Lovestory Part Three

Hello, everyone, and welcome back to the Free Reads podcast.

This time, we conclude Love Story.

I wrote this one to win an award.

It didn't.

But Love Story remains one of my favorite stories.

In 1997, I was asked to serve as a juror for the James Tiptree Jr. Award.

The Tiptree is an annual literary prize for science fiction and fantasy

that explores and expands the roles of women and men

for work written by both women and men.

The founding mothers of the Tiptree Award charged the jury

to find a work of fiction that combines literary excellence

with some kind of, quotes, gender bending.

It's up to each year's jury to decide what gender criteria to use.

After spending a year reading for the Tiptree,

I was of a mind to bend some gender myself.

Love Story was the result.

It first appeared in the June 1998 issue of Asimov's.

When I brought Love Story to be critiqued at the Sycamore Hill Writers' Workshop,

several people wondered aloud whether there was any percentage

in creating a planet, an alien species,

and an advanced culture as a backdrop for a single novelette.

Was this part of a series? An outtake from a novel?

Well, I confess that I have never read a novel.

I've never been tempted to return to this world and these people.

Maybe that's because I was so pleased with the experience of writing Love Story.

It took me almost two months to research and write the first two sections.

Then I cranked through the last section in five days.

Every other sentence felt like a breakthrough.

I remember when I typed,

Reality was a decision, and nobody here was making it,

that I was so excited,

I had to get up from the computer and walk around the house.

I hadn't really known what the story was about until then.

Love Story did make the Tiptree shortlist for 1998,

but it didn't win.

Sure, I was a little disappointed,

but that didn't last.

On the other hand, Love Story has...

Love Story.

Three.

Fallon thought she could feel the baby swimming inside her.

Impossible.

The baby was no bigger than her thumb.

He was blind and hairless and weak and brainless, or nearly so.

Couldn't swim, didn't even know he was alive.

The baby wasn't moving.

She knew that the waves, she felt, were made by the muscles of her own uterus.

The contractions weren't painful.

More like the lurch of flying through turbulence.

Only this was predictable turbulence.

A storm on a schedule.

The contractions were coming more frequently,

despite her fierce concentration.

It was what distressed her most about giving birth.

Fallon had gotten used to being in control.

The baby was not.

He was not.

especially of her own body.

The humans had almost complete control of their bodies.

It was their astonishing medicine that had drawn her to them.

They had escaped from nature, vanquished diseases,

stretched lifespans to the brink of immortality.

They managed their emotions, commanded their thoughts,

summoned inspiration at will.

And on those rare occasions when they reproduced,

well, they could play their genome like a flute.

There were no stupid humans,

no wasted space in their population,

no mother was inconvenienced by labor.

Another lurch.

Too soon for another contraction.

Then she realized it was the go-to, decelerating, coming to a station.

The readout in the front bulkhead lit up.

Uskun.

Less than half an hour until she was home.

Plenty of time.

She didn't want to be traveling while she was in labor,

but this was the only way to have the baby on her terms.

Mothers were supposed to give birth in the nursery

with their happy families gathered around them.

She would be in the nursery soon enough,

only she doubted that the family would be all that happy to see her.

Ma'am would be vastly relieved,

maybe that was within sight,

of happiness.

Silmian, however, would be furious

that she was forcing this baby on him

and then leaving him to care for it with ma'am.

He'd strike the martyr's pose,

maybe even write about it.

The scrap?

She probably hated Valen.

Valen would have hated her mother

had she done something like this when she was a tween.

Tween's deepest feelings were for themselves.

She'd grow out of it.

Valen had heard that he had named her Tevel

after the heroine of that story he liked so much.

Was it Drinking the Rain?

No, the other one.

But then Silmian liked too many stories too much.

The world was not a story.

Thinking about them made Valen feel like the loneliest person in the universe.

Part of her desperately wanted to go back to stay.

She longed to sleep,

to beneath and breathe again with her family.

But not to talk.

If she told them what she had learned,

it might destroy them.

Living with the humans had not made her happy at all.

Indeed, most of the Outs and Pilato were miserable.

Valen now knew what she had only suspected when she left the family.

The world they had been born into was a lie.

There was no reason for them to leave.

There was no reason for the laws of birth order.

