A Shadow on Snow (Spencer/Brendon, NC-17) Part 1 of 2
Title: A Shadow on Snow
Band(s): PATD
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Word Count: 17373
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (sex, genderswapping)
Summary: Spencer Smith is an emissary from the human galaxy to Winter, a lost, stray world. His mission is to bring the planet back into the fold of an evolving galactic civilization, but to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own culture and prejudices and those that he encounters. On a planet where people are of no gender--or both--this is a broad gulf indeed. (Based on the 1969 sci-fi classic "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. LeGuin)
Notes: Beta by tuesdaysgone and vampyreranger.
Mix by sodamnquirky
And a SECOND Mix, A Musical Guide to Exploring the Galaxy by technolustt
It was very cold on Gethen. That was the name of this planet in the language of its people. The Investigators of the Ekumen had simply called it "Winter". That may have been a more accurate description. The planet was in the midst of a glacial cycle, so even in the height of summer, temperatures barely reached what I would call warm.
I was First Mobile, the first representative of the Ekumen of Known Worlds. That is not to say that I was the first alien to have ever visited Gethen. Not at all. I was merely the first they knew about. Nearly forty years prior to my arrival there had been a team of Investigators. They had lived unobtrusively among the peoples of the planet, blending in and observing their ways and attitudes to determine whether a Mobile expedition would be viable. Trying to see if they had mindspeech of their own without getting caught out at it. The Investigators had indeed found that Gethen would benefit from--and contribute to--membership in the Ekumen. And so I was sent.
My mission was to convince the people of Gethen to join the Ekumen.
The Ekumen is a coordinator of member states. It is not a government in the strictest sense of the word, for there is no king, or President, or Prime Minister. The Ekumen is more of an organizer, to assist in the trade of goods and knowledge. Without it, communication would be haphazard, and trade would be risky. At the time of my mission, the Ekumen consisted of 83 planets, with about three-thousand nations. Gethen would be the 84th if I was to succeed in my mission.
Gethen is remote, even when travelling in NAFAL ships. My trip from Hain, where the Ekumen is centralized, took nearly seventeen years at a speed nearly as fast as light (i.e. NAFAL.) NAFAL travellers aren't doomed to waste away in travel, however. We timejump; so while the ship sped along its trajectory, I lay in a sort of suspended animation. For me, the trip to Gethen only took four days. I awoke when the ship began orbiting the planet; refreshed and prepared for the journey ahead.
I had been on Gethen--in the country of Karhide--for nearly two years before the troubles began. There were minor boundary disputes between the two (out of only four) largest countries: Karhide and Orgoreyn. They were odd, stilted little skirmishes. It was inconclusive and frustrating for all parties, for on Gethen, nothing led to war. Nothing ever had; there had never been a war in their history. In fact, there wasn't even a word for it in their language.
My sponsor, or patron, if you will, in Karhide was Brendon Urie rem ir Estraven. He was the Prime Minister of Karhide, but the title did not mean what I knew it to mean in other countries. Urie was essentially the king's foremost advisor. He wasn't head of parliament, or of any governing body, really. He was a trusted advisor, but with the kings of Karhide, that was apparently a tenuous position.
The kings of Karhide were all mad, and this one was no exception. Estraven had tried to advise me, but I didn't listen well enough. I went to speak to the king directly about my mission. Estraven had tried to stop me.
The king's mental acuity had been the least of my problems. He was disgusted by my differences; what he could see, and what he knew, of my alien anatomy and physiology. I could pass as Gethenian, and did, for the most part. I was significantly taller, but not incredibly so, and a shade paler than average. It was my gender that disturbed him.
It was the fact that I had a gender. Gethenians don't. Not really. Or at least not a fixed one.
Now, what I knew about Gethen when I first arrived was rather limited in scope. I knew that the planet had been colonized by humans from Terra (like myself) many thousands of years ago. Terrans had scattered colonies all over the place, so that wasn't unusual in itself. What was unusual was the nature of the people left on Gethen. The Investigators, those who had come before me, if you recall, hypothesized that the people of Gethen had actually been an experiment; that they had been genetically engineered. A biological experiment, for they were uniquely adapted to the cold. Or a sociological one, for their general lack of aggression and nationalism led to an extremely peaceful society.
The individual Gethenian person was unremarkably different superficially to any other human I had ever seen. It was in the fine details where you found your differences. They were like a society of preadolescents, trapped in that androgynous beauty of not quite male, but also not quite female. For Gethenians were neither, they were sexless for most of their lives. Not only did they have no libido, no sexual drive, but they also had no parts. Their sexual organs were actually withdrawn into their bodies until they were required.
Casual sex did not exist on Gethen. It was physically impossible.
Gethenian physiology operated on a 26- to 28-day cycle, very much like the standard human female menstrual cycle. The first 21 or 22 days of the cycle is referred to as somer, and in this stage, individuals are sexually inactive. Indeed, their sexuality is latent, literally under the surface, waiting to emerge, as in puberty. On the 22nd or 23rd day, one is said to enter kemmer, which has four phases.
The first phase of kemmer is strictly hormonal activation. Once the sexual organs have been awakened in this first phase, the second phase begins. The second phase, however, requires a partner. This phase is the process of establishing sexuality and potency. One partner becomes male, and the other partner becomes female. The sexual organs emerge and become functional. Individuals have no control over which gender they become, and it might be male one cycle and female the next. Furthermore, an individual may be mother to several children and father to more. It is all determined biochemically by the pair in kemmer.
The third phase of kemmer is when the sex drive and sexual capacity both reach their maximum. This can last from two to five days, during which, little else is on the mind. Gethenian society, in fact, has made allowances for kemmer. Individuals are released from work, and kemmering houses, (sort of like brothels,) are open to all. If, after the third phase, conception has not been achieved, the individual returns to somer once again.
As with everything, there is the occassional glitch. It is not unknown to encounter someone on Gethen who is stuck in an excessive prolongation of kemmer, a permanent hormonal imbalance toward male or female, the culminant phase of kemmer. Such a person was not only sterile, but also saddled with a mocking name: pervert. That is what I was to them. They called me Pervert, for that is what they understood. I didn't take it personally.
Even so, the king found me disconcerting, and my audience was short. I found myself fairly spinning with the information that was thrown my way. Estraven had been stripped of his titles and banished for treason. The king had taken offense to Estraven's encouraging joining the Ekumen, and he had given him three days to get out of Karhide. The king's cousin, a treacherous snake if ever there was one, now had his ear. Estraven was finished. Amazingly, the king had found the whole incident no fault of mine and I escaped any sort of prosecution. I was, however, summarily dismissed.
"Mr. Smith, you are given the freedom of Karhide."
I found it best to try my luck in Orgoreyn.
***
Securing permission to cross the border into Orgoreyn hadn't been difficult at all. I had learned in my time in Karhide that everything had a procedure, and just as likely, everything required the filing of the proper paperwork. Once I had accomplished that, it took no time to pack my bags and move along. The actual border crossing consisted of little more than checking papers and being waved on by a sleepy guard.
It took me three days to travel to Mishnory, the capital city of Orgoreyn. It was brighter, and neater, than Ehrenrang had been, in Karhide. But my first impression of Mishnory may have been colored by my failures in that other city.
I met a Commissioner of the city straight away, and was invited to stay with him. It was an exceedingly different experience from that which I had had in Karhide. No one had ever asked if I was comfortable in Karhide, and yet they fussed over me in Orgoreyn. It was almost embarrassing. But I was warm at last, and well fed.
In short order, I learned that Orgoreyn was governed by a bureaucracy of Thirty-three. There were thirty-three provinces, each with a Commensal as governor. I felt that it was with these men that I would find a successful end to my mission. It had to be easier to convince a majority of sensible men to agree to common terms than it had been to argue reason with a single madman.
The Commissioner was more than happy to introduce me to the Commensals of his social circle. They were a progressive lot, and open to new ideas. They readily accepted my story, (which after Karhide, was frankly a relief,) and they wanted to know more. I could taste success on the air.
But that was when I saw Estraven.
Estraven had been in the company of a couple of the Commensals; those whom the Commissioner had thought sympathetic to my mission. He hadn't made himself deliberately known to me, for we both knew that he was exiled from Karhide under pain of death, and for me to announce him would have created serious political turmoil. I let him be.
I was angry, though, for there he was, free from Karhide, yet still playing his political games.
There was much political gaming to be had in Orgoreyn. The Thirty-three were divided into factions, and it became my job to determine which of them were on my side for the good of Gethen, which of them were on my side for their own benefit, and which of them were merely keeping up appearances. For it seemed everyone I met in Orgoreyn was supportive of my mission. I simply had to figure out who to trust. I hadn't chosen wisely in Karhide.
Estraven came to me after I had been established in Mishnory for several weeks. I was annoyed and frustrated to see him at my door. He could have done so much to further my cause in Karhide, and as such, have prevented us both from having to be in Orgoreyn.
"I have come to caution you, Mr. Smith," he said, stiffly formal as he ever was. "My Commensal, whom you know, is an agent of the Sarf." Estraven paused and looked at me, his dark eyes unreadable, as was his mind. The Sarf were the secret police of Orgoreyn. A very badly kept secret. I knew which of the Commensals were Sarf agents, and which weren't. They still all had political agendas.
