Connections

I've not needed these words for months now. Life's been too full: home and building and the Culture Reclamation group taking off. And now I feel I should record some of what happened so it's here to come back to and remember.

In October Jonny brought his mother to Paiho. Jeannette Damordred. He smuggled her out of Placid despite the wars. I don't believe his father knew about it.

She's much like I expected, I guess. Teaches foreign affairs. Professor. Lives with strong-willed men and calmly does what she chooses.

It was good to meet my daughter's other grandmother. I think I could respect her. Maybe like her. I have a secure comm link for her, for talk and baby pictures.

Jeannette arrived during a discussion about a place for me at Paiho. I've been staying at Waimaru when I'm home, but it's not an easy place to have Jonny stay. An irony about Gallente: they're supposed to be the exhibitionists of the galaxy, but they're not comfortable in full-on communal living.

Ulf and I had talked about building a place for me, and for Jonny as well. Ulf seemed almost keen to find a way to bind Jonny to Paiho: for us to marry or Jonny to be adopted. I'm ... less sure. Not unsure that I want to be with Jonny, just...

Acacia suggested to me that I'm too serious about marriage. I want it to mean something. I expect it to be an alliance, involving 'Politics' and 'Duty'. And I want this -- this thing with Jonny -- to be... joyous, somehow, rather than dutiful. To be something we're in because we want to be; something we're moving towards rather than something we're struggling to get away from.

It seems I'm not alone in that: Jonny didn't want to be part of a bid for a couples unit, with all that that would entail. I requested a unit for myself. Not a normal request. Not usually a needed one. But I traded a little more of what the clan owes me for the right to try to raise support to build. And I got that: Ulf and Auntie Mara, and then talking to Waimaru and getting the house support, and then the rest.

And Jonny. Jonny at Paiho, working alongside Enki and Angel and Taine and all the rest. Jonny stripped to the waist building.

Oh, he is fine, and he is mine.

Is that strange to say, given what I said before? Ashar says I've joined the club of people who put up with freecaptains. I'm making a life which works for me, where he's welcome when he passes through, but it won't be the end of things if he wanders off.

He needs to be needed, but all I can give him is that he's wanted, and welcome. And maybe the chance that he could belong.

What else will I need to write about, to catch up? About the site we chose and this small place that's mine. About Elsebeth Rhiannon and tea. About Gerrard DuNord, and how our stories cross even though we've still not met. Of wars and the re-awakening of Re-Awakened: of feeding towers and jamming enemies and being the dodgy ones. And about the dispersion of EM for a time to meet some specific aims in factional war.

But now the workers are coming in and I'll stir myself and greet them.

Doubt

I met a man of faith in the house of all pleasures.

I've known some pleasure there, although mostly the companionable kind. Holding my knees, my toes tucked under Lucian's thigh as he told me stories of the Great Northern War. Teasing Ravenslock about his eyebrow's wayward apostrophe and his forays into booster sales.

But faith? Faith in the house of the freecaptains?

Ashar's voice; insistent; cruel; quoting Fractionite rhetoric: "'Freedom is a jagged bitch, a barbed-wire dream of agony and yearning, a wide-bore firearm clutched in shaking hands and pointed close at the face of God, a siren scream to pierce the heart and banish ease and complacency forever.' Did Jonny ever tell you that? That's what he was, you know."

And yet I found a man of faith among the Fraction.

Ricardo speaks of his faith. It's solid to him, sure, undoubted; there in hard times and in good. His soul is what makes him him.

He woke a clone, to see what it would be like; to ask questions. Found it was another person, as perfect and ensouled as he, himself. Now his two faces walk the worlds; make their choices.

He is not untroubled, but he is... comforted.

I cannot speak to him of doubt. I can only envy him his certainty and try to warm my hands at it.

Home

Sometimes a golden age can last decades, even centuries. Sometimes a few weeks must suffice.

I've been so confused this last month. We had such a perfect time at Pied en l'Air; just us and the dogs and our work. I was choreographing Lena Ferat's Plein Air, trying to catch the sense of walking under a sky, remembering Paiho and the lake and feet on the ground of home. Jonny... Jonny was reading and talking to people and deciding to stand for the presidency. We worked side by side; trained the dogs; flew together. He agreed, at last, to introduce me to his mother.

