He studied Risa's image. Often her face was taut with tension. Now she was almost glowing; her cheeks were rosier and her dark eyes sparkled.
He had met Risa Liangharad a few years earlier, when the Administrator whom Sigurd was assisting had sent him to the northern Bat; a workers’ dispute had seemed to require a personal visit. Sigurd had been in his early twenties. Although he had grown up on the Islands, he had only recently returned from Earth's Cytherian Institute. He supposed that his visit to the Bat was a test of his ability to negotiate.
Risa was seventeen at the time, yet even then her fellow workers had been willing to have her present their complaints to Sigurd. Some respected her simply for being the daughter of Iris Angharads, but she had earned his respect with her reasonableness and her concern for those with whom she worked. He had spoken with her intermittently over the screen since then, and she had proven to be useful both in handling some problems the settlers faced and in giving him a closer glimpse at their day-to-day lives through her impressions.
“You ought to visit Island Two sometime soon, God willing,” Sigurd said. “This was your home once.”
“I've thought of it, but—” She shrugged. “I'd have to make the time.”
“I've spoken to my colleagues,” he continued. “We so rarely meet with your dome Councils, and we should do something about that. Maybe when you're elected to the Oberg Council, we can invite the Councils here, and you and I can meet again.”
“If I'm elected.”
“I'm sure you will be.” Part of Risa's charm was that she did not seem interested in power for its own sake and saw whatever influence she had as a burden. Such modesty made her seem trustworthy, but he occasionally wondered if it was a pose. He knew that she visited Pavel Gvishiani fairly often and that their involvement was clearly not romantic. Pavel might still be dreaming of what he had lost and might see the young woman as a way to regain some influence.
“I made exactly one recorded message for people here to view if they like,” Risa said, “and all I did was point to my record and say I'd serve with integrity. I haven't made any promises, and I've got better things to do than go in person from house to house asking for votes.”
“That may strike many as refreshing,” Sigurd said.
“Anyway, I don't know if I really want to be on the Council. It'll just demand more time, and I doubt that I'll be of much more use than I am now. Besides, I may want children before too long, and I should allow time for them.”
This was something new from Risa. “The Council will give you more authority,” Sigurd said. “Better you should have it than others who are not so wise. Your household and the nursery will help you care for any children, so they'd hardly be neglected.”
“I suppose.” She sounded more tentative than usual; her mind seemed to be elsewhere. She smiled suddenly. “Anyway, don't we all know that a Council member is only another Cytherian and really no better than anyone else?”
“Indeed,” he replied. “By the way, how is the new settler in your household getting along?” He did not have to ask; he could have called up recent data about Malik Haddad through his Link, but he was curious about her impressions.
Risa reddened, then looked down for a moment. “He's fine. I haven't heard any complaints about his teaching, and he's settling in here.” She seemed embarrassed; her eyelids fluttered. Could she be infatuated with the man? “I've taken up enough of your time, Administrator Sigurd.” She was clearly anxious to cut the conversation short; he wondered why. “I'll let Andy know I've talked to you.”
“Of course. Farewell.”
The screen went blank. Sigurd considered the man who was now living in Risa's house. He had pitied Malik Haddad a little when he first heard about him; now he began to worry about the effect he might be having on Risa. She hardly needed the distraction of a man whose record implied that he was a skilled seducer, and Malik Haddad had to be a man with divided loyalties even now. Unlike the other settlers, he had not joined the Project willingly or gone to a camp in the hope of finding a better life; he was here as an exile.
Sigurd was certain that the Council of Mukhtars had various ways of watching the settlers, ways that were not shared with the Islands’ Administrative Committees or even with the Project Council. A few among the dome-dwellers had to be their eyes and ears. Through his Link, Sigurd had studied the records of many settlers, looking for anything that seemed not to fit. It would be easy for the Mukhtars to plant spies in one of the camps where people waited for passage; if some obscure person vanished on his way to a camp and another took his place, that fact could be hidden. Identity bracelets could be altered and records changed.