"Thank you, Estraven, for your information. It is as helpful as always." I let as much mocking enter my tone as I chose. Gethenians didn't understand sarcasm. I didn't understand why Estraven felt the need to help me. If anything, his aid had directly led to the failure of my mission in Karhide. Of course, that could have been his purpose in Orgoreyn, although I couldn't fathom the reasoning.
I was arrested the next day.
I found myself stripped, drugged, and thrown into the back of a caravan truck bound for the Pulefen Voluntary Farm in the remote outreaches of Orgoreyn. Prison. The journey took something like four days, but it felt like much longer. There were twenty-six of us, in total; all naked, freezing, and hungry. They gave us nothing for the entire trip but a jug of water twice a day. It didn't last long. Two men died in the back of that truck, and I feared that I was to be the third. If not for the kindness of the strangers who were my compatriots, I would have been. They sheltered me from the worst of the cold, knowing somehow that I was not adapted to it as they were.
The punishment to be found at Pulefen Farm was exhaustion, and neglect. We were roughly clothed, and fed sparingly, forced to sleep all together on long benches in one giant, brightly lit room. The work was menial, but endless. We stacked wood, we moved crates, and we did it until we couldn't any longer.
The general prisoners spent all their days in that manner. Those of us with any political dissidence were questioned every five days or so. It was horrifying. I had no memory of the interrogations when I regained consciousness. Each time, I argued that I would tell them what they wanted to know, but I was injected anyway. And the drugs disagreed with my alien physiology.
The first time I was interrogated, it took me nearly the rest of that day to gain enough strength to get up and join my work group. The second time, I was unconscious until the next morning. By the fifth time, they let me lie in the sleeping room. It was no matter to them if I died.
***
I woke warm and comfortable. I lay snugly tucked in a fur-lined sleeping bag inside a tent. Estraven lay nearby, sweating in the heat, but fast asleep atop his own bag all the same. I took a moment to gather my wits and examine my surroundings. I quite obviously was no longer at Pulefen Farm. But why I was in a tent somewhere with Estraven was really beyond me.
I must have made some sound, for Estraven woke with a start.
"You look much better, Mr. Smith," he said, almost pleasantly. I merely shook my head, as if to clear it. I couldn't grasp why Estraven had risked so much to free me from Pulefen, and told him as much. He lost his temper with me. "It was partly my fault, Mr. Smith! I didn't make it clear to you how dangerous the king's cousin was to you and your mission. I thought you would be safe if you were below the king's notice. That is why I tried to keep you from having an audience with him." Estraven paused, his anger burnt out hot and fast. "I didn't realize I would end up going down with you," he said softly. "Then, when I saw you in Mishnory, I thought you might have a chance. I thought that if you could make them understand, then through you there would also be a way out of the mess with Karhide; maybe restore open trade. But they hid you." I must have reacted somehow, because Estraven shook his head. "No, they hid you in plain sight, then they sold you to the Sarf."
The realization took my breath away.
"The Sarf!" I fairly barked.
"Yes, yes, the Sarf," Estraven said dismissively. "Your Commissioner, and my Commensals. All of them."
"I still don't get it, Estraven. I ruined your life in Karhide. You were getting along quite well here in Orgoreyn. Why would you throw it all away to break me out of prison?"
"Are you that much of a fool?" Estraven hissed at me. I was taken aback at his vehemence. "An alliance between Gethen and the Ekumen would benefit everyone! I don't care if it happens with Karhide, or if it happens with Orgoreyn, just that it happens!"
"You want the alliance..." I said stupidly.
"I want the alliance, yes," said Estraven. "I risked being exiled as a traitor for putting Gethen's good over Karhide's. Don't you see? I am the only one who has trusted you, and yet I am the only one whom you have refused to trust."
I sank down into my sleeping bag once more, exhausted, and frustrated with myself for somehow being unable, even unwilling, to do what I had been sent to do.
***
I was weakened from the drugs at Pulefen, and Estraven let me rest. When at last I felt ready to move, I found that we first had to discuss our plan of action. I was no longer welcome in Orgoreyn, that much was clear, but then neither was Estraven; nor was he safe in Karhide. We felt it was best to return to Karhide and take our chances. As for getting there, it wasn't going to be easy. We had three options. The easiest route, overland by road, essentially retracing my own steps, wasn't possible. Orgoreyn was crawling with Inspectors, and neither Estraven nor I had acceptable papers. Mine were gone, and Estraven's were so bedraggled that they were as good as gone. If we wanted to cross the harbor, the shortest distance to Karhide, Estraven told me we would have to wait until spring. This too, then, was impossible. We would never make it through an entire Gethen winter hiding in Orgoreyn.
We had to cross the Gobrin ice sheet.
It turns out that the glacier, if daunting, was actually quite safe in the winter. The ice was completely frozen, so there would be no risk of falling through half rotten crevasses and sloshing through meltwater. The weather wouldn't even be that bad. The ice was so large that it controlled it's own weather patterns, so in winter, while cold, it would be relatively stable. Most importantly, however, we would be alone. No one else would dare venture out on the ice sheet in winter. Only the most desperate men would make such a choice. We were desperate.
I asked then, what would happen when we made it to Karhide. Estraven shrugged, saying, "No matter." He was surely a dead man, but he bent his head to his journal, where he calculated distances and rations and made notes in the margin.
"With luck, Mr. Smith," Estraven said later, "we will reach Karhide. We must be ready."
Estraven made detailed calculations and meticulous notes. He determined that the ice route into Karhide was nearly 800 miles, 600 of which was directly over the glacier. If we kept to a pace of twelve miles per day, it would take us nearly seventy days to reach our destination. We hadn't nearly that much left in the supplies that had appeared with Estraven upon my liberation from Pulefen Farm. Estraven took it upon himself to get more.
Estraven dressed himself up warmly, strapped on a pair of skis, and disappeared into the wilderness, leaving me alone in the tent in the forest. I cranked up the little furnace, luxuriating in the heat, which Estraven couldn't stand for long. I was still somewhat weak, so I took the opportunity and I slept.
Estraven was gone for an entire day. He came skimming back into the camp just before dark, heavily laden with supplies. I asked him where he got it all.
"I stole it," he said shortly. I let it drop.
All together, we ended up with a solid sixty days of rations. If we were careful, we could stretch it to seventy-eight, and that was enough. It didn't leave us a lot of leeway, but we could do it. Once Estraven double-checked his calculations and compared it to the supplies, then we were ready to pack up and move along.
***
We travelled through Orgoreyn's backcountry on our way up to the Gobrin ice sheet. It was pleasant enough, even though I felt less than helpful with my graceless floundering in moving the sledge along. The food supplies dropped alarmingly in this first leg, and when I mentioned it to Estraven, he merely pointed out that we were using up the coarse stuff, normal foods, and not the compact, tightly-packaged emergency rations they called hyperfood. Of course it took up more space.
As we approached the glacier, we found ourselves having to negotiate an ice pass between two active volcanoes: Drumner and Dremegole. The two of them belched smoke and ash in a constant rain. Everything was gray, and it made it hard to see where we could make it up from the ground onto the actual ice. We ended up going many miles out of our way to find a place to get up with the sledge, but in the end, we were able to make an easy climb and found ourselves on top of the glacier.
That night we made camp for the first time up on the ice. Estraven asked me about the starship, the big one orbiting the planetary star and waiting for word from me. I told him, depending on it's location, that it could take anywhere from eight days to two weeks for the ship to land on Gethen. The people on board would awaken when my message came, and they would be ready to complete our mission. Or snatch me from the clutches of a hostile nation, but I didn't mention that.
"Thank you, Mr. Smith," Estraven said stiffly. He was still trying to be so formal even after all of this that it forced a shocked grin onto my face.
"Is it going to be 'Mr.' all the way across the ice?" I teased. Estraven looked somewhat taken aback.
"I don't know what else to call you, Mr. Smith," he ventured, unsure.
"You can call me Spencer," I told him. "That's my given name. But you don't have to, if you don't want to," I added quickly. Estraven remained uneasy.
"Alright," he said, after a time. "Spencer." It sounded like he was trying it out on his tongue; seeing how it felt. I smiled at him reassuringly, and finally Estraven relaxed.
"Fantastic!" I practically crowed in a strange outburst of energy. We both chuckled a little. "Estraven. Is that what you prefer? I don't know what else..."
"Oh, I hadn't thought," he replied, speaking carefully. "I am no longer Estraven. I couldn't use my real name openly in Mishnory, you know. And since the king... since I am no longer Lord of Estre, I can no longer use that title."
"I didn't realize Estraven was a title," I said. He shrugged. "What should I call you instead?" I wracked my brain, trying to remember his lengthy moniker.
"Brothers and friends use first names," he suggested somewhat guardedly.
"So I should call you..?"
"Urie," he decided.
"Urie," I repeated, grinning and nodding. I kept on until I saw a similar expression rise on his face. It was going to be okay. I remembered, then, the entirety of his name: Brendon Urie rem ir Estraven. What is a friend on Gethen? I wondered.
***
I had been waking early, before Urie. My metabolism seems to be higher than that of the average Gethenian, so I tend to eat a little more. Urie had actually worked the difference into his calculations when he estimated our requirements. I felt it was the least I could do to make breakfast for the two of us. It's not like it was difficult to soak a cube of hyperfood in hot water.
