“Major Lemaris,” he said, “how good of you to greet me. Congratulations on your recent promotion. I hear that it’s well deserved.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Looking up at him, Alonza wondered if the man was only being polite or trying to suck up to her in the hope of gaining some future favor. Hard to tell, but it did him no harm either way.
“As soon as our charges are off the shuttlecraft, my crew and I will speed them on their way to their ship,” the man continued.
“I came here,” Alonza said, “to tell you that their trip has to be delayed. Your passengers will have to stay here, so get them into the lift and shoot them through the spoke to Level B and the lounge next to the assistant director’s office. We’ll keep them under guard there until we can allow them to board their transport.”
“There’s thirty of them,” the pilot said. He glared at the man and woman with the silver pins, as if they were to blame for the delay. “Might be kind of crowded.”
“They shouldn’t be there for more than ten to twenty hours,” Alonza murmured, “thirty at most. They’re from a camp, so they know hardship.”
The pilot shrugged.
“Warn them that it’ll be close to a g there,” she went on, “not the half-g they’ve got here in the hub.”
“I assume that we at least will be able to stay aboard our ship until our departure, since I know the Wheel’s space is limited.” The man in the blue tunic had spoken; he was a small man, barely taller than Alonza, with short dark hair and brown almond-shaped eyes. His companion, a short dark-eyed woman with a cap of thick black hair, stared past Alonza, avoiding her gaze.
“Unfortunately, you can’t go aboard,” Alonza replied, “because a few components in the dock have to be replaced before it’s safe to ferry anybody to your ship.”
The man frowned, looking as though he did not believe her, not that it mattered whether he did or not. He and his companion were Habitat-dwellers, or Habbers as they were derisively called. Their ancestors had abandoned Earth centuries ago for the Associated Habitats, the homes they had made for themselves in space, and there were many who believed that, despite their appearance, the Habbers were no longer truly human, that their genetic engineering had far surpassed what Earth allowed among its people. Habbers might have their uses; some of them worked with the scientists and specialists of the Venus Project, and having them ferry settlers from the camps to Venus was certainly a convenience. Changing the orbits of a few asteroids so that they would come nearer to Earth and could be more easily mined had been another service of the Habbers to the home world.
Alonza could grant all of that, but loathed the air of superiority that Habbers exuded, as if the resources they provided and the necessary tasks they voluntarily undertook for Earth’s benefit were little more than crumbs thrown to beggars. She thought then of how the home world must seem to Habbers, with its flooded coastlines, melting icecaps, and an atmosphere that was still too thick with carbon dioxide six centuries after the Resource Wars. They probably thought of themselves as fortunate for having abandoned what they must see as a played-out world populated by deluded die-hards. Even these two Habber pilots had that look of superiority in their eyes, the calm steady gaze of people who seemed to lack any turbulent and upsetting emotions.
“Where are we to stay, then?” the female Habber asked.
The woman probably expected to have to stay in the lounge with all the passengers going to Venus. Alonza was silent for a moment, then said, “We want you to be comfortable. I believe that our agreement with the Associated Habitats also requires us not to inflict any unnecessary discomfort on any of you. So we’ve found a room for you in our officers’ quarters. You’ll have to share it, but there are two beds, and a public lavatory just down the corridor.”
“That’s very kind of you,” the male Habber said, and she heard a note of sarcasm in his voice. Being sarcastic was uncharacteristic of such cool and rational types as Habbers, but then this Habber and his companion were not like others of their kind.
* * * *
After getting their thirty Venus-bound passengers out of the lift and settled in the lounge, Alonza led the two Habbers to their room, which was just three doors from her own quarters. In the three years since she had been assigned here, she had grown used to the gently curving and brightly lit corridors, to the gravity-like acceleration, only slightly weaker than Earth’s, that was imparted by the Wheel’s rotation around its hub, to the pilots and passengers passing endlessly through this station. Every twenty-four hour period brought the promise of something new—of an unusually interesting traveler, official visitors, a new detachment of Guardians with interesting tales of a Nomarchy she did not know that much about, the possibility of a mission that might take her to the L-5 spaceport, to one of the industrial, recreational, and military satellites that orbited Earth, or even to Luna. Her post here often imparted a heightened sense of expectation, of feeling that she was on a journey that would never end. It was as if she were somehow picking up that feeling of anticipation from all of those who passed through the Wheel on their way to other places.
“Your room,” Alonza said to the two Habbers as she pressed the door open for them. They entered a small room bare of furnishings except for a small wall screen and two cushions in front of two low shelves. “You pull the beds out from the wall.” She demonstrated by pressing a panel and pulling out the lower bunk. “And the lavatory’s four doors down to your right. I hope everything’s satisfactory, but if there’s anything else you need, do let me know.”
“We’re most appreciative,” the male Habber said.
“I’d be most grateful if you would both be my guests at supper in two hours,” Alonza continued. She thought of asking Tom Ruden-Nodell, the physician in charge of the Wheel’s infirmary and the closest friend she had here, to join them, but decided against it. She would get more of a sense of these two by herself.