Could Malik Haddad be such a spy? He was atypical enough to make that a possibility. His family apparently had enemies on the Council of Mukhtars, but Malik's disgrace could be part of a ruse.
Sigurd chided himself. In his position, he could see deviousness even in the most commonplace events. Many of the settlers would be curious about the former Linker; that was hardly the best position for an operative. Perhaps he was only what he seemed, a disgraced exile from Earth. Even so, he did not want the man to interfere with Risa's usefulness to him. If necessary, he might have to find an excuse to bring Malik to the Islands.
He got up from his screen and paced in his room; his Link was silent. He had been given this room five years ago; the records had told him then that Pavel Gvishiani had once lived here. That had amused Sigurd at first; now, as he pondered his own ambitions, the fact disturbed him.
Only an accident had given Sigurd the place he held, an airship accident that had taken the life of Walid Amani and fifteen Administrators; the Islands had lost some of their most experienced people in that crash. There was no doubt that the tragedy was accidental, although other possibilities had been checked before being dismissed.
Sigurd had been Walid Amani's closest aide. In the normal course of events, he would have remained a minor member of the Island Two Administrative Committee for many years. But Sigurd's mentor had held the post of Liaison to the Project Council, which had made Walid the most important of the Island Administrators. Sigurd had worked closely with him; it seemed appropriate for the Council to allow him to assume the dead man's duties temporarily.
The temporary appointment had soon become permanent, much to Sigurd's surprise. He did not flatter himself by believing that only his work had won him the position. The Project Council, he was sure, saw him as a young, easily malleable man, indoctrinated by the Cytherian Institute with loyalty primarily to Earth. His fellow Administrators, despite their own ambitions, showed little resentment at Sigurd's apparent good fortune. Sigurd would presumably make a grave error before too long, as he struggled to balance the interests of the various people he served; such a mistake was probably inevitable. Earth remained unsurfe of its hold on Venus, the dome-dwellers pushed for more control of their lives, and the Habbers clung to their role in the Project. If anything went wrong during this precarious time, Sigurd would be a convenient scapegoat, and a successor could take over when the problem had been resolved. He might fall as far as Pavel had.
Sigurd would not let that happen. His five years as a student at the Cytherian Institute had only convinced him that Venus would be better off free from Earth's grasp. Pavel had provoked a confrontation, but the old man had done the right thing, whatever his mistakes. Even Earth would benefit more in the future if Venus were allowed to diverge. The new culture would revitalize the old and perhaps even heal the breach between Earth and the Habitats. The denizens of this solar system might finally see themselves as one human community instead of as opposing societies with irreconcilable visions. Sigurd could reconcile such a possibility with the Islamic faith he had tentatively adopted during his sojourn on Earth. Earth wanted to bend the future to its will; surely there was more virtue in allowing people to draw together freely and in reaching for a universe instead of clinging to the past.
Pavel, as it happened, had even ma
de his punishment a kind of victory. After his Link had been taken from him, he was sent to the northern Bat to labor as a worker; by the time he had requested a chance to go to the surface as a settler, several people were willing to speak for him. The settlers might honor Iris Angharads and Amir Azad, who had died trying to resolve a dilemma Pavel had helped to bring about, but many of them also knew that the old man had dreamed their dream.
Sigurd could admire Pavel, but he was not about to make the other man's errors. He would find another way to loosen Earth's bonds.
* * * *
As Sigurd came through the curving hallway, a man called out to him. He slowed reluctantly, recognizing the voice.
“How pleasant to run into you,” Rafi ibn-Ali said cheerfully as he caught up with Sigurd. “I stopped by your room, only to find that you were absent.”
Sigurd gazed at the jewel on Rafi's forehead. The man could have summoned him through his Link. The Guardian Commander often acted as if he had no Link; that was one of his little conceits, pretending that his position was unimportant. “Was there something you wished to discuss?” Sigurd asked.
