Chike moved closer to Mahala and took her hand, then bowed his head as though paying his respects. Orban made a sound in his throat; Mahala glanced at the Habber, noting the unease in his handsome olive-skinned face. The Habbers in Sagan usually avoided the memorial pillar, and often she had seen Habbers look away whenever they passed it. They had come to none of the ceremonies to honor the dead, when a sculpture or holo image was placed on the pillar and those who had known them told stories of the deceased. She wondered what Habbers did to mourn their dead. Perhaps their experience with death was so infrequent or so feared that they did not know how to mourn.
A lone figure came through the open entrance of the bay: Malik. A small dark-haired woman whom Mahala had never seen before was with him. Malik had been on Island Two for nearly a year now, apparently summoned there by his kinsman, Administrator Masud al-Tikriti. He had sent only three messages to her in that time, all of them brief and telling her little more than that he was thinking of her and that he and Administrator Masud, with the help of a few other Linkers, were organizing some of the Venus Project’s historical records. She had not believed for a moment that work on those records was the only matter that had brought him back to the Islands.
Now suddenly he was here, after informing her only two days ago that he and another Habber would be arriving in Sagan.
“I don’t know anything about the Habber woman who came here with my grandfather Malik,” she murmured to Orban as they walked toward the bay entrance. “He didn’t even mention her name. Perhaps you can tell me something about her.”
“Her name is Te-yu,” Orban replied. The name sounded vaguely familiar. “She was known as Hong Te-yu when she was a pilot for the Project, on your Islands. She was among those who fled to the Habitats with your kinsman Benzi.”
Mahala nodded, recalling that Benzi had mentioned the name a few times in passing. “When did she come back here?”
“Only a few days ago. She had been on Anwara for ten days before then.” Orban had the slightly blank look in his eyes that told her that he was listening to his Link. “She will be traveling with Malik to...” Orban gave her and Chike his impersonal smile. “But he will be speaking to you of that very soon.”
Mahala was suddenly annoyed with Orban. Even after two years of living in fairly close contact with Habbers and coming to consider Orban and several of the others as friends, they could still at times seem unnecessarily opaque.
“If you already know why Malik’s here,” Chike said, “and what he’s going to say, seems to me that you could have told us yourself and saved him the trouble of this trip.”
“That might have been appropriate under other circumstances,” Orban said, “but Malik wished to come here himself, and there are other reasons for him to consult with you in person.” His smile broadened and his mouth twitched slightly, as if he had said something amusing.
Malik looked much as he always had, with a touch of silver in his black hair at the temples and a handsome, unlined face; even the expression in his eyes seemed more open and youthful. He carried a small satchel and wore a long white robe that resembled the formal robe of an Administrator.
“Greetings, Malik,” Mahala said, taking his free hand between her palms.
“Salaam.” Her grandfather bowed slightly as she introduced Chike to him. Te-yu introduced herself in a light, musical voice; she was an attractive woman with large brown eyes and short black hair who looked youthful, even though she had to be well over a century old.
“If you like,” Mahala said, “I’ll show you where you’ll be staying. We’ve got more residences up now, and there are a few empty rooms in the newest one. If you’re tired, you can rest there.”
“We’re not tired,” Malik said.
“We can ride there in a cart,” Chike said, gesturing at one vehicle near the bay entrance, where two men were loading crates.
“We’d rather walk,” Malik said. “We’d like to meet with you and the other Councilors here as soon as possible, in a few hours if you can arrange it.”
“I think we can,” Mahala said. “Eugenio has a shift after last light over at external operations, but we can find somebody to substitute for him.”
“Do it, then,” Malik said. There was a nervousness about him that she had not seen before, a sound of impatience in his voice. “This is very important, and the matter came up rather suddenly. It was felt that my presence was needed here, as well as Te-yu’s, since we’ve been involved in plans for this meeting almost from the start. And I must admit that I also wanted to see you again and see the kind of life you have made for yourself here.”
