Venus of Shadows

by Pamela Sargent

  “Salaam, Malik,” Sigurd said.

  “Salaam, Administrator.” Malik motioned to the child. “My daughter, Chimene Liang-Haddad. Chimene, this is Sigurd Kristens-Vitos.”

  “I know that,” she said. “I saw him on the screen.” She lifted her head. So much beauty in a child made him uneasy; having such attributes so early in life could not be good for one's character. “You came to talk to the Council.”

  “Yes, I did. I thought I'd speak to your father, too.” Sigurd raised his voice a little so that Theron, who was now walking back to the school, could hear his words. “I have a great deal of respect for your father, you know.”

  Chimene leaned against Malik, clinging to the edge of his shirt. “The Administrator wants to talk to me,” her father said. “Do you think you can go home by yourself?” Her eyes widened. “Or maybe you'd like to play with your friends for a bit.” The girl shook her head vehemently. “Very well.”

  Malik looked up. “Her thoughts are often troubled now,” he said in Arabic; Sigurd guessed that the child did not know the language well enough to understand them. “She is afraid to be distant from me for too long. I walk with her to the school and guide her home, and her sleep is often broken by evil dreams. I have been sleeping on a mat at the side of her bed—I hear her screams when she awakes.”

  “I am sorry to hear it,” Sigurd replied in the same language.

  “Her mother tells me I should leave her alone to cry out by herself, that this will heal her.” Sigurd heard the bitterness in the other man's words. “But this is not your concern. Administrator. It is the same with some of the other children, the more sensitive ones. They dream that the Council will come to sentence them. This now leads the other teachers here to remark that they should have defended my words at the hearing, although not one of them rose to do so there.”

  “It took some courage for you to speak.”

  “My words swayed no one, and perhaps they only hardened the heart of my bondmate even more.”

  “Your words have been heard,” Sigurd said. “I stand here speaking with you now so that others will know I have heard them and regret that they were not heeded.”

  Malik's mouth twisted. “Yet you did nothing.”

  “One must pick a time to act. Had I interfered before, I would only have won more support for the Council's proposed punishment among the people here and in the other settlements. Now others have doubts about what they did. Those doubts can be used to bring about change. This will not happen again, God willing.”

  “Risa.” Chimene looked up as Malik spoke her mother's name; her face was tense. “I might have forgiven what she did if she had shown regrets. I might have understood it if she had done it with reluctance, but she would sweep aside anything in the service of her dream and what she sees as her duty. Now she justifies herself to our daughter, who was forced to witness her deeds. She teaches the child only that those with power can justify any evil act.” Malik paused. “But she remains my bondmate. I am tied to her, bound by my pledge and our child.”

  “Your bondmate has been of value to me in the past,” Sigurd said. “Perhaps I am partly at fault for not seeing more deeply into her heart. It may be the will of God that some time must pass before she finds repentance, but she will soon see that her deed is not without unfortunate consequences. I have spoken to the Council, and they have listened.”

  “How I wish it were written that I could be free of her now!”

  “There are Islanders who seek your company,” Sigurd responded. “Lectures can be arranged—you could join us soon.”

  “I could not leave Chimene now. Risa might welcome seeing me go—if I were away from her side, she would have an excuse to account for my absence from her bed. But she would keep our child with her. Chimene is the only weapon she has to use against me.”

  “Perhaps, when some time has passed—” Sigurd shrugged. “I must go now. My ship will be almost ready to leave by the time I reach the bay.” He looked down at Chimene. “Farewell, child,” he said in Anglaic.

  “Good-bye, Administrator.”

  Sigurd turned and walked toward the trees. He could easily find a way to bring the historian to the Islands, and perhaps the girl as well. At least two of the teachers on Island Two had made it known that they wanted to settle in the domes, so Malik could be replaced here. The girl might be chosen for an Island school. That was unusual for one so young, but Risa could hardly refuse her the opportunity if her father was on the Island to look after her. She would not be happy to let her daughter go, but she would be in a weaker position when she was no longer on the Council—more doubtful of herself, easier to persuade.