I thought maybe this could be a life for us.

I was happy. It was... home.

I will remember that.

Then the note on the pillow, hand-written, like my first note to him. Mata, I must go. Things are brewing that need my personal attention to succeed. Think fondly of me, my darling... And the sudden realisation of how alone I've allowed myself to become; how dependent on him for company.

I was packing my things to go home to the clan when he returned. Will I always be the peaceweaver, wanting us to work things out? Am I too greedy, wanting him to be there for me, for us instead of off on some wild scheme for his people? Am I just too fragile now, ready to feel abandoned so easily? I don't know. Again, we made it up. I'll go home to Paiho until our daughter is born. Jonny will visit me there, when he can get away from his work with the militia.

He says he will visit. I steel myself to see how it will work out.

And after... we'll stay there then, too. I'll talk to the aunts about us taking a couples unit together. Ulf was there when we talked about that, and suggested different ways Jonny might come to have a right to Paiho. He'd like it to be tidy, I think, but the options all seem so deep with meaning. How you connect a freecaptain to a new home? How is it that he's now feeling a connection to his old home - his old homes?

And Paiho.

I'm not meant to be here, now.

Home at Paiho; that's okay. But I've come home for the ancestor rites. There are disapproving looks and murmurings as I haul my grossly gravid self into the meeting house. I care, I guess, or I'd not be mentioning it, but right now I miss Auntie Yana and I miss Jonny and I'm always being controlled and calm and acting like I have a right to do what I do; like I don't hear or don't mind all these different expectations about what I'm meant to do or not do to look after this baby. It was awkward enough when I was here for Auntie Yana's funeral. Now, the waiting period is done and she's made her journey and returned to Paiho and will be received into the clan pantheon along with the other ancestors.

Or so they say.

I want to feel their presence again.

Do I not feel them because I no longer follow all the clan ways? Did they not recognise the descent from Rona'a in my cloneflesh, and lose sight of me?

Do they choose not to talk to me, or are they not really there?

Which would be worse?

I'm home, among kin, in a place where I belong, trying to feel like I belong.

The erendati still call to me. I dream of whirling in the dance until I'm only that-which-dances.

Hirami

When fire and water were first separated there was a space set between them.
A void, that on each side might be things which could not mingle.
We fly in that void to cross between the many things.
We bring the knowledge of one to the other.
But we respect the void and maintain the separation, 
that fire and water may both be. 
That that which is outside be kept outside, and that which is inside be kept inside.
That life and death may be kept distinct, 
and that, although the memory of the ancestors guides us, their spirits are not troubled by the living.
These things we remember. These things we hold.
That I and not-I may be kept in their allotted places.

Leaders

I don't know which one to begin with.

Eva is standing down as leader of the Electus Matari and Jonny is running for president of the Gallente Federation. All I need now is for Ko Braya to develop a sudden interest in family life and the circle of change would be complete.

Eva's been weary for a long time. All work and far too little chance for play and study and things she enjoys for themselves. Maybe now we'll get her back as she was: sassy and footloose. I'm concerned about the Electus, though, and who will follow her as leader. I know the power of a figurehead, even an absent one.

Oh, and before this happened I finally got my EM forum settings fixed, so I can follow the discussions properly. Timing. Much discussion about the Great Wildlands and whether the arrangement the Thukker have as an autonomous state within the Republic means we should try to bring Republic law there. I think not, unless the Thukker ask us to. Others think otherwise. I'm still working out whether it's worth making the case.

Jonny, well...

From the time he first mentioned it it's been more than just another wild dream. He's been restless since the Freespace Summit. This seems exhilarating. A platform to present his ideas. A way to engage with people who aren't pilots. A way to do what he thinks the Fraction fails to do.

Even if they let him stand, they couldn't possibly let him win.

Could they?

And besides, our victory condition isn't winning the election, but getting the message out. Putting some life back in the freespace movement. Contesting the battleground of people's minds.

Our victory condition... ?

