“I don’t like it,” Solveig said. “Sounds as though Earth wants more to say about what happens here.”
Mahala got up. “I’m going to take a walk,” she said. “Want to come along?”
Solveig shook her head. “I’ve got some work to catch up on. If the Counselors are going to be hauling us in for counseling, I want to make sure there’s absolutely nothing they can hold against me.”
Mahala had come to a path near the north end of Island Two before she realized why she had come here. Chike Enu-Barnes often came here after last light, usually by himself, to walk or jog near the railing at the edge of the Island before going back to his room to sleep. He was interested in her; if she took more of an interest in him, her feelings for him might grow. She would not have to think about Ragnar and Frania and their pledge.
But suddenly she knew that she could not use Chike that way. She had been about to climb the steps that led up to the platform and railing; she turned and headed back toward the center of the Island, heedless of the robed Linkers and workers in gray tunics and trousers who were walking along the stone paths, getting their evening exercise. She was near the rounded stone structure of the Habber residence before she saw a shadowy form beckon to her.
Malik was outside, sitting at a table in a clearing. A small teapot sat in front of him; he lifted his cup as she sat down in the other chair.
“Shall I pour you a cup of tea?” he asked.
“No, thank you. My roommate Solveig told me that you can’t give your lectures anymore.”
He nodded. “I would have told you that myself. I won’t be stopped from giving talks informally, but with the withdrawal of official approval, it seems wiser for me to refrain.”
“Did anybody tell you why your lectures were canceled?”
“No, but I can guess. The Administrators have been holding more meetings lately, and there are rumors that alliances among the Mukhtars are shifting once more, that Earth has been communicating more frequently with the Project Council. Obviously the Linkers here want to see if any new controlling faction on the Council of Mukhtars might be more hostile to the Habber presence here before they approve any more of my lectures.”
Mahala looked down. “Solveig also heard that most of the students are going to be called in by Counselors soon. That doesn’t usually happen at this point unless a student has serious problems. I haven’t even gone to any of the Counselors yet.” Risa had always been suspicious of Counselors and content that there were no Counselors assigned to the settlements. Dyami, who shared his mother’s feelings, had felt that people needing help or advice were better off consulting a mentor or a physician who knew them, rather than going to a Counselor, who would be more mindful of the Project’s interests.
“I had not heard that the students were to get counseling,” Malik said, “but somehow it doesn’t surprise me.” He finished his tea, then set down his cup. “There seems little purpose in my staving on Island Two now.”
“You’re going to leave?” she asked, feeling both relief and a twinge of regret.
“I think I may wait until I find out what your Counselor has to say to you.”
“I can tell you that now. Either I’ll be told that my work is satisfactory and that I can continue my studies here or I’ll be advised to leave this school and train for some other work.” She could not see how either result could affect Malik’s decision. “Don’t you ever miss your Habitat and the people you know there?”
“Not especially. I can commune with anyone I know through my Link at any time.”
“With any Habber at all, I suppose.”
“No,” Malik said. “I once thought there were no barriers among Habbers, but the more I live among them, the more I see that there is much I still don’t know about them, about certain Habbers anyway.” His voice trailed off; he looked away for a moment. “Have you given any thought to what you would do if you’re told to leave the Islander school?”
“No.” She folded her hands and rested them on the tabletop. “I refuse to think of that,” she said, deluding herself with the idea that if she did not consider expulsion a possibility, it would not happen.
Mahala found a message from Counselor Aime’e Lon on her screen the day before classes were to resume. The Counselor wanted to meet with her that afternoon, in one of the small seminar rooms. Mahala was advised not to make any rearrangements or adjustments in her schedule of courses and study groups until after the meeting with the Counselor.
“That sounds ominous,” Solveig said after Mahala told her about the message.
“I know.” Mahala pulled on a blue tunic. She had been trying on clothes for almost an hour, wondering if she should wear a more formal robe or a long, modest dress. She had finally settled on a tunic and pants; dressing up too much might make Counselor Aime’e think that she was trying too hard to impress her.
Solveig sat down at her desk. “Which Counselor asked to see you?”
“Aime’e Lon.”
“Never heard of her.” Solveig turned to her screen and murmured, “Counselor Aime’e Lon, public record, written form.” An image of a dark-haired woman appeared, followed by a few lines of Anglaic letters. “No wonder—she just got to the Islands two months ago. Born in Hanoi, grew up there, left the Nomarchy of the New Co-Prosperity Association to attend the University of Amman. She stayed in the New Islamic Nomarchy after graduating from the university five years ago. No bondmate. Was given her Link two years ago.”
“She’s a Linker?” Mahala asked.
“That’s what the record says.”
Mahala felt even more apprehensive. There were Linkers among the Counselors, as there were among all the specialists, but Linked Counselors were usually called in only to aid the most seriously disturbed or to advise highly placed people who might require special attention. She had never heard of a Linker advising a first-year student.
