Juno of Taris Read Online Free Page A

learning stratum were apprenticed. There were no surprises. Oban accepted Majool’s apprenticeship and we watched as Majool limped up the steps to escort Oban to his new seat. I hoped he’d have time to teach Oban all there was to know about the atmospherics systems before he could no longer climb up the mountain to where they were housed, hidden in the mist.
    Kalta was the last to be chosen. Ingold chose him to work with her in the chemistry lab.
    We rose to our feet and sang with them the Song of Taris.  
    I vow to thee, my country – all earthly things above –
    Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;
    The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
    That lays upon the altar the dearest and the best;
    The love that never falters, the love that pays the price,
    The love that makes undaunted the final sacrifice.
    ‘Does anyone have a matter to discuss?’ Fisa asked, speaking into a silence suddenly taut with anxiety. Who? Who had elected to die? There were no more matters for discussion. We waited, not speaking, not moving.
    An old man’s voice broke the silence in the fading daylight. ‘My people, I crave your indulgence.’
    Irian. It was Irian. Why him? Guilty disappointment clamoured in my mind: I had hoped it would be Hilto. Or Majool. Two old men who pretended to have the goodness of us all at heart, but whose inner selves were hard and bitter.
    We, the people of Taris, stood in utter silence as Irian made his way to the stage. He walked to the speaker’s position, adjusted the microphone and motioned for us to sit. I didn’t want to listen. None of us did. But we sat still, our attention on him.
    Daylight had faded now and Irian stood in the flood of the spotlight, softened to make it easy on his eyes as he looked out at us.
    We waited for perhaps a minute until he was ready to speak. ‘My people – my beloved people – my time has come.’ His voice wrapped around us, clear but creaking with weariness. ‘I no longer care whether the walls of Taris fail, or whether they survive for another two hundred years. My passion is gone. My garden grows weeds. My lute is untuned. I choose to go forward into the next stage of my journey. I choose death.’
    Tears welled in my eyes, and beside me, Brex sniffed. The three people who had carried in the flowers climbed the steps to the stage. They were Irian’s brother, his sister-in-law and his dearest friend. His brother carried a lei of white frangipani, hibiscus and roses. He put it around Irian’s neck, hugged him and, his voice breaking, spoke his name, ‘Irian.’
    Heskith, the friend, spoke the words we always used. ‘Irian, you have chosen freely and with thought. It grieves us to lose you, but we send you on your way with our love.’
    His sister-in-law embraced him. She did not speak, and we saw the shine of her tears.
    Around me, people sniffed and an old woman sobbed quietly.
    Fisa brought a chair for him, and he sat alone in the light to hear our words.
    Trebe spoke first. ‘I thank you, Irian, for your knowledge and wisdom.’ Her voice rang through the arena. ‘I will never forget your steadiness and courage during the measles epidemic.’
    Irian smiled and inclined his head.
    For the next hour, people rose to their feet and spoke their thanks and their memories to him. Each of the five Governance Companions spoke.
    ‘Thank you for your skill with the computers,’ said Lenna. ‘Thank you for always fixing mine with good humour. Thank you for your laughter. Thank you for your expertise.’
    Hilto, who looked older than Irian, creaked to his feet. ‘Irian, you have kept the technological heart of this island’s governance in good shape. We will sorely miss your skill and experience.’
    Majool stood next. ‘Your service to this island has been greater than most of us realise. I know what you have done and I say to you it was well done. I want you to know that I will search out somebody to undertake what is still to