  He pitied Malik somewhat, but pity did not motivate him now. Risa had been useful, and she might be useful again. She would lose her present position but would retain some of her influence. She would be better off not living with her bondmate's open resentment, which might affect how she dealt with others. Better to separate her and Malik as soon as possible.

  * * * *

  Sigurd had never grown used to Anwara. On Island Two, there was the illusion of space, and the pleasure of seeing grass, flowers, trees, and the few small animals allowed there. He appreciated Anwara most when approaching it in a shuttle, when the space station was only a distant pale circle set against a dark backdrop of pinpricks of light.

  Once inside, he felt cramped. The satellite's curved halls were too bright with light, and the spin of Anwara's three circular tubes around its hub made him feel vaguely disoriented and unsteady on his feet. He would almost have preferred remaining in the weightlessness of the hub, where his shuttle had docked.

  Anwara made him think of Earth, a thought that was probably responsible for some of his unease. Freighters and passenger ships from Earth docked here, as did Habber ships, but Anwara's personnel did their best to ensure that no Earthfolk or Cytherians fraternized with Habbers temporarily on the satellite. Islander specialists occasionally came here to work, where the presence of Guardians and Project Council members always reminded them that Earth still claimed this Project; the arriving Habber pilots were never allowed to stay for long. Anwara had remained Earth's outpost, a place where Sigurd was always mindful of the limits on his actions.

  He had been given a room to himself this time. Sigurd pulled the small bed from the wall and stretched out on it, tired from his journey. The last time he had been forced to share Salim Berkur's quarters, which were not much larger than this tiny room. Salim had not minded, but along with most of the people on Anwara, he had grown used to the lack of space. The men and women stationed here greeted one another or gathered to talk only in the large common rooms, meeting rooms, or gymnasiums; the rest of the time, they avoided even a glance. That would have seemed rude anywhere else; here it left them with a feeling of more privacy and kept them from getting on one another's nerves.

  Sigurd's door chimed; he heard a voice through the speaker. “Salim Berkur and Chang Hsin-sheng. We'd like to talk to you when you feel up to it. We'll be in Hsin-sheng's room within the hour, but if that's inconvenient—”

  Sigurd was already on his feet. The two might have alerted him through their Links, but Salim was often reluctant to intrude in that way. “Come in,” he said as he pressed the door open.

  He ushered the two men inside, then pushed his bed into the wall. “We wanted to talk to you before the meeting,” Salim said.

  “Of course.” Salim and Hsin-sheng had always been his allies on the Project Council. “Shall we talk here or go somewhere else?”

  “This is good enough,” Hsin-sheng said. The three men sat on the floor. The gray-haired Chinese man wore a dour expression on his bony face, but Sigurd had never known him to smile very often. “The Council is pleased with you at the moment. They were afraid that we might be impelled to station Guardians on the surface, but now that the settlers have announced that they will begin to police themselves, that's settled.”

  Sigurd rested his hands on his knees. “I didn
't know anyone was seriously considering stationing Guardians there.”

  “If the Commanders had more power, that unpleasant incident in Oberg would have given them an excuse to do so. But Ali Akar's faction rules the Council of Mukhtars now. He was planning to recall many of the Guardians by now, but then that unfortunate business occurred in Oberg, so I imagine he thought it best to wait. Now he can proceed.”

  Sigurd was silent. He had not known that Ali Akar's influence had increased, but there was much that did not reach him over the channels from Earth. This was welcome news. Ali, according to rumor, believed that the Project should have more autonomy, that if the settlers were kept on a looser leash now, they would more willingly give their allegiance to Earth later. There would be fewer restraints on Sigurd's actions and more of a chance for the Project to proceed.

  He smiled. “I was expecting more objections from the Project Council this time, but if Mukhtar Ali is stronger, they'll have to listen to my plans.”