Urie would wake some time while the hyperfood was turning into a sort of bun. We would shut off the stove and let it cool as we ate. It would be cool to the touch by the time we got up to pack and move on.
We were moving slowly east. The sledge had a meter, and for every 11- to 12-hour day, we were managing anywhere between twelve and eighteen miles. We pulled and pushed the sledge until we tired out or it was beginning to get dark. I thought we were doing pretty well, considering.
Some days it frustrated me that Urie was still so careful and methodical about everything. Every evening when we stopped, he would make sure that I helped set up camp and take care of everything. Putting up the tent, staking down the sledge. It was tempting, as tired as I was, to simply lie down where I stopped. But that would have been giving up, I suppose. Sometimes I hated him for it.
Inside the tent, though, where it was warm, everything was ok. We ate and drank, and then we would talk. One thing we spoke of often was my ability to use paraverbal speech. It was common in most of the worlds under the Ekumen, but it was completely unknown on Gethen. Urie told me of legends he knew, but he had never heard of someone who could actually do it.
"Would you like me to teach you, Urie?" I asked him. He looked thoughtful.
"It is something that can be taught?" he wondered, incredulous.
"I didn't learn until I was twelve," I told him. Urie raised his eyebrows at me and I laughed. "Really! There are special teachers, Educers, who work with children until they are proficient. I'm no Educer, but we could try if you want."
"I'm too old," Urie said dismissively, and I frowned at him.
"Adults can learn just as easily as children," I chided. "It's not even learning, really; more like awakening part of your mind. It has a physiological basis--something your brain can just do--but it's also cultural. You have to be already using your mind in complex thought." I paused, and Urie sat there looking at me, contemplating. "There's also an element of luck involved," I said with a grin.
"Luck?" Urie smirked, his expressive eyebrows arching. He was really beginning to open up with me. "Well then. Let us try."
I explained that he had to clear his mind, let it be completely dark. He had no trouble doing this, for it seemed that was part of his early training as a youth of the Handdara in Estre. I bespoke him as clearly as I could, but with no result. I tried again, and it was the same. We tried for nearly half an hour, until we were both tired.
I turned the light off and the stove down a little and bid Urie good night. It wouldn't do to overtax him with this too.
***
"I've been able to hear a little; one or two people. But no one has bespoken me."
"Do you really think we have the capacity for it?" Urie asked.
"Sure. Many people have learned, where there was no history of it in their civilization. That's how it was on my home planet," I told him. "You just can't do it until you hear it first. The region of your brain with the telepathic potential has to be sensitized by a clear reception."
Urie looked dubious.
"So that's what we've been doing?"
"Yes," I answered simply. Urie heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax tensed muscles.
"As Envoy from the Ekumen, is teaching natives of an unsigned planet to use paraverbal speech something you should be doing?"
The question caught me off guard and I actually did a double-take and stared at him. Urie looked back at me coolly, his eyes glittered in the light from the stove, and I could just see how he fought back a smile. I kicked out at him and clipped his shin, breaking his control and allowing the smile I thought I saw to unfurl and cross his face like the shadow of a hawk flying overhead. He was teasing! It was unprecedented.
"I am not expected to use paraverbal speech with your people," I explained after a moment, "but I am not forbidden either."
"You sound like a politician," he observed. I shrugged and let the conversation drop away. After all the time I spent on Gethen, I had nothing to offer besides promises of trade and information. I had nothing of my own. Mindspeech was the only thing I had of my civilization that I could give to Urie in return for everything he had done for me. I had no wish to seem ungrateful.
***
I tried sending to Urie while he slept. People often noted that if there were difficulties in awakening the ability that the unconscious could often trigger something like dream messages. It felt kind of untoward. Like I was trying to reach out to him in a manner in which he had no knowledge or control... Which was exactly what it was, in fact. It wasn't successful anyway, so I stopped. I would much rather try to bespeak Urie while he had some say in the matter. Trying to do it while he was asleep only succeeded in making me feel dirty.
***
I didn't bother to keep track of days; Urie did. He kept a meticulous journal, whether for his benefit, or for some other, but he could tell you any small detail of our trip. I knew that we had been travelling for several weeks since he had rescued me from Pulefen Farm, and that we were not quite halfway in either time or distance. We were on target, though, and I couldn't help but be in a good mood, even if I was trapped out on the middle of a glacier.
Urie, though, was tense. He wasn't talking as he had been in the evenings. He was short, and frequently cut me off. And he steadfastly maintained his distance. I couldn't figure it out, so I finally just cornered him.
"Have I offended you in some way, Urie?" I fairly snapped. Urie blanched and leaned further away in the confines of the tent, ducking his head oddly.
"I'm sorry. I was afraid you would laugh at me," he said. I scowled.
"For what?"
"I expect kemmer in a day or so," he explained softly.
I tried not to react badly. I hadn't ever really observed any of my close associates on Gethen when they were in kemmer. They tended to disappear suddenly, reappearing days later and just the same as ever. It had allowed me some denial, and I had taken it. I pretended not to see their duality, and I didn't, not really, not for all the years I had been there.
"I must not touch you, even in passing," Urie continued. "So I've been trying to ignore you, avoid you as much as I could."
I snorted, and Urie smiled somewhat shyly.
"You can still talk to me, though, can't you?" I asked. Urie nodded.
"Of course," he said, sounding relieved. "There is no harm in conversation. Besides, how am I to prepare for the coming of the Ekumen if I don't question you endlessly?"
We both laughed, and I reached out to thump him companionably on the shoulder, but he swayed out of my reach. I caught myself, horrified that I had invaded his space when he had just said that he was being so careful to stay away. I looked to Urie in apology, but he simply gestured dismissively. No matter. I pressed myself further down into my sleeping bag anyway.
"What are women like?" Urie asked later. I thought he had fallen asleep and was startled at his sudden speech.
"I--I don't know," I sputtered. "It's hard to describe."
"They are always in kemmer?" he suggested.
"Not exactly. You think I'm always in kemmer," I said with a smirk. "I'm not!" I added defensively, when he was pointedly silent. I could hear him snickering to himself. I rolled over, pulling my sleeping bag tighter around myself and acting offended. It only made Urie laugh harder.
***
Moving along on top of the ice actually was not as difficult as I had anticipated. It was relatively flat, and generally smooth, but not smooth enough that I wished for skates instead of boots. When we had clear weather, Urie and I made excellent time, and there were many days where we travelled fifteen miles or more. It was almost too easy.
Urie slipped on nothing. Really, the ice was in perfect condition, no holes, no cracks, no glassy spots. Urie's feet simply went out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ice with a grunt. I stopped the sledge and went around to retrieve him. Once he reassured me that he was unhurt, I gave in and laughed at him. He crossed his arms and scowled at me from where he sat.
"Come on, then," I said, and reached out a hand to pull him up. Urie took it, and I heaved him to his feet. He made an offended noise, and I scoffed at him, still laughing, but I helped him brush off the worst of the snow.
For the remainder of the day, I found myself with an extreme physical awareness of him. Worse, I felt as if I had fallen into the stereotype that Gethenians seemed to have assigned me: I thought about sex. Alot. I felt guilty at first, and fought it, but soon decided there was no harm in it, so I finally just let myself indulge. I thought about sex.
I had quite obviously not had any sexual encounters of my own for a rather long time. It was not something that was done when one was an Envoy of the Ekumen on a diplomatic mission. But also, I just hadn't considered the people of Gethen sexually. They certainly made no secret of their sexuality, but neither did they push it on me. While I had never been taken to a kemmering house, I had also never been casually propositioned or even flirted with. I supposed that I was just too different for them. They all knew who I was, after all.
I supposed sex would be possible between Gethenians and other humans, when the time came. After some deliberation, however, I decided that such a pair would not be fertile. We were just too different. As such, Gethenians were destined to remain alone in the universe.
When we made camp that night, Urie seemed remote. It made me wonder, but I caught him looking at me as we ate, and he seemed softer, more vulnerable somehow. I could see, finally, how Urie was a woman as well as a man. Our brief contact out on the ice had tipped him over the edge--Urie was in kemmer. And his body had decided that it was female.
Urie had been the only one who had seemed to like me personally, in either Karhide or Orgoreyn, and so had demanded equal recognition and acceptance. I had been unwilling to give him trust and friendship. Frankly, it had just weirded me out. I couldn't accept his dual nature. But now, he needed assurance of my friendship, particularly because we were in exile. I let my barriers down, and I accepted Urie for who he was: my friend. I gave him his space.
I never was really very good at leaving things well enough alone.
I felt Urie falling asleep. I felt him, a connection, real though tenuous, and I pushed it. As clearly and as loudly as I could, I tried sending to him again. I called his name.
Urie sat up in a flurry of limbs and turned on the light to stare at me. His cheeks were flushed, and he was sweaty, for with the onset of kemmer he chose to remain fully clothed and to sleep inside his sleeping bag for once. His modesty left him panting in the warmth inside the tent.
