Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Novel 19
Read Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Novel 19 Online
Authors: The Ruins of Isis (v2.1)
About
the Story:
"We
are a living society— not
freaks
to be studied like
those glass-sided insects' nests we give our little daughters to play
with!"
And
there the Matriarchy of Isis/Cinderella would not admit anthropologists to
study their strange society—a society where women alone were
citizens,
and men were regarded as dangerous animals. For the rulers of the Matriarchy
believed firmly that a society where men
ruled,
inevitably decayed and was destroyed by war and aggression. They had chosen,
alone in the known worlds of the Galaxy, to return to an older social order—a
world ruled by women, where society was in the hands of the Mothers.
Yet
Isis
was a world impoverished, desperately in
need of trade with the Unity. And located on
Isis
was the great enigma of the known
Universe—the Builder Ruins, last remnant of an unknown culture, millions of
years old.
To
Isis
, then, Cendri came, with her husband
Dal—Master Scholar of University, who must pretend to be Cendri's inferior and
her Companion, a mere sexual playmate. Cendri's own status, as Scholar in
anthropology, must be concealed from everyone. The strange society of the
Matriarchy tests the marriage of Dal and Cendri to the utmost—causing them all
to re-examine the roles of men and women in the known world— and in the Matriarchy.
For,
within the strange Ruins of Isis, something survives—something which can speak
to the women of
Isis
.
The Ruins
Edited
and illustrated by Polly and Kelly Freas Starblaze Editions • Donning •
Norfolk
• 1 978
About
the Cover:
Acrylic and collage, 20 x 26 inches, by Kelly Freas.
The
painting symbolizes the culture of the planet
Isis
, whose great, black, monolithic structures
antedate Galactic civilization. The first settlers' ship stands safe inside the
"ruins" as the two chief protagonists cling together against tidal
wave and emotional storm. On the left, members of the male underground exchange
recognition symbols, while above them, a noble lady, in noble dress, leads on a
sturdy chain, her well-trained but notoriously unstable pet to the annual
Games.
Large-size
prints, without type, of this and many other science fiction subjects are
available from the artist.
For information write: Frank Kelly
Freas,
4216 Blackwater Road
,
Virginia Beach
,
Va.
23457
.
First
Printing
Copyright©
1978 by Marion Zimmer Bradley
All
rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book in any form
whatsoever without permission in writing from the publisher, except for brief
passages in connection with a review.
For
information, write:
The Donning Company/Publishers Inc.
5041 Admiral Wright Blvd.
Virginia Beach
,
Virginia
23462
Printed
in the
United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Bradley, Marion
Zimmer.
The Ruins of
Isis
.
(Starblaze
editions)
I.
Freas, Polly. II. Freas, Kelly. III. Title.
PZ4.B79968RU [PS3552.R228]
813'.5'4 78-14268 ISBN 0-915442-60-4
I
am only a man
And
I have no part in
Paradise
.
Twice
have I tasted
bliss
And
twice have I been driven forth;
Once
when I left my mother's womb
And
again when I was driven forth
From my Mother's house.
When
I am done with life
Will
the Goddess take me,
perhaps
To
her loving breasts?
Song
of
the
Men's House of
Ariadne
Contents
CHAPTER
ONE
The
pilot of the shuttle ship was a woman. Cendri had been prepared for
this—intellectually—but the reality was a shock. A small, hard-bodied woman,
hair clipped short, a band of metallic cloth around her breasts, another,
wider, around her hips, low magnetized shoes, and a small crimson badge pinned
on her shoulder-band. The observer in Cendri, the anthropologist she had been
trained to be, asked automatically, uniform?
Badge
of
office?
I
didn't think
they had
a space service of any
kind,
they have so little contact with the Unity.
She
wanted to clutch at Dai's hand, all the time knowing perfectly well that this
was the one thing, here at the very entrance—officially—to the Matriarchate of
Isis/
Cinderella, that
she must not do.
The
Pilot was waiting, with raised eyebrows.
"Scholar
Dame Malocq?"
Cendri
gathered herself together. Fortunately the pilot took it for granted that the
brief disorientation of the transittube from the Unity ship had simply left
Cendri dizzy and, for a moment, unable to speak. Cendri knew that the moment of
truth was on her—
truth?
The moment when the
impersonation must begin.
She said, steeling herself for the lie:
"I
am the Scholar Dame Malocq."
The
pilot, gravely and unsmiling, made the formal gesture— hands clasped before the
face—which, on the planets of the Unity, was the universal greeting and mark of
respect. Cendri wondered who had coached her.