  Salim was not smiling; Sigurd wondered why. The dark-haired man, unlike his companion, rarely concealed his feelings. “Oh, yes,” Salim said. “They'll listen. They know you've been itching to get on with domes and industrial installations in the Freyja mountain range. Now you can tell your Habber friends that you're finally ready to proceed and that the Council can back you with Mukhtar Ali in control. That is what you want, of course.”

  “God willing,” Sigurd replied.

  “The Council will support you,” Hsin-sheng said, “and so will we, but I fear you may be making a mistake.”

  “How so? With Ali more powerful—”

  “That could change again,” the gray-haired Linker continued. “Don't think the Commanders and their allies have given up entirely. The struggle for power over the Council of Mukhtars is far from being concluded. If you push ahead too rapidly now, Mukhtar Ali's enemies may think you harbor dreams of independence for Venus or, worse, they may see you as a tool of the Habbers, working for their ends.”

  Sigurd shook his head. “I don't see how anyone could draw that conclusion now. I bided my time while Earth's desires were uncertain—I didn't try to take advantage of the situation or allow the Habbers to use it for their purposes. It's true that we must rely more on the Habbers during this next stage of the Project, but I've also taken steps to minimize their influence.”

  “True,” Salim said. “We know about the overtures you've made to Ishtar, and extreme distrust of the Habitats is a tenet of their faith.” He did not have to say more; he was clearly aware of Sigurd's strategy. Any influence the Habbers hoped to gain would meet with resistance from the cult, which would now have more power in the settlements. Volunteers for the patrols that would help to police the domes were being drawn largely from Ishtar's ranks, since the cult seemed the only group organized enough to mobilize them.

  Ishtar's Guide could mutter what she liked about the evils of Earth, but the Habbers drew most of her scorn. Earth was far away, while the presence of Habbers was a constant affront. Earth's people were planet-dwellers and therefore presumably capable of eventual convergence with their own planetary spirit, while the Habbers had rejected the life of planets altogether. Help from the Habitats might be necessary now, but that would change. As Ishtar saw it, the Habbers could not possibly have altruistic motives; they could not actually want the Cytherians to thrive. Habbers could only be waiting to subvert the Islanders and settlers, make Habbers of them eventually, and strike a blow at Earth by seizing the Project for themselves.

  Ishtar's distrust of Habbers had allowed Earth to tolerate the cult. Kichi Timsen would never admit it openly, but Sigurd was sure that if it proved necessary, Ishtar could live under Earth's rule as long as the group was left free to win adherents. Kichi could rationalize such an agreement by imagining that it was temporary, since her perfect society lay far in the future. Earth could believe that the cult posed no danger to its ultimate authority.

  The execution in Oberg, however unfortunate, had worked to Sigurd's advantage; it had given him a way to make use of that accursed cult. Earth could hardly believe that anyone who would willingly allow Ishtar a more important role in the settlements was an ally of the Habbers. Everything would be so nicely balanced now, and the cult could be dealt with later.

  “You think you can manipulate Ishtar,” Hsin-sheng said. “I've often felt that some on Earth may believe the same. It might have been better to put more restraint on them, so that they don't become more powerful.”

  Sigurd shrugged. “They claim less than fifteen percent of the settlers now. Every projection I've done indicates that they're unlikely to win over many more unless something catastrophic occurs that they could use to their advantage.”

  Salim's mustache twitched. “Catastrophic events can happen. A community can be weakened enough to become vulnerable to various ideological infections. I've never had much faith in sociological projections—introduce just one new or indeterminate factor and you can get quite a different chain of events.”

  “I thought you two were on my side. I don't want the settlers becoming demoralized, and they will if we keep stalling. They'll wonder why—”

  “Oh, you'll get what you want.” Hsin-sheng rubbed his chin. “Let me give you some advice, Sigurd—fatherly advice, if you will. Spend a few months getting this next phase under way, and then resign as Liaison. You can always say that you've been at the job long enough, and you'll still be an Administrator. Let someone else be the Liaison.”

  Sigurd lifted his brows. “And just why should I resign?”

