After noonday prayers, Malik returned to the yurt to find that the others were planning to exercise outside. He retreated to his space, pulled his blanket shut, and took out his pocket reading screen.
The blanket was abruptly pulled open; Nikolai and a Chinese man named Howin peered inside. “What do you have there?” the Russian asked.
Malik tensed a little. Only Yekaterina knew about his screen, but he could hardly keep it a secret now. “It's just a reading screen,” he replied. “I brought a small library on microdot. I enjoy reading in the afternoon.” He gazed at the two apprehensively; they would probably spread the news about his screen. He tried to reassure himself; his possessions would be safer in this yurt than in his tent. Few in the camp would risk angering Nikolai and his friends, who had no compunctions about confronting any suspected thieves when the Guardians weren't around.
But Nikolai and Howin seemed amused and indifferent. “Reading,” Howin muttered under his breath before letting the blanket fall. “Be better for him to strengthen himself instead of ruining his eyes.”
“You're forgetting,” Nikolai answered. “Malik's a scholar. They must get used to reading, or they couldn't keep doing it.”
“I don't know why they bother,” another man said in the distance. “Screens and mind-tours can tell you all anybody needs to know.”
Malik read for most of the afternoon, having no desire to join the others in their athletic pursuits and strolls around the camp. In the evening, he went with them to the dining hall; they collected their food and carried it back to the yurt. After eating, they threw dice to determine who would carry the trays and bowls back to the hall; Malik lost.
Yekaterina approached him as he left the hall. A few Guardians passed, beginning their nightly patrol; they would wander the paths for a bit and then retreat beyond the posts. He took Yekaterina's arm. “I moved in with those women I told you about,” she said. “It's crowded, but I'll get along.”
He was disappointed; he had been expecting to join her in her tent for part of the night. “That's good,” he said. “But I was hoping for your company tonight, and now—”
“I've seen Kolya's yurt,” she said. “They keep it clean enough, and they've marked off their spaces with curtains and blankets, haven't they? It's not as if they'll see anything, and we can always wait until they're asleep.”
He could not argue with such practicality. He led her to his new residence, where the others were already pulling their blankets shut in preparation for sleep. Two of the men also had female visitors; they grinned at Malik before he closed his own blanket.
Yekaterina seemed content to look through part of his library as he lay at her side; he had almost forgotten that she knew how to read. From time to time, she held out the screen and whispered a question about an unfamiliar word or phrase. He waited until he could hear the sounds of even breathing and soft snores, then drew her to him.
She responded to him readily, as she had before. The simplest touches and most straightforward thrustings seemed to satisfy her, and he felt no need for more, perhaps because she was still new to him. The darkness hid her firm body, and his hands lingered around her small waist before caressing her rounded hips.
In spite of her words about wanting only a temporary bed-partner, he was sure she could grow to love him. She had shown some courage in coming here, in her willingness to reach out for more than her old life had offered. She was a steady, caring woman who would make someone a good partner on the new world. For a moment, he could imagine himself asking her for a bond and promising a pledge when they were both safely on Venus; with her, he might know some peace. His previous loves had never lasted; perhaps this was as much as he would ever find.
He held her afterward as he let his mind drift into a reverie, and when he came to himself, she was gone. Could he be so certain she would eventually welcome a bond with him? During his old life, he had never felt such doubts, but he had been a man from a prominent family and had held a respected position; all that had been stripped from him now. How would Katya view him when the novelty of his lovemaking and physical beauty wore off? Perhaps she would see him only as a strange, unfortunate creature, made weaker by the privileges he had lost and unsuited for what lay ahead. However infatuated she was, she might be too sensible to join her life to such a man.
He should never have come here. He imagined a world filled with other sturdy people who might view him with pity or contempt, of women who might treat him only as a passing amusement. He had little else to offer them. His past life now seemed buttressed with shields that had kept him from facing what he was.
* * * *
Malik left the dining hall. As usual, he had lost that evening's throw of the dice and had won the task of returning the men's bowls and trays to the hall. Almost everyone in the camp was sitting outside along the paths; now that the weather was warmer and the days a little longer, people had taken to spending more time outdoors. Lately, most of their conversation involved speculations about when the next group of emigrants would be chosen. Five new arrivals had set up tents, and the Habber pilots had been living in one of the towers for more than a month; surely a group would have to be picked soon.
Malik counted the days in his mind. He had been in the camp for a month, but he had learned that the Project Council kept to no particular schedule in selecting emigrants. Two groups might be chosen in less than a month, and then several months might pass before others were picked. But the camp also knew that Habber pilots usually did not remain here for longer than two or three weeks, and the two here now had to be growing impatient,
Yekaterina was sitting in front of her yurt with five other women. She smiled as he passed, then turned back to the young woman beside her, who was speaking haltingly in Anglaic. He could read Yekaterina's expressions readily by now; her slightly apologetic smile told him she would not be sharing his bed that night. He smiled back and nodded to show that he understood.
