As for Benzi, he was occupied with shuttling between Island Two and Anwara, meeting here with the Administrators and there with the Project Council. She was beginning to see that Benzi might be the Habber equivalent of a Liaison to the Council, and therefore perhaps a much more important person than she realized. There was, however, no point in asking him if this were so. The Habbers, it seemed, either had little hierarchy or else ignored any signs of differing status; one Habber was as good as another.
Biology had the most appeal to her as a subject and was a practical course of study as well. To pursue botany could lead to work in engineering new genetic strains of plants for the greenhouses, which meant in essence being a farmer, or to work on developing or modifying algae, lichens, and other life needed to seed Venus’s surface. Physiology could lead to a position as a medical specialist or physician. It was much the same with other biological specializations; by the time she reached the point in her studies where they might become truly fascinating in themselves and suggest possibilities for further research, she would have to decide on what work she could do that would best serve the Project. Becoming a physician might be her best choice, and that work had its attractions; she would know that she was helping others directly, and there would be some variety in her routine while she served the Project.
It always came back to that in the end, serving the Project. She could not pursue a particular line of work solely because it interested her. Pure research barely existed here, even on the Islands. Even on Earth, research was a fragile enterprise, allowed to go on only at the pleasure of the Council of Mukhtars, who could cut off any investigation at any time. The Mukhtars thought of knowledge as a resource to be controlled by those in power, to be parceled out to others as a favor or in order to secure their own interests, not as an end in itself to be pursued for its own sake.
The students had been told that they were free to study whatever they liked, but Mahala knew that this was not really so. Solveig might prefer to spend all of her time on astronomy and astrophysics, but she was directing much of her effort to physics, a far more practical discipline. If Mahala were to go to her teachers here and tell them that she was unsure of what she wanted to do and wanted to explore various specialties for a time, they might conclude that she was wasting their resources and that her place here should go to someone else. At best, they might refer her to a Counselor, who would discuss her aptitudes and give her advice on what was best for her. There was no appeal from a Counselor’s advice, which had almost the effect of an order; Solveig had told her to avoid going to Counselors with her problems at all costs.
After two months on Island Two, anyone looking at her record would have seen a student who had the makings of a biochemical specialist, or so she hoped. If she seemed inclined to spend more time than she might have on mathematics or ecological systems, so much the better. Her record would not reveal any sign that she might be someone so involved in her own interests that she would neglect what she owed to the Project.
Before long, she rarely thought of what Malik had said about what the Habbers might do. That was far in the future, if it ever happened at all. Only occasionally, usually if she suddenly woke in the night, would she think of their threat to abandon this system, however distant and improbable that might be, and the danger it might pose to the bit of freedom the Cytherians had won.
Xelah Barringer had started out as a physician, had pursued further studies in biochemistry while treating patients, and was now one of the teachers at the Island Two preparatory school. Unlike most of the other teachers, she made no attempt to be easily approachable. She answered any questions during lectures or seminars readily enough, but kept to herself the rest of the time, glaring angrily at any student bold enough to trouble her with queries during her free moments.
Mahala was not put off by Xelah’s manner. She had seen that steely look before, in Risa’s eyes, and knew what it really meant: Don’t trouble me unless it’s really important or interesting. She knew that Xelah often took a long walk after last light, near a small hill that overlooked a star-shaped building that housed workers and their families, and caught up with her teacher there.
“I have to ask you something,” Mahala said.
“Ask, then.” Xelah kept walking, opening her legs into a longer stride. She was not much taller than Mahala, but it was hard to keep up with her.
“Every person born here and on Earth is scanned while they’re still in the womb, and then any genetic abnormality is corrected before birth.”
Xelah’s lip curled. “Tell me something I don’t know, Mahala, or else stop wasting my time.”
“Since we read the genome anyway and correct the abnormalities, there’s no reason we couldn’t engineer the DNA strands to keep on repairing themselves, so why don’t we do it? That has to be something like what the Habbers do, even if it seems they use nanotechnological devices rather than—”
Xelah halted abruptly, then turned around; Mahala barely kept from bumping into her. “Every biology student has probably asked that question for the past two centuries at least. Shit, I asked it myself for the first time when I was a lot younger than you are, so you’re even more foolish than I was. Why can’t we have the same long lives the Habbers do? Why do we settle for only enough rejuv therapy to extend our youth for a few decades? Why do we shut down at a hundred and thirty or thereabouts when theoretically we could go on for a good deal longer?”
The teacher looked furious now; Mahala took a step backward. “Study some politics, you stupid girl,” Xelah said in a low voice. “Do some work in demographics, in population control, maybe some history. The Mukhtars won’t let us do what we might be able to do, and we don’t have the resources, and anybody who even tried would get slapped down fast enough.”
“Maybe they’ve already extended their own lives in secret,” Mahala murmured.
