Venus of Dreams

by Pamela Sargent

  “What are you called?” Iris asked.

  “My name is Erena.” The Habber raised a brow slightly. “I should have told you that at the beginning, but we’ve grown used to the fact that Islanders often don’t care what we are called.”

  “Will you help us? Or must I beg so that you can feed your pride some more?”

  The pale-skinned man held out a hand to Iris. “Do not say that,” he murmured. “We know how hard it must have been for you to come here.”

  “We shall send your message,” Erena said. “I believe that our people will answer, and I am sure that they will help you. What else can we do? We cannot refuse you now, whatever the circumstances. It may be that we’ll need your help sometime.”

  Erena probably thought she was soothing Iris with such a remark, but Iris resented it anyway. Habbers too often made a show of having high motives for everything that they did.

  “We are not being purely unselfish,” the Habber continued. “It would be more interesting work for our people. That alone will attract some to it, and many of our younger people seek challenges. We’ve made a few advances that might speed work on your domes, and there’s more we can learn.” She was silent for a moment. “That’s all that really matters, you know — learning and sharing what we’ve learned. But I think you see that, don’t you?”

  Iris raised a hand to her throat. Erena’s words, and her gentle tone, had suddenly reminded Iris of a girl in Lincoln who had wanted only to learn without caring where that might take her. Her own mind had been clear once, unmuddied by thoughts of ambition, unclouded by the deceptions and grabbing at opportunity she had been forced into later. What might her life have been like if those around her had shared that child’s longing? She might have been more like this Habber, who already seemed entranced by the possibility of learning something new, unperturbed by the motives of those who were seeking her people’s aid.

  She had succeeded with the Habbers, she supposed. Somehow, she didn’t think Erena would have promised help without being sure that her people would give it, whatever the risks. Perhaps the Habbers were so sure of their power that they felt there would be no danger. Iris knew that she should feel relieved, but she was already fearing what might happen.

  “Is there any other inquiry you wish to make?” Erena asked.

  Iris thought of her son. A Habber must have enticed him with reasonable words and a gentle voice. Iris felt the woman’s spell; to lull a young boy must have been even easier. She stiffened and felt the muscles of her face growing hard. “A son of mine is with you,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “His name is Benzi Liangharad — at least that’s what he was called here. Maybe he took a new name along with his new life.”

  The Habber shook her head.

  “I want to know how my son is.”

  The woman closed her eyes for a moment. “I do not hear him now, but he is well, and just beginning to master his Link. It’s been hard for him and his companions to adapt to our ways, but your son was young when he came to us, and in time the barriers will dissolve. He would tell you that he has no regrets.” The woman was staring at Iris once more. “No, that’s not quite accurate. He has one — that he had to deceive those he loved to find his way to us when he knew that they would not choose to follow him. Be at peace about your son.”

  The sanctimonious sound of Erena’s voice galled Iris. How could she know the truth of the woman’s words? The Habbers might do anything to keep Benzi from returning to the Islands and thus embarrassing the Habs by admitting that he had made a mistake, though the certainty of punishment here was probably enough to keep him away.

  “Do you have a message for your son?” Erena asked. “I’ll be happy to convey it to him later.”

  How could she tell this impassive soul about the pain Benzi had caused? She wondered if he had ever asked about her or Chen. “Tell him that I hope he is content,” she said finally. “I’ve renewed my pledge with his father. You may tell him that his father and I will have another child soon.” As soon as she spoke the words, she realized that she had at last made that decision. “That is, we’ll have a child if your help results in success, and settlements seem possible for us again. Perhaps our second child will be more loyal.”

  Erena nodded. “I hope that we can work together again. Please forgive me if my words have caused you any hurt. Some of us have been observers here for so long that we forget how to conduct ourselves.”

  Iris’s anger flared up again; the woman had implied that the Islanders had contaminated her somehow. She stood up, longing to get out of the room. “Thank you for your kindness,” she said, hearing the hard edge in her own voice. “Let’s hope that these matters resolve themselves.”

  Pavel had resumed his old habit of walking around the grounds of Island Two. In the years after he had first joined the Administrators’ Committee, he would stroll along the paths past buildings, greenhouses, gardens, and tables, and occasionally a few specialists would invite him to join them for a meal. The workers were rarely so bold, but their children would greet him; sometimes, he would sit with the young ones and tell them of his own parents, who had also been the children of workers. He had thought of all of them — those here and the children on the other Islands — as his progeny, the ones who would carry out his dream.

  Then most of the Habbers had gone, and the Guardians had arrived. There had been no more walks for Pavel; he had hidden himself inside the ziggurat, concealed himself from angry and resentful eyes. He had felt control of the Project slipping away from him.

  He no longer cared about his own position; whatever he lost would make no difference if the Project succeeded. So he told himself most of the time, though there were moments when he thought he might be deceiving himself. But if the Project were set back now, it would show that his life had been a useless exercise, that all his efforts had failed, that the years of balancing one group’s interests against another’s and of bargaining with Earth had been wasted. His name would be erased from Venus’s history; it would be as if he had never lived at all.