"I thought I was dreaming," he said, his voice ever-so-slightly different now. I shook my head, half afraid to send to him again now that he was looking at me. We stared at each other dumbly. Urie's eyes shone in the light, and he licked his lips absently. He was beautiful. I watched as he disentangled himself from his bedding and crawled across the tent. He didn't stop until he was nearly in my lap, his hands bracketing my thighs. I couldn't breathe with him this close, and I almost opened my mouth to say something when he spoke again, breathless. "Bespeak me. Call me by my name."
And then he kissed me.
I gasped, and my mind fairly screamed to him, "Brendon!" I felt his smile against my lips, and I knew that he had heard me.
Brendon's mouth moved against mine and after a moment of serious internal debate, I gave in and kissed him back. He hummed delightedly, slipping his tongue into my mouth and climbing into my lap outright. He wrapped his arms around my neck and sank into me with a sigh. I moved my hands up to his waist to steady him, and kissed him with the fervor of seven years of self-imposed celibacy. Here on the ice the two of us were cut off from society; we were utterly isolated, and we were lonely. Moreso, we had reached a point where we shared whatever we had worth sharing. We could share this too.
Besides, it wasn't a hardship. Regular Brendon--Brendon in somer--was quite attractive in his androgyny. In kemmer, Brendon was starkly lovely. His facial features were the tiniest bit rounder, full. And his mouth--his mouth was positively voluptuous. When he pulled back for a moment--to breathe, to take stock, whatever--it was his mouth that captured my attention. His lips glistened in the dim light of the stove, and I tightened my grip and pulled him toward me again, much to his pleasure. He ground his hips into mine and we both shuddered at the sensation.
Brendon's body tilted in my lap, and I took it for the suggestion it was and eased him down onto his back. He looked up at me with hooded eyes, and it struck me again: what is a friend on Gethen? What does it mean when your friend could turn into your lover with the phases of the moon? For I seemed caught in the dichotomy; Urie in somer had been my friend when I saw him as a man--even though that wasn't entirely accurate either, but here was Brendon in kemmer, a pretty girl who wanted me to fulfill her desires and was willing and ready to lie down with me. I knew he was both, but the fact that I still referred to Brendon in my head as "him" was sort of disconcerting.
"Please." Brendon's voice was husky and sent a thrill down my spine. I reached for the fastenings on his shirt and he lay still while I made quick work of them. I had seen Brendon undressed before--how could I not? Travelling together for an extended period of time in close quarters, there was no room for false modesty. But here, naked beneath me and clearly in kemmer, Brendon was different. I took the time to explore his body, stroked his silky skin, and teased the nipples on his small, flat breasts until they were hard and peaked and he writhed deliciously. I wanted, and couldn't resist, so I dipped down and took one between my teeth. Brendon bucked and gasped, and I laughed, my breath washing over his heated skin and raising goose bumps. "You are teasing me," he accused breathlessly. I looked up at him through the ragged fall of my hair and something in my eyes made him stop. He pushed the hair off my face, a gentle caress, and I could see something of sorrow lurking behind the lightness in his demeanor. I pushed up and kissed him again, more tenderly. I hoped that I didn't have to say aloud that I did nothing that I didn't want to do.
Brendon grew impatient and stripped off my shirt with agile fingers. She--for Brendon in this state could be nothing else, and it finally struck home with me that it was true: Brendon was indeed a woman, and in fact, I had yet to see him as a man--she fumbled with the fastenings of my trousers. I twitched away from her and she pouted prettily. I merely grinned back and shifted so I could more easily undo hers. Brendon's eyes grew wide and anxious when I drew her trousers over her hips and down her legs. Female, Brendon's body didn't look so very different than it ever had--not that I had been expressly concerned with it previously--but I was curious, and she seemed content to allow my exploration.
I slid my hands up the length of Brendon's legs and spread my fingers out over the pale skin of her belly. She was small enough that I could easily span her pelvis, even curl my fingers around her hips. She laughed merrily at my discovery, and it made me wonder how I compared to a Gethenian kemmerer. I was taller than the average Gethenian, and larger in stature. I shrugged inwardly and figured it didn't matter; I had other things to consider, one thing being that I was thinking far too much.
Brendon was thin, even thinner now that we had been living on rations, and her bones were clear underneath her skin. I pressed a kiss to the protrusion at her hip, then nudged her thighs apart. Brendon settled back against the sleeping bag, wriggling until she forced it open and could spread it out to lie on the soft fur lining. I flashed a grin at her, but she merely tossed her hair and looked back at me smugly. I tapped her thigh with two fingers as a sort of warning before I dipped my head and spread her open with fingers and tongue.
Nothing was different from anything that I had ever experienced with a woman before, but then nothing was the same. Brendon responded to my touch with an enthusiasm that I had rarely met. She buried her fingers in my hair, tugging gently, urging me on, but not offering guidance to my action--only encouragement. She whined and shook when I lapped at the hard little nub of her clitoris, pulling my hair hard enough to sting, but I continued. My fingers slipped down and teased at her opening, making her squirm. I pressed one inside, testing. Brendon was wet and took it easily, so I added another. The sound she made gave me chills.
"Spencer!"
The mindspeech startled as much as it thrilled me. I pulled away and looked up Brendon's body to her face. Her head was thrown back, and her dark hair was tangled, and she whined in protest at the loss of my mouth. I thrust my fingers deeper into her and she pressed back against my hand.
"Is that all it took?" I teased her. She jerked and raised her head to glare at me. I merely smiled and took my hand away as well. I could see Brendon's face fall slightly, but I wasn't done. I raised my hand to my mouth and licked a broad stripe across my palm and up my fingers, tasting her again, mixed with the flavor of my own skin. Brendon's eyes were fixed on me, and she watched as I undid my trousers with one hand, then the slow path of the other as I reached down and spread the wetness all over my hard shaft. I saw when realization struck her, and she scrambled to sit up.
We both knelt on the furry insides of my sleeping bag, and I was confused as to what she wanted until Brendon smacked my hand away. She bent down and took my length into her mouth. My hips bucked, and Brendon reached out with both hands and grasped them firmly, holding me in place. I stroked her hair gently in apology.
"It's only fair," she sent, and I could hear her gentle humor in my head, even as she sucked hard and made me gasp.
"Oh, it's not about what's fair." I pulled her off abruptly with a little pop.
"What is it about?" she asked, sprawled on the fur.
"You," I said, and made my way between her thighs.
Brendon wrapped her legs around my waist and reached down to help guide me into her. I stopped to rub her clit with the head of my cock, doing so until her grip on me tightened so that it was almost painful. I took the hint and continued down to her wet entrance. I played with her again, similarly, rubbing the head around and over, but not quite in. Brendon squeezed me again.
"Spencer, please," she pleaded.
It was too pretty to deny her. I slid in slowly, filling her up inch by inch, and only stopping when our hips were pressed together tightly. Brendon panted, still too warm inside the tent, even completely naked, and it made her chest heave. I leaned down and mouthed at first one breast, then the other. Brendon's short nails scrabbled at my back. I reached up further to kiss her mouth, and Brendon moaned into it, a low, deep sound that I could feel in my bones. Her heels dug in, urging me to move, so I did. I kept the thrusts long and deep and slow. If this was the only time that we were to be together--and I imagined that it was--then I was going to make it last, and I was going to make it good.
If I exerted a little extra pressure, I thought I could feel the end of her. I knew that sometimes women liked that, the extra stimulation, so I thrust harder, knowing I bumped something deep inside, and hoping that it was something she liked. Brendon did. She thrust her hips up to meet me, picking up the pace, our bodies striking together with a resonant slap of skin on skin. It wasn't a rhythm I could keep up for long, but it seemed I didn't have to. Brendon's back arched, and she screamed her pleasure. I found myself startled into coming inside of her, her inner walls milking it out of me. It was glorious. I wanted to do it again.
Apparently, that was the plan.
Brendon was in kemmer for five days, and for those five days we didn't travel a mile. We didn't even leave the tent. Brendon was a voracious lover. I knew, in theory, that Gethenians in kemmer thought of little else; I saw the truth in Brendon. She was insatiable. Not to say that I couldn't bring her to orgasm--quite the opposite. I had no trouble at all; time and time again, Brendon moaned and shuddered and screamed her way to ecstatic completion. She was just ready to go again a short time later, and I soon became hard-pressed to keep up with her. Much to my chagrin, Brendon was very patient with me. And very creative.
Things started to slow down a bit on the fifth day. We were both tired, and we knew that we needed all our strength to navigate the ice sheet. The sex had a slower, almost leisurely quality to it. Brendon was languorous, and content to lie boneless beside me as I dozed. I knew that if she reverted to somer within the next day or so that she had not conceived. I hated to admit that it made me a little anxious, waiting for this beautiful, lusty girl to disappear and leave my friend in her stead. She could tell that I was out of sorts, near the end.
"You are a good friend, Spencer," she told me. Of course, this was somewhat difficult to digest, given that she said it as she pushed me down on the furs and proceeded to ride me; leisurely rolling her hips and stroking whatever of my skin she could reach. The prospect of throwing down the responsibility of my mission and staying on the ice to live out my days like this, with Brendon, was tantalizing. At this point my friendship was well proved; it might as well be called love. But I knew it couldn't last; it just wasn't in her nature.