  “Mukhtar Ali isn't only recalling Guardians from Anwara. He's thinking of bringing some of the Project Council back as well. His reasoning is that if the Liaison is loyal, he shouldn't need quite so much direction from the Council.”

  “But that also helps me.”

  “Alliances among the Mukhtars are likely to shift again, and if they do, you won't be in a good position. Every year you spend at your current post gives you more power here, and if the Mukhtars decide to reclaim much of that authority, they may not be overly concerned with your fate. Bide your time, Sigurd. You're young—you can wait. Show them that you harbor no dreams of personal power by resigning soon. When the Mukhtars resolve their internal struggle, they may turn to you again.”

  Sigurd gazed steadily at Hsin-sheng. “I have to see this through. My position means nothing to me except as a way to serve the Project. Too many of my colleagues would be ready to sacrifice the Project's future, given the opportunity, if their own positions were assured. I won't let that happen. I can't allow myself to be replaced by someone who may not be willing to put the Project above all else. I might be needed even more now, if things are as uncertain as you imply.”

  “Don't think that Venus's future rests entirely with you,” Hsin-sheng said fervently. “Don't confuse your own ambitions with the Project's goals to the point where you can no longer distinguish between the two. I'm old enough to remember Pavel Gvishiani's time—don't make his mistake and see yourself as the Project's only savior.” The elderly man paused. “But I see you won't listen to me.”

  “It's in God's hands,” Salim muttered as he rose. “We had better prepare for the meeting.”

  * * * *

  The airship had landed in its cradle. The cradle moved slowly through the lock and then into the bay of Island Two. Sigurd got up from his seat and absently exchanged a few pleasantries with the other passengers before moving toward the door.

  He walked past the row of cradles and dirigibles to the entrance. For a few moments, during his journey aboard the shuttle from Anwara's high orbit, he had found himself toying with Hsin-sheng's suggestion that he resign. Weightlessness often induced such longings for freedom from his responsibilities, as if he could drift away from them as easily as he propelled himself along the aisle of the shuttle. His duty, along with Venus's gravity, captured him again at the Platform. He had looked into the faces of those he passed and convinced himself that they would not welcome his resig
nation.

  I wouldn't welcome it myself, he thought as he followed a white tiled path past the slender trees just beyond the entrance. Freedom would be a void, and he had nothing with which to fill it.

  He strode quickly, barely nodding at those who greeted him. He would have to meet with some of the Habbers first. His aides, and perhaps some of his fellow Administrators, would have told the Habbers about the meeting on Anwara by now. They would all be pleased by the results. Everything had turned out better than he had anticipated before leaving Island Two. It was odd that he did not feel more gratified.

  He hastened on, then turned toward a path to his right. He might as well speak to a few of the Habbers now; it hardly mattered which people he talked to, since any one of them could speak for the others. It was one of the qualities Kichi Timsen particularly disliked, the ability of the Habbers to seem in complete accord with one another. That was ironic, since Ishtar's adherents dreamed of the time Cytherians would reach such a state themselves. But Ishtar was also convinced that the Habbers’ equanimity hid evil intentions. Ishtar, after all, had the truth, while the Habbers seemed to question everything.

  A woman was walking toward the Habbers’ stone residence; Sigurd slowed to a stop. She turned, and he was gazing into Tesia's hazel eyes.

  “Greetings, Administrator,” she said in a flat voice.

  “Salaam. I hadn't realized you were back. I didn't think you'd return so soon.”

  “Word of your recent meeting with the Project Council reached my home a short time ago. Those of us who thought we might be needed now decided to return. I was sorry to leave my home—being there brought me into balance again. But I'm also anxious to see the work I did here bear fruit, as your greenhouse gardeners would say.” She seemed very stiff; her eyes refused to meet his.

  “I'm pleased you did,” he said, unsure whether he really meant it.

  “I came here with some reluctance, Administrator. My people know you're showing more favor to Ishtar now, people who are so hostile to us.”