“I’m content,” Mahala said, and it was true. Being a physician gave her a purpose; living among Habbers and freely associating with them had been both an intellectual and an emotional education, opening her mind and tempering her impatience.
They had reached the memorial pillar and the Administrative Center; Mahala gestured at the building. “That’s where we usually hold our Council meetings,” she continued.
“Then we’ll speak to you there,” Malik said.
“You may speak to anyone who is interested,” Mahala said. “Anybody who wants to view the meeting over the screen or come in person is welcome to do so. We’ve never held any of our meetings in private. That seems only fair, given that Orban is also a Councilor and any other Habber is able to Link with him during meetings.” That had been one of the first decisions made by the Sagan Council, to request that the Habbers here elect one among themselves as a Councilor.
“Very well,” Malik said. “We’ll speak to you at an open meeting. The subject is a most important upcoming conference, and either your Council, or all of the people here, will have to decide who will represent you there.”
“A conference?” Chike asked.
“A conference to lay down the basis for what kinds of agreements we may need between Earth, Venus, and the Associated Habitats and to begin the process of choosing those who wish to become spacefarers. Those present at the conference will include Habbers, Cytherians, Administrators, and, it is said, Mukhtar Tabib al-Tahir himself. I’ll explain everything in more detail later—many of the arrangements are still being worked out.”
“And where is this conference to be?” Mahala asked.
“On Earth,” Malik replied.
Mahala halted. Chike and Orban slowed and came to a stop as Malik and Te-yu turned toward them. “On Earth?” Chike repeated.
“In a town on the North American Plains, as a matter of fact,” Malik said. “The Mukhtars feel that it would be best to hold such a conference in a more remote and out-of-the-way location, one that has only a small population and attracts few visitors. Although most of the Nomarchies seem content, or at least resigned to the new era, they would prefer a site where participants can be more easily protected and that isn’t likely to draw demonstrations of the discontented.” He paused. “The meeting is going to be held where Benzi has been staying, in Lincoln.”
23
Mahala woke up. For a moment, she did not know where she was, then remembered.
She lay on a small, narrow bed in a bare room. She sat up slowly and looked toward the round window on her right. Outside the window was the unfamiliar sight of a patch of blue sky. She was on Earth, aboard a floater, a vehicle almost indistinguishable from a Cytherian airship, bound for Lincoln.
Traveling to the Islands and then by shuttle to Anwara had caused her little distress. The torchship provided to her and the other Cytherians for the trip from Anwara to Earth, the Melville, had small but comfortable cabins for the passengers, along with both a recreation room and a dining area; she had shared her cabin with her old friend Ah Lin Bergen, one of the delegates from the Maxwell Mountains settlements who had been chosen to attend the conference. Even the Wheel, the largest of the space stations in Earth orbit, where the Melville had docked and the Earthbound passengers had been transferred to a shuttlecraft, had not been unduly disorienting; despite its immense si
ze, the inside corridors of the Wheel seemed much like those of Anwara.
It had been after leaving the shuttle at the San Antonio port in North America that she had suddenly felt the beginnings of panic, a tightness in her throat, a racing heartbeat, a constriction in her lungs that made her feel that she might suffocate. The air in the wide walkway leading into the port felt too cold; throngs of people filled the corridors of the port. Low but audible disembodied voices called out gate numbers, times of arrival and departure of shuttle and sub-orbital flights, and the names of destinations in Anglaic, Arabic, and occasionally in other languages she did not know. She kept near the others in her group, picking up the aromas of flowers, coffee, onions, and other scents she could not identify as they moved through the port. Just one of the port’s long corridors, she realized, probably held as many people as did Turing; the number of people hurrying to the various gates might exceed the entire population of Venus. She had steadied herself by keeping her eyes on the floor, staying near Malik and the others traveling with her.