“What do you know,” Solveig continued. “Linker Aime’e has asked for a session with me, too. She wants to see me tomorrow.” She turned away from the screen and gazed solemnly at Mahala. “She’s not going to ask me to leave school. She can’t. I don’t know what I would do if she did.”
“She won’t tell you that. She couldn’t—you’re one of the best students here. They wouldn’t use a Linker just to call students in and then tell them that they’ve got to leave.”
“Maybe they would,” Solveig said. “That’s one way to convince us that we really aren’t worthy of more training, having a Linker deliver that message.” She turned back to the screen and bowed her blond head.
Counselor Aime’e Lon greeted Mahala with a smile, led her to a cushion, offered her a cup of tea. Her graciousness did not put Mahala at ease.
“I have been assigned to advise you,” the woman said in her pleasant voice, still smiling. Mahala forced herself to sip her tea. Counselor Aime’e went on to speak of Mahala’s record. She was an excellent student; her recent projects in gene splicing and the bioengineering of microbes showed real promise. She kept to herself a bit too much, but that was true of many first-year students from the settlements, who had to keep up with their work while adjusting to a new environment. Now that she was living with another student instead of in the pilots’ quarters, Mahala’s Counselor fully expected that she would soon become more outgoing and social.
“Is there anything in particular that you want to ask me now?” Aime’e said.
“Yes, there is.”
“Go on.”
The Islanders among the students always said that if one had to meet with a Counselor, it was better to be honest, that Counselors had ways to tell if a person was lying or concealing something important. At the same time, they also claimed that it was unwise to volunteer information. But the question that she wanted to ask was innocuous.
“Isn’t it unusual,” Mahala said, “to assign a Linker as Counselor to a first-year student? Unless the student’s a real problem, anyway.”
Aime’e said, “It is unusua
l, and you’re certainly not a problem. But I haven’t been a Linker for very long. It isn’t as though you’re getting a Linker with lots of years of experience to advise you.”
Mahala nodded, although she felt that the woman had not really answered her question.
“Now I have a question for you,” the Counselor continued. “Usually even first-year students have some idea of the specialty they would like to pursue. Your record shows an interest in biology, but you haven’t yet specified any particular areas in which you might like to get more training. Have you given this matter any more thought?”
“Yes, I have,” Mahala replied, and hesitated. Aime’e Lon still wore her warm smile and kindly expression.
Mahala set down her cup and said, “I’m thinking of concentrating on either microbiology or genetics. Right now, I can’t decide between them, but either specialty would be useful to the Project.”
“That’s true,” Aime’e said, “although we like to think that every person here, and certainly those who are given more schooling, will be of value to the Project in some way. But you’re right that we are especially in need of those who are specialists in genetics or microbiology. Given all the ways in which geneticists have improved the physical health of the people here, and the varied microorganisms biologists have developed for seeding Venus’s soil and atmosphere, they’re likely to remain some of our most important specialists.”
“And even without advanced training in those fields,” Mahala said, “I could still be useful as a physician or possibly a greenhouse team supervisor.”
“Well, of course. But I wonder if having less ambitious goals, or ones more easily achieved, is really the way to do one’s best and achieve one’s potential.”
Mahala’s cheeks warmed. She had wanted to impress the Counselor with her practical sense and instead had only made Aime’e think that she lacked drive and ambition.
“I would rather be a specialist,” she said, “because that’s the best chance I’ll have to make a discovery, contribute something new to my world. But if that doesn’t work out, I can be satisfied doing other work.”
That was not exactly a lie, but she knew that she was shading the truth. She would accept whatever work she was eventually directed to do because she would have no real choice, and she would be conscientious about it because she could not imagine being careless. Carelessness and thoughtlessness, as Risa had often told her, were often worse failings and could endanger more people than outright malice. She would do her best at whatever she ended up doing. That did not mean that she would be happy at having to limit her dreams.
It seemed a contradiction, to be part of the great centuries-long effort of terraforming a planet, a Project that had pushed human beings to their limits and beyond, and yet know that she might have to scale back her hopes in order to contribute to that long-term endeavor. She thought of Ragnar, who had deliberately set his own limits on his life so that he could do what he longed to do within those limits. Maybe that gave him more freedom than she would ever have.
“Mahala,” Aime’e said softly, “I want you to be completely honest about answering my next question, because otherwise I may not be able to advise you properly. What would you choose to do now if you could do as you liked? A general answer will do.”
Mahala looked directly into the Counselor’s tilted brown eyes. She’s good, she thought; she makes me want to tell her everything. She had the feeling that Aime’e already suspected what she was holding back.
“I want to travel,” she said. “That’s a bad way of putting it. I want to explore, see things I haven’t seen.”
“You might have put in for pilot training, then,” Aime’e said, “and yet you didn’t.”