We talk about politics a lot, but largely from the position of trying to bridge a gap beween us. We both want people to be free to live the lives they choose. What that means, and how we should act to make it happen, are things we debate. Until now it's seemed largely an academic debate. I was unhappy with his RoE in Rote Kapelle. He'd like the Electus to be more active in our pursuit of our goals. I accept that CONCORD is corrupt and the Republic less efficient than it could be, but I still want my daughter to grow up in the relative safety of the clan on Matar. In a choice of life or freedom for other people, I guess I'd choose life. I guess Jonny would choose freedom.

But it has been mostly academic because things aren't perfect. We're not all podders. The dream of freespace isn't yet a practical dream, and the practical steps that are being taken towards it are largely by us, with information and community, in low security space.

Now... what will he say? What would he do if he did win? How many lives... ?

But as things are with the Federation, how many lives if something doesn't change?

Maybe this is what hope looks like.

I was looking at ships today with people from EM. When they heard about Jonny's campaign they suggested I hire security. I'm not yet ready for that. I think I have at least a few more days in the (relative) shadows.

As my belly grows my marks are stretching and changing. Is it my destiny to be a true peaceweaver and not just a pledge? How can I do that coupled with a trickster, a free spirit, a force of change and chaos? Can he also be an effective leader? A useful figurehead?

Are these just my old memes? How can I be me around the whirlwind that is Jonny? How can I be me except around him?

Mother would know what to do.

Plumbing

It seems I've spent the last month listening to reports about pressure valves and waste and pipes that don't quite meet.

Kargeen, Valher and Enki managed to get the modules for the medical centre down to Paiho. A big job, and one to be proud of. Since then the news has all been about assembling them, securing them to the foundations, lots of customising to set space modules up for use in atmosphere, cladding... and plumbing. The planetside plumbers wanted some station-based plumbers to explain the special features of the modules. They could have worked it out themselves, but this way I guess they get to learn from the experts and get contacts in space. Call it training and networking. I smiled and reminded them that Roimata is the project chief and can authorise payment. And that there will be external assessors checking the work.

Jonny and I have taken a station suite in Gulf. Our first place that's ours together, not a virtual dream or one of our hab modules or a numbered station room rented by the night. It has a window -- such a luxury here -- but it was completely bare except for a large steel bed frame welded to the wall. There were connectors for services, but everything else was up to us. Everything. I called it Pied en l'Air. Jonny called it Peed in Air. I told him if we didn't get a plumber soon he might be more accurate than he'd wish.

I've asked again to meet his parents so I can know our daughter's other kin. He's still delaying, although he has said he could maybe arrange a meeting with his mother on the sly. He and his father don't talk.

We're working on Jonny's sec status. That matters. I like flying with him when we do this: his voice calm on comms as we work together on things I understand.

Now that we have a place for them I've brought the puppies back from Hek, where Jonny had left them in care since... before he could no longer fly there. They're no longer puppies but not yet fully grown. Bouncy. Strong. Friday's taken to growling at strangers and Rico's spraying. They'll need some time and some rules and probably some trainers who are better with hounds than we are. Jonny's indulgent with them. I'm waiting to see how committed he is to their care now that they're with us. That matters, too. Jonny's planning a crib and change table in our new place.

Ulf thinks there's trouble there, and wants to help. He's looking for a way to pay back some support from when he was miserable about the break-up with Ciarente. More stompy music and a visit home. We went out on the lake and pulled in silver fish. It was grey and gusty. I had to clip my hair back to stop my hair-bead beating bruises into my cheek. My eyes ran, and even I don't know whether it was just the wind. Then Acacia's stew and Angel's teasing and quiet time with Auntie Mara in the workshop. And wishing Jonny were part of it all, so at the end of a day working with kin I could go home-within-home to a place we shared and have him rub oil into my stretching belly while we talked about politics and how I should take better care of my drones.

That's another thing: the more personal plumbing. Pregnancy squishes the space your bladder has to expand. There's a difference between knowing this and feeling it.

There's a difference between knowing and feeling so many things.

I hope we can get all the various connections working.

Quickening

She moved!

I'd been hoping. Fretting a little that something might be wrong. I love home, but I'd wanted some time away, some time flying. To kick off against a station, stretch my arms toward a star and feel the erendati moving with me. Fire in my left hand, water in my right, as I speed into the void. I've missed the blue-shift of warp. So I changed to a clone to spend a couple of days undocking without fear.