The sub-orbital flight to Winnipeg had taken less than an hour, and by the time she had boarded the sub-orb, she felt calmer. The small implant in her upper right arm dispensed only a minimal dose of a mild tranquihzer; she had convinced herself that she would need no more than that. It was not until she was in the Winnipeg port, walking toward the gate that would lead her outside to the airship cradles, that the fear had nearly immobilized her. Nothing in any of the mind-tours of Earth that she had sampled could possibly have prepared her for this experience. There would be no protective dome outside, only wind and air and open sky.
A quick glance upward had shown her an overcast dark sky; the clouds concealing the stars had made it easier for her to pretend that she was still inside a dome after last light. Mahala did not remember how she had crossed the few meters from the exit to the ramp of the floater cradle, but recalled that she had boarded the airship without giving in to panic. The floaters carried people and goods to the small towns and the more isolated communities of Earth that were not connected to the outside world by high-speed trains and shuttle ports. The floater had rows of seats much like those on the airships of Venus, but there were also private rooms in the back of the cabin for those willing to spend extra credit. Mahala and the people with her had been given rooms, even though, judging by the empty passenger seats, no one else would be traveling with them.
Mahala looked down at the identity bracelet on her wrist. She had worn such a bracelet as a child, and later during trips between the Venus settlements, but now she would be wearing one all the time; she had been told to keep it on even after arriving in Lincoln. She had left Venus a month and a half ago, and now her home world seemed impossibly far away.
Too much had happened too suddenly. The people of Sagan had elected her to the post of their delegate to Earth with a surprising near-unanimity, and she suspected that Malik had anticipated that result. There had been no time even to travel to Turing or to Oberg to say her farewells before she was on an airship bound for the Platform.
The delegation traveling with her was small but illustrious; she was clearly one of the least important people among them. The others seemed to find it appropriate that a descendant of Iris Angharads, who had herself been a native of Lincoln, was among them, but they had kept largely to themselves during the torchship journey. Administrator Masud al-Tikriti had seemed disinclined to pay much more than a distant, cordial attention to any of the representatives of the surface settlers; he usually dined with Administrator Con-stantine Matheos, who had been on the Venus Project Council for several years and was now reputed to be its most influential member. Even Malik and Te-yu, the only Habbers among the travelers, who had apparently decided that diplomacy required that they make the journey on one of Earth’s ships instead of aboard a Habber craft, had kept to their rooms except for meals. Only Ah Lin, who felt that she was going to Earth largely on the strength of the support thrown her way by Risa and other respected Cytherians, had kept her company, and she was as much in the dark about the upcoming conference as was Mahala.
What were they going to discuss? Even Malik had not been very forthcoming about specifics; perhaps he and the other Habbers knew little more than she did. She and Ah Lin had come to the tentative conclusion that the meeting was largely ceremonial. Working out detailed agreements would require the efforts of legal scholars, aides to the Council of
Mukhtars, certain Administrators and Habbers, and the analysis of cyberminds; such agreements and decisions did not require the presence of delegates in a place like Lincoln. The Mukhtars were going to a lot of trouble to bring people to Earth for what seemed little more than a public exercise in good will.
She reminded herself that if they accomplished no more than maintaining and publicly underlining that good will, that might be enough of an achievement. She was also growing more conscious of the fact that her conduct here might either increase her chances of becoming a spacefarer or damage them severely. Coming to Earth was another test.
She leaned back on her bed, rested her back against the wall, and forced herself to gaze at the sky outside the floater window. A breathable outside, she said to herself in wonder, as someday Venus would have ...
Mahala had changed her clothes and repacked her duffel by the time the floater was dropping toward Lincoln. She knew what she would see as she approached her window. There were the two cradles of Lincoln’s only port; once, there had been only one cradle for the small town. There was a road, a wide black ribbon, that led from the cradles to the town square; other narrow roads, which ran from the town into the surrounding fields, seemed little more than footpaths. But it was the open land around the town that made her catch her breath, the fields of growing grain dotted with silos that stretched to the horizon.
For a moment, she felt dizzy, and then she slipped the strap of her physician’s bag over her shoulder, reached for her duffel, and pressed her door open.