“Oh, not at all. I thought perhaps we might share some tea and some gossip. We haven't had a chance to visit lately.” The two passed more doors adorned with Arabic calligraphy; the Commander thrust his hands into the pockets of his rumpled black uniform as they approached the door leading out of the Administrators’ residence.
Sigurd lingered at the top of the steps leading down from the ziggurat where he lived. The dome above him glowed with a soft yellow light; the Islands followed the same twenty-four-hour cycle as did the surface settlements. A white stone path was below the steps; a few people were sitting on benches under the trees that lined the path. He might have been in a park rather than on a domed platform floating in a deadly world's upper atmosphere.
Three Guardians stood at the foot of the steps, ready to question anyone who approached the ziggurat. Sigurd found their presence both annoying and useless. Anyone coming to the Administrators’ quarters would either have an appointment or be visiting a friend. He did not care to have the Guardians interrogating his visitors, but the Commander insisted on posting a few there.
He descended the steps, Rafi at his side. The three Guardians saluted their Commander, then nodded at Sigurd as they touched their foreheads. “Salaam, Commander,” the female Guardian said. “Do you and the Administrator require an escort?”
“That isn't necessary,” Rafi replied.
He and the Commander had in common a dislike of escorts, at least. Sigurd did not care for escorts even on ceremonial occasions, and he also avoided wearing his formal white robe and headdress most of the time. Too much concern with outward signs of position seemed a mark of insecurity. Such signs were important on Earth, of course, where the Mukhtars were probably a good deal more insecure than they would admit.
The woman and her two male companions stepped back, allowing Sigurd and Rafi to pass. These three were tolerable, Sigurd thought; they did not go out of their way to be unpleasant to visitors. That meant, he supposed, that the three would soon be sent back to Earth. Guardians were always removed from their Island posts before they could grow too friendly with Islanders.
He had learned a little about these Guardians. They were three more young people who had come from towns where there was no real future for them. They had probably been seduced by talk of Guardian traditions and the opportunity to become one of those who kept the peace, served the Mukhtars, maintained Earth's weapons, and were prepared to move against anyone who might raise an opposing force. That was their mission—to be ready for a battle while hoping that their readiness made any battle unthinkable.
“And where are you bound?” Rafi asked as they strolled along the path.
“To visit a friend.”
“I'll walk with you for a bit.” The stocky Commander's suggestion had the sound of a command. “It's been one of the pleasures of being stationed here—walking about this peaceful place.”
They passed a few people seated at a table in a grove; a small apelike creature was serving them tea and fruit. The genetically modified monkeys could handle simple tasks once performed by robots or workers; they had been most useful in tending the Island plants and gardens and in doing uncomplicated repairs under human supervision. There were more of the monkeys now and fewer workers. Among the few workers who did live on the Islands, most would eventually choose to join the surface settlers, who had steadfastly refused to allow the tailored apes there, even though the creatures could have freed them from a few tasks. More monkeys, so they reasoned, meant fewer places for people; the Islands were proof of that. Each Island had once been home to some five thousand people, the largest number each could support; now the average was barely more than three thousand.
Rafi sighed. “Much as I've enjoyed being here, I do miss Earth. I'll feel some regrets when I leave, but I'm looking forward to my return.”
“You sound as though your departure is near,” Sigurd said.
“Perhaps it is. I had a message from the people on Anwara today. There's talk of bringing more of us back, but I'm not sure who will replace us. It's beginning to seem unnecessary to go to the trouble and expense of maintaining a force here, when it's so clear that your people are unlikely to be troublesome.”
Sigurd tried not to look startled. Could it be that the Islanders might finally be free of the Guardian presence? He had hoped for that; now, he was not so certain that such a decision would be welcome news. He knew that a few Guardian Commanders had more influence with the Mukhtars. Withdrawing the Island force might only mean that the Guardians hoped to consolidate their power on Earth. It could be a tactical retreat designed to lull the Cytherians before Earth tightened its grip once more.