On returning to my body there was Jonny, for real, in the flesh. I think... I think I've known this body of his before: the smell and taste of him were familiar. Dozing in his arms felt deeply comforting...

And then she moved.

A flutter. She's too small yet for kicking that feels like kicking. Jonny said she was probably dancing. I liked that thought. Some day soon he'll be able to feel it, too.

Girlchild

Well that's that settled.

Maybe that explains why I just couldn't think of a name for a boy.

Ancestors

It's been busy since Auntie Yana joined the ancestors. Haven't really been wanting to write. All those words between pilots about practical immortality seem pointless when people die back home.

We're lucky. Haven't lost a fighter for a while. Nearly lost Halani when she lost the baby, but didn't. Safety standards are improving at Paiho, too. So it's age and illness and our elders walking into twilight. Auntie Karita last year and now Auntie Yana.

I say it's okay, and it is, but each time one of them dies it's a tie to home broken. I don't feel them at the burial grounds the way I did when I was a child there. I feel the erendati as forces of nature, especially when I dance or fly, but without the ancestors to keep them in balance I guess I fear I'll spin out of control and not find my way back.

Except I will find home, for a time at least. Maybe not with the ancestors to guide me, but with this child.

Mother came home for the burial. I hadn't seen her in a long while. She looks as well as ever, and I still feel like a gawky child beside her. Her latest protector is a Gallente cultural attache. He reminds me of Marc, from when I studied dance in the city and went to live with her. The clanfolk look at us and murmur about the women of our line having a thing for Gallente men. I guess I know better than they do that Mother's tastes have been cosmopolitan and well calculated, but I'll agree that her Gallente men have at least been pleasant to look upon.

We're not close, but maybe we want to be? There's something about this new child, who'll do the ancestor rites for her in her time. She can't understand why anyone would want to go through a pregnancy -- once was more than enough for her -- but she seems fascinated at the prospect of the child. I imagine the fascination will pass, or will flare at odd moments with expensive gifts. I felt suddenly jealous at the idea that she might decide to play with my child and I'd be away flying and ...

Others will feed this child, and change it, and play with it. Others will spend the long nights walking with it when it will not settle, and will reward its first babblings and first steps. That's what it means to bear a clan child. I know this.

I don't think I knew what it meant.

That's tomorrow's trouble, though. Today's is to go see Auntie Ellie for the scan we delayed for Auntie Yana's farewell. Maybe this time the child will take after its grandmother and not keep its legs crossed.

Building

We haven't built at Paiho since before there were podders. Hard times, risky investments. What money there was going into gear for the fish-farm and fancy offices in the city. We were land-rich, kin-rich and cash-poor.

It's been a year since the scheme to raise money against the land failed. A year since I was sold into service... since I went into service voluntarily to clear that debt. 

They're not used to having money. Not sure what to do with it, or how to make decisions about it. They don't know how to plan something new: bewildered by the openness of possibilities. Give them something to scavenge and repurpose, though, and watch their eyes light up.

When I funded the project to build a medical centre I'd thought we might build something new. I was wrong. It's too early for that. But we can craft something that works.

You can build a ship in hours, so why should it take a year to build a surgical unit, research lab and clinic? And it needn't, if you're willing to use standard-issue ship components. So I've said I have some unused hab and lab and medical modules in the back of a hangar, and they're organising to get them down the gravity well to Paiho. That should be a fun challenge.

I ran into Jack Madison in the Gate. I don't think we'd spoken before. I'd seen him at that party at Sakura's place: the festival of alcohol where I wasn't drinking because Jonny and I had begun trying for this child. It was oddly reassuring to talk to a pilot who's been through it all before. He had a suggestion, too – something his fourth wife had done – about playing the same piece of relaxing music you like each time you go to sleep, so you're conditioning the child to settle when it's played. It sounds like what Kerem did with the bell she wore on a long chain, but more so. I've been playing music to pick something: Mirrors in the Mirror would be my choice, but would it break the clan's heart to play it? Is Seven Clans more something to get a child's attention while its crying, and then tone things down afterwards? 

My pod swimmer, my aquanaut, my alpha strike: let me introduce you to music as one of the joys in life.

