This dream had begun in one mind, the mind of a man who had somehow managed to look beyond the ruined Earth on which he lived.
Karim al-Anwar had been one of the earliest of Earth’s Mukhtars; that simple title, which any village elder in his part of the world might have claimed, belied his power. The Mukhtars who had preceded him had survived Earth’s wars over resources and had seen many of the ravaged world’s people abandon Earth for space, to make new homes in hollowed-out asteroids and, later, inside vast globes built out of the resources sunspace offered. Those left behind on Earth had gathered together, seeing that the world could now be theirs and the destiny of their people fulfilled.
The New Islamic States became the first Nomarchy, which stretched from the eastern shore of the Mediterranean to the Central Asian plain. A few people in that region had seen their chance for power at the end of the last of the Resource Wars, when the Russians who had dominated them for so long had finally lost their grip on that territory. If the soldiers of the New Islamic States could seize control of the weapons in Earth orbit, the world would be theirs.
Those soldiers, along with the rest of Earth, endured the humiliation of being forced into peace, for those living on the space stations had repudiated any allegiance to Earth and taken control of the orbiting weapons, and it was then that the Islamic soldiers saw their opportunity. They became the first to negotiate with the spacedwellers, and swallowed their pride to plead their case, for they saw that the spacedwellers did not want the burden of holding Earth in check, and were already planning to abandon the home world for habitats in space.
The New Islamic States did not win the Earth. It was thrown to them, a worn-out husk that the spacedwellers no longer wanted. Unity under one power might enable Earth to rebuild; it had not mattered to the spacedwellers which group held that power.
The first Nomarchy’s old enemies, drained by war, made an alliance with the Islamic States; nations that had once been stronger were in no position to fight. Once, the Mukhtars and their people had been suspicious of the culture that had dominated the world; now they saw that they would have to make it their own in order to survive.
Earth began to rebuild. More Nomarchies were formed, each with some autonomy, but ruled at first by one of the first Nomarchy’s Mukhtars, and later by those the Mukhtars had trained. The Guardians of the Nomarchies, all that remained of the armed forces that had once fought Earth’s battles, would maintain the orbiting weapons systems and keep the peace.
Karim al-Anwar might have contented himself with helping to keep what Earth had managed to wrest from the ruins. But where others saw people finally at peace, Karim saw people who needed a new dream, a goal that might lift them to greater endeavors that would rival the accomplishments of the Associated Habitats and their people, who had abandoned Earth. The people of the Nomarchies needed more than the placid hope of preserving what they had. They had been fortunate; Earth’s most destructive weapons had been used only intermittently during the Resource Wars. Yet Karim believed that, without an outlet, widespread violence might once again be visited upon his world.
Karim might have had hidden reasons for his dream. Perhaps he had wanted his name to live forever; perhaps his vision had been the product of a half-mad mind wanting to dominate human history. Maybe he had wanted to bury the shame of knowing that his own people would have had no power if the spacedwellers had not given it to them. There was no way for Iris, as she learned of Karim, to be sure, for Karim’s true self had been swallowed by the legend he had helped to create.
Karim had dreamed of transforming another world. The ways of the Associated Habitats were a break with Earth’s past, while Karim sought a continuity with the older culture. Planets were the proper homes of humanity, not the closed Habitats. There were worlds within Earth’s grasp, planets that could become new homes.
Mars had seemed the most likely candidate for terraforming, but Habbers lived on the two Martian satellites and had already established their claim to the Red Planet. The gas giants beyond the orbit of Mars offered too many obstacles to transformation, and people inhabiting their satellites would be too far from Earth and its influence. That left Venus, Earth’s so-called twin.
The ancient goddess who had borne the names of Venus and Aphrodite had been born of the sea and the blood and seed of the ancient god Uranus; she had risen from the sea in all her beauty, alighting on the island of Cythera to be worshipped. The death of the old god had given her life; his blood had become her beauty. So the planet named for her would also be transformed, and its people become a new Nomarchy of Cytherians.
Though the legend said that Karim al-Anwar had quickly brought others to share his dream, it was likely that many had thought him mad. His Venus Project would demand much from Earth, and there was little enough to give. Why should more resources be drained by such a task?
Karim, as it happened (though the legend might also have exaggerated his capabilities), was not only an engineer but also a student of history. The Venus Project, he argued, costly as it might be, would stretch Earth’s abilities; the new technologies that would have to be developed would enrich the home world, and Earth would acquire a new generation of knowers and doers, as the Associated Habitats had done. Earth, he believed, had suffered strife not because its resources were too few, but because the world had not seized the opportunities for greater resources that space had offered; it was no surprise that the spacedwellers, growing impatient, had escaped Earth’s bonds.
In the future, Karim claimed, Earth might in fact need the knowledge the Venus Project would yield, in order to transform itself. Many had noted the rise in Earth’s temperatures, the slow melting of its polar ice caps, the gradual flooding of coastal cities, the increase of carbon dioxide in Earth’s atmosphere. When Karim thought of the barren, hot, dead land under Venus’s clouds, he saw Earth’s own possible future, and feared for it.