  The path along which Pavel walked was shadowed by trees; patches of golden light shone on the pale stones. He did not like to leave the ziggurat at night, when the Island’s eerie silence and the strange silver light evoked his darker moods. The memorial pillars were just ahead; Pavel emerged from the trees and stood in front of those solemn totems.

  He had not paid his respects to the dead for some time. He passed among the pillars, bowing his head before each. The faces of the dead did not move, but he almost felt their eyes watching him. He looked up at the metal face of one woman and imagined that he heard her whisper:We have no life now except what you give us; we have no rest until people live below. Tell us, Pavel: Have we lived in vain?

  No, you have not, he answered silently, and then: Neither have I.

  He had known all along that Venus would never be only another of Earth’s Nomarchies, that the settlers would some-day claim the world for themselves. He would hasten that inevitability. He would see the Cytherian planet live, and would not trouble himself with worrying about the means that were necessary to bring that about.

  He walked on until he came to the steps leading up to the platform. Fawzia Habeeb was standing above; she turned and watched him as he climbed toward her.

  “I have news for you,” Pavel said.

  “I thought as much.” Fawzia’s black uniform seemed a bit too tight; she had put on a long black vest over it, no doubt to conceal her round hips. “What’s your news, then?”

  Pavel rested his hands on the railing. “I’ve had the final word from the Habbers through their people here. They’ve decided to help us.”

  The Guardian let out her breath. “Well. Now it starts, I suppose. I wasn’t sure that they would agree. Maybe I shouldn’t have listened to you.”

  “It’ll work. There’s little Earth can do. They’ll have to find some way to accommodate my actions in order to keep control of the
Project. They can’t afford to do anything else.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Fawzia said. “It all depends on which faction is stronger in the Council of Mukhtars — the one that wants us to succeed in whatever way we can, or those who would be willing to throw that away to maintain their power. Judging by what’s happened so far, I’m guessing that the second group is more powerful.”

  “That could change,” Pavel responded. “Anyway, we have no choice. If we don’t act, the workers will, and they’re likely only to make things worse. We’d pay for that, you and I, for letting things get so out of hand.” He had said all of this to her before, and was annoyed at having to repeat it.

  “True enough, and I have come, during my time here, to care about this Project.” Fawzia lowered her eyelids modestly. Did she think he was fooled? She had thrown her lot in with him only because he had promised her more influence in the future if his plans succeeded.

  He said, “You can still back out. You can arrest me and turn me over to Earth. You’d be honored for it.”

  Fawzia grimaced. “And then I’d have to deal with angry Islanders. There won’t be any honor for me. Our friend Yukio has done his best to poison the air on Earth as far as I’m concerned.” Pavel was not sure that this was true, but it served him to have Fawzia believe it. “He won’t let me rise, whatever I do. If I move against you, he’d find some way to take credit for it and turn it to his advantage. It’s time for me to carve out new territory for myself — it’s what warriors used to do in old times.” She smiled. “Yukio will have to explain why he gave me such a fine recommendation for this post.”

  Her talk of warriors and grudges and territories was making him ill; she would be a difficult ally. Pavel pressed his lips together, bitter at having had to draw the Guardian into his plans.

  “You’re sure,” he said at last, “that your subordinates among the Guardians will follow your orders.”

  “But of course. It’s what they’re trained to do, and I’ve made sure that their loyalty is to me. Many of them have grown closer to your people — they won’t exactly mind throwing in their lot with you. Even if they did, they would have to follow a commander’s orders until the commander is removed or the orders countermanded. There’s no problem for them. If you succeed, there’ll be a more important role for them. If you fail, I’ll shoulder most of the blame for the Guardians.” Fawzia paused. “There’s one thing that worries me, Pavel. I don’t like not having control over events on Anwara. The small force of Guardians there is not likely to go along with me, and the Council —”

  “We’ve been through that. We don’t need Anwara. By the time they know what’s happening here, Habber ships will be in orbit around Venus, and Earth is days away. The people of Anwara won’t be able to do a thing except alert Earth. There might even be a delay there — some of the Anwarans will understand what I’m trying to do, and may convince others to stand with us. It’ll be too late for Earth to act without risking conflict with the Habs, and the Mukhtars can’t afford that.”

  “Perhaps not, but there may be some Guardians on Earth itching for a fight. They may want to test the fabled Habber technology and discover if it’s real or only an empty boast.” Her eyes gleamed, as if she would welcome such a battle.

  “I must return to my room,” Pavel said, “and prepare my announcement.” He walked toward the steps, anxious to be away from the Guardian.

  People had died for the Project; accidents had taken many lives. Anger had flared at times, and fights had erupted, but the Islands had generally been peaceful, a place where people, whatever their differences and disagreements, could bring themselves to work together for a common, transcendent end. It had been one of their triumphs; it had made many believe that a new world free from the horrors of the old was possible.

  He had hoped that Venus might be settled in peace. No life forms would be displaced on the new world; no inhabitants of its continents existed to be conquered. They might have created a planetary civilization that did not carry that guilt, as Earth’s civilizations did.