“That isn’t what I meant. Pilots move people from one place to another along the same routes. They don’t see truly new places, only the same ones again and again. I’m not saying it can’t be an interesting life—one of my best friends in Turing is an apprentice pilot. After living in the pilots’ quarters here, I know a lot of them don’t mind being away from their homes and their families or housemates for a while—it’s a change, and most of them appreciate their homes more when they go back. It’s probably a good way for the Project to keep some of the more restless people here content, allowing them to become pilots.”
“You might say that,” Aime’e murmured.
“But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’d like to see Earth, of course, and Mars if the Habbers would ever allow that, but mostly what I imagine is going to places that are completely unknown to us now.”
The Counselor was silent.
“I know it’s impossible,” Mahala added, “or at least completely unlikely.”
“Even so,” Aime’e said, “it tells me something about you.” Mahala had expected to see doubt in the woman’s eyes, maybe even concern, but the Counselor was still smiling; she almost looked relieved. “And, as it happens, you may get some of what you want.”
Mahala sat up straight.
“You needn’t remain here as a student during the next session. The Project Council is going to offer a very few students the opportunity to go to our space station of Anwara. You would continue with your studies there, but with screens and bands and any mentors you find there. Of course, you would still be able to form study groups if you like, and view lectures, and have conferences and discussions with your teachers over the screen.”
Mahala did not know what to say.
“Well?” Aime’e said, clearly expecting some kind of reaction. “You look stricken, Mahala. Are you pleased or apprehensive?”
Mahala emitted a feeble laugh. “Both. I’d really enjoy seeing Anwara—I’ve never been there. I could understand being sent there if I wanted to do astrophysics or engineering or life support, but—” Her voice trailed off.
“You don’t see why you’ve been chosen for this program. Let the Project Council worry about that.” Aime’e folded her arms. “All I’m going to ask is that you keep this to yourself for now, until all of the students being called in have been advised by their Counselors.”
She would be able to continue her studies and would not be advised to leave school; Mahala knew that she should be happy about that. But to be sent to Anwara was completely unexpected. She did not know what it meant.
“I am only advising you,” Aime’e said. “You have to make the choice, Mahala. If you would rather continue your studies here, you may. Such a choice won’t be held against you. If your work remains at its present level, you’re just about certain to win a position as a specialist in the biological sciences.”
That would be the safest course, staying on Island Two. Counselors might be manipulative, but they did not lie; Aime’e would not be telling her that her future as a student here was assured unless that was the case. But the Counselor had said nothing about what she might be risking if her course work suffered during her time on Anwara.
Things had to change. The Cytherians of the surface settlements would grow increasingly impatient and more resentful of the fact that some of the Habbers aiding them were much more likely to see a radically transformed Venus than were the settlers. If things got bad enough, Earth might find itself confronted with some extremely unpleasant choices. Demoralized and discouraged settlers could threaten the Project; that had happened before. Earth might have to admit that building surface settlements was premature and possibly a mistake. The Habbers might have to take on a greater role in terraforming her world.
Given all of those possibilities, for her to draw back from an unanticipated course seemed foolish. Had her ancestor Iris Angharads refused the opportunity offered to her, her line might have come to an end on the North American Plains. If Benzi had not fled to the Habitats, about which he had known almost nothing, he would by now be no more than a remembered face on a memorial pillar.
“I’ll go to Anwara,” Mahala said and knew as soon as she spoke that this was the choice she had to make, whatever it brought her.
&
nbsp; During the four days after her session with Aimee Lon, Mahala saw little of her fellow students. Some returned to their quarters after meeting with their Counselors and then disappeared into their rooms, emerging only for meals or short walks around the Island; she could guess that they had been advised to continue their studies and were getting in some extra preparation. Others simply vanished, without saying farewells even to their closest friends, and Mahala assumed that they had been advised to leave school. Sean Sellars-O’Dowd held a party to announce that he was leaving school, inviting anyone among the students who wanted to come, but then Sean had grown up on Island Two; except for having to apprentice himself instead of remaining a student, little would change in his life. The three other Islanders who were dropping out with him did not seem all that disappointed with the advice they had received; it was the students from the surface settlements who abruptly disappeared, as if too embarrassed or ashamed to linger to say farewell to friends.
Solveig said nothing about what Counselor Aimee had told her, but she was clearly content with the Linker’s advice. She smiled more easily, slept a bit later instead of pushing herself to wake early in order to seize every available moment for study, and made no move to pack her belongings.
Mahala supposed that she should sort through her own things and decide what to give away; there would be a limit on what she could take to Anwara. But there would be time enough for that later, and she did not own that much anyway.
Five days after Mahala’s meeting with her Counselor, the names of the ten students who would be going to Anwara were made public. Mahala scrolled them up on her screen while Solveig was still sleeping and saw that Solveig’s name was on the list; so was Chike Enu-Barnes’s. She studied the other names, trying to discern some sort of pattern. All of the students chosen to go to the satellite had different interests; two, including Chike, had grown up on the Islands, while the others had come from the settlements.
Child of Venus Page 24