“Maybe they have, although I doubt it. They have their religions to console them. They can dream of eternal life later on. And surely even a foolish girl like you has to know by now that whether it’s biology or physics or anything else, we get to a certain point and then we have to stop.” Xelah resumed walking. “Now leave me the fuck alone.” The teacher’s words were like another door closing.
Mahala was sitting at a table, eating a meal while reviewing some material on her screen, when she heard someone call her name.
She looked up from her rice and vegetables as Chike Enu-Barnes sat down across from her. He was smiling as usual; his black eyes danced, and his dark brown face was almost glowing with good cheer.
She grinned back at him, unable to resist his cheerful countenance. She liked him, perhaps more than almost anyone else here except for her old friend Solveig; she felt calmer and even happier in his presence. Chike leaned toward her, propping his elbows on the table; she picked up her cup of tea before he could take her hand. She liked him, and that was the problem; the current of her feelings ran no stronger than that. It had become fairly obvious during the last few days that he wanted her to be more than just his friend.
“Where are you going during our break?” he asked.
“Not much for me to decide there,” she replied. “My grandmother’s already expecting me in Oberg, and then I’ll visit my uncle in Turing.”
His smile faded only slightly. “I thought there might be a chance you’d be staying here for part of the time.”
Some of the other students from the settlements would be spending the time off here instead of visiting their families. They did not want to lose their momentum or miss finishing any assignment; she also suspected that several of them had other reasons for not wanting to go home. For a moment, she wished that she could have come up with an excuse for staying here, but that would only have encouraged Chike to hope.
“Too many people are expecting me,” she said.
“Anyone in particular? Outside of your family, I mean.”
She thought of Ragnar. His presence in Dyami’s house wouldn’t ma
ke her visit there any easier. He had offered to move out; Frania had said that in her last message, but Dyami and Amina had put a stop to that. They had plenty of room, especially now that Mahala was on Island Two, and Frania, being an apprentice pilot, was away more often.
“Maybe there is,” she said at last. Chike averted his eyes, looking disappointed. “I mean, I have to work some things out with somebody,” she continued, softening the blow. “I should get everything settled by the time I come back.”
“I hope so,” he murmured, and she wondered if it might have been kinder not to say anything at all.
“You needn’t pack for your trip to Oberg this soon,” Benzi said, “and you don’t have to take so much with you.”
Mahala closed her duffel, then turned to face her great-uncle. “I’m not taking any of this with me,” she said. “Solveig got permission for me to move into her room in the student quarters. It’ll be crowded, but not for very long. At least a few students will be asked to leave after the break or decide to leave school themselves.” She took a breath, wishing suddenly that he would show some reaction—bewilderment, hurt, even relief—instead of just staring at her with his usual calm expression. “We can move to a larger room then.”
“Is there any particular reason you decided to move out?” he asked. “I thought that we were getting along. You’d have more distractions in the student quarters.”
That was true. Benzi was away often and unobtrusive even when he was here. It had been easy for her to retreat to her room in the pilots’ quarters and concentrate on her studies.
“I’d rather stay here,” she said, “but I have to move out. You’re a family member, but you’re also a Habber, and it probably won’t do me much good in the long run to ...”
“... live here with me,” he finished. “You don’t have to say it, Mahala—I understand. You don’t want a record that might seem ambiguous in certain respects.”
“If it were just you, Benzi, it wouldn’t matter as much, but I’ve got a grandfather who’s a Habber, too.” She looked away from him. “I wish Malik had never come back here. He should have stayed where he was. He isn’t needed here.”
Benzi lifted his brows. “Even as a teacher?”
“He isn’t teaching anything that’s important.” She tried not to think of all the times she had spotted Xelah Barringer speaking to him, during one of her walks or while sitting with Malik, drinking tea in one of the garden dining areas; Xelah never looked impatient or irritated in his presence, but seemed to hang on his every word. “Students go to his lectures mostly to enhance their records a bit, so they won’t seem too narrow in their interests.”
“I see.”
Mahala sat down on her bed. Malik had to know that she was traveling to Oberg and then to Turing, but he had said nothing about accompanying her there.
“If you change your mind,” Benzi continued, “and decide that you want to move back here, just let me know.”
“That’s kind of you, but it’s time for me to live in my own place.”
He smiled. “You’re probably right.”
Benzi was always so reasonable. It had to be easier for Habbers to be reasonable, since they were not bound by any true obligations here. Balin had undoubtedly sounded just as reasonable while telling Dyami that he was leaving Turing.
Mahala was just entering the airship bay when she saw Malik at the edge of the group of passengers, with a small duffel hanging by a strap from his shoulder. He was clothed in a loose brown shirt and black trousers instead of the long robe he usually wore when giving his lectures. Most of the people getting ready to board the airship for Oberg appeared to be older students, specialists, or people in the gray garb of workers, and all of them seemed to recognize her grandfather. Two young women whispered to each other, then glanced toward him. The other students were watching him uneasily, as if trying to decide whether or not to greet him.
