"Vesta's house was built with room for guests," she told me. "She's a psychologista"sometimes patients stay with her for a time. We surely did not plan for guests when we built Cybele."

She looked at me then. "You have not seen our suns set, our evening come. It's always extraordinary here at Damon Point. Would you like to stay longer and see it?"

We walked less than half a kilometer over increasingly soft mossy terrain toward the water's edge where waves crashed and wheeling birds uttered shrill cries. An un.o.btrusive coral marker was fastened amid the ivory-colored moss. Megan opened a container secured into the ground* and drew out a fleece which she spread over the moss. "I keep this here," she explained. "I swim most mornings depending on the tides."

We sat, her with legs drawn up, fine hands clasping her knees. She did not speak; the silence between us was comfortable. The coral sky swiftly, swiftly darkened; and then no words seemed appropriate.

The air had become suddenly chill; I felt it keenly on my ungloved hands and uncovered head. She rose and drew the fleece fully up around me, saving only a corner for herself to sit on. "I am well accustomed to our climate," she said, and gazed again out to the horizon. She was now in my line of sight, part of the beauty I viewed, her s.h.i.+rt very white against the royal blue sky, rippling against her slender body in the breeze, her collar fluttering around the smooth ivory sculpture of her face and throat, the dark tendrils of her hair. She turned and looked at me, eyes deep luminous green in the silver light.

"We must leave now," she said. "The nocturnals will soon begin."

We returned to the warmth and security of her house. There she served me again from the flagon of wine and explained about the carvings made in henhouse when it was built. I listened in amazement to soaring tones and random melodies as her house sang in the rising winds . . .

I heard the winds die ... Now she would surely take me away from here. And she picked up the case containing my crystal reed and gave it me. Then paused. "This instrument, will you play it for me?"

I don't reproduce conventional music on my reed. Rather, I create harmonic patterns similar to the singing of Megan's house in the winda"except that my patterns are structured, emotionally shaped, and seek the *purest tonalities to express emotion, I was about to explain this to Megan as I lifted my reed from its case, then decided that I wouldn't, that it wasn't necessary.

I sat across from her on a teal blue chaise, and with my eyes closed, I played the composition most personal, most closely held to me, one I had never played for anyone ... the melancholy and grieving harmonies I had composed two years ago at the death of my mother. I breathed into my reed purest notes of this emotion and did not open my eyes until I had finished. .

And looked into eyes wet with tears, at cheeks streaked with tears... In great distress I put my instrument down and knelt to her and took her face in my hands and stroked the tears from her face as tenderly as I could. "Megan, I did not mean for this."

Her hands took mine, "it was not the grief of your music, but my pleasure in its beauty." Her words gave me intense pleasure; and to make her smile, I smiled. "Do you always cry when you receive pleasure?"

"I don't know," she said seriously, "you are the first to give such pleasure."

"The first?" I asked with a feeling of shock.

"The first." She released my hands. "I must take you to Vesta's." . I spoke my wish boldly: "Can I not remain here?"

"That... . would not be . . .appropriate."

It was the first awkwardness between us. And I realized, that this was indeed a world of women, and what that ultimatelya"shockinglya"meant.

We flew in the hovercraft without speaking until our landing. Then she turned to me. "If you have any difficulties with your situation here, I urge you to talk to Vesta. She's a dear and wonderful woman.

Tomorrow I would like you to stay with her and also see Minerva the historian who will be most interested in talking with you."

"Will I be seeing you again?"

"The day after tomorrow is significant to us," she said softly, "our Anniversary Day. A day of celebration and event. Would you like to attend as my guest?"

"Yes, Megan. I would."

And so I went off to stay with Vesta . . .

*IV.

Journal of Lt. Laurel Meredith 2214.2.13 Vesta, a tiny woman of puckish humor and quiet yet bustling energy, has kind gray eyes that reflect a gentle and sensitive nature. She seems every woman's wish for a sister, a friend. Carina, considerably younger, is a big silent woman who hovers about Vesta with anxious awareness, loving concern.

