Harriett Teresas edged closer to Mahala. “You’ll be staying with us,” the young woman whispered, flattening her vowels as most of the Plainspeople did in their speech. “After all, you are part of our line.” Those were the first words that Harriett had spoken to her since her arrival; Mahala had been eyeing her kinswoman with both curiosity and anxiety. Harriett was a teacher at the Lincoln Academy and had gone north for a year to study mathematics at the University of Winnipeg; Mahala knew that much from the messages they had exchanged with each other.
“I’m pleased to be your guest,” Mahala replied.
“Benzi’s staying with us, too. He was living with Tesia and Jeffrey, the two Habbers who came here with him, but he’s moved in with us for now, so you’ll have somebody familiar nearby.”
Mahala smiled; she had not seen or heard from Benzi for so long that he seemed as much a stranger to her as was Harriett. She looked around for Ah Lin and saw her leaving the town hall with three women who hovered around her protectively.
“Teresa will probably stay here for a bit,” Harriett said, “but you may come home with me now. My grandmother’s cooked up a fine supper for you, and the rest of our household is looking forward to meeting you.”
Mahala gazed into her cousin’s eyes. There was something of Risa in Harriett’s strong-boned attractive face. Harriett motioned to the Guardian who was carrying Mahala’s duffel; he was the same Guardian who had greeted them at the floater cradle. “Jeremy,” Harriett called out, “are you going to tote that thing to my house for our guest, or do I have to drag it there by myself?”
“I’ll carry it,” Mahala murmured, thinking that was hardly the way to speak to a Guardian, but the young man seemed unperturbed.
“I’ll bring it,” the Guardian said, “as long as I can stay for supper.”
“You’re asking me for a bribe,” Harriett said, “and Guardians aren’t supposed to take bribes,” but she smiled as she spoke.
Mahala managed to descend the steps outside the town hall and cross the square without betraying any uneasiness, concentrating on the people who had come there to gawk at the delegates. It was late spring in Lincoln, and she knew from Harriett’s messages that this was a better season to be here than in winter, when the winds howled and the Plains were assaulted by snow and ice.
She kept near Harriett, both of them trailed by the Guardian, whose full name was Jeremy Courtneys. The houses along the road stood dose to one another, and the light wands and lamps she glimpsed through the windows cast a warm welcoming glow. There was a large greenhouse on the street, used by several of the nearby households; Harriett pointed it out to Mahala, then stopped in front of one house.
“This is it,” Harriett said, gesturing at the steps that led up to the front door. “It’s our house, where my mother’s commune lives.”
Mahala approached the steps of the large square structure. Her great-grandmother Iris had lived in this house; Benzi had been born here over a century ago. Harriett led her inside, followed by Jeremy. Two women stood in the hallway in front of a staircase; they smiled at Mahala, then batted their eyes at Jeremy.
“This is Gisella,” Harriett said, gesturing toward the tall blond woman, “and Zofie.” Gisella nodded at them; a smile crossed Zofie’s round, pretty face. “They’re part of our household and they’re also two of my mother’s oldest friends. This is my cousin, Mahala Liangharad.”
“Welcome to Lincoln,” Zofie said. “Have a seat in the common room—Maria’s cooking up quite a feed for you.”
“Amaris is helping her out in the kitchen,” Gisella said. The two women continued to stare at Mahala, as if uncertain of what else to say, and then Zofie came toward her and embraced her. “Welcome home, Mahala.”
In the common room, Mahala saw several chairs and a couch covered in a bright red fabric; end tables with lamps nestled in the corners, a long low wooden table was near the couch, and the wall screen showed a holo of pine-covered hills, making the room seem even larger than it was. She sank into one of the chairs; the room seemed cluttered, the amount of furniture almost wasteful. The women of the household sat with Mahala in the common room, speaking of Linkers and Administrators and other illustrious personages who had been coming in and out of Lincoln to make arrangements for the conference, until it was time to gather at the large wooden table in the kitchen for dinner.
