” the geneticist warned grimly.  “I told you about his refusal to go on with the work.”

“Yes.”

“Well, he wants the rest of us to drop it, too.  He’s constantly messaging to that effect.  In addition to alluding to the so-called pointlessness of our efforts, he harangues us about the immorality of ‘continuing to perpetrate the replication deception.’”

“Replication deception?  I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“We’re not sure what he means, either, but he apparently assumes we follow.  The situation has become extremely unsettling.  Regardless of the fact that Ke-Ling hasn’t darkened the Gen-Lab door for a couple of weeks, he’s managed to seriously disrupt our workflow.  Then today ….” Abila’s voice trailed off.

“Yes?” Enid prompted.  “What happened today?”

Abila blew out a long breath before continuing, “Today he informed us—as a professional courtesy, mind you—he plans to ask Garan to convene the Council in special session.”

“For what purpose?”  The way Enid asked made me think she was almost afraid to hear the answer.  She wasn’t the only one.

“He plans to move for the abolition of the Prime Tenet and a cessation of all replication.”

We heard Enid’s sharply indrawn breath.  That made four of us who had stopped breathing.

It was a couple of minutes before the psychologist finally spoke again, and when she did, it was to ask in an urgent tone, “When does he plan to contact Garan?”

“I don’t know exactly, but it won’t happen immediately.  Ke-Ling said he had just started work on his presentation.  He’s meticulous; he’ll take his time, check and recheck everything.  He promised to let us know when he’s close to being ready, in case we want to rebut.  And we most certainly will.  I just hate to see him embarrass himself this way.”

“We can’t let it get that far,” Enid stated flatly.  “There’s much more than Ke-Ling’s professional reputation at stake.  A special Council session would in and of itself create an unhealthy stir.  But if Ke-Ling actually makes his motion, the entire Colony will be thrown into upheaval.  Although the majority will recognize his delusions as products of a catastrophic chemical imbalance, we can’t assume everyone will be able to make that distinction.

“Don’t let the Janus’s placid history fool you, Abila; a confined population like ours is a veritable pressure cooker.  Unrest of any kind, the introduction of radical ideas, however wild they may be, could generate enough heat to blow the lid off.  We could quickly find ourselves faced with the need for intervention on a scale we’re ill equipped to handle.  If that happens, the Colony might not recover for centuries … if ever.”

Somewhere along the line, Lu, Lexi, and I had instinctively joined ice-cold hands atop the table.

“We could request a closed session,” suggested Abila.

“The news would undoubtedly leak.  Besides,” Enid continued relentlessly, “even if it didn’t, based on what you’ve told me, Ke-Ling wouldn’t take a closed-session defeat lying down.  He would go public if he didn’t get his way, I’m sure of it.  He would feel he had a moral obligation to take his case to the people.  No, we can’t grant his request for a meeting with Garan, let alone let him bring his motion before the Council.  I think it’s time we exercised the Alpha-Genesis Option.”

Abila gasped audibly.  “Alpha Genesis!  But Enid, that protocol is so ….”

“Frightening?  Harsh?  Inhumane?” Enid offered softly.  That was putting it mildly, I decided, with a stark, horror-struck glance at my two friends.  “Crisis intervention often strikes us that way.”

“Surely there’s some other recourse!” Abila stammered weakly.

“Based on what you’ve told me, I’m afraid not.  His mental state has already deteriorated alarmingly; he’s become an immediate danger to himself and others.”  Enid gave her time to absorb that, then urged, “I know it’s a difficult decision, but trust me, it’s the right one.  Will you help me initiate the protocol, Abila?  Will you help me save Ke-Ling’s life?”

The long silence that followed all but vibrated with the geneticist’s inner struggle.  “What would I have to do?” she asked finally.

“I need to request an emergency meeting with Kiril; he has sole signature authority to initiate the intervention.  But before I present my case, I want to get all the facts nailed down, all my I’s dotted and T’s crossed.  Are you willing to put everything you’ve told me in writing?  Can you get me copies of Ke-Ling’s messages and affidavits from the other Gen-Lab staff?  I can guarantee complete confidentiality.”

“It might take me a few days to compile everything,” Lawler acquiesced unhappily.

“That should be all right; I’m sure Kiril can safely put Ke-Ling off for that long.  But you will help?”

A sepulchral sigh.  “Frankly, Enid, as horrifying as I find the Alpha-Genesis intervention … if the situation is as serious as you say it is, I don’t think I have a choice.”

“Your antipasto, signorinas,” announced Sergei, setting the platter and three saucers on the table with a flourish.  Our guilty starts were so violent, we practically fell out of our chairs.  The android smiled disarmingly as we hastily dropped our respective hands into our respective laps.  “Pardon me.  I did not mean to startle you.”

Lexi mumbled something, I managed a sickly smile, Lu nodded weakly.  We watched him leave, watched Enid Huw and Abila Lawler depart a minute later, still engrossed in conversation—which was a good thing for us, because there was no way in Hades we could have masked our appalled alarm.  Once they had gone, we stared at each other helplessly.

“What are we going to do?” Lu eventually wondered.

“We’ve got to warn him.”  That much was clear to me.

“Eran is closer to Ke-Ling than any of us,” Lexi pointed out.  “He should be the one to tell him.”

“You’re right,” I said.  “Let’s go.”

We had forgotten the devoted Sergei.  As soon as we stood there he was, overflowing with solicitous concern.  Was there something wrong with the antipasto?  Did we desire another table, perhaps?  Lu managed to dredge up a sugary smile and tried to reassure him by explaining we had just remembered an extremely important appointment and had to be going.

“I can cancel the rest of your order but signorinas, the antipasto!”  He looked positively wounded.

“Oh.”  Lu glanced back at the table.  “Well, I suppose ….  Could you pack it up for us?”

He blinked in obvious confusion.  “Pack? This is most unusual … but, si, I think we can, as you say, pack it up.”

It took the longest ten minutes of my life, but we finally escaped Gusto della Toscana bearing three linen napkins, a complimentary bottle of Merlot—Lu’s reassurances evidently hadn’t quite done the trick—and a tawny yellow, covered earthenware dish full of antipasto.

I’m not sure where the dish and napkins finally ended up.  I meant to return them, but none of us ever made it back to Achilleo’s bistro.

Ω

© 2010, Kathy DiSanto, all rights reserved