The Habbers glanced at each other, apparently surprised by her offer of hospitality. “We’re a bit tired,” the man said. “Perhaps another time—”
“Tired? I didn’t think Habitat-dwellers were as subject to our frailties. Three hours, then? That should give you time to rest. I look forward to seeing you then. I’ll send a Guardian to fetch you.” Alonza turned and left the room before the man could object again.
* * * *
“Detain the operative,” Colonel Sansom had said in his message, sent to her over a confidential channel. Alonza had seen the woman’s file, stored under the name she was using. This was a matter the colonel should have handled himself, but he had left suddenly to go to an asteroid tracking station two days ago, to supervise repairs after a micrometeorite strike had damaged three telescopes, and would not get back to the Wheel for another thirty hours at least. A more easygoing officer might have sent a subordinate to the station, but not the obsessively conscientious Jonas Sansom. Tracking the orbits of asteroids that might threaten Earth was one of the most important duties of Guardians, perhaps the most important. Colonel Sansom would report to his superiors that he had seen to this task personally.
“Just get her away from the others,” Sansom continued, “and into custody as quietly as possible, that’s all. Best if you can handle it by yourself without bringing anybody else into it, so use your judgment.”
That was all. That was more than enough. Alonza was flattered that he trusted her with this task. She must not fail him.
According to the file on her screen, the operative was using the name of Sameh Tryolla. She had supposedly grown up in the Eastern Mediterranean Nomarchy, attended and then been asked to leave the University of Vancouver in the Pacific Federation for not doing well at her studies in physics, and after that had decided to leave her work as a laboratory assistant in Ankara to go to the camp outside Tashkent. Probably everything in her file was an invention. The image of Sameh Tryolla showed a slim young olive-skinned woman with long dark brown hair and large hazel eyes; she looked frail, and har
dly more than a girl.
The woman was to be detained, according to Colonel Sansom, because the Guardian Commanders who advised the Council of Mukhtars had abruptly decided to abort her mission. Alonza was to detain her as unobtrusively as possible and hold her until the colonel returned to the Wheel, after which he would take charge of the matter.
Her task seemed simple enough, but there were all kinds of possible complications in carrying it out. Perhaps this Sameh had friends among those traveling with her who might object to seeing her led away without a good excuse. Maybe the Habber pilots who were to take Sameh and the others from the camp to Venus would argue that, since she was technically in their custody until she arrived in Anwara, the Guardians had no right to keep her at the Wheel. Perhaps Sameh would demand a public hearing, claiming that the Guardian force at the Wheel was violating the implicit agreement that had been made with her by allowing her passage from Earth to Venus.
Nothing would prevent her superiors from doing whatever they wanted with Sameh in the end, but any of these possibilities would draw too much attention to the operative. The Guardian officers close to the Council of Mukhtars wanted no attention drawn to their covert activities. Better for the secret service of the Mukhtars’ personal guard to be no more than the subject of unverifiable rumors, to have even the existence of such a secret service doubted by most of Earth’s citizens.
Alonza closed the file on Sameh Tryolla and secured it, knowing that she would not have to retrieve it again. The whole business had bothered her from the first, and even though Colonel Sansom had not betrayed any uneasiness, she suspected that he was equally puzzled by their orders. Why not find some way to get word to the woman about the change in plans instead of confining her on the Wheel? Why take the risk of calling attention to her by detaining her? For that matter, why not put her out of the way permanently, making her death look like an accident? Why hadn’t she been stopped before she got to the Wheel?
Asking such questions, though, was not part of her assignment; nor was wondering what Sameh Tryolla’s mission might have been. The Council of Mukhtars had many ways of monitoring the progress of the Venus Project and the loyalty of the Cytherians, as the people who lived in the surface settlements and on the domed Islands that floated in Venus’s thin upper atmosphere preferred to call themselves. Alonza had always assumed that one of the Mukhtars’ methods was to plant a few spies among the settlers. She hoped that this was all the Council was doing, that the spies were no more than informers alerting Earth’s rulers of possible difficulties and dissatisfactions that might require their attention.
Irrationally, something inside her insisted upon hoping that Venus might become a place where people could win more for themselves than they were allowed on Earth, that the Cytherians would make something new, that the machinations of the Mukhtars would not dampen their dreams. She had picked up such sentiments from others who had come to the Wheel, the scientists and workers and others who looked forward to the work of terraforming, even knowing that they would never live to see the results of their labors and could only hope that their distant descendants might live on the green and growing world they would create. The terraforming of Venus would redeem Earth and provide a new Earthlike planet for its people. Far in the future, the technology used to transform Venus might even be used to heal humankind’s wounded home world.
Not that Alonza would let such passing thoughts interfere with her duty.