When I woke the next morning, Brendon had returned to somer. The girl was gone.
continue to part 2
Band(s): PATD
Pairing: Spencer/Brendon
Word Count: 17373
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 (sex, genderswapping)
Summary: Spencer Smith is an emissary from the human galaxy to Winter, a lost, stray world. His mission is to bring the planet back into the fold of an evolving galactic civilization, but to do so he must bridge the gulf between his own culture and prejudices and those that he encounters. On a planet where people are of no gender--or both--this is a broad gulf indeed. (Based on the 1969 sci-fi classic "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula K. LeGuin)
Notes: Beta by tuesdaysgone and vampyreranger.
Mix by sodamnquirky
And a SECOND Mix, A Musical Guide to Exploring the Galaxy by technolustt
It was very cold on Gethen. That was the name of this planet in the language of its people. The Investigators of the Ekumen had simply called it "Winter". That may have been a more accurate description. The planet was in the midst of a glacial cycle, so even in the height of summer, temperatures barely reached what I would call warm.
I was First Mobile, the first representative of the Ekumen of Known Worlds. That is not to say that I was the first alien to have ever visited Gethen. Not at all. I was merely the first they knew about. Nearly forty years prior to my arrival there had been a team of Investigators. They had lived unobtrusively among the peoples of the planet, blending in and observing their ways and attitudes to determine whether a Mobile expedition would be viable. Trying to see if they had mindspeech of their own without getting caught out at it. The Investigators had indeed found that Gethen would benefit from--and contribute to--membership in the Ekumen. And so I was sent.
My mission was to convince the people of Gethen to join the Ekumen.
The Ekumen is a coordinator of member states. It is not a government in the strictest sense of the word, for there is no king, or President, or Prime Minister. The Ekumen is more of an organizer, to assist in the trade of goods and knowledge. Without it, communication would be haphazard, and trade would be risky. At the time of my mission, the Ekumen consisted of 83 planets, with about three-thousand nations. Gethen would be the 84th if I was to succeed in my mission.
Gethen is remote, even when travelling in NAFAL ships. My trip from Hain, where the Ekumen is centralized, took nearly seventeen years at a speed nearly as fast as light (i.e. NAFAL.) NAFAL travellers aren't doomed to waste away in travel, however. We timejump; so while the ship sped along its trajectory, I lay in a sort of suspended animation. For me, the trip to Gethen only took four days. I awoke when the ship began orbiting the planet; refreshed and prepared for the journey ahead.
I had been on Gethen--in the country of Karhide--for nearly two years before the troubles began. There were minor boundary disputes between the two (out of only four) largest countries: Karhide and Orgoreyn. They were odd, stilted little skirmishes. It was inconclusive and frustrating for all parties, for on Gethen, nothing led to war. Nothing ever had; there had never been a war in their history. In fact, there wasn't even a word for it in their language.
My sponsor, or patron, if you will, in Karhide was Brendon Urie rem ir Estraven. He was the Prime Minister of Karhide, but the title did not mean what I knew it to mean in other countries. Urie was essentially the king's foremost advisor. He wasn't head of parliament, or of any governing body, really. He was a trusted advisor, but with the kings of Karhide, that was apparently a tenuous position.
The kings of Karhide were all mad, and this one was no exception. Estraven had tried to advise me, but I didn't listen well enough. I went to speak to the king directly about my mission. Estraven had tried to stop me.
The king's mental acuity had been the least of my problems. He was disgusted by my differences; what he could see, and what he knew, of my alien anatomy and physiology. I could pass as Gethenian, and did, for the most part. I was significantly taller, but not incredibly so, and a shade paler than average. It was my gender that disturbed him.
It was the fact that I had a gender. Gethenians don't. Not really. Or at least not a fixed one.
Now, what I knew about Gethen when I first arrived was rather limited in scope. I knew that the planet had been colonized by humans from Terra (like myself) many thousands of years ago. Terrans had scattered colonies all over the place, so that wasn't unusual in itself. What was unusual was the nature of the people left on Gethen. The Investigators, those who had come before me, if you recall, hypothesized that the people of Gethen had actually been an experiment; that they had been genetically engineered. A biological experiment, for they were uniquely adapted to the cold. Or a sociological one, for their general lack of aggression and nationalism led to an extremely peaceful society.
The individual Gethenian person was unremarkably different superficially to any other human I had ever seen. It was in the fine details where you found your differences. They were like a society of preadolescents, trapped in that androgynous beauty of not quite male, but also not quite female. For Gethenians were neither, they were sexless for most of their lives. Not only did they have no libido, no sexual drive, but they also had no parts. Their sexual organs were actually withdrawn into their bodies until they were required.
Casual sex did not exist on Gethen. It was physically impossible.
Gethenian physiology operated on a 26- to 28-day cycle, very much like the standard human female menstrual cycle. The first 21 or 22 days of the cycle is referred to as somer, and in this stage, individuals are sexually inactive. Indeed, their sexuality is latent, literally under the surface, waiting to emerge, as in puberty. On the 22nd or 23rd day, one is said to enter kemmer, which has four phases.
The first phase of kemmer is strictly hormonal activation. Once the sexual organs have been awakened in this first phase, the second phase begins. The second phase, however, requires a partner. This phase is the process of establishing sexuality and potency. One partner becomes male, and the other partner becomes female. The sexual organs emerge and become functional. Individuals have no control over which gender they become, and it might be male one cycle and female the next. Furthermore, an individual may be mother to several children and father to more. It is all determined biochemically by the pair in kemmer.
The third phase of kemmer is when the sex drive and sexual capacity both reach their maximum. This can last from two to five days, during which, little else is on the mind. Gethenian society, in fact, has made allowances for kemmer. Individuals are released from work, and kemmering houses, (sort of like brothels,) are open to all. If, after the third phase, conception has not been achieved, the individual returns to somer once again.
As with everything, there is the occassional glitch. It is not unknown to encounter someone on Gethen who is stuck in an excessive prolongation of kemmer, a permanent hormonal imbalance toward male or female, the culminant phase of kemmer. Such a person was not only sterile, but also saddled with a mocking name: pervert. That is what I was to them. They called me Pervert, for that is what they understood. I didn't take it personally.
Even so, the king found me disconcerting, and my audience was short. I found myself fairly spinning with the information that was thrown my way. Estraven had been stripped of his titles and banished for treason. The king had taken offense to Estraven's encouraging joining the Ekumen, and he had given him three days to get out of Karhide. The king's cousin, a treacherous snake if ever there was one, now had his ear. Estraven was finished. Amazingly, the king had found the whole incident no fault of mine and I escaped any sort of prosecution. I was, however, summarily dismissed.
"Mr. Smith, you are given the freedom of Karhide."
I found it best to try my luck in Orgoreyn.
***
Securing permission to cross the border into Orgoreyn hadn't been difficult at all. I had learned in my time in Karhide that everything had a procedure, and just as likely, everything required the filing of the proper paperwork. Once I had accomplished that, it took no time to pack my bags and move along. The actual border crossing consisted of little more than checking papers and being waved on by a sleepy guard.
It took me three days to travel to Mishnory, the capital city of Orgoreyn. It was brighter, and neater, than Ehrenrang had been, in Karhide. But my first impression of Mishnory may have been colored by my failures in that other city.
I met a Commissioner of the city straight away, and was invited to stay with him. It was an exceedingly different experience from that which I had had in Karhide. No one had ever asked if I was comfortable in Karhide, and yet they fussed over me in Orgoreyn. It was almost embarrassing. But I was warm at last, and well fed.
In short order, I learned that Orgoreyn was governed by a bureaucracy of Thirty-three. There were thirty-three provinces, each with a Commensal as governor. I felt that it was with these men that I would find a successful end to my mission. It had to be easier to convince a majority of sensible men to agree to common terms than it had been to argue reason with a single madman.
The Commissioner was more than happy to introduce me to the Commensals of his social circle. They were a progressive lot, and open to new ideas. They readily accepted my story, (which after Karhide, was frankly a relief,) and they wanted to know more. I could taste success on the air.
But that was when I saw Estraven.
Estraven had been in the company of a couple of the Commensals; those whom the Commissioner had thought sympathetic to my mission. He hadn't made himself deliberately known to me, for we both knew that he was exiled from Karhide under pain of death, and for me to announce him would have created serious political turmoil. I let him be.
I was angry, though, for there he was, free from Karhide, yet still playing his political games.
There was much political gaming to be had in Orgoreyn. The Thirty-three were divided into factions, and it became my job to determine which of them were on my side for the good of Gethen, which of them were on my side for their own benefit, and which of them were merely keeping up appearances. For it seemed everyone I met in Orgoreyn was supportive of my mission. I simply had to figure out who to trust. I hadn't chosen wisely in Karhide.
Estraven came to me after I had been established in Mishnory for several weeks. I was annoyed and frustrated to see him at my door. He could have done so much to further my cause in Karhide, and as such, have prevented us both from having to be in Orgoreyn.
"I have come to caution you, Mr. Smith," he said, stiffly formal as he ever was. "My Commensal, whom you know, is an agent of the Sarf." Estraven paused and looked at me, his dark eyes unreadable, as was his mind. The Sarf were the secret police of Orgoreyn. A very badly kept secret. I knew which of the Commensals were Sarf agents, and which weren't. They still all had political agendas.