"Welcome
to the Matriarchate of Isis, Scholar Dame." Again, with detachment, Cendri
took mental notes. They don't use
the
name Cinderella. She hadn't really
expected them to, though the name was still carried double, Isis/Cinderella, in
the Unity records, and on University.
"And
this—"the look the pilot gave Dal was cold, clinical, impersonal; he might
have been another suitcase or travelpak, "— this is the Scholar Dame's
consort and Companion?"
Cendri
nodded in acknowledgement. She and Dal had made jokes about this; it had
sounded like a light-hearted imposture, a formality, a technicality. They had
laughed together about the rigid laws of Isis/Cinderella, the Matriarchate. But
before the unsmiling, uninterested eyes of the young woman pilot, it had
suddenly ceased to be funny; and Dal was standing behind her where she could
not catch his eyes, even for the momentary reassurance of the shared joke. She
said "Yes. His name is—"
But
the pilot was not listening. "The Scholar Dame is aware that the import of
offworld males is technically an infringement of the laws of the Matriarchate.
Concessions have, as the Scholar Dame knows, been made to the respected status
of the Scholar from University; but certain formalities may not be waived. I am
required to fill out a declaration in the name of the Scholar Dame." She
whipped out a form and some kind of writing instrument. "Does it have a
property tattoo?"
"Does
it have—
what?"
The
pilot repeated, with well-concealed impatience, "A property tattoo or
brand, an unremovable mark signifying permanent ownership and responsibility.
Is my command of the Scholar Dame's language insufficient? Would the Scholar
Dame wish me to summon an Official Translator?"
"No,
thank you," Cendri said weakly, "the—the term was unfamiliar, that is
all. No, Dal is not—not tattooed or branded. It is not—not our custom to
disfigure males."
The
young pilot's shoulders lifted in a faint shrug, without interest. "As I
told the Scholar Dame, concessions have been made to her respected status; this
requirement has been waived by special action of the Pro-Matriarch, as a
diplomatic courtesy." Somehow she managed to convey, without the faintest
change in her inexpressive, courteous tone, that she felt this concession had
been a mistake. Cendri wondered if she was being hypersensitive. She clasped
her hands formally before her face and murmured that she was appreciative of
the courtesy of the Pro-Matriarch, wondering who the Pro-Matriarch was.
"Nevertheless,
as the Scholar Dame certainly understands, the formal declaration of
responsibility, and some form of permanent identification cannot be waived,
even for diplomatic purposes," the young pilot said. "If you wish, we
can be met immediately upon landing by a malesurgeon, and arrange to have it
branded or tattooed upon the spot. The process is quite quick and extremely
humane, and the marking can be either inconspicuous or ornamental, as the
Scholar Dame desires."
Cendri
blinked, looked helplessly at Dal, but—as he had been carefully briefed to
do—he was staring straight ahead and pretending not to hear. The one thing she
could not do was to consult him. She had not been prepared for this. She
swallowed, and said, with a firmness she was far from feeling, "We were
not advised of this requirement, and we cannot accede to it. Since we are not
intending to take up permanent residence on Isis/Cinderella, it would not be
suitable to have him branded or tattooed."
What
will I do if they insist? Bluff it out, threaten to turn around and
go back
to
University?
The
pilot raised her eyebrows again, and Cendri realized she had made two mistakes
in one sentence. She had used the name under which the planet was still carried
on the rolls at University, Cinderella. Even more serious, she had made a
mistake in language against which she had been
especially,
and repeatedly warned; she had referred to Dal as him, instead of by the
special neuter pronoun used for males except in a specifically sexual context.
The pilot was actually blushing; and to apologize for the indecency was to
compound it. Better to let the pilot think Cendri ignorant than vulgar.
The
young pilot struggled with a nervous giggle as she said "In that case, the
Scholar Dame must arrange for a temporary marking of some sort. It can be
marked—" she very faintly emphasized it— "with an earclamp or collar
tag, but the most effective method is for a subcutaneous electronic implant in
one testicle. This is an excellent training and disciplinary device for a male
not accustomed to civilized restraints, as it can be located and controlled at
any moment."
The
implications of that swept Cendri with shock and horror; but she managed,
somehow, to keep her face and voice calm.
"No,
I think not; that would be quite excessive."