She turned away, then moved toward the airship with the others, ignoring Malik. She was aboard the airship and securing her duffel under her seat when he sat down next to her.
“Salaam, Mahala.”
“There are plenty of other seats,” she said in a low voice. “You might be more comfortable with an empty seat next to you so you can stretch out.”
“I’ll be comfortable enough here.”
“I didn’t know you were going to the settlements. I thought you’d changed your mind.” She leaned back against her seat. “You didn’t bother to say anything to me about your plans.”
“No, I didn’t. I suppose that I should have, but I thought it might be easier for you this way, not having to dread traveling with me ahead of time.”
She looked at him from the sides of his eyes. He had a faint smile on his face. “Risa didn’t tell me you were coming to Oberg, either,” she said. “Didn’t you even let her know?”
“Of course I did. I sent a message to her, and then called her, but she refused to come to the screen. Her bondmate Sef spoke to me instead and gave me her message, namely that she would be damned if she would allow me to set foot in her house and would appreciate it if I kept out of the west dome as well.”
She could imagine her grandmother saying much worse than that. “You have to understand,” Mahala began to say.
“Oh, I do understand.” The half-smile was still on his face.
“Then why are you going to Oberg at all?”
“There are Habbers there. I can stay with them in their residence and still visit with you. And perhaps Risa will change her mind.”
“She doesn’t change her mind very easily.”
Malik made a sound that might have been a laugh. “How well I remember the truth of that.” He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. Mahala pressed her lips together, resenting his presence.
Malik slept during most of the journey, stirring only when the howl of the wind outside the airship rose. At least Mahala assumed that he was asleep, although he might have been communing with other Habbers through his Link. He had not seemed interested in viewing the images on the forward screen, the images enhanced to show what the Venusian surface would look like if sunlight could reach the surface, the images that seemed more real than what the sensor lenses would show her because they were enhanced. The darkness that was actually out there would be only a void into which one could project one’s dreams or be lost.
Her grandfather opened his eyes as the airship descended into the maw of Oberg’s bay and dropped toward the metal eggshell of a cradle. Mahala hefted her duffel after the landing and followed the other passengers off the airship, with Malik just behind her. He kept at her side as they walked down the ramp and through the bay, glancing uneasily at the row of cradled airships near one wall.
He seemed apprehensive, looking around uneasily as they left the bay and entered the main dome. Unexpectedly, Mahala found herself feeling some sympathy for the grandfather who had abandoned this world so long ago.
A cart carrying only a few passengers rolled toward them along the main road, then came to a stop. Mahala turned toward her grandfather. “I’m going to walk to Risa’s house,” she said, “for the exercise, so if you need a ride to where you’re going—” She gestured toward the cart.
“I’ll walk part of the way with you,” he said.
“Risa and Sef will expect me to go by the monument and the other memorials to pay my respects.”
“Then I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind.”
She did mind. She wondered if he knew about the memorials that had been erected since he had last been here. “Come along, then,” she murmured.
She quickened her pace. Malik easily kept up with her. They did not have far to go to get to the clearing where the memorials stood. As usual, there was a floral tribute, a small wreath of slightly wilted flowers, at the base of the monument to her great-grandmother Iris Angharads.
Malik looked up at the sculpted faces of Iris and Amir Azad, the man who had died with her, then lowered his eyes to t
he Anglaic inscription. “In honor of Iris Angharads and Amir Azad,” the inscription read, “the first true Cytherians, who gave their lives to save our new world. They shall not be forgotten. May their spirit live on in all those who follow them. They rest forever on the world they helped to build.” Malik must have seen the monument and its inscription many times in the past, yet he continued to stare at the words as though reading them for the first time.
For my benefit? Mahala wondered. No, it went deeper.
At last he moved away from the monument and wandered toward the other memorial pillars. Mahala trailed after him, unsure of what to do. He stopped in front of a pillar covered with holo images of faces.
“Chen’s there,” Mahala said hastily. “Liang Chen—Risa’s father.” It came to her then that Malik had to be as old now as her great-grandfather Chen had been when he had died, maybe older.
Malik glanced at her. “I know. I remember Chen very well.” He stepped away from that pillar and turned toward the next memorial. She saw him tense as he caught sight of the face of his daughter Chimene at the top of the pillar, set apart from the images of faces below.
He was silent for a long time, then said, “Who put up this memorial image to your mother?”
“I don’t know. I know it wasn’t Risa or anyone in our family. No one ever told me. I suppose some of her followers or friends must have taken care of it.”
“With no one else’s face anywhere near hers,” Malik said. “I suppose that’s appropriate.” He paused. “I wasn’t much of a father to your mother. I left when I had the chance, thinking that there was nothing left for me here, that even my daughter was lost to me, and yet perhaps I was responsible for what she became.”
“You couldn’t have known—”
Child of Venus Page 21
