The Ruins of Isis - Marion Zimmer Bradley, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
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The Ruins OfIsis
Marion Zimmer Bradley
1978
DOMINATION OR DESTINY
The women of Isis held fast to a near-extinct
culture of matriarchal rule. Deep within their
sacred ruins dwelled the Builders, an ancient
spirit-a spirit that spoke only to women.
Cherished and worshiped, their soft,
warming voices belonged to the ruins of a
race which seeded the entire Galaxy.
Now from the Planet Pioneer, Scholar
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 Cendri and her husband, Master Scholar
Dal, have come. Scientists... lovers. . .
man and wife. . .
Through themIsis itself, steeped in beliefs of
bondage and supremacy, will be tried before
its sacred forebears, in the sanctity of their
ruins-while cataclysmic forces gather to
proclaim it a new world--or no world at all.
Chapter one
THE PILOT OF THE SHUTTLE SHIP WAS A WOMAN. CENDRI
had been prepared for this--intellectually-but the
reality was a shock. A small, hard-bodied woman, hair
clipped short, a band of metallic cloth around her
breasts, another, wider, around her hips, low magnet-
ized shoes, and a small crimson badge pinned on her
shoulder-band. The observer in Cendri, the anthropol-
ogist she had been trained to be, asked automatically,
uniform? Badge of office? I didn't think they had a space
service of any kind, they have so little contact with the
Unity.
She wanted to clutch at Dal's hand, all the time
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 knowing perfectly well that this was the one thing, here
at the very entrance-officially-to the Matriarchate of
Isis/Cinderella, that she must not do.
The Pilot was waiting, with raised eyebrows.
"Scholar Dame Malocq?"
Cendri gathered herself together. Fortunately the
pilot took it for granted that the brief disorientation of
the transittube from the Unity ship had simply left
Cendri dizzy and, for a moment, unable to speak.
Cendri knew that the moment of truth was on her-
truth? The moment when the impersonation must
begin. She said, steeling herself for the lie:
"I am the Scholar Dame Malocq."
The pilot, gravely and unsmiling, made the formal
gesture-hands clasped before the face-which, on the
planets of the Unity, was the universal greeting and
mark of respect. Cendri wondered who had coached
her.
"Welcome to the Matriarchate of Isis, Scholar
Dame." Again, with detachment, Cendri took mental
notes. They don't use the name Cinderella. She hadn't
really expected them to, though the name was still
carried double, Isis/Cinderella, in the Unity records,
and on University.
"And this-" the look the pilot gave Dal was cold,
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 clinical, impersonal; he might have been another
suitcase or travelpak, "-this is the Scholar Dame's
consort and Companion?"
Cendri nodded in acknowledgement. She and Dal
had made jokes about this; it had sounded like a
light-hearted imposture, a formality, a technicality.
They had laughed together about the rigid laws of
Isis/Cinderella, the Matriarchate. But before the un-
smiling, uninterested eyes of the young woman pilot, it
had suddenly ceased to be funny; and Dal was standing
behind her where she could not catch his eyes, even for
the momentary reassurance of the shared joke. She
said "Yes. His name is-"
But the pilot was not listening. "The Scholar Dame is
aware that the import of offworld males is technically
an infringement of the laws of the Matriarchate.
Concessions have, as the Scholar Dame knows, been
made to the respected status of the Scholar from
University; but certain formalities may not be waived. I
am required to fill out a declaration in the name of the
Scholar Dame." She whipped out a form and some
kind of writing instrument. "Does it have a property
tattoo?"
"Does it have-what?"
The pilot repeated, with well-concealed impatience,
"A property tattoo or brand, an unremovable mark
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 signifying permanent ownership and responsibility. Is
my command of the Scholar Dame's language insuffi-
cient? Would the Scholar Dame wish me to summon an
Official Translator?"
"No, thank you," Cendri said weakly, "the-the
term was unfamiliar, that is all. No, Dal is not-not
tattooed or branded. It is not-not our custom to
disfigure males."
The young pilot's shoulders lifted in a faint shrug,
without interest. "As I told the Scholar Dame, conces-
sions have been made to her respected status; this
requirement has been waived by special action of the
Pro-Matriarch, as a diplomatic courtesy." Somehow
she managed to convey, without the faintest change in
her inexpressive, courteous tone, that she felt this
cOncession had been a mistake. Cendri wondered if she
was being hypersensitive. She clasped her hands for-
mally before her face and murmured that she was
appreciative of the courtesy of the Pro-Matriarch,
wondering who the Pro-Matriarch was.
"Nevertheless, as the Scholar Dame certainly under-
stands, the formal declaration of responsibility, and
some form of permanent identification cannot be
waived, even for diplomatic purposes," the young pilot
said. "If you wish, we can be met immediately upon
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