He had sent a message before, just after Iris's death, through a Habber on the Islands who had known her. “Tell him,” his father Chen had replied, “that his mother will always be alive in me.” He had said nothing more, and Benzi had wondered if Chen was blaming him in part for her death or trying to console him.
Tents had been pitched near the yurts at this end of the camp. A dark-haired man was standing outside one tent, gazing in Benzi's direction. Benzi turned and led Te-yu back to the tower.
Three
The camp's mosque was a rambling structure of wood, where Muslims could gather for their prayers. Malik was kneeling, his hands on his knees; he raised his head. It had been much easier to recall an appropriate sura from the Koran with his Link to prompt him.
“God hears those who praise Him,” Malik recited as he glanced at his fellow worshippers. Several of them seemed as unpracticed in such observances as he was. The men rose, knelt once more, then went into a prostration, pressing their foreheads and noses to their prayer rugs. “God is most great!”
The call to prayer issued forth from a speaker in the roof of the mosque five times a day. Except for the dawn prayer, which he performed quickly outside his tent before lining up for the morning meal, and the night prayer, which he raced through before going to sleep, Malik came to the mosque for the others. It was a way to pass the time, which was probably why most of the Muslim emigrants came here to pray even on days other than Friday; he had seen few signs of true devotion. Perhaps that was just as well. On Venus, these people would have to be tolerant of others who held various beliefs, people they might otherwise have rarely encountered; diverse groups from many different Nomarchies had to live together there.
The men near him were speaking now. “Peace be upon thee, O Prophet,” Malik murmured with them, “and the mercy of God and His blessings! Peace be upon us all, and all righteous servants of God. I witness that there is no God but God, I witness that Muhammad is His servant and messenger. God is great!”
When they were finished, they rose, rolled up their rugs, and filed out from the mosque. The camp also held a church, a ramshackle building used at different times by both Old Catholics and Marian Catholics. Sharing a church would hardly have been possible for those two groups anywhere else. Old Catholics regarded the Marians, who had elevated Mary to a status equal to Jesus, as trapped in theological error; in the camp, however, their status as fellow emigrants clearly overrode such differences. Malik supposed many of the Catholics were as casual in their practices as he was in his.
Those who followed other beliefs usually gathered in small groups for prayers and other rites in the dining halls between meals. As Malik walked toward his tent, he saw that Nikolai Burian was sitting outside, waiting for him. Nikolai, along with many of the Russians, did not bother with religious observances, since he came from a community that held to older atheistic beliefs.
The young man had attached himself to Malik. He usually showed up at Malik's side when it was time to line up for food or to use the showers; he was often squatting outside Malik's tent, alone or with other young men, when Malik came out to pray at dawn. They had already dispensed with such formal terms of address as “Nikolai Andreievich” and “Linker Malik"; Malik's old title was inappropriate now anyway. Lately, Nikolai had insisted that Malik address him by the nickname of “Kolya.”
Nikolai and the men living in his yurt apparently controlled this end of the camp. They roamed along the paths, asked questions, offered advice, and settled a few disputes best kept from the attention of Guardians.
Nikolai had given Malik advice on which people to avoid, the times when toilets were usually free, and the few amusements the camp offered. Occasionally, he listened while Malik told him a little about his former life. Rumors that Malik was once a Linker had spread through the camp, and at last he guessed why Nikolai sought his company. People were still suspicious of Malik, but he had once held a place among the powerful. Nikolai was undoubtedly curious but also might want to see if some advantage could be gained from getting closer to the scholar.
The young man smirked a little as Malik sat down. “I hope your prayers were a comfort,” he said. “The Mukhtars probably just use all that talk of God to impress the likes of us, keep us in line, make us think God tells them what to do.”
“That's an oversimplification,” Malik replied. “They all have a respect for the ulemas and the law. There are many devout ones among the Mukhtars, even though they realize, in their position, that some tolerance of others is required.” It was useless to explain too many subtleties to Nikolai. What the man probably enjoyed most was the reversal in their stations.