They made me comfortable in a main room soothing in its warm tones and filled with low and well-cus.h.i.+oned furnis.h.i.+ngs to encourage reclining. They served me wine. I sipped, and said incredulously, "This is even more wonderful than what Megan served."

"Hers has aged beyond best drinking time," Vesta said in distress. "She has neglected to ask for replenishment." She sighed. "Megan will not take the time to enjoy even simple aspects of the goodness of our life. She keeps only prepared foods at her house, as if she were on visitation to another continent.

Nouris.h.i.+ng and healthy food, yes, but hardly .. ." She sighed again.

I asked carefully, "What keeps her so busy?"

Vesta's answer was entirely unsatisfactory: "Everything."

I was curious about Megan, especially after the tender moment with her following my playing, but lacked a convenient method of asking questions. Who was Megan, exactly? What work, exactly, did she do? What were the personal circ.u.mstances of her life?

"It's late," Carina said firmly, one of the few times she had spoken that evening.

I slept restlesslya"my kaleidoscopic dreams filled with images of a coral world, of confident women, of emerald eyes and a tear-streaked face.

I arose to find Vesta and Carina breakfasting.

"My Carina is captain of a hydroflit," Vesta told me proudly as I gazed at Carina, who looked very strong and capable in slicker pants and a form-fitting jacket stretched over her broad shoulders, her soft hair tucked up under a cap. "She fishes the ocean with her crew."

Carina glanced at me with shy dark eyes, smiled adoringly at Vesta, and resumed eating her breakfast. I soon understood her undivided attention. There was sweet-tart fruit juice, tiny berries of varying tastes, a hot and delicious main dish composed of I know not what, bread that crunched like toast but melted on the tongue, a hot bracing liquid that far surpa.s.sed coffee. I can't really describe tastes and texturesa"but each mouthful was exquisite sensory delight.

I said to Vesta in awe, "Megan told me of your cooking artistry. May I observe you sometime?"

*"Today, if you wish. Food is simple, it's just good ingredients. The complexities of preparation are greatly exaggerated."

Like music, I thought in amus.e.m.e.nt, my affection for this dear woman increasing.

As we finished breakfast a gray-robed and quite lovely older woman named Diana arrived. She nodded absently when we were introduced, surveying me. "I think blues and browns," she said mysteriously to Vesta, and went briskly out to her hovercraft to return with swatches of fabric in her arms. "Come with me, dear."

Scarcely surprised any longer by anything on this world, I followed her into my quarters.

Selecting among her fabrics, she asked distractedly, "May I measure you? For clothing?"

I replied, bemused but pleased with the prospect of wearing something other than the enveloping EV suit, "This is very kind of you."

"Not at all," she said in the same distracted voice, as she held a bolt of pale blue cloth up to me. "We cannot allow you to wear white or black on Maternas."

"You can't?" My mind wrestled with possible reasons for such an arcane customa"and that Megan had worn a white s.h.i.+rt and black pants.

"No, dear. Only Megan wears those colors."

"Megana"whitea"blacka"" I stuttered stupidly, stripping off my suit.

Diana surveyed me impersonally, as if I were a field to be planted. Then she said, "That hair of yours is far from your only a.s.set."

"Thank you, but why those colors only for Megan?"

"She is our leader."

After I heard those four words I stood mute and allowed Diana to do what she would. In only a few minutes I was draped in a knee-length ice blue tunic, my arms bare, the material gathered softly over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and belted at my waist.

"It's quite lovely," I said, considerably understating the beauty of my dress.

"I'll just make a few more while I'm at it," Diana said, a.s.sessing me once again. "With that hair you should also wear. . . browns, yellows. Vesta will get you some sandals .. . You'll look like one of us now, except for that hair. . . And I have a feeling long hair will come into fas.h.i.+on very soon in Cybele. Off with you now, Minerva is chafing to see you."

*Carina took me to Minerva's history chamber by hovercraft, thus allowing me only tantalizing glimpses of the contours of Cybele.

Minerva, slim and straight, stately in her q"eep blue robe, greeted me softly, and then disarmed me by kissing my cheek; then she charmed me with a gentle manner and her insightful grasp of the history of Earth; and soon afterward further disarmed me with quicksilver humor. She had been informed by Megan of my knowledge of the escape from Earth, and therefore had no concerns about what she should reveal.