Jack also asked if I had things set up for the baby. I have and I haven't. There's stuff at home: there are always babies. But I realised then that once again we're always making do, and that once again I could make the clan dependent on my money if I change things the wrong way. I'll talk to the aunts. There should be plenty of money in the clan's accounts now for good-quality baby gear if it wants to replace things.

I felt a little silly admitting that I'd commissioned a cradle. So trivial a thing, of use for so short a time, but so symbolic. When the practicalities are taken care of by others, maybe the symbolic is all I can do. But let's not think of that now.

Oh, and the gap in the words has been because I've been dancing! It's different, but even with Jonny's long absences it means I'm sane again.

Entropy

A hard few days. When the Saucy Harlot died she took 46 of her crew with her. It took me until this week to get the list. I've been explaining to families why their kin were killed by our side.

I do understand how it happened. It's just that if things are that broken I don't know that I want to find crew for a ship like that again.

I told Jonny he reminded me of freedom and choice and also of forces I need to protect myself and our child from. He was incredulous and wanted to know if I saw him as dangerous. (A pod pilot with his record? Shocked?) I told him I knew he could be dangerous if he wanted to be, but I didn't feel unsafe with him. (True. So why does it remind me of mother's words to a patron?) Those he flew with, though - did he think they'd hesitate to shoot me if they had the chance? I am not Electus Matari: he is not Rote Kapelle. But still, we fly with them.

Then CJ lost a ship and crew to Rote Kapelle. Not for a reason, but because they could. I stammered my... what? Sympathy? Apologies? Then I went to the workshop to research drives and miners: anything that's not weapons. I felt Eva's absence in the disarray on the hangar floors, and again felt helpless to help. Would I trust me if I were them?

I'm sleeping with the enemy. Gladly. Gloriously. And with a sense that whatever choices I make, part of me dies.

Negotiation

Jonny is back.

The long stint in the bath before I got his message only meant I was well primed and most likely a little too keen. But yes. Very definitely yes. We're still a good fit.

There was also, though, a lot of talk about our relationship. I think we're both sick of the talking. I am, but I keep hoping that one last foray will mean we understand. And I did learn some things.

It's complicated because it is complicated. He wants to be trapped, but he wants some real choice in the matter. And he wants to be free to leave at any time without repercussions.

I think this means he wants to feel needed without actually being needed.

And when he talks about need -- about whether he needs me -- that can be symbolic need. To represent something. Not 'need' like I use it, for air and water.

So we are making headway, I think.

I'm trying to puzzle out what he is, rather than assuming he's what I expect a freecaptain would be. I think he still doesn't understand what it means to be a clanchild, and how the concept of family is different.

Afterwards there was Gyng, and, well, family. Maybe I'll find words for that later. For now I'll think about Jonny, and smile.

Threes

Why do they measure pregnancies in thirds? Some archaic custom, I guess, but why?

Tomorrow marks the end of the first third. I'm hoping my second third will be what Auntie Mara calls the contented cow phase: getting over the dragging tiredness and the worst of the ups and downs, and into a time of productive energy and serenity. I'd like it if dancing didn't make me ill, even if it's just for a while until my balance goes and my joints loosen.

During the week Ulf asked why I wasn't getting hassled by the clan about getting married off. I think he's been avoiding visits home because he feels he'd face the inquisition about whether he's found a good woman yet and whether he could do with some help. I counted off the reasons: I'm still getting some leeway because they feel guilty about my contract, I think they still have hopes about Jonny, and for some reason it's not usually done to arrange a marriage when the bride-to-be is pregnant with someone else's child.

But the truth is that it's different for Ulf and me. Ulf will father children for the clan only if he brings a woman home. Otherwise his children will be part of the wider kin-group but not of Atamahara. Has he been away too long that he forgets that? My children are the opposite: Atamahara by default, with the blessing and curse of Rona'a. Viewed rationally, the clan has reason to want me happy and here and not too attached elsewhere. That was overridden by the threat to Paiho and the fact that the pod made me valuable enough to counter that threat, but now the threat is past...

Why was it me they contracted away to save Paiho? Why not Ulf? I was there, and newly graduated, and biddable. He was already a veteran of podder wars, and contracted elsewhere. I was glad to have so clear a way to serve. So why does it still rankle?