No reason why she or Silmian or Ma'am or their little scraps

should have such brutally short lifespans.

Ma'ams could be mothers.

Mothers could nurse.

Outs could have babies.

No reason why there had to be families at all.

Of course, the humans did not advocate change.

They offered only information.

It was...

It was up to each intelligent species to decide how to use it.

Except that their message was corrosive as acid.

Everything was negotiable.

Reality was a decision.

And no one here was making it.

This idea had infected Valen's imagination.

Even if all the families took from the humans

was the ability to prolong lives,

the rigid structure of their culture,

must surely crumble.

She wasn't sure what would come after.

Or who.

Perhaps those people, those outs,

would be happy.

But how could anyone alive today

bear to watch the families collapse?

Valen didn't want to inflict that future

on Silmian and Ma'am and the scrap.

So she had exercised her right of silence

and cut them off entirely.

If they wanted to learn what she had,

they would have to do it.

They would have to choose as she had chosen.

But her silence had isolated Valen

from the ones she loved most.

She belonged to no family now.

Only to herself.

She was alone.

But it was not what she had wanted.

Alone.

She drifted alone on the whisper of the go-to.

And dreamed of smells.

The sweetness of rain

brushing her hair.

Brushing her nose like a lace veil.

The honey cup he had put behind her ear.

He loved to pick flowers

and give them to her.

The velvet scent of grass

crushed beneath the weight of warm bodies.

It had been so long ago

that they had made this baby,

much more than the traditional two years,

that she had forgotten

where it had happened.

Under the moons?

Out in the fields?

And her head filled,

filled with the husky father's smell

that was like a lick between the legs.

Then the hot, silky bouquet of sex.

She felt as if there were a hand

inside her, squeezing.

The pressure was not cruel,

but rather the firm grip of a lover.

So, man.

His name caught in her throat.

Valen started awake

at the sound of her own voice.

The seat beneath her was damp

with the yeasty soup

of her own.

Of her birth-waters.

Oh, no, she said.

Ten more minutes.

She focused all her attention

on the knot under her belly,

and the pressure eased.

A little.

Lucky there were no other passengers

in the compartment.

Luck always,

Silmian had said

on the night she had left him.

Why did he keep popping into her head?

Concentrate.

She was thinking womb thoughts

as the go-to stopped

at their door.

She was at their station,

and she walked on candy-stick legs

to their burrow

and announced herself

to their door-bot.

Valen?

Silmian flung the door open.

I can't believe.

His nostrils flared

as he took in her scent.

What have you done?

Come home for the holidays.

She was trying for a light touch,

but when she stepped into the burrow,

her body betrayed her,

and she stumbled,

like crunching through a skim of ice,

except that ice seemed to have formed

in her head, too.

When Silmian caught her,

she slumped into his arms.

She knew she ought to be embarrassed

for losing control.

But not now.

Tomorrow, maybe.

Felt good not to be standing on her own.

Tevel!

Silmian shouted.

Ma'am!

They carried her to the nursery,

and laid her on Ma'am's settle.

The ice in her head cracked

and began to melt.

Something different about the nursery,

but she couldn't pick it out at first.

The water rug still brimmed,

its damp breath filling the room.

Love story next to Ma'am's settle.

Wedding pictures above the pool.

Ma'am and Valen and Silmian.

The tell murmured

in its familiar corner.

Then Valen realized

the obvious.

No toys.

No lines of ants

marching up the walls.

No miniature settle in the corner.

As she had expected,

the scrap was home

from the gardens

for the lunar eclipse.

But she was a visitor now,

and would certainly not

be staying in the nursery.

She was probably sleeping

in Valen's settle,

next to Silmian.

And where would Valen

sleep that night?

She shivered and saw

her whole family gathered around her,

as if she had just fallen

out of a tree.

Valen giggled.

That seemed to fluster them even more.

Teville,

she nodded at the scrap.

Sweet name.

Fills the tongue.

Teville stared as if she thought

her mother was insane.

I'm sorry I wasn't at your naming,

Valen said.

Life in the gardens agrees with you?

It's all right.

You're learning a lot.

Making new friends?

What do you want?

said Silmian.

What has happened?

Valen,

did they do this to you?

said Ma'am.