There were two children in this commune, Amaris’s son, Graham, and Gisella’s daughter, Mara, who told Mahala a little of what they had learned about the Venus Project in school. Maria Sylvies, Harrietts grandmother, fussed over Mahala and kept passing her platters of meat, bread, and vegetables, while Amaris, the youngest woman in the household except for Harriett, flirted with Jeremy.
The Guardian, it turned out, came from Oxbow, another Plains town. According to him, the detachment of fifty Guardians stationed here were mostly men, most of them natives of the Plains. This diplomatic arrangement appealed to the respectable women of Lincoln, since it provided them with a variety of potential bed-partners who were familiar with Plains customs and would not be offended by invitations to spend the night. Although Jeremy had clearly attached himself to Harriett, this did not keep the other women at the table, even gray-haired old Nona, the oldest woman in the household, from flirting with the young man.
Teresa Marias arrived toward the end of the meal, muttering of a few last details that had to be taken care of before Mukhtar Tabib al-Tahir arrived as planned the next morning, just before noon, accompanied by the former Cytherian Administrator Jamilah al-Hussaini. He had insisted on coming there quietly, without any public fuss, but it would not be appropriate for a Mukhtar to arrive in Lincoln with no ceremony at all. She had decided on a subdued welcome at the town hall, with Benzi Liangharad and Masud al-Tikriti, and perhaps a few town dignitaries, in attendance.
“Benzi won’t be coming back here tonight,” Teresa added as she glanced at Mahala, “but I’m sure you’ll see him tomorrow. He seemed anxious to pass the evening with a Habber who came here with you—Te-yu, I believe her name was.”
“They’re old friends,” Mahala said.
Gisella and Amaris giggled while Zofie rolled her eyes. “Even Habbers need bed-partners sometimes,” old Nona said loudly, as if she were an authority on the subject.
Harriett led Mahala upstairs to a bedroom, then went to another room down the hall with Jeremy, who was apparently spending the night. Mahala’s bed was the size of three futons; a Cytherian family could easily have slept in it together. Clearly the women here liked to have plenty of room to enjoy their bed-partners. Mahala unpacked her clothes, hung them on a rod along one wall, went down the hall to the washroom with its roomy shower stall, large porcelain sink, and a toilet that used a full tank of water and flushed with a frightening loud whooshing sound, then returned to her room. Her eyelids felt gritty and her muscles, used to a gravity that was about eighty-five percent of Earth’s, ached slightly; she was exhausted, yet did not feel ready for sleep.
Iris had once had a room like this, perhaps the same room. She had lived in this house hoping to escape from Lincoln.
Mahala got up from the bed, went to the open window that overlooked the courtyard, and sat down on the cushioned ledge of the window seat. The women of the household had gathered below, apparently to question Teresa about the events of the day. The courtyard, roofed in by a force field and enclosed by the four wings of the house, was protected from the seasons, and Harriett had told her that they often sat out there instead of in the common room. A tree grew in the center of the grassy courtyard, while a garden of rose bushes had been planted in the southwest corner.
The women sat on blankets under the tree. “Habbers and Linkers,” old Nona muttered. She took a swig from the bottle she was holding. “Administrators and Mukhtars and folks from the Venus settlements, all coming to Lincoln for this gab session. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Amaris took the bottle from Nona and lifted it to her lips.
“When are they going to start holding their meetings?” Amaris asked.
“Damned if I know,” Teresa replied. “The Mukhtar, may God and His Holy Mother protect him, didn’t say anything in his message about when they were going to start palavering.” Amaris handed her the bottle; Teresa drank.
“Look, we’re getting plenty of extra credit for housing all these people,” Zofie said, “along with a larger selection of bed-partners, what with all those Guardians and those good-looking workers sent here to fix things. Means more business for the shopkeepers, too.”
“Not to mention a lot more for us to gossip about,” Gisella added.