I soon asked, "You keep all the records of this world's history?"

"Yes, both image and verbal history of important events. And I record vital statistics and our Joinings."

If I had not already suspected during my time with Vesta what was meant by Joinings, I would have guessed from observing Minerva with the young woman named Christaa" tall, brown-haired, handsome, her body so magnificent in its size and strength that she might well be a living model of heroic sculpture.

As I arrived she was quietly consulting with Minerva, and when Minerva appeared agitated, Christa had taken her hands and gazed at her lovingly; Minerva's face had softened to tranquility, and she had lifted Christa's hands briefly to her lips . . .

I pushed this image forcibly from my mind, uncomfortable with its strangeness. But I asked curiously, "If you record Joinings, then you must also record ... partings?"

She answered with quiet emphasis. "We share gladly in the joyfulness of a joining, but the sorrows of parting are matters not for public notice or comment."

"But there must be problems to be solved, disagreements," I protested, vividly recalling the rancorous parting of my own parents, finally adjudicated by binding decree of the marital arbiters.

"We have no concerns here about property," she said, "and our children are little damaged by our partings."

This was a subject of compelling interest to me. I long to have my own childrena"but single women are forbidden the use of Estrova by Earth law, and I have not yet found a suitable husband and father. "The children here," I asked, "how are they raised? Educated?"

"In the most fertile environment we can provide," she answered simply.

I asked tentatively, "Minerva, how can you say your chiidren are little damaged by your partings? How can that be?"

"It does not damage them greatly," she said gently, "but unhappiness between the birth parents is always felt by the child-"

"Yes," I murmured, remembering.

"a"And healthy development of the personality comes only from exposure to many individuals and *situations. Our childa"Christa's and my Celestea"very early learned to spend time away from us, she soon learned the kins.h.i.+p of our Unity, that other adults value and care for her as well. And we all share in her teachinga""

"You do? How?" I had already considered that I might leave the Service after this mission, perhaps to teach young children. "Teaching is so specialized a professiona""

"And we do have'specialists. Highly skilled women who organize our knowledge and determine its dissemination. But the dissemination itself is simplea"almost all electronic. And since each child is given comprehensive education until a distinct field of interest emerges, we all have opportunities to contribute our own experience, our own presence. Tomorrow you'll see many of these things yourself. Megan will show you."

"Megan," I asked casually, "how did she become your leader?"

It was then that she allowed me to see and read the records of the journey to this world of Maternas. It was then I learned of Mother and the Inner Circle, of the choice of Megan . . . and that she had a.s.sumed the mantle of leaders.h.i.+p at the age of twenty-three, the same age I am now ft was then that I learned the full scope of her leaders.h.i.+p, her brilliance, her courage ...

"Minerva," I murmured, "I suppose you've recorded joinings ... . for Megan?"

"None," she replied sadly. "Her life has been taken up fully with the lives of us all. She has accepted a life of loneliness for our sake."

I thought again of Megan's tears at my music, and her words: You are the first to give such pleasure ...

I will be seeing her tomorrow . .,. Perhaps I could bring my crystal reed. Perhaps I could play for her again ...

V.

Personal Journal of Megan 14.12.28 The crisis of the Earthmen, while continuing, has eased in urgency. Commander Ross this morning requested permission for him and his men to explore Maternas at low-levei alt.i.tudes while we pursue our discussions about their presence among us. I did inform him that repairs have begun on their Cruiser, and that he should not take this to signify any decision on our part.

*As a condition of their departure, we required surrender of the electron cores of their weapons, offering in exchange charge rods which will be sufficient for their personal safety. Commander Ross agreed. Then, in an act of pure, even comical, irrationality, he and his men spent many hours separating the cores from their weapons. The Commander is surely aware that now that we have these cores, no conceivable circ.u.mstance could persuade us to return them, and their weapons are therefore worthless. But the symbolic act of actually surrendering them seems contrary to some deeply rooted instinct.