He strolled to the edge of the camp; the recent arrivals, sitting outside their tents, averted their eyes as he passed. They had greeted him easily enough before but had probably been told that Malik was a former Linker; now they held back. He felt his loss once more and longed for the Link that had always kept any loneliness at bay.
A man dressed in gray was walking just beyond the posts. Malik recognized the short, stocky form and dark hair of one of the Habber pilots; the man often took walks, alone or with the Habber woman who, like this man, had an Asian's features. Perhaps the pilot did not mind the delay; his Link would keep him connected to his world.
Malik suddenly wanted to go to the man, ask him if there was a way to join his people. Among Habbers, he could be Linked again, and such people wouldn't mock him for his learning. His uncle's enemies had accused him of too many sympathies with Habber views; perhaps he should prove to them that they were right.
Such hopes were useless. He turned to walk back to his yurt, wondering how Nikolai had endured the years of waiting.
The men were sitting outside, listening as Bogdan analyzed their chances for winning passage soon. “Kolya's been here the longest,” the stolid young man was saying, “and the Council must know how patient he's been and how he's kept some order here. On the other hand, maybe they think he's useful here because of that.” He went on to assess Howin's chances while the Chinese man nodded solemnly. Bogdan spoke in his slow, deliberate way, as if struggling with the Anglaic, but he sounded the same way in Russian, his native tongue.
Malik leaned against the doorframe of the yurt. He longed to go inside to read, but even Nikolai was complaining lately that he kept too much to himself.
Nikolai cleared his throat as Bogdan lapsed into silence. “The trouble is,” Nikolai said, “that every reason you give for letting us go seems to be a reason for keeping us here, too.” Bogdan scratched at his dark hair, as if this were a new thought to him. “Maybe they just pick names by chance.”
“They have reasons,” Malik said. “The pro
blem is that you can't ever know what they are. They might need people with certain specific skills, or the demographers might say more women are needed. Bogdan's right, in a way—anything that's to your advantage one time could work against you at another. There's also the chance of the Council being capricious in the choice if several people here can do the same kind of work, because it wouldn't much matter which one they select.”
Howin gestured at Malik. “What do you think his chances are?”
Bogdan scratched his head again. “He's here because he has enemies, isn't he? They might want to keep him here forever.” He slapped his palm. “On the other hand, Venus might need a man with some learning now.”
Malik could no longer endure this useless discussion. “I think I'll get some rest,” he said.
“Yekaterina's been tiring him,” Hisoka muttered; a few of the men chuckled. “Better keep yourself strong,” the Japanese man continued, “or she might look somewhere else.”
Malik went inside; he could read a little before sleeping. He ducked under his blanket, knelt, and searched for his screen, certain he had left it next to his sleeping mat. At last he pulled out his small light wand and looked carefully through his belongings. The flat panel that held his microdot library was still there, but the screen was gone.
He sat back on his heels and knew immediately that none of the men outside would have touched it. Except for Hisoka, none of them could read. At any rate, they would never touch another man's possessions without asking first; that was one reason they got along in such close quarters. Yekaterina often enjoyed glancing through some of the more accessible books written in Russian, but she wouldn't have borrowed the screen without telling him.
Most of the camp knew he had a screen; Nikolai had jested about Malik's solitary pursuit often enough. But without the library, the screen was useless, and the library was still here; he knew of no one in the camp who had another. His more useful possessions—the light wand, his other clothes, his grooming aids—were untouched. Why would the thief take something he could not use?
The answer came to him at once. The thief held a grudge, and Malik could think of only one person who disliked him enough to do this. Alexei knew that he and Yekaterina were often together; she and her brother had exchanged harsh words about that. The young man had not confronted Malik openly, probably because he feared Nikolai's reaction; Nikolai would not hesitate to stand up for any of his friends.
Malik could go to Nikolai, who would settle the problem one way or another. Alexei's life here would not be easy after that, and Yekaterina might blame Malik for her brother's troubles. Even knowing what her brother was like, she still persisted in believing he could change; she would wonder why Malik had not gone to Alexei to deal with this quietly.
He would have to handle this alone.
* * * *
Alexei had recently moved to a cabin near the dining hall; a hard-looking man seated outside the door told Malik that Alexei was taking a walk on the open ground to the south. Malik hurried there and found the blond man loitering by one of the posts with three companions.
“Look who's here,” Alexei said in Anglaic. “We don't usually have such fine company.” He did not seem surprised to see Malik.
“I have to speak to you,” Malik muttered.
“What about?”
“It'd be better if we speak alone.”
Alexei glanced at the other men, then nodded. The three wandered off and sat down several paces from the post. The Habber pilot was still outside walking; two Guardians trailed him at a distance.
Malik said, “I've lost my screen.”
“Careless of you.”
“It was stolen. It's an old screen, one that can only be used with a library. I thought you might know where it is.”
Alexei's green eyes widened. “Now, how would I know that? I can't use that kind of screen. I didn't have your advantages, I don't know how to read. Are you saying I'm a thief?”
Malik swallowed. “The screen's gone. Few people in this camp can read, and if one of them were to risk taking the screen, the library would have been taken as well. Anyway, I don't see how anyone could use it without others finding out, so the thief must have had another motive.”