Mahala heard a light tap on the door behind her. “Harriett Teresas,” the door said.
“Please come in,” Mahala replied. The door opened, creaking slightly. Harriett, wearing a long white garment that reached to her ankles, entered the room. The ceiling light flowed on; Harriett waved it off and came to the window.
“Jeremy’s too tired to fuck at the moment,” Harriett said, sitting down at the other end of the window seat. “He’s already fast asleep. But he told me he wouldn’t mind paying a call during the night on you.”
Harriett clearly meant that remark as a compliment. “I have a man already,” Mahala said, thinking of Chike. “On Venus, I mean.”
“Yes, but he’s there and Jeremy’s here.”
“I think Jeremy’s more interested in you,” Mahala said.
“I do love him, in a way. He’s been here a month with that detachment of Guardians, and he’s been with me almost every night. I had to push him into sleeping with Gisella and Zofie a couple of times just so the rest of the commune doesn’t think we’re monogamous and abnormal or that I’m trying to keep him all to myself.”
Mahala glanced down at the women in the courtyard. “They seem to be drinking a lot,” she said. “Are they celebrating the start of the conference?”
“A lot—that isn’t a lot.” Harriett chuckled. “They’ve been sticking to a bottle a night among them. That’s not so bad—
I’ve seen nights when my grandmother and Nona would pass out and the rest of them would be stumbling all over the place in a stupor just trying to get to bed. But everybody’s being more moderate these days. The Muslims in Lincoln will look the other way or even take a discreet nip once in a while, but we don’t want to make a bad impression, with Linkers and Mukhtars around. They seem much more strict about such things. Even Allison at the tavern is rationing what she serves her customers, and she isn’t doing any back door business at all.”
“Back door business?”
“With any Muslims who aren’t that strict in their observance. They don’t like to be seen coming in the front entrance, and now they aren’t coming at all.”
“Probably just as well,” Mahala said, hoping that she did not sound too disapproving.
“I should take you over to the school when you feel up to it, introduce you to some of my students.” Harriett paused. “The Lincoln Academy is one of the best things that ever happened in this town. If I end up having to stay here, at least I’ll have my students.”
“You sound as though you don’t really want to stay,” Mahala said.
“I want to be one of the spacefarers.” Harriett had never mentioned such a hope in her messages, but somehow Mahala was not surprised. “Not that I have much of a chance.”
“You can’t tell if there’s a chance or not. The trouble is, we don’t know what our chances are. We don’t even know how all of that’s going to be decided.”
“I know. At least I can hope. Knowing that we’re not alone, that another intelligence is out there—” She sighed. “Some people think I’m mad to want to go, and others, usually the older women, claim they wouldn’t mind going themselves, but that’s because it’s almost impossible to explain interstellar distances to them, or even interplanetary distances. To someone like Nona, there’s Earth, and then there’s everything out there, and Venus and Jupiter and the Moon and Alpha Centauri seem about equally far away to her. She just shakes her head when I try to explain what six hundred light-years actually means and how far away the alien beacon is.”
Harriett was silent for a few moments, then added, “I’d better let you get some sleep.” She stood up. “I’ll show you around town tomorrow if you like, after school is out.”
“I’d like that.”
Harriett left the room. Mahala still felt restless. Perhaps that was only the strain of the trip and of what lay ahead of her, but she felt uneasy and exposed. Reminding herself that she was inside a house and protected from the outside, she got up, dosed the window, and went to bed.
Mahala kept near the house the next day, making herself useful. After breakfast, she helped clear the table; when Harriett left for the Lincoln Academy with young Mara and Graham in tow, Mahala gave Nona, who was complaining of a headache, a scan and then a mild pain medication so that she would not have to venture out to see the town’s physician. Teresa left shortly after that to meet Mukhtar Tabib al-Tahir at the town hall when he arrived with Jamilah al-Hussaini; since Benzi would be there with her to welcome the Mukhtar, Mahala guessed that she would not see him before that evening.