The aliens?

What? said Teville.

Somebody tell me what's going on.

She's having the baby,

said Silmian.

Smell it.

She can't be.

Teville looked from Silmian to Ma'am

and finally at Valen.

We just learned that in biology.

You have to be exposed

to all Ma'am's pheromones

in order to bring an embryo

out of latency.

You're still supposed to be in diapause.

This is their work,

Ma'am said.

Choosing what to tell them

was the hardest thing

Valen had ever done.

She didn't explain

how she had lost her mind,

or lied about being invited

to live with the humans.

She had simply gotten tired of waiting

and had gone to them on her own.

It turned out

that was the only way

to gain access.

The humans never actually

invited anyone.

All the outs in Palado

were self-selected.

Self-condemned.

Nor could she tell them

about the longevity treatments,

the first reward for those

who sought human knowledge.

The problem was

that pregnant mothers

could not be rejuvenated,

even if their embryos were latent.

She said nothing of how

the humans had offered

to remove the embryo

from her womb

and how she had almost

left Palado then.

That was too much story.

Her time was getting short.

She could feel her womb

nodding again.

By the end of the rainy season,

she said,

I started to feel

to worry that some

other family's pheromones

might be similar enough

to yours to trigger

a quickening.

But by then the scrap

had already left

for the gardens.

I'm Teville,

said the scrap.

You can say my name.

So I had already

missed the weaning,

Valen continued,

and the chance to share

sense with all of you.

The humans told me

that they could end

diapause artificially

so I could control

when I had the baby.

I was sure

that you all still

wanted him.

So I agreed.

And here I am.

I timed him for the eclipse

so that we could all,

as a family,

I mean,

there was a sudden,

vast,

and inevitable

loosening inside of her.

And once again

she felt her body

slipping from her control,

something trickling,

tickling

through her birth canal.

You should have been

told us.

Somi and Scent

was bitter as a nut.

Why did this have to be

a surprise?

Because she isn't staying,

said Ma'am.

You want to go back

to the aliens,

isn't that it?

You're humans,

she made it sound

like a curse.

Who are you having

this baby for?

Us or yourself?

Ma'am,

I,

Valen pumped her knees

together convulsively

then spread them

wide apart.

The baby!

She needed her belly.

Help!

Somi and...

Somi and Teville

rallied to her.

No question that she could

feel the baby now,

wriggling,

pulling himself

into her vagina

with his ridiculous

little arms.

It occurred to her

that at this moment

in time

she had family

inside

and out.

What odd thoughts

she was having

tonight.

She giggled again.

The scrap was licking

her face

and sobbing.

Ma, ma, ma!

Oh, ma!

Valen could feel

Somi and Teville's

hands on her vulva,

delicately opening her

as he had opened her

just once before,

controlling her

as only a father could,

fingers basketed

to catch the baby.

She had forgotten

how much pleasure

there was

in giving birth,

ecstasy of mom,

mind, and body

to smell hot,

wet life

scrabbling

toward the world.

Oh, she said

as the final dribble

of birthwaters

leaked out of her.

And Silmian

held the baby high,

offering it

to the moons.

Oh!

Silmian brought

the baby down

so that she

and Teville

could see.

He was just

four centimeters long,

and almost lost

in the palm

of his proud

father's hand.

He's so tiny,

so pink,

said Teville.

Where are his eyes?

They'll grow.

Silmian's voice

was husky.

He brought the baby

to his face

and cleaned him

gently

with the tip

of his tongue.

The baby's mouth

opened and closed.

The arms

wriggled uselessly.

Stop!

The harshness

of ma'am's voice

startled her.

Valin.

What are you doing?

Washing the baby,

said Silmian.

There is no baby.

Valin propped herself

on an elbow,

her head savagely

cleaned

of the moist

joy of birth.

Ma'am's scent

was like a hook

up her nose.

Valin had never

smelled anyone

so angry.

Here,

Silmian offered it

to her.

See it.

A baby

has a mother,

said ma'am.

There is no mother here.

Only a father.

This is an experiment

by the humans.

Take it back to them.

Tell them

that it has failed.

Ma'am.

No, ma'am,

said Tevel.

He can only live

outside a few minutes.

He has to start

crawling to your pouch now.