"I
compliment the Scholar Dame upon her confidence," said the pilot
indifferently. "If she is willing to be content with an ear clamp or
collar tag—"
"A
collar tag, I think, will be quite sufficient," Cendri said, and didn't
dare look at Dal. Not for the first time, she found herself admiring her
husband's courage, and the scientific curiosity which had prompted him to
accept this subordinate position.
"—in
that case, we can dispense with the attendance of a malesurgeon," the
pilot said, "I am licensed to install an earclamp myself; I have done it
many times, and I assure you it would cause the male only temporary distress,
if the Scholar Dame wishes for the added security." Cendri shook her head,
and the pilot, although she looked doubtful, nodded in compliance. She said,
"I am also equipped with a diplomatic collar-tag," whipped it out of
a kind of utility pouch at her belt, and locked it, on a narrow metal chain,
around Dai's neck; marked a number on it with a carbide pencil. She said,
"The Scholar Dame is, of course, legally responsible for any damage caused
by her property; does the Scholar Dame fully understand that it is liable to be
summarily destroyed if it should attack any citizen of the Matriarchate?"
Cendri,
in a daze, was wondering;
how did we
get ourselves into this? But it was
too late, now, to retreat. The idea was ludicrous— that Dal was a dangerous
animal, likely to attack a citizen, and to be summarily destroyed for it! The
pilot's voice was pleasant, neutral, but it seemed to Cendri to hold sinister
menace. "Will the Scholar Dame sign a form of legal responsibility?"
"Certainly,"
Cendri said, trying hard to steady her voice, and scrawled her name on the form
held out to her. One part of her noted the ancient custom preserved—on
University she would simply have presented her Scholar's identity number for
registration. But she was light-years away from University, and a good way
outside the Unity itself.
Formalities
concluded
,
the pilot favored her at last with a smile.
"We can get under way now, Scholar Dame. I will signal the Unity Ship for
breaking orbit in minutes." Efficiently, she was stowing Cendri's luggage
in special compartments, carefully indicating a padded seat, belts,
restrainers
. Cendri hesitated before getting into it,
looking anxiously at Dal, and the pilot shrugged. "If the Scholar Dame is
worried about her Companion—you can put it in the seat over there, and wedge it
in with blankets. But I wouldn't worry. A few bumps and bruises don't hurt
them, you know. They really don't feel things the way that we do. That is a
scientifically established fact, Scholar Dame, and we have quite careful humane
regulations to avoid accidental harm to males."
Cendri
gulped and wedged Dal carefully into the indicated extra seat. She said in an
undertone, "I'm afraid it's going to be a rough ride." This kind of
shuttle ship was not very smooth even with proper restrainer seats. Without
them, she didn't like to think about the surge away from the Unity ship, the
long deceleration down into the atmosphere of Isis/Cinderella.
Dal
smiled, and the smile heartened her. He said, in a voice low enough not to be
heard by the pilot, who was getting into her own acceleration couch,
"Relax, love, we had this all out before we agreed to come here. So far, I
can cope with it. The shuttles on Pioneer weren't very smooth, either,
remember; it was only when women started going offworld that we even bothered
with couches in the shuttles." He chuckled softly, and the pilot gave him,
over her bare shoulder, an irritable glance.
Just
as if, Cendri thought, the noise of a barking dog had distracted her.
Yes,
just
exactly like that....
Cendri
got into her own couch, carefully fastening the restrainer straps and pads.
What Dal said was right, of course. He had grown up on Pioneer, and among the
men of Pioneer, endurance of hardships of this kind were regarded as a test of
courage and manhood. He was used to this kind of thing.
But
he's not used
to it
now....
She
told herself, firmly, to stop fretting. Dal had assured her he would be all
right. The pilot turned briefly to check on her passenger, then spoke into an
intercom of some kind, evidently getting clearance from the Unity ship and the
port on
Isis
. Then she said, "Brace yourself,
Scholar Dame; the first surge is powerful. After that, the braking rockets will
fire on a count of three, after which we will spend approximately four minutes in
free orbit before we begin to decelerate for landing. In slightly less than
fourteen minutes we will be landing in the city of
Ariadne
."
As
she had warned, the acceleration surge away from the Unity ship was forceful.
Cendri, tense with anxiety about Dal on his restrainer-free couch, felt the
surge of violent nausea as the violent reversing sensations turned her dizzy,
then sick with the weightless feel of free orbit. The pilot, seemingly
oblivious, whistled an odd little tune as she concentrated on her work.
Cendri
clamped her teeth in her lip, and thought, not for the first time,
I'll
never be able to handle this. Not even with Dai's help.
Never.