"Thank you, Estraven, for your information. It is as helpful as always." I let as much mocking enter my tone as I chose. Gethenians didn't understand sarcasm. I didn't understand why Estraven felt the need to help me. If anything, his aid had directly led to the failure of my mission in Karhide. Of course, that could have been his purpose in Orgoreyn, although I couldn't fathom the reasoning.
I was arrested the next day.
I found myself stripped, drugged, and thrown into the back of a caravan truck bound for the Pulefen Voluntary Farm in the remote outreaches of Orgoreyn. Prison. The journey took something like four days, but it felt like much longer. There were twenty-six of us, in total; all naked, freezing, and hungry. They gave us nothing for the entire trip but a jug of water twice a day. It didn't last long. Two men died in the back of that truck, and I feared that I was to be the third. If not for the kindness of the strangers who were my compatriots, I would have been. They sheltered me from the worst of the cold, knowing somehow that I was not adapted to it as they were.
The punishment to be found at Pulefen Farm was exhaustion, and neglect. We were roughly clothed, and fed sparingly, forced to sleep all together on long benches in one giant, brightly lit room. The work was menial, but endless. We stacked wood, we moved crates, and we did it until we couldn't any longer.
The general prisoners spent all their days in that manner. Those of us with any political dissidence were questioned every five days or so. It was horrifying. I had no memory of the interrogations when I regained consciousness. Each time, I argued that I would tell them what they wanted to know, but I was injected anyway. And the drugs disagreed with my alien physiology.
The first time I was interrogated, it took me nearly the rest of that day to gain enough strength to get up and join my work group. The second time, I was unconscious until the next morning. By the fifth time, they let me lie in the sleeping room. It was no matter to them if I died.
***
I woke warm and comfortable. I lay snugly tucked in a fur-lined sleeping bag inside a tent. Estraven lay nearby, sweating in the heat, but fast asleep atop his own bag all the same. I took a moment to gather my wits and examine my surroundings. I quite obviously was no longer at Pulefen Farm. But why I was in a tent somewhere with Estraven was really beyond me.
I must have made some sound, for Estraven woke with a start.
"You look much better, Mr. Smith," he said, almost pleasantly. I merely shook my head, as if to clear it. I couldn't grasp why Estraven had risked so much to free me from Pulefen, and told him as much. He lost his temper with me. "It was partly my fault, Mr. Smith! I didn't make it clear to you how dangerous the king's cousin was to you and your mission. I thought you would be safe if you were below the king's notice. That is why I tried to keep you from having an audience with him." Estraven paused, his anger burnt out hot and fast. "I didn't realize I would end up going down with you," he said softly. "Then, when I saw you in Mishnory, I thought you might have a chance. I thought that if you could make them understand, then through you there would also be a way out of the mess with Karhide; maybe restore open trade. But they hid you." I must have reacted somehow, because Estraven shook his head. "No, they hid you in plain sight, then they sold you to the Sarf."
The realization took my breath away.
"The Sarf!" I fairly barked.
"Yes, yes, the Sarf," Estraven said dismissively. "Your Commissioner, and my Commensals. All of them."
"I still don't get it, Estraven. I ruined your life in Karhide. You were getting along quite well here in Orgoreyn. Why would you throw it all away to break me out of prison?"
"Are you that much of a fool?" Estraven hissed at me. I was taken aback at his vehemence. "An alliance between Gethen and the Ekumen would benefit everyone! I don't care if it happens with Karhide, or if it happens with Orgoreyn, just that it happens!"
"You want the alliance..." I said stupidly.
"I want the alliance, yes," said Estraven. "I risked being exiled as a traitor for putting Gethen's good over Karhide's. Don't you see? I am the only one who has trusted you, and yet I am the only one whom you have refused to trust."
I sank down into my sleeping bag once more, exhausted, and frustrated with myself for somehow being unable, even unwilling, to do what I had been sent to do.
***
I was weakened from the drugs at Pulefen, and Estraven let me rest. When at last I felt ready to move, I found that we first had to discuss our plan of action. I was no longer welcome in Orgoreyn, that much was clear, but then neither was Estraven; nor was he safe in Karhide. We felt it was best to return to Karhide and take our chances. As for getting there, it wasn't going to be easy. We had three options. The easiest route, overland by road, essentially retracing my own steps, wasn't possible. Orgoreyn was crawling with Inspectors, and neither Estraven nor I had acceptable papers. Mine were gone, and Estraven's were so bedraggled that they were as good as gone. If we wanted to cross the harbor, the shortest distance to Karhide, Estraven told me we would have to wait until spring. This too, then, was impossible. We would never make it through an entire Gethen winter hiding in Orgoreyn.
We had to cross the Gobrin ice sheet.
It turns out that the glacier, if daunting, was actually quite safe in the winter. The ice was completely frozen, so there would be no risk of falling through half rotten crevasses and sloshing through meltwater. The weather wouldn't even be that bad. The ice was so large that it controlled it's own weather patterns, so in winter, while cold, it would be relatively stable. Most importantly, however, we would be alone. No one else would dare venture out on the ice sheet in winter. Only the most desperate men would make such a choice. We were desperate.
I asked then, what would happen when we made it to Karhide. Estraven shrugged, saying, "No matter." He was surely a dead man, but he bent his head to his journal, where he calculated distances and rations and made notes in the margin.
"With luck, Mr. Smith," Estraven said later, "we will reach Karhide. We must be ready."
Estraven made detailed calculations and meticulous notes. He determined that the ice route into Karhide was nearly 800 miles, 600 of which was directly over the glacier. If we kept to a pace of twelve miles per day, it would take us nearly seventy days to reach our destination. We hadn't nearly that much left in the supplies that had appeared with Estraven upon my liberation from Pulefen Farm. Estraven took it upon himself to get more.
Estraven dressed himself up warmly, strapped on a pair of skis, and disappeared into the wilderness, leaving me alone in the tent in the forest. I cranked up the little furnace, luxuriating in the heat, which Estraven couldn't stand for long. I was still somewhat weak, so I took the opportunity and I slept.
Estraven was gone for an entire day. He came skimming back into the camp just before dark, heavily laden with supplies. I asked him where he got it all.
"I stole it," he said shortly. I let it drop.
All together, we ended up with a solid sixty days of rations. If we were careful, we could stretch it to seventy-eight, and that was enough. It didn't leave us a lot of leeway, but we could do it. Once Estraven double-checked his calculations and compared it to the supplies, then we were ready to pack up and move along.
***
We travelled through Orgoreyn's backcountry on our way up to the Gobrin ice sheet. It was pleasant enough, even though I felt less than helpful with my graceless floundering in moving the sledge along. The food supplies dropped alarmingly in this first leg, and when I mentioned it to Estraven, he merely pointed out that we were using up the coarse stuff, normal foods, and not the compact, tightly-packaged emergency rations they called hyperfood. Of course it took up more space.
As we approached the glacier, we found ourselves having to negotiate an ice pass between two active volcanoes: Drumner and Dremegole. The two of them belched smoke and ash in a constant rain. Everything was gray, and it made it hard to see where we could make it up from the ground onto the actual ice. We ended up going many miles out of our way to find a place to get up with the sledge, but in the end, we were able to make an easy climb and found ourselves on top of the glacier.
That night we made camp for the first time up on the ice. Estraven asked me about the starship, the big one orbiting the planetary star and waiting for word from me. I told him, depending on it's location, that it could take anywhere from eight days to two weeks for the ship to land on Gethen. The people on board would awaken when my message came, and they would be ready to complete our mission. Or snatch me from the clutches of a hostile nation, but I didn't mention that.
"Thank you, Mr. Smith," Estraven said stiffly. He was still trying to be so formal even after all of this that it forced a shocked grin onto my face.
"Is it going to be 'Mr.' all the way across the ice?" I teased. Estraven looked somewhat taken aback.
"I don't know what else to call you, Mr. Smith," he ventured, unsure.
"You can call me Spencer," I told him. "That's my given name. But you don't have to, if you don't want to," I added quickly. Estraven remained uneasy.
"Alright," he said, after a time. "Spencer." It sounded like he was trying it out on his tongue; seeing how it felt. I smiled at him reassuringly, and finally Estraven relaxed.
"Fantastic!" I practically crowed in a strange outburst of energy. We both chuckled a little. "Estraven. Is that what you prefer? I don't know what else..."
"Oh, I hadn't thought," he replied, speaking carefully. "I am no longer Estraven. I couldn't use my real name openly in Mishnory, you know. And since the king... since I am no longer Lord of Estre, I can no longer use that title."
"I didn't realize Estraven was a title," I said. He shrugged. "What should I call you instead?" I wracked my brain, trying to remember his lengthy moniker.
"Brothers and friends use first names," he suggested somewhat guardedly.
"So I should call you..?"
"Urie," he decided.
"Urie," I repeated, grinning and nodding. I kept on until I saw a similar expression rise on his face. It was going to be okay. I remembered, then, the entirety of his name: Brendon Urie rem ir Estraven. What is a friend on Gethen? I wondered.
***
I had been waking early, before Urie. My metabolism seems to be higher than that of the average Gethenian, so I tend to eat a little more. Urie had actually worked the difference into his calculations when he estimated our requirements. I felt it was the least I could do to make breakfast for the two of us. It's not like it was difficult to soak a cube of hyperfood in hot water.