Two of Nikolai's friends were wrestling on the open ground beyond the tents. Several in the camp filled the long hours with such pursuits—footraces, wrestling, acrobatic feats, or violent games with tattered balls and sticks. The efforts kept them fit, and a serious injury, which could always be passed off as an accident, might eliminate at least one competitor for a place aboard a ship. Malik was careful to avoid such contests, as well as the betting of food or personal possessions that often accompanied them.
A female Guardian stood near the post, watching the wrestlers. Nikolai gestured at her. “I'll tell you what I heard about that bitch. She got tired of waiting for passage, so she joined the Guardians instead.”
Malik frowned. “Was she in this camp?”
“Of course not. They wouldn't keep somebody like that in the same camp—there'd be more chance of trouble. A couple of people joined from here, and they got sent somewhere else afterward. They'll take ones they can use, and she'll probably be more grateful to them than most. Just as well we won't have that sort on Venus—someone who'd join the Guardians instead of patiently waiting.”
Malik rubbed at his chin; the skin of his face felt slightly raw. He had removed his stubble, but the harsh depilatory cream the lavatory provided irritated him.
One of the wrestlers pinned the other, then released him. The two men rose and began to wander toward the yurts. “The officer in charge now, Keir Renin, got here a few months ago,” Nikolai continued. “The one before him was harder in some ways. She'd use any reason to throw someone out, and always kept to the rules, but at least the women were a little safer. It's better for them if the officer's a woman and keeps the male Guardians in line. Keir Renin will just look the other way. It's why I told Yekaterina Osipova to be careful—there wouldn't be much she could do if a Guardian or two caught her alone.”
Malik felt his own helplessness. “Her brother would go after anybody who hurt her.”
“He'd be a fool if he did. They're armed and we're not. He'd just ruin things for himself, and he wouldn't help her.”
The Guardian was gazing at Malik now. She seemed vaguely familiar; she might have been in the room where he had been scanned.
“You'd better look out for her,” Nikolai muttered. “You're probably used to women eying you like that, but if you let her get you alone and don't give her what she wants—” He shrugged. “She could make it look bad for you. There are some here who don't mind trading themselves for food or favors, but they usually learn better and they aren't well liked. We'll remember who they are when we're on Venus.”
Malik thought of all the times he had dismissed Guardians with no more than a gesture. Nikolai was grinning; he wondered what the young man was thinking. He remembered how easily he had once called up the records of any person who interested him and how rarely he had concerned himself with how vulnerable that person might feel. He knew nothing of what had brought Nikolai to this camp; he was a stranger, his record now inaccessible.
“Yekaterina likes you, too,” Nikolai went on, “and she's a pretty enough woman. You probably wouldn't mind getting her inside your tent when Alexei's off somewhere. But you were a Linker—maybe it won't be the same for you now. I heard a Linker can look through someone else's eyes and see what they're seeing or hear what they hear.”
“You've been misinfo
rmed,” Malik said. “We can't read minds, you know. We can communicate, of course, and the cyberminds can show us images of what another Linker's seeing if his Link is open and he's willing to—”
“Must come in handy during sex,” Nikolai interrupted. “You could let others look on or watch them yourself if they let you.”
“No. You've got some odd ideas about Linkers.” In spite of his denial, Malik had heard of Linkers who occasionally shared images of their sexual encounters with others through their Links. The practice was not all that common and had never held much appeal for Malik, who preferred privacy.
“Maybe that wasn't your way. You probably liked to look at yourself through your partner's eyes. You're good-looking enough to have preferred that.”