Karim al-Anwar spoke of revitalizing Earth’s cautious and fearful culture with the great task of the Venus Project. From scraps of evidence gleaned by those who had studied the Cytherian planet and who had posed the possibility that Venus might have had oceans during its distant geological past, Karim composed a dreadful picture of Earth’s possible future fate, and spoke of human history passing into Habber hands if Earth could not learn how to transform a world. Perhaps he also suspected that the Venus Project would occupy those who might otherwise have interfered with the Mukhtars and their control of Earth’s Nomarchies, and did not voice those particular thoughts.
Karim lived only long enough to see a study of the Venus Project’s feasibility begun, but he had imbued his followers with his goal, and died knowing that others would achieve it. That, at least, was what the legend claimed. Perhaps Karim, contending with those who considered him an impractical dreamer, had begun to despair before then; maybe some of those who at first opposed him took credit for furthering his vision later. Some, in the centuries to come, might even have thought that Karim was fortunate not to have seen the results of his dream; history, as always, would confound both visionaries and naysayers alike.
Karim, Iris saw, would long be remembered. Karim had not been content with what he had, even when his power was greater than that of most; he had reached for more. Somehow, Iris felt a bond with this man, even though he had been a Mukhtar and she was only one of those millions the Mukhtars ruled. She could share his dream. She could become more than another name in the list of her line, more than another farmer who kept the bellies of Earthfolk full. Making grain grow on the Plains was little compared to seeing a world bloom under one’s hands.
Bari’s voice would fill with pride as Iris viewed the history of the Project’s beginnings. Without being shaded from the sun so that its temperature could begin to drop, Venus could not be changed; the Project’s first goal had been to provide a shield. The immensity of that task alone was enough to cause even Karim’s most devoted disciples to doubt the wisdom of the Project.
The space sta
tion called Anwara had been built, and circled Venus in a high orbit; soon, new modules were added to it to house those who would build the Parasol that would shield Venus from the sun.
A large disk, kilometers wide, was set up between Venus and the sun, and metal fans were linked to that disk. Iris gazed at images of the Parasol’s construction; as more fans were added, Iris found herself thinking of a flower’s petals, while the tiny ships moving near it reminded her of insects.
The Parasol had grown until it was almost as wide in diameter as Venus itself, and it had taken over a century to build. Dawud Hasseen had been the chief engineer and designer of the Parasol; his name was remembered. The names of those who had died building the vast umbrella were also remembered, and there were many such names, for the work had held its dangers. Their lives might have been shortened, but the beginning of a new world would be their legacy.
More people, undeterred by reports of injured and dying workers inadequately protected from solar radiation during the construction of the Parasol, came to Anwara. Often, the new arrivals were greeted by those who were ailing and who would soon be too weak to continue to labor for the Project themselves. A few arrivals lost heart when they saw such people but many more took courage from their example and came to feel that a short life doing great deeds was better than a long one waiting for the time when one would return to the dust of Earth. More modules were added to the station, but new dwellings were needed, new and more pleasant homes for those prepared to spend their lives with the Project.
The Cytherian Islands began as vast platforms built on rows of large metal cells filled with helium. Dirt and soil were placed on top of the platforms, which were then enclosed by an impermeable, lighted dome. The Islands were gardened; soon they bloomed with trees, grass, and flowers, and those who came to live on them longed for no other home. These Islands were part of Venus, the first outposts of those whose descendants would be the first settlers. The Islands, located north of Venus’s equator, floated in the upper reaches of the Cytherian atmosphere above the poisonous clouds and were protected by the Parasol’s shade; they were tiny beacons lighting humanity’s way.
The Parasol was the greatest structure human beings had ever built and was a monument to Karim al-Anwar’s dream. Venus was cloaked in its shadow. The Parasol had succeeded in cooling the world it shaded, but even with what the Project had done since then, Venus was still a hot and deadly place. Bari had spoken movingly of those who had died helping to bring life to a world that they would never live to see.
“Venus might have been a world like ours,” Bari said, “but its development took a different path. Now our world is also changing. We may need to transform it in the future. Look at Venus, and consider how tenuous our grip on life is, and how easily it could have been otherwise on our world.”
It’s my star, Iris thought, my world. I might even stand on it someday. She was like Venus. Bari would shield her for a time as the Parasol shielded that world, protecting her as she learned. The clouds around her mind would vanish as Bari led her to light.
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Two
For several months after her talk on the hill with Julia, Iris kept her secret, telling only her grandmother about what she was learning, but she was betraying herself in other ways. Exhausted by her nights of secret study, she often napped during the day instead of playing with her friends, and the women of her house were beginning to notice her pale face and the shadows around her eyes.
In late fall, after the harvest of the summer crop and the settling of the farm’s accounts, Iris was summoned to her mother’s room.
Angharad was sitting cross-legged on her bed; Julia was seated in a chair by the window overlooking the courtyard. Angharad took off the slender gold band encircling her head and shook back her long brown hair as her brown eyes focused on her daughter. She scowled at the girl.