“And you're accusing me? I don't take kindly to that.” Alexei did not sound terribly indignant. “Anyway, how could I possibly take it without being seen?”
“I don't care how you did it. If you give it back, I won't say anything.”
“But I don't have it,” Alexei said, “and you can't prove that I do.”
“Use your sense,” Malik said angrily. “Do you want Kolya and his friends to know something was taken from their place? They'd make things very hard for you.”
“And I'll deny it. Go ahead, see what people think when you can't offer any proof. See what Kolya thinks when you drag him into your personal grudges.” Alexei's eyes narrowed. “You think you're better than the rest of us, with all your learning and your airs. You think you can use Katya as you like just because you were once a Linker. I came here to be rid of people like you—you don't deserve to have more than anyone else. You'll just have to get along without your precious screen.”
“I want that screen back,” Malik said evenly. “It had better be with my belongings by tomorrow, or I'll go to Kolya with this story.”
Alexei laughed. “You can't tell me what to do now.” He motioned to his three friends; the men stood up and came toward them. The Habber pilot and the two Guardians were closer but not near enough to hear Alexei's words. Malik knew he could not go to the Guardians with his problem; everyone in the camp would despise him for bringing such a matter to their attention, and the uniformed men were unlikely to take his side anyway.
“The Linker's saying some evil things to me,” Alexei said to his companions. “He just accused me of something I didn't do, and you know how he's treated my sister. I don't think I should stand for that, do you?”
The three took up places around them as Alexei raised his fists. Malik stepped back; he was taller than the blond man, but Alexei was more muscular and probably used to fighting. Alexei came at him; Malik ducked and managed to block the blow with one arm. If Alexei hurt him badly enough, he'd be taken away for treatment and probably not allowed to return; maybe that was what the younger man wanted.
Alexei jolted him with another blow. Malik kept his arms up, trying to protect his head and chest. A foot kicked him in the thigh, narrowly missing his groin. Alexei swung and caught him in the belly; Malik doubled over, nearly retching as he was knocked to the ground.
Hands grabbed the collar of his coat, then suddenly released him. “What's going on here?” a voice shouted. Malik struggled to his feet; Alexei drew back as the two Guardians and the Habber approached.
“What's going on?” one of the Guardians asked. “We can't have this.”
Malik knew what he would have to say. He took a breath, trying to ignore the pain in his abdomen. “It's nothing,” he rasped. “My friend here was only showing me how to defend myself. Just a little exercise, that's all.”
The Guardian peered at him. “You're the Linker, aren't you?” The Habber seemed surprised as he glanced in Malik's direction. “Maybe you do need some practice at such things. Well, we can't have fighting in this camp—pretty soon, others start taking sides and then we have a riot on our hands.”
“It wasn't a fight.” Malik hoped he sounded sincere. “You can see I wasn't hurt.”
“I won't ask who started it, but if I see you two fighting again, out you go. I wouldn't want our Habber friend here to think you're the kind of folks he'll be taking to Venus. Just be grateful I'm in a good mood at the moment.”
Alexei led his friends away; the Guardians turned toward the tower. The Habber was still watching Malik; as he was about to follow the Guardians, Malik saw his chance and motioned with his hand.
“I'd like to speak to you alone,” Malik whispered. “Find a way if you can.” He hurried away before the Habber c
ould reply.
* * * *
Nikolai took Malik aside after breakfast the next morning. “I heard you and Alexei Osipov had a disagreement,” he said.
“It's nothing,” Malik replied. His body still felt bruised.
“Guardians saw you—that's what I heard. If you've got a gripe, settle it where they can't see you.”
“I told the Guardians he was just helping me learn how to defend myself.”
Nikolai nodded. “You've learned something then.”
Malik left the other men at the lavatory and went back to the yurt alone; Yekaterina was waiting by the entrance, her face grim. She went inside without speaking and looked around as he entered, then thrust one arm inside her coat.
“I brought this back,” she said as she pulled out his screen.
“You took it?” he asked, surprised.
She shook her head. “I heard about your argument with my brother. I kept after him until he admitted what he'd done. I told him I'd bring it back and make sure no one else finds out. You didn't say anything to Kolya, did you?”
“No.”
“See that you don't. If you do, I'll deny it, say that I only borrowed the screen and that you're blaming Alexei unfairly. I don't want any more trouble for him.” Her expression softened a bit. “One of his friends said you spoke up for Alexei when two Guardians saw you fighting. That hasn't warmed my brother's heart, but I'm grateful.”
He examined the screen; it was scratched in one corner and stained by dirt, but otherwise undamaged. “You'll lie for him,” Malik said, suddenly irritated by her dogged devotion to her brother. “You refuse to see what he's really like. How do you expect him to change if you're always there to save him from the consequences of his mistakes?”
“He's my brother.”
“You may not be doing him any favor, Katya. What's he going to do when you're not around to clean up after him? You may not even be sent to Venus together—how is he going to get along there?”
Venus of Shadows Page 7