Malik flushed with anger. Nikolai had guessed correctly; Malik had often chided himself for his vanity. “Linkers aren't as interested in such pursuits as you think,” he responded. “Those who have been Linked for many years become more indifferent to such things.” Was Nikolai mocking him? Was he clumsily expressing an interest in Malik himself? That was unlikely; any potential settlers whose inclinations ran to their own sex would have to be discreet here. Venus was peopled by many who came from more backward areas of Earth and bonds between couples were greatly honored there. The new world was less tolerant of certain practices than many Nomarchies.
Malik lifted his head and was surprised to see a gentle, sympathetic look in the other man's blue eyes; he could almost imagine that Nikolai was feeling sorry for him. The young man glanced toward the tower, where a small woman in a blue coat was taking a stroll. “One of the Habber pilots,” Nikolai said. “Whatever they are, at least they leave us alone. That one must be getting impatient by now.” He stood up. “If you want some company later, come over after supper.”
Malik nodded. The brown-haired man strode away. Malik looked toward the Habber woman again; she was walking toward the tower. He suddenly envied the pilot's Link; for a moment, he could understand why the Habbers held themselves aloof from Earth and its troubled souls.
* * * *
Malik sat inside Nikolai's yurt, listening to the men as they gossiped and occasionally offering a brief remark. A few of the men seemed to be studying him; perhaps they had expected more talk of his fine friends in Amman. Malik had already learned that comments about his old life were best accompanied by gentle mockery and a tone of indifference; he did not want his companions to think he believed himself better than they.
He got up and said his farewells as the others began to gamble with sticks and dice; Nikolai followed him outside. “I'll walk back with you, Malik,” the young man said. “There's something I want to ask. We talked it over, all of us. Ahmad's been seeing a woman in another yurt, and they're hoping to make a pledge when they both reach Venus. She told Ahmad there's enough space for him to move in with her, and the others don't mind if you take his place with us.”
“I'll think about it,” Malik replied, knowing he should be grateful for the offer.
“I guess we're not the kind of company you're used to.”
“It isn't that,” Malik said quickly. “Actually, I'm surprised you want me to live with you.”
Nikolai shrugged. “A couple of them wondered a little, but I convinced them. Frankly, it'd make things a little easier for you here. If we take you in, others won't be as suspicious of you, and you can use a few friends.”
“I'll decide as soon as I can.”
“You can't think about it too long. There're others we could ask, men who wouldn't mind moving in.”
They were near Malik's tent. The flap of Yekaterina's tent was open; she was sitting there, barely visible in the dusky light. Alexei was nowhere in sight; he had been spending more evenings and nights in the camp lately.
“Don't think I haven't welcomed your kind offer,” Malik said, “but maybe you should ask Alexei to live with you. His sister says he can be moody. It might do him good to live with a group.”
Nikolai shook his head as he drew Malik aside. “Listen, I wouldn't mind having him on my side in any fight, but you can't tell what he'll do a lot of times. I've seen him with a few who don't mind stealing when they can get away with it, and he looks willing to go along with them. Either he'll quiet down and learn to be patient or he'll make trouble, and I don't want him close to me until I know which. He's probably just waiting to strike out at somebody—I see it in his eyes.” Nikolai paused. “Let me know tomorrow what you want to do.”
The evening call to prayer was sounding as Nikolai walked away. Malik thought of beginning his ablutions, then decided to ignore the call this time. He was about to enter his tent when Yekaterina called out to him. “Malik?”
"Yes?"
“Alexei won't be back tonight. I thought you might like to talk.”
She sounded lonely. He sat down in front of her tent, “He doesn't like to see me talking to you.”
“It isn't for him to decide, is it?” She smoothed down her coat collar. “He may have this tent to himself soon, unless he finds a place somewhere else. A few women have asked me to move in with them. They think they haven't gotten passage yet because they don't speak Anglaic all that well, so they'd like to practice it with someone who's more fluent. I'd also be safer with a group.”
“Kolya offered me a place in his yurt just now.”
“Then you should accept it.”
“I know,” Malik said. “He seemed a little insulted that I didn't take him up on the offer immediately. I couldn't explain. I've had my own quarters for years—I don't know how well I'd get along.”