I am suspicious. I believe they have a plan .. .

They have left, however, and will be gone two weeks on their circ.u.mnavigation of Maternasa"observed, of course; drones have been programmed and released from our faithfully orbiting Amelia.

Since tomorrow is our Anniversary Day, it is good to have the men gone, even temporarily, from our consciousness.

Of course there has been vociferous discussion about them in the Council. The decision not to aid a distress call was difficult enough and very different from the reality of their presence. Proposals have ranged from outright release to resettlement of them on another continent. Colonel Coulter's behavior with Lieutenant Meredith has not,enhanced their case nor their welcome. All of our discussions have bad'

decidedly uneasy undertones.

It was my decision to repair their s.h.i.+p, but agreement from the Council required maximum use of my personal prestige. It is clear to me what must eventually be done, although I do not speak it... I have today involved myself with the repair crew, enlisting the quiet and trustworthy Carina, temporarily rea.s.signing her from her chosen activity. She speaks little, this big gentle woman, but her strength and wisdom exceeds that of many of us, and she, along with me, understands what must be done. We work together in unspoken communion.

Laurel is a disturbing complication. It gives me anguish to consider her months in s.p.a.ce . . . her tender and sensitive nature amid her crew ... I hear her quiet voice telling me that this was her first mission, that the men were "a trial," that Coulter would not believe or accept her invoking of the privacy regulations. .. When the Council speaks of releasing the men and their s.h.i.+p, I think of her back in s.p.a.ce with them, especially Coulter. .. But if they have forrrjed a plan as I suspect, this may very well decide the problem.

She is so young. I remember her standing at attention below the ramp of the EV as we arrived, the contours of her uniform already suggesting to me that she was a woman . . . Then she took off her helmet and that hair cascaded over her shouldersa"thick and soft, luxuriant waves of rich browns and goldsa"and I saw how very young she was... .It seems weeks, not years,,since I was her age. I am suddenly so aware of the part of my life that is gone forever from mea"my youth ...

That she drew tears with her wonderful musicdoes not disturb me. Had she been any of the women on this world, it would have disturbed me profoundly. I must always be strong for them, always in command of myself with these women of Maternasa"it is required. I could only have shown the weakness of tears to her, and somehow I knew I could trust her.

I look forward to the relaxation of a day spent with her, I am eager for tomorrow to come. But she concerns *me. She is among us but not one of us, and must be kept under informal surveillance; she has done nothing to warrant more. The best solution is to find an activity for her over the next weeks, or until the crisis is resolved ... It is my intense hope she will express a desire to remain with us . ..

Venus will return tomorrow from her sojourn to the continent of Nin to celebrate Anniversary Day with us.

The obvious choice would be to a.s.sign Laurel, an exobiolo-gist, to, work with her. But the prospect gives me considerable unease. It is impossible to gauge Laurel's overall attractiveness dressed as she is in an EV suit, but she is young and pretty, and that hair alone will be sufficient to draw Venus's attention, if Venus so chooses, she will focus all of her many charms on Laurel, regardless of any objections of mine ...

I shall have to decide about Laurel. But in the meantime I look forward to tomorrow with her. ..

VI.

Journal of Lt. Laurel Meredith 2214.2.14 For this day I'd chosen the pale yellow tunic Diana had created for me, its color as delicate as a sunbeam.

Selfconsciously, I extended a hand to Megan.

She took my hand, hers firm and cool. She informed me of the excursion of my s.h.i.+pmates, her voice subdued; oddly, she wouldn't let me see her eyes.

I looked at her boldlya"and with acute pleasure. For this ceremonial day she wore a white silk s.h.i.+rt with puffed sleeves, her dark hair curling over its high collar. Her close-fitted black pants were tied at the waist with a coral sash. Knee-high boots were softly gleaming black. She looked at me then with her green eyes and it was I who looked away, heat rising to my face as I remembered the meaning on this world of one woman's glance lingering on another.

She said lightly, "Vesta was at my house yesterday personally delivering both a new supply of wine and yet another lecture on my deprived way of life."

I looked at her, trying not to smile. "Will this latest lecture have any good effect?"