“You’ve been up to something,” Angharad said.
Iris glanced desperately at Julia; her grandmother must have told her secret. Julia’s green eyes narrowed as she shook her head slightly, then covered her mouth with one finger; she was signaling to Iris that she had said nothing.
“I listened to the accounts three times,” Angharad went on. “I thought there had to be a mistake, but there wasn’t. We have less credit than I expected and everyone else’s account is in order. You’ve been spending more than your allotment. Exactly what have you been buying?”
“Nothing,” Iris mumbled.
“Don’t you dare lie to me. I know you couldn’t have spent that much here in town or the shopkeepers would have told me about it, asked me how rich this commune was getting if a child could throw so much around. You’d better tell me now.”
Iris swallowed. “Lessons. Lessons with my band and screen, that’s all. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Angharad arched her brows. “Lessons? Lessons in agriculture don’t cost anything for us.”
“It wasn’t that kind of teaching.”
“Exactly what land was it, then?”
Iris looked down at the blue rug. “Reading, numbers. Stories about different cities, things about the Project on Venus.”
“Reading?” Angharad sounded more surprised than angry. “Stories?”
“A teaching image tells me how to find out things. Her name’s Bari. Sometimes she gives me things to learn that I don’t care about as much, but then I see how they help me with other stuff I do want to learn, and she asks me questions to see if I got it right. She says I know almost two years’ worth of prep studies already.” Iris paused, suddenly wishing she hadn’t bragged about that.
“Prep lessons? For a school?” Angharad choked on the words, as if about to laugh. Iris looked up; her mother had a crooked smile on her face. “What makes you think you’d be chosen for a school? Why would you want to fill your head with all of that? It won’t make you a better farmer.”
“I don’t know,” Iris answered. “I was curious.”
“It’s a waste of time and credit. I can’t keep you from spending your child’s allotment — you have a legal right to that. But I won’t have my own funds drained. Now I’ll have to program a restriction. I never thought I’d have to do that with my own daughter.”
Iris stifled a cry. She had never considered the cost of the lessons; her friends often spent hours on mind-tours and game scenarios without using up their allotments. Now there would be no more lessons until her next allotment was due, in the spring. She would not be able to bear the long, confining winter without her lessons.
“Iris hasn’t done anything wrong,” Julia said.
“Come here,” Angharad said to Iris, patting the bed. The girl reluctantly sat down next to her mother. Angharad stroked Iris’s hair, touching the brown locks gently. “You’re only eight years old. I suppose it’s natural to be curious about things. But none of that learning will be of use to you later — it’s only for people who are chosen for schools. People who learn more than they should become very unhappy, because it affects their minds. You don’t want to be unhappy, do you?”
“No.” How, Iris wondered, could her lessons make her happy now and unhappy later? Were they like Angharad’s pecan cookies, which made her sick when she ate too many?
“Spend more time with your friends. You’ll have to get along with them when you’re older. Forget your lessons, and I won’t do anything about what you’ve spent on them. You know more than you have to now.”
“No,” Julia said abruptly, brushing back a lock of her light brown hair. “I can give Iris some of my credit. There’s more than enough.”
Angharad gaped at the older woman; then her jaw tightened. She pointed her chin at her mother while Julia glared back. Both women had the same heavy jaw and strong chin; they made Iris think of Laiza’s bulldog defending a bone.
“Do you want Iris to end up like you?” Angharad said at last. “Do you want her to grow up wanting things she can’t have instead of being happy with what she’s
got?”
“How can learning hurt her? Besides, even if there is hurt in some learning, it might still be right. She’ll have something to occupy her mind when there’s little work to be done. It’s better than spending her time in games and gossip.”
Iris realized that the two women had forgotten she was present. This was part of an old argument to them; she had heard their voices rise and fall in debate behind closed doors and in the common room downstairs. Iris had caught an occasional angry phrase without understanding what the disagreement was about.
“The learning might,” Julia continued, “even be of use to others here. Iris might bring more interesting tidbits to our gabfests.” Julia’s voice held its usual mocking tone.
“She might want to leave,” Angharad said. Iris kept her eyes down; that possibility had often crossed her mind. There was more to life than Lincoln, her grandmother had said. Iris might want to see the cities she had visited in mind-tours; even more, she wanted to travel to where the new world was being terraformed. She was sure, however, that she would return home. She would have to come back, as Julia had, but she would come back with accomplishments to relate and part of her dream fulfilled; she would have no regrets.
“And what if she does leave?” the older woman responded. “I did, and here I am. She’ll be back long before she has to take over our commune.”
Iris bit her lip. Her grandmother was not being honest. Almost every time they had spoken together lately, Julia had mentioned the few who had escaped Lincoln and the Plains altogether, implying that Iris might do the same. Already, the girl was beginning to long for the company of someone she could talk to about the things she was learning. Julia listened to her but could offer few thoughts of her own, and Bari was only an image.
Venus of Dreams Page 2