Urie would wake some time while the hyperfood was turning into a sort of bun. We would shut off the stove and let it cool as we ate. It would be cool to the touch by the time we got up to pack and move on.
We were moving slowly east. The sledge had a meter, and for every 11- to 12-hour day, we were managing anywhere between twelve and eighteen miles. We pulled and pushed the sledge until we tired out or it was beginning to get dark. I thought we were doing pretty well, considering.
Some days it frustrated me that Urie was still so careful and methodical about everything. Every evening when we stopped, he would make sure that I helped set up camp and take care of everything. Putting up the tent, staking down the sledge. It was tempting, as tired as I was, to simply lie down where I stopped. But that would have been giving up, I suppose. Sometimes I hated him for it.
Inside the tent, though, where it was warm, everything was ok. We ate and drank, and then we would talk. One thing we spoke of often was my ability to use paraverbal speech. It was common in most of the worlds under the Ekumen, but it was completely unknown on Gethen. Urie told me of legends he knew, but he had never heard of someone who could actually do it.
"Would you like me to teach you, Urie?" I asked him. He looked thoughtful.
"It is something that can be taught?" he wondered, incredulous.
"I didn't learn until I was twelve," I told him. Urie raised his eyebrows at me and I laughed. "Really! There are special teachers, Educers, who work with children until they are proficient. I'm no Educer, but we could try if you want."
"I'm too old," Urie said dismissively, and I frowned at him.
"Adults can learn just as easily as children," I chided. "It's not even learning, really; more like awakening part of your mind. It has a physiological basis--something your brain can just do--but it's also cultural. You have to be already using your mind in complex thought." I paused, and Urie sat there looking at me, contemplating. "There's also an element of luck involved," I said with a grin.
"Luck?" Urie smirked, his expressive eyebrows arching. He was really beginning to open up with me. "Well then. Let us try."
I explained that he had to clear his mind, let it be completely dark. He had no trouble doing this, for it seemed that was part of his early training as a youth of the Handdara in Estre. I bespoke him as clearly as I could, but with no result. I tried again, and it was the same. We tried for nearly half an hour, until we were both tired.
I turned the light off and the stove down a little and bid Urie good night. It wouldn't do to overtax him with this too.
***
"I've been able to hear a little; one or two people. But no one has bespoken me."
"Do you really think we have the capacity for it?" Urie asked.
"Sure. Many people have learned, where there was no history of it in their civilization. That's how it was on my home planet," I told him. "You just can't do it until you hear it first. The region of your brain with the telepathic potential has to be sensitized by a clear reception."
Urie looked dubious.
"So that's what we've been doing?"
"Yes," I answered simply. Urie heaved a sigh and rolled his shoulders, trying to relax tensed muscles.
"As Envoy from the Ekumen, is teaching natives of an unsigned planet to use paraverbal speech something you should be doing?"
The question caught me off guard and I actually did a double-take and stared at him. Urie looked back at me coolly, his eyes glittered in the light from the stove, and I could just see how he fought back a smile. I kicked out at him and clipped his shin, breaking his control and allowing the smile I thought I saw to unfurl and cross his face like the shadow of a hawk flying overhead. He was teasing! It was unprecedented.
"I am not expected to use paraverbal speech with your people," I explained after a moment, "but I am not forbidden either."
"You sound like a politician," he observed. I shrugged and let the conversation drop away. After all the time I spent on Gethen, I had nothing to offer besides promises of trade and information. I had nothing of my own. Mindspeech was the only thing I had of my civilization that I could give to Urie in return for everything he had done for me. I had no wish to seem ungrateful.
***
I tried sending to Urie while he slept. People often noted that if there were difficulties in awakening the ability that the unconscious could often trigger something like dream messages. It felt kind of untoward. Like I was trying to reach out to him in a manner in which he had no knowledge or control... Which was exactly what it was, in fact. It wasn't successful anyway, so I stopped. I would much rather try to bespeak Urie while he had some say in the matter. Trying to do it while he was asleep only succeeded in making me feel dirty.
***
I didn't bother to keep track of days; Urie did. He kept a meticulous journal, whether for his benefit, or for some other, but he could tell you any small detail of our trip. I knew that we had been travelling for several weeks since he had rescued me from Pulefen Farm, and that we were not quite halfway in either time or distance. We were on target, though, and I couldn't help but be in a good mood, even if I was trapped out on the middle of a glacier.
Urie, though, was tense. He wasn't talking as he had been in the evenings. He was short, and frequently cut me off. And he steadfastly maintained his distance. I couldn't figure it out, so I finally just cornered him.
"Have I offended you in some way, Urie?" I fairly snapped. Urie blanched and leaned further away in the confines of the tent, ducking his head oddly.
"I'm sorry. I was afraid you would laugh at me," he said. I scowled.
"For what?"
"I expect kemmer in a day or so," he explained softly.
I tried not to react badly. I hadn't ever really observed any of my close associates on Gethen when they were in kemmer. They tended to disappear suddenly, reappearing days later and just the same as ever. It had allowed me some denial, and I had taken it. I pretended not to see their duality, and I didn't, not really, not for all the years I had been there.
"I must not touch you, even in passing," Urie continued. "So I've been trying to ignore you, avoid you as much as I could."
I snorted, and Urie smiled somewhat shyly.
"You can still talk to me, though, can't you?" I asked. Urie nodded.
"Of course," he said, sounding relieved. "There is no harm in conversation. Besides, how am I to prepare for the coming of the Ekumen if I don't question you endlessly?"
We both laughed, and I reached out to thump him companionably on the shoulder, but he swayed out of my reach. I caught myself, horrified that I had invaded his space when he had just said that he was being so careful to stay away. I looked to Urie in apology, but he simply gestured dismissively. No matter. I pressed myself further down into my sleeping bag anyway.
"What are women like?" Urie asked later. I thought he had fallen asleep and was startled at his sudden speech.
"I--I don't know," I sputtered. "It's hard to describe."
"They are always in kemmer?" he suggested.
"Not exactly. You think I'm always in kemmer," I said with a smirk. "I'm not!" I added defensively, when he was pointedly silent. I could hear him snickering to himself. I rolled over, pulling my sleeping bag tighter around myself and acting offended. It only made Urie laugh harder.
***
Moving along on top of the ice actually was not as difficult as I had anticipated. It was relatively flat, and generally smooth, but not smooth enough that I wished for skates instead of boots. When we had clear weather, Urie and I made excellent time, and there were many days where we travelled fifteen miles or more. It was almost too easy.
Urie slipped on nothing. Really, the ice was in perfect condition, no holes, no cracks, no glassy spots. Urie's feet simply went out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the ice with a grunt. I stopped the sledge and went around to retrieve him. Once he reassured me that he was unhurt, I gave in and laughed at him. He crossed his arms and scowled at me from where he sat.
"Come on, then," I said, and reached out a hand to pull him up. Urie took it, and I heaved him to his feet. He made an offended noise, and I scoffed at him, still laughing, but I helped him brush off the worst of the snow.
For the remainder of the day, I found myself with an extreme physical awareness of him. Worse, I felt as if I had fallen into the stereotype that Gethenians seemed to have assigned me: I thought about sex. Alot. I felt guilty at first, and fought it, but soon decided there was no harm in it, so I finally just let myself indulge. I thought about sex.
I had quite obviously not had any sexual encounters of my own for a rather long time. It was not something that was done when one was an Envoy of the Ekumen on a diplomatic mission. But also, I just hadn't considered the people of Gethen sexually. They certainly made no secret of their sexuality, but neither did they push it on me. While I had never been taken to a kemmering house, I had also never been casually propositioned or even flirted with. I supposed that I was just too different for them. They all knew who I was, after all.
I supposed sex would be possible between Gethenians and other humans, when the time came. After some deliberation, however, I decided that such a pair would not be fertile. We were just too different. As such, Gethenians were destined to remain alone in the universe.
When we made camp that night, Urie seemed remote. It made me wonder, but I caught him looking at me as we ate, and he seemed softer, more vulnerable somehow. I could see, finally, how Urie was a woman as well as a man. Our brief contact out on the ice had tipped him over the edge--Urie was in kemmer. And his body had decided that it was female.
Urie had been the only one who had seemed to like me personally, in either Karhide or Orgoreyn, and so had demanded equal recognition and acceptance. I had been unwilling to give him trust and friendship. Frankly, it had just weirded me out. I couldn't accept his dual nature. But now, he needed assurance of my friendship, particularly because we were in exile. I let my barriers down, and I accepted Urie for who he was: my friend. I gave him his space.
I never was really very good at leaving things well enough alone.
I felt Urie falling asleep. I felt him, a connection, real though tenuous, and I pushed it. As clearly and as loudly as I could, I tried sending to him again. I called his name.
Urie sat up in a flurry of limbs and turned on the light to stare at me. His cheeks were flushed, and he was sweaty, for with the onset of kemmer he chose to remain fully clothed and to sleep inside his sleeping bag for once. His modesty left him panting in the warmth inside the tent.