She laughed softly. “Hadn't you better find out before you get to Venus?”
“I suppose so. Where's Alexei been spending his evenings lately?”
“He's seeing a woman named Anya,” she replied. “When he talks to her, he's full of words about how much he cares, and when he talks to me about her, he calls her a whore.”
Malik raised his brows, “That's hardly gracious of him.”
“It's how most of the people in my village think. They see any woman who lies with a man as a fool if she's not trying to bring him around to becoming her bondmate later. But how can Anya hope for that now? It's useless to make a pledge here, when we don't know how long we'll be waiting or where on Venus we'll end up. I told Alexei there was nothing wrong with Anya wanting companionship while she waits and that he should think more kindly of someone who shows him love, but he won't listen. He thought I was foolish for taking Yuri as a lover and not accepting his offer of a pledge.”
There was little he could say; some of his own people held beliefs as unreasonable. Even in the easygoing atmosphere of Amman, he had always avoided inexperienced women, in case any of them came from an old-fashioned family that might view the young woman's actions as a stain on the family's honor.
“That's why Alexei doesn't like to see me with you,” Yekaterina continued. “He thinks you would only amuse yourself with me and would never seek a bond with someone so far beneath you.”
“You're not beneath me now,” he said. “I'm just another inmate of this camp. I don't understand why Alexei's so worried about me. I haven't given him any reason to think—”
“You haven't, it's true. But he knows how I feel. He thinks I wouldn't turn you away, and he's right.”
Malik lowered his eyes. Her admission came as no surprise; he had sensed it from the beginning.
“I wouldn't expect anything more of you,” she said. “We don't know when we'll leave this camp, or even if we'll leave it together, but we could forget our worries for a while.”
He wanted to hold her, but restrained himself.
“What is it?” she whispered as she leaned closer to him. “Are you afraid of Alexei? He'll only make trouble for himself if he does anything to you, especially now that Kolya's looking out for you. He'll say his harsh words to me, not to you.”
It seemed cowardly to admit that he was wary of her brother, but Alexei wasn't his only concern. He felt t
rapped, imprisoned by what he had always been, and realized now that he had dimly hoped he might escape part of his nature in the new life into which he had been forced.
“It's my choice, isn't it?” she said. “Alexei has to learn that eventually.” She drew back suddenly. “But maybe it isn't my brother.” Her voice was pained. “Maybe I was wrong to think you wanted—”
“No, Katya.” He reached for her hand almost automatically. “You aren't wrong about that.” I'll only hurt her if I turn away now, he told himself; it was easier to give in. Anticipation of a new love was already arousing him, as it always did.
His lips brushed against hers lightly; her fair hair smelled of soap. He stood up, helped her to her feet, and led her inside his tent.
* * * *
Malik's first day in Nikolai's yurt was much like the days that followed. He had been given a space by the wall near the door; one of the men helped him hang a shabby blanket between two poles to mark off the space. His sleep the night before had been disturbed by the sounds of men leaving the yurt. The Guardians had forbidden them to relieve themselves anywhere except in the camp's toilets, and their own fears of spreading illness made them content to obey that order.
His day began with his morning prayer, said outside the yurt, after which he lined up with the others to wait in a line for their morning meal. This time they ate at one of the long tables instead of taking the food back to the yurt. Breakfast, as always, was a bowl of lumpy cereal served with a slice of melon and milk-laced tea, while their evening meal was usually fish with wilted vegetables or a piece of textured soy protein with a potato. Malik had learned not to ask too many questions about the food, which was often so tasteless that it was impossible to tell what it was.
The men lingered over their meal as long as possible before going to the lavatories; a few took showers while the others groomed themselves by the sinks. By then, a line had already formed by the camp's laundries, where people could clean and mend their clothes. Malik had brought only three changes of clothing with him; the Guardians would issue new clothing on request, but only if one's old garments were practically in rags.
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