Look, he's already

shivering.

He's already shivering.

Ma'am,

said Silmian,

our baby will die.

Then put it on her.

Ma'am turned

contemptuously to Valin.

Let her open her pouch.

Let her love it.

I have no pouch, ma'am,

said Valin.

Only you can take care

of him.

She could see

that the baby

was distressed.

Please,

tell me what you want.

He curled into a ball

and unrolled

with a spasm.

Ma'am,

I'll do anything.

Whatever crumb of brain

the baby had

must have registered

that something was wrong.

He should already

be threading

through his ma'am's fur,

not still flailing

across his father's hand.

I have nothing

to say to an out,

said ma'am.

I will talk

to its mother.

Does anyone know

where she is?

I have nothing to say

There's no time

for this,

said Somian.

I'm Valin,

the mother.

What do you want

from me, Tota?

Valin could tell

that it had been

a long time

since anyone

had used ma'am's name.

I'm Valin,

the mother.

Ma'am's eyes

narrowed.

I want you to care

about someone

other than yourself,

she said.

I want you to care

I want your story

to be a love story,

Valin.

Valin struggled

up off the settle.

The world spun crazily

for a few seconds,

but she got it

under control.

She cupped her hands

and extended them

to Somian.

Give him to me.

He brought his hands

on top of hers

and opened them.

Somian was sobbing

as the baby slid

onto her palm.

Valin had never held

a baby before,

it weighed less

than a berry,

and yet it was

as heavy a burden

as she had ever carried.

Will you take my place,

Tota?

She nodded at the settle.

Ma'am hesitated

for a moment,

but then stretched out,

facing Valin.

She kept her legs

closed, however,

and clutched her knees

to her chest

to cover her pouch.

Valin held the baby

just above her.

Tota,

Somian,

Tevil,

I will stay with you

and be this one's mother.

Valin astonished herself.

In just one season

the humans had taught her

more about her own biology

than she had learned

in a lifetime of study.

How could she turn away

from that knowledge?

I'll be here

to give him his name,

she continued,

and I won't leave

until he has come out

of the gardens

with his own family.

I will do this

for the love of him

and against my best interests.

But I will not sleep

with you, Somian,

and there will be

no ma'am baby

from this family.

No more babies at all.

I can't be what you want,

and you must all accept that.

When Tevil and this scrap

are grown up,

I will go back

to Palado again

and study with the humans.

I hope it won't be too late.

Until then,

I will study patience.

Ma'am did not unbend.

I heard many words,

but hardly anything of love.

What kind of mother are you?

The baby was on the move,

scrambling up the side

of Valen's cupped hands.

I will love this baby

because I have given up

so much for him,

she said.

That is the truth

by my name.

It is not a happy ending,

ma'am was still not convinced.

Ta-da, said Somian.

This is not a story.

Ma'am,

Valen tilted her hands

to show her the baby's blunt head.

Someone's hungry.

Ma'am closed her eyes.

Her face was hard with grief

as she opened her legs.

Valen laid her hands

on Ma'am's belly

and let the baby slip

through her fingers.

He landed on his back

but flipped himself immediately.

Driven by instinct,

guided by scent,

he crawled unerringly

for the pouch.

With each heroic wriggle forward

that baby took,

Ma'am's face softened.

When she opened her eyes again,

they were bright as stars.

Valen tried to imagine

herself as a ma'am,

a difference in her family's

birth order,

and it could have been.

Valen could smell

the buttery scent of relief

melting from Somian

and Ta-da.

And once the baby

had found the nipple,

Ma'am's nursing bliss

filled Valen's nose

like spilled perfume.

All these happy smells

made Valen a little ill.

This had certainly not

turned out the way

she had wanted.

She wondered what fool

had made all those promises.

How could Valen keep them?

How could she not?

Ma, Ma,

Ma, Ma, Ma.

Tubble hugged Valen

just like she used to.

But then she was still a tween

and had so much to learn

about being a mother.

¶¶

This concludes Love Story,

which was first published

in the June 1998 issue

of Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine.

I haven't picked

a story for next week,

but there will be one coming

as soon as I get back

from a short vacation in Maine.

I hope you'll join me then

on the Free Reads podcast.

¶¶