"I thought I was dreaming," he said, his voice ever-so-slightly different now. I shook my head, half afraid to send to him again now that he was looking at me. We stared at each other dumbly. Urie's eyes shone in the light, and he licked his lips absently. He was beautiful. I watched as he disentangled himself from his bedding and crawled across the tent. He didn't stop until he was nearly in my lap, his hands bracketing my thighs. I couldn't breathe with him this close, and I almost opened my mouth to say something when he spoke again, breathless. "Bespeak me. Call me by my name."
And then he kissed me.
I gasped, and my mind fairly screamed to him, "Brendon!" I felt his smile against my lips, and I knew that he had heard me.
Brendon's mouth moved against mine and after a moment of serious internal debate, I gave in and kissed him back. He hummed delightedly, slipping his tongue into my mouth and climbing into my lap outright. He wrapped his arms around my neck and sank into me with a sigh. I moved my hands up to his waist to steady him, and kissed him with the fervor of seven years of self-imposed celibacy. Here on the ice the two of us were cut off from society; we were utterly isolated, and we were lonely. Moreso, we had reached a point where we shared whatever we had worth sharing. We could share this too.
Besides, it wasn't a hardship. Regular Brendon--Brendon in somer--was quite attractive in his androgyny. In kemmer, Brendon was starkly lovely. His facial features were the tiniest bit rounder, full. And his mouth--his mouth was positively voluptuous. When he pulled back for a moment--to breathe, to take stock, whatever--it was his mouth that captured my attention. His lips glistened in the dim light of the stove, and I tightened my grip and pulled him toward me again, much to his pleasure. He ground his hips into mine and we both shuddered at the sensation.
Brendon's body tilted in my lap, and I took it for the suggestion it was and eased him down onto his back. He looked up at me with hooded eyes, and it struck me again: what is a friend on Gethen? What does it mean when your friend could turn into your lover with the phases of the moon? For I seemed caught in the dichotomy; Urie in somer had been my friend when I saw him as a man--even though that wasn't entirely accurate either, but here was Brendon in kemmer, a pretty girl who wanted me to fulfill her desires and was willing and ready to lie down with me. I knew he was both, but the fact that I still referred to Brendon in my head as "him" was sort of disconcerting.
"Please." Brendon's voice was husky and sent a thrill down my spine. I reached for the fastenings on his shirt and he lay still while I made quick work of them. I had seen Brendon undressed before--how could I not? Travelling together for an extended period of time in close quarters, there was no room for false modesty. But here, naked beneath me and clearly in kemmer, Brendon was different. I took the time to explore his body, stroked his silky skin, and teased the nipples on his small, flat breasts until they were hard and peaked and he writhed deliciously. I wanted, and couldn't resist, so I dipped down and took one between my teeth. Brendon bucked and gasped, and I laughed, my breath washing over his heated skin and raising goose bumps. "You are teasing me," he accused breathlessly. I looked up at him through the ragged fall of my hair and something in my eyes made him stop. He pushed the hair off my face, a gentle caress, and I could see something of sorrow lurking behind the lightness in his demeanor. I pushed up and kissed him again, more tenderly. I hoped that I didn't have to say aloud that I did nothing that I didn't want to do.
Brendon grew impatient and stripped off my shirt with agile fingers. She--for Brendon in this state could be nothing else, and it finally struck home with me that it was true: Brendon was indeed a woman, and in fact, I had yet to see him as a man--she fumbled with the fastenings of my trousers. I twitched away from her and she pouted prettily. I merely grinned back and shifted so I could more easily undo hers. Brendon's eyes grew wide and anxious when I drew her trousers over her hips and down her legs. Female, Brendon's body didn't look so very different than it ever had--not that I had been expressly concerned with it previously--but I was curious, and she seemed content to allow my exploration.
I slid my hands up the length of Brendon's legs and spread my fingers out over the pale skin of her belly. She was small enough that I could easily span her pelvis, even curl my fingers around her hips. She laughed merrily at my discovery, and it made me wonder how I compared to a Gethenian kemmerer. I was taller than the average Gethenian, and larger in stature. I shrugged inwardly and figured it didn't matter; I had other things to consider, one thing being that I was thinking far too much.
Brendon was thin, even thinner now that we had been living on rations, and her bones were clear underneath her skin. I pressed a kiss to the protrusion at her hip, then nudged her thighs apart. Brendon settled back against the sleeping bag, wriggling until she forced it open and could spread it out to lie on the soft fur lining. I flashed a grin at her, but she merely tossed her hair and looked back at me smugly. I tapped her thigh with two fingers as a sort of warning before I dipped my head and spread her open with fingers and tongue.
Nothing was different from anything that I had ever experienced with a woman before, but then nothing was the same. Brendon responded to my touch with an enthusiasm that I had rarely met. She buried her fingers in my hair, tugging gently, urging me on, but not offering guidance to my action--only encouragement. She whined and shook when I lapped at the hard little nub of her clitoris, pulling my hair hard enough to sting, but I continued. My fingers slipped down and teased at her opening, making her squirm. I pressed one inside, testing. Brendon was wet and took it easily, so I added another. The sound she made gave me chills.
"Spencer!"
The mindspeech startled as much as it thrilled me. I pulled away and looked up Brendon's body to her face. Her head was thrown back, and her dark hair was tangled, and she whined in protest at the loss of my mouth. I thrust my fingers deeper into her and she pressed back against my hand.
"Is that all it took?" I teased her. She jerked and raised her head to glare at me. I merely smiled and took my hand away as well. I could see Brendon's face fall slightly, but I wasn't done. I raised my hand to my mouth and licked a broad stripe across my palm and up my fingers, tasting her again, mixed with the flavor of my own skin. Brendon's eyes were fixed on me, and she watched as I undid my trousers with one hand, then the slow path of the other as I reached down and spread the wetness all over my hard shaft. I saw when realization struck her, and she scrambled to sit up.
We both knelt on the furry insides of my sleeping bag, and I was confused as to what she wanted until Brendon smacked my hand away. She bent down and took my length into her mouth. My hips bucked, and Brendon reached out with both hands and grasped them firmly, holding me in place. I stroked her hair gently in apology.
"It's only fair," she sent, and I could hear her gentle humor in my head, even as she sucked hard and made me gasp.
"Oh, it's not about what's fair." I pulled her off abruptly with a little pop.
"What is it about?" she asked, sprawled on the fur.
"You," I said, and made my way between her thighs.
Brendon wrapped her legs around my waist and reached down to help guide me into her. I stopped to rub her clit with the head of my cock, doing so until her grip on me tightened so that it was almost painful. I took the hint and continued down to her wet entrance. I played with her again, similarly, rubbing the head around and over, but not quite in. Brendon squeezed me again.
"Spencer, please," she pleaded.
It was too pretty to deny her. I slid in slowly, filling her up inch by inch, and only stopping when our hips were pressed together tightly. Brendon panted, still too warm inside the tent, even completely naked, and it made her chest heave. I leaned down and mouthed at first one breast, then the other. Brendon's short nails scrabbled at my back. I reached up further to kiss her mouth, and Brendon moaned into it, a low, deep sound that I could feel in my bones. Her heels dug in, urging me to move, so I did. I kept the thrusts long and deep and slow. If this was the only time that we were to be together--and I imagined that it was--then I was going to make it last, and I was going to make it good.
If I exerted a little extra pressure, I thought I could feel the end of her. I knew that sometimes women liked that, the extra stimulation, so I thrust harder, knowing I bumped something deep inside, and hoping that it was something she liked. Brendon did. She thrust her hips up to meet me, picking up the pace, our bodies striking together with a resonant slap of skin on skin. It wasn't a rhythm I could keep up for long, but it seemed I didn't have to. Brendon's back arched, and she screamed her pleasure. I found myself startled into coming inside of her, her inner walls milking it out of me. It was glorious. I wanted to do it again.
Apparently, that was the plan.
Brendon was in kemmer for five days, and for those five days we didn't travel a mile. We didn't even leave the tent. Brendon was a voracious lover. I knew, in theory, that Gethenians in kemmer thought of little else; I saw the truth in Brendon. She was insatiable. Not to say that I couldn't bring her to orgasm--quite the opposite. I had no trouble at all; time and time again, Brendon moaned and shuddered and screamed her way to ecstatic completion. She was just ready to go again a short time later, and I soon became hard-pressed to keep up with her. Much to my chagrin, Brendon was very patient with me. And very creative.
Things started to slow down a bit on the fifth day. We were both tired, and we knew that we needed all our strength to navigate the ice sheet. The sex had a slower, almost leisurely quality to it. Brendon was languorous, and content to lie boneless beside me as I dozed. I knew that if she reverted to somer within the next day or so that she had not conceived. I hated to admit that it made me a little anxious, waiting for this beautiful, lusty girl to disappear and leave my friend in her stead. She could tell that I was out of sorts, near the end.
"You are a good friend, Spencer," she told me. Of course, this was somewhat difficult to digest, given that she said it as she pushed me down on the furs and proceeded to ride me; leisurely rolling her hips and stroking whatever of my skin she could reach. The prospect of throwing down the responsibility of my mission and staying on the ice to live out my days like this, with Brendon, was tantalizing. At this point my friendship was well proved; it might as well be called love. But I knew it couldn't last; it just wasn't in her nature.
When I woke the next morning, Brendon had returned to somer. The girl was gone.
continue to part 2