Her fellow travelers shuffled through the narrow hallway outside their rooms toward the front of the floater. Kesse Enu-Barnes was among them; he was here as an aide to Administrator Masud al-Tikriti. Kesse glanced at her with his black eyes, and she felt how much she missed his brother Chike. Ah Lin stood behind him, looking apprehensive, perhaps thinking of the open air that awaited them outside.
“There’s something odd about this business,” Dyami had told her during a call the day before she was to leave Sagan.
“Odd about what?” Mahala had asked.
“Holding this conference on Earth. Requesting the presence of Administrator Masud and of people with the status of Constantine Matheos. Going to the trouble of transporting all of the delegates to a somewhat isolated Earth community. A screen conference would have made more practical sense.”
“But the Council of Mukhtars explained why they wanted it this way. They felt that we’d make more progress if we were all in one place for a while and able to talk face-to-face.”
“They might have chosen Anwara then, as they have in the past.”
“But there is a kind of symbolism in having the conference on Earth, given that it’s the home planet. It’s another way of marking the new era.”
Dyami had sighed, then smiled. “You’re probably right, Mahala. Even after all this time, I guess I’m just too distrustful, even when I don’t have to be.” He had gone on to speak of Balin and had asked after Ragnar and then had wished her a safe journey before blanking the screen.
“Salaam,” a man’s voice called out from near the exit, “and welcome to Lincoln.” The people in front of Mahala moved forward. Mahala followed them onto the ramp and felt air rush past her face. Wind, she thought, and shuddered. The sky was darker; evening was coming. She kept her eyes on the ramp, afraid that if she looked up, the sight of the expanse of sky and land would make her faint.
“Greetings.” That was the same voice she had heard before. A hand clutched her under the elbow, helping her step down to the ground. She looked u
p and saw a young man with reddish-brown hair in the black uniform of a Guardian.
Mahala froze and then noticed that there were other Guardians near the ramp, all at attention, all of them armed with wands that hung from their belts. But of course there would be Guardians, she reminded herself, in order to protect the people who had come here.
Five women stood a few meters from the ramp, all of them wearing long lace-trimmed tunics that fell to their ankles. Mahala recognized two of the women from images that had been sent to her with messages. One of them, a pretty dark-haired woman, was Teresa Marias, Mahala’s kinswoman and the mayor of Lincoln. At her right was her daughter, Harriett Teresas; she had her mother’s dark hair, but Mahala knew her by her eyes, which were even larger and more strikingly green than they had appeared to be on her screen image.
“Welcome to Lincoln,” Teresa Marias called out in a resonant alto voice. Mahala struggled to maintain her composure. I will not look up at the sky, she thought, and I won’t think about the gusts of air blowing past my face. The wind had picked up; she could hear it now, moaning softly. She knew from Harriett’s messages about Plains weather that her cousin would consider this wind little more than a breeze.
“I am most pleased,” the mayor continued, “and—oh!” Teresa lifted a hand to her face; a Guardian and two of the women with Teresa were suddenly rushing toward the new arrivals. Mahala turned around and saw Tonya Chang, one of the representatives from the Maxwell Mountain settlements, lying on her back, mouth open, legs folded under her.
Tonya Chang, perhaps exhausted, perhaps overcome by terror of the outdoors, had fainted.
Tonya recovered and was able to walk by the time Mahala and her companions were led to the town hall, escorted by Guardians toting their duffels and trailed by a procession of curious townsfolk. After a short speech describing how honored the people of Lincoln were to be the site of such a gathering, Teresa Marias announced that those who were to be hosts to the visitors would accompany them to their quarters. “We would have planned a more elaborate celebration,” Teresa went on, “with a banquet here in the town hall, but the Council of Mukhtars advised us to get you settled first and to let you rest, so please don’t think badly of us for not making more of a fuss. If there is anything you need, do let the members of your host commune know. We want you to be as comfortable as possible.”
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