Things are different now. They could try to arrange an alliance using me -- and an alliance is the only reason they'd have to marry me -- and I could say no.

No matter. Tomorrow I fly to Gyng. I said I'd take Karlstein back to his father, and while I'm there I'll see if I can make some headway negotiating between the old man and Auntie Mara. How can two people I respect so highly be so impossible with each other? How can two people who must once have loved each other be so impossible together? And if it can happen to them, could that happen to me?

I was thinking of them both as I packed: the things they've made, common and special, that are part of my life. The clan-dress of fabric Auntie Mara wove, and the broad long sash under it that will support my back as my belly grows. The hair bead Uncle Ashlar carved to replace the one he gave me as a child, and the guardian pendant I now wear that he carved for Auntie Mara when she was pregnant with his son. 

I think Karlstein is turning out well. He's a carver, like his father. I think, if not that three of our four parents are from the clan, the clan would have liked a child from me and Karlstein.

Argh! What does it mean that one of my kinsmen is starting to look good to me? Maybe I will get that mid-pregnancy burst of energy and enthusiasm, and where in the void is Jonny? I've made him no promises and asked nothing back, but I would have liked... would still like this to be our child together.

I guess I hadn't considered all the different ways that could be difficult. Hrmph. And now I'll go and enjoy one of the benefits of being planetside and take a long and decidedly luxuriant bath. In the small bath-house. With the door wedged shut.

Heartbeat

One heartbeat. All the expected lumps and bumps in the appropriate places and proportions. Sometimes "normal" is worth celebrating.

Also worth celebrating is that I finally received the standing with the Republic that Eva had requested of me when I joined Re-Awakened.

I'd been worried about the time I'd been spending in pod. Now that I've done this, perhaps it's time to settle.

Can I? Settle? My dreams are strange and vivid. The ancestors would keep me home: the erendati would lead me in a dance of fire and the interstellar void.

Words

Words aren't my thing.

When I need what others need from words I find the rhythm and the melody, and dance. It's always been this way, as long as I can recall.

Even when I first changed bodies to the disposable puppets of osteoplast and recycled biomass that I mostly use when I'm flying, the first thing I did was try dance steps. The feet weren't strong enough, the hip flexors not flexible enough, so I made notes for my clone profile.

Except that now I'm not dancing, and the things that come out in dance have nowhere to go. So Auntie Ellie has suggested I try words.

Words, words, words....

We've fought too much over words. I should be thinking about "freedom" and "self-determination", but just now I'm thinking about "I think I love you, m'dear". The start of our first fight. About words and actions and misunderstandings. About sitting on his bed with the quilt the aunts had given him wrapped around me as he stormed out the door to go get drunk.

I'd tried to tell him about mother. About the illusions of love she traded in, and how the words made me feel hollow even though I knew he meant them well. By then he was too hurt to listen or care.

We made it up. I learnt to call him "love". I learnt -- again -- not to talk about some things.

Actions matter more than words, but the words give meaning to the actions. 

I'm thinking too much. Home in body but not in spirit. And the body is so strange: so tight and tender and richly ripe. So transforming. So creating. So, so tired. I'm becoming something else, my boundaries shifting and blurring. Sometimes I just want to cry.

But I'm surrounded by the fabric of clan life where there are dramas that need action, unlike mine. Kerem's boy is crawling and into everything. Auntie Yana is dying, slowly, her bones crumbling and organs failing. The feud between Auntie Mara and Uncle Ashlar -- nurtured these twenty years -- is in one of its hot phases. And with my interstellar riches I've turned Paiho into a building site, foundations and laser lines marking out the shape of the surgical unit and clinic that I hope will be finished before any more here have need of it. These things bring me back when it seems I've flown too deeply into the void. The jostlings show me my edges even as those edges shift.

But still, ancestors and erendati, there are things I would learn from you. Not about the clan or exile, now, but about this strange pairing and its consequences. 

Will this child be healthy? Will I carry it to term? 

How do you say both "I miss you so much it hurts" and "I'm making a life on my own"? 

How do you hope without expectation?

How will he know unless I tell him?