On the other hand, this could also mean that the Guardians were weaker and that more reasonable and less suspicious Mukhtars were thinking of recalling those here.
“I'd be sorry to lose your company,” Sigurd murmured.
“How kind of you to say that. You wouldn't be terribly pained to see us go, I expect, and your Habber friends would be delighted.” They had come to a curve in the path; beyond the trees ahead lay a round stone building. “That's where you're headed, isn't it?” Rafi went on. “To visit the Habbers.”
“Yes,” Sigurd admitted.
“There isn't anyone who doubts you, Sigurd, but maybe you should keep more of a distance from them. Some of your Islanders are a little too cozy with them, and you could set more of an example.”
He halted. His dealings with Habbers were hardly a secret, and the Commander had never rebuked him for them before. “We have to work together,” he said in a steady voice. “It's natural that some friendships would form, but we don't deceive ourselves that they're anything more than passing relationships. Better to let the Habbers believe they're entirely welcome here, and such contacts give us a way both to learn more about them and to control them.”
Rafi folded his arms. “I'm hardly condemning you, my friend. A man has his needs, and yours haven't affected your performance of your duties, but it might be wiser to satisfy them elsewhere.”
“The Project Council hasn't found fault with my actions. If they did, I'd follow their directives, but they quite rightly regard such matters as unimportant.”
“I'm giving you good advice,” Bafi responded. “Earth can tolerate some of your Islander foibles at the moment—after all, there's always a chance your people might bring a few of them around to seeing things our way, and that could spread a little discord among them. But Earth might not always be so tolerant. Well, I'll leave you to your friends.”
The Commander turned back; Sigurd walked on toward the stone building where the Habbers who came to Island Two lived. Two Guardians were stationed outside; the uniformed men smirked a little as they glanced at him. These two had come to the Island only recently, and they had admitted their surprise upon learning that Sigurd was an Administrator. His mop of disorderly blo
nd hair and his boyish face often startled those who expected a more imposing figure; he had always looked even younger than he was. These two grizzled Guardians obviously found his youthfulness amusing.
“Salaam, Administrator,” one Guardian said. He stepped aside as the door slid open. The common room, as usual, was empty. Sigurd turned to his left and walked through a dimly lit curving hall until he came to the fifth door on his right. He pressed his palm against it; the door opened.
Tesia was sitting on a futon. She wore only a white loincloth and a thin silver chain on one wrist. A few clothes hung on a rod behind her, and her wall screen held the image of a distant constellation. She did not open her eyes until he had seated himself next to her.
“Sigurd,” she said softly. Her lips curved in a smile, but her hazel eyes stared past him. She always accepted his presence passively, without revealing whether she was happy to see him or not.
Her fine-boned, angular face was partly covered by her long reddish hair; he smoothed a lock back as she rested her head against his arm. He thought of their first time together nearly a year ago. They had been meeting in his room to discuss the study she was conducting with some of the Island's geologists. Tesia had stood up to leave; he had found his arms around her. She had responded to him almost as though lovemaking were a normal conclusion to such a meeting. For all he knew, perhaps it was for her people.
He had not troubled to hide their encounters; he had even brought them up himself in conversations with others before dismissing them slightingly. This had convinced the Project Council that his deeds were not a sign of potential disloyalty; if they had been, Sigurd would hardly have been so open about them. They could ignore what he did with Tesia for now and use it against him if he ever fell from favor.
Sigurd knew he had been reckless. That was part of Tesia's attraction in the beginning. He had always tried to live up to the expectations of the teachers and Counselors who cared for him in place of the parents who had died when he was a boy. After years of being only what others wanted him to be, he had acted impulsively for the first time. Perhaps the act had been a sign of rebellion, a way of testing the limits that had always pressed in around him.
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