  He might be bringing the evil of war to this world, the ancient evil that even the Nomarchies had forsaken. Only fear had reined in those old instincts; the instincts themselves still remained. The Mukhtars might fear the loss of their power more than the threat of a battle.

  Pavel felt that he had poisoned his soul. His thoughts had turned more often to the device he had smuggled here so long ago, to the means by which he could rid himself of an obstacle if necessary. He had been prepared to rid himself of Fawzia if she stood in his way; he was already determined to do away with her if he succeeded and she grew too greedy for more power over the Islanders, as she inevitably would.

  Better that I shoulder the guilt, he thought, and leave others free of it. Maybe that was only another rationalization.

  He might bring murder to this world. He wondered how much of the poison in him would seep into others.

  |Go to Table of Contents |

  Twenty-Nine

  Chen hesitated at the entrance leading out of Island Two’s airship bay, then followed the other workers through the open door. As usual, a few groups of people were waiting for friends and family members who had returned from another shift on the Bat, but this time the greetings seemed more emotional, the faces happier. Chen nodded at those he knew as smaller groups broke away from the crowd and hurried off along the path.

  Chen craned his neck, looking for Iris. She had told him where she would be when he returned, but he thought she might have changed her mind and decided to meet him here. He felt a hand on his arm, and turned; Fei-lin was grinning at him.

  “Don’t forget,” Fei-lin said. “We’ll be expecting you later.”

  “Sure,” Chen said.

  Tonie beamed at them both. “Make sure Iris comes too,” she said. “We have so much to celebrate now.” She adjusted her shoulder bag, linked her arm with Fei-lin’s, and the two began to elbow their way through the crowd. Fei-lin had been even livelier than usual during their trip here from the Bat, while Tonie, who must have heard all of her bondmate’s stories many times, had laughed at them all as if she had never listened to them before.

  Chen waited as the crowd dispersed. He had been in the second week of his shift on the northern Bat when Pavel Gvishiani made his announcement. The workers, at first stunned by the news, had absorbed it quickly; their routine tasks had become imbued with a new purpose. The Habbers would help them; they would see settlements after all. They did not concern themselves with how Earth might react, certain that Mukhtar Pavel had either come to some secret agreement with the Project Council or had good reason to believe that Earth would see the wisdom of his course.

  Chen had seen how much the spirit of the Islands had changed when his shuttle had landed on the Platform. He had seen Habbers, Guardians, and pilots speaking almost as friends. Six Habber ships were already in orbit around Venus, and a steady stream of shuttles was carrying people and supplies to the Platform as well as robots and equipment to the surface. Impatience, resentment, and despair had vanished; hope had been renewed, old rivalries and disputes almost forgotten. The Project had again become what it was meant to be.

  Chen lifted his bag and set off along the path. Happy as he had been to know that the Habbers were helping again, he could not rid himself of apprehension. The Habbers had been here for over two months, and Earth had remained silent. Most took that as a sign that Earth had given in, but Chen wondered if it meant that the Mukhtars were plotting against them, trying to decide what to do. He thought of the Linkers he had known; somehow, he couldn’t believe that those on Earth would let this happen.

  Two men passed him; only the pins on their collars that showed a cluster of silver circles revealed that they were Habbers. They nodded at Chen; he nodded back, realizing that he no longer had to avoid their company. He thought of Ibrahim, and then of Benzi. His son would not be among the Habbers here; even now, his son was not likely to risk returning to the Islands.


  At last he came to a group of tables under ivied lattices; Iris had said she would meet him here. At one table, three workers sat with a Linker; at another, three Habbers were sharing a meal with two Islanders. Once, only workers had assembled in this spot; now, people mingled freely.

  Iris was sitting at one of the tables farthest from the path; she was talking to Amir Azad. Chen stiffened; he had hoped that she would be alone.

  He approached the two, trying to smile. Amir looked up and murmured a greeting as Chen sat down. Iris had spoken to the Linker a couple of times before Chen left for the Bat; in one of her messages to him there, she had mentioned that she had spent some time with Amir. Clearly, she had nothing to hide from Chen, and yet Amir’s presence still disturbed him.

  There were others on the Island who had been Iris’s temporary companions in the past. Chen could ignore that fact, could even be friendly with the men. He knew that Iris had occasionally sought out others while he was away on his shifts, but those men were only passing entanglements. His jealousy, once so strong, had faded as Iris’s love for him had deepened; it had been only his fear of losing her completely that had once fueled his anger. Iris had remained his bondmate; he could not expect her to change altogether.

  Amir, however, was different from other men. Iris had cared for him deeply, had even considered having his child, and Amir had repaid her by betraying her when she had needed his understanding most. Chen remembered that only too well, because he had gathered up the pieces and won Iris back. How could she even bear to speak to him? Yet she did, and Chen felt threatened by it.

  He picked at the pieces of fruit on Iris’s plate as Amir continued to speak. Iris interrupted; musical words flowed from her lips. The two were using Arabic; Chen hated to hear them talk in that emotional, sensuous tongue, which made him feel as though they were sharing a secret pleasure and shutting him out.

  “We should use Anglaic,” Iris said suddenly. She glanced apologetically at Chen.