Gisella and Maria had decided that it was time to go over the household records, while Amaris and Zofie needed to make purchases from one of the shops at the town square. “Come along with us, Mahala,” Zofie had murmured, “and maybe we’ll catch sight of that high and mighty Mukhtar, too,” but Mahala had refused the offer. If she was going to venture outside the confines of the house, she would do so with Harriett, and in late afternoon, when the shadows would be longer and the sky growing darker.
With little to do for the next few hours, Mahala went upstairs to her room, sat down in front of the desk screen, and sent a message to Ah Lin Bergen. Her friend’s round face appeared on the screen a few moments later.
“How is it going with you?” Ah Lin asked.
“Fine,” Mahala replied. “Everyone’s been very hospitable. I think you’ll like my cousin Harriett when you meet her. She’s at the school now—she’s a teacher there.” She paused. “Have you been outside today?”
Ah Lin shook her head. “I’m still working up to that.”
“It’ll pass. When I was first on Anwara, I wondered if I’d ever adjust to it.”
“At least Anwara is completely enclosed.” Ah Lin took a breath; her narrowed eyes were slits. “We’re on the edge of town. There’s a view of the fields from the windows in the back part of this house. I think I’ll go there and force myself to look outside and try to get used to this.”
Mahala blanked the screen, then decided to send a message to Solveig. Perhaps she should send one to Chike also, and then others to Dyami and to Risa while she had the time to do so. They would all be interested in her first impressions of Earth, and Risa would be especially curious about Lincoln.
“Solveig Einarsdottir, Venus, Sagan settlement,” Mahala said to the screen, then pulled out the keyboard; Solveig preferred written messages to spoken ones, feeling that writing was more succinct. She waited for the tiny light to the right of the console to signal that a channel was open.
The screen remained blank. Mahala repeated Solveig’s name, then requested an open channel. The screen brightened into blue, then faded to black again.
A malfunction, she thought, and reached for the slender gold band that lay next to the console and put it on her head. For one disorienting second, she was suddenly adrift in nothingness, and then she sensed the channel opening for her. She was in a small cozy space that resembled her dormitory room in Sagan, with a screen in front of her.
Mahala lifted the band from around her head and the virtual room and screen vanished. The small light at the right of the desk screen was on, telling her that a channel was now open. She could not recall when she had last had such an experience; such malfunctions were rare. But maybe they were not so unusual here, in this small Earth town.
She drew the keyboard toward her
and entered a heading for Solveig. It seemed to take a half-second longer than usual for the letters to appear on the screen, but perhaps she was only imagining that. “I’m in Lincoln,” she began, “sitting in a room in the house where my great-grandmother grew up,” and then she continued with her message.
“Here it is,” Harriett said to Mahala, “the field where I officially became a woman. It might even be the same field where Iris Angharads took part in the rite.”
They stood to the west of Lincoln, at the side of a dirt road that led away from the town and ended at a field of young grain. Harriet had been her guide for a walk along the roads of Lincoln and to the shops around the town square; they had gone to the tavern for a drink. The whiskey had fortified Mahala, who felt ready afterward to walk with her cousin to the edge of the town. She had a physician’s pouch hanging from her belt, partly out of habit but also in case she might need a mood to control her panic. Maybe, she told herself, she was beginning to adjust to this environment
The grain already reached past Mahala’s waist. Tall silos dotted the field, each with an airship cradle for the floaters and freighters that would arrive later in the season for the harvested grain. She turned northwest and saw mountains in the distance, peaks that had to be many kilometers away but appeared so close that it seemed she might be able to walk to them in less than an hour. She could look toward the horizon now without wanting to crouch down and cover her head, but a life spent inside enclosed settlements had left her unable to judge distances here. The sun was low in the west; the wind rose over the flat land, making waves on the sea of wheat.
Child of Venus Page 40