She thought of her own arrival at the Wheel, when Colonel Sansom had welcomed her to her post with a dinner in the officers’ mess. “I thought you might have the makings of a Guardian,” he had told her, “even back in San Antonio. You wouldn’t talk, even with all the scary tales you’d surely been told about Guardian interrogations, not until we took you to your mother and she begged you to talk. First you demonstrated your loyalty, and then you showed your good sense. Adjusting well to the dorms and doing well at your assigned studies only confirmed my original judgment.”
That she had never asked about her mother had likely been another point in her favor. She had learned to control her curiosity, to live with knowing that many of her questions would never be answered and that any answers, if she somehow found them, would only bring her trouble.
* * * *
Alonza did not suppose that she would learn much, if anything, about Sameh Tryolla from the two Habber pilots. The woman was only another one of their passengers; it was unlikely that they had exchanged even a few words with her. But she had to know if they might pose an obstacle to her assignment.
She met them at the entrance to the officers’ mess and led them to their table. Most of the low tables were in the common area, open to all officers and their guests, but Alonza and the Habbers would dine in the smaller adjoining room where Colonel Sansom often entertained visiting Linkers and other dignitaries. She wanted some privacy, so that the Habbers would feel freer to talk.
Keir Renin, the Guardian officer in charge of the camp outside Tashkent, had sent her a confidential message about the two Habbers. The woman went only by the name of Te-yu, not unusual since it was the custom among Habbers to use just one name, but her full name was Hong Te-yu. The man was known as Benzi and also had the surname of Liangharad. This was the third time that the two were ferrying people from the camp to Venus, and Keir Renin had been given the distinct impression by Te-yu and Benzi that this would be the pair’s last such journey.
What was unusual about these two was that they had not been born and reared in a Habitat. They had close kinsfolk on Earth and also among the Cytherians, and had grown up on one of the Venusian Islands. But being given a stake in the Venus Project had not been enough for Te-yu and Benzi, who with several other conspirators had seized control of a shuttlecraft to flee to a Hab not far from Venus.
Few took the risks of fleeing to any of the Habitats and asking for refuge, and some had died in the attempt. Capture meant imprisonment and a forever restricted existence; other failed attempts had ended in death aboard space vessels too limited in range to reach a Habitat. Alonza had never heard of any successful refugees returning to Earth or to the regions of space controlled by the Council of Mukhtars. She wondered why these two had done so, whether they now regretted the choice they had made, if there was some way she might be able to use them.
The two Habbers sat down across from her on their cushions. Alonza folded her legs in front of her, under the table, then studied the pocket screen on the tabletop.
“Do you have any particular preferences?” Alonza asked her guests. “With people coming through here from so many different regions, we have more variety in our cuisine than you might expect.”
The woman named Te-yu shrugged.
“Please feel free to order for both of us, Major Lemaris,” her companion Benzi murmured. He smiled slightly. “No doubt you know what’s best.”
Alonza thought she detected amusement in his smile, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. She found herself suddenly disliking him intensely, then let that feeling go. “We’ll start with chili bean soup,” she said, “and then some fish in a cucumber and dill sauce with rice for the main course. The fish is from one of our protein vats, of course, but it tastes almost exactly like salmon. We’ll end the meal with a few fruit pastries.”
“Sounds delicious,” Benzi said.
“And we can offer you a selection of coffees, herbal teas, and fruit juices.” The officers’ mess served no alcohol, in deference to the Islamic faith of Earth’s dominant Nomarchies and also to keep discipline among the Guardians and the Wheel’s other personnel, although occasionally the pilots or crew members of a freighter could be bribed into surrendering a few bottles of a cargo.
“We’ll have whatever you’re having,” Benzi said.
Alonza touched her screen to order the meal, finding their acquiescence annoying.
Te-yu’s face was composed, and her dark eyes stared past Alonza. In common with the Linkers of Earth, Habbers had Links that connected them directly
to their cyberminds; they could call up any data they might need from their artificial intelligences without using the slender silver headbands most people had to wear in order to open those channels. The Council of Mukhtars restricted direct Links to only a few, to the scientists, specialists, Guardian Commanders and prominent advisors to the Council who had been trained to use the Links and who had access to channels that were closed to other people. But Habbers, it was said, were all Linked, all equal in their access to their cyberminds. Perhaps Te-yu was diverting herself with some data stream or other, or picking up a message from a friend; that might account for the vacant look on her face.
How insulting of her, Alonza thought; it was as rude as coming to dinner, whipping out a pocket screen, and playing a game instead of conversing with one’s companions. “I’m told that you have close kinsfolk on Earth,” she said aloud, wanting to get that out of the way.
“Yes,” Benzi said, “and on Venus as well.”
“And do you sometimes miss what you left behind?” Alonza asked.
“You’re asking if that is why I volunteered to ferry people from that camp to Venus?” Benzi drew his brows together. “Maybe so. I haven’t really examined my possible motivations.”
An orderly came into the small room with a tray, set down the cups of juice, then left. Having people handle such simple tasks on the Wheel was cheaper than the trouble and expense of maintaining the servos and other mechanisms that performed such jobs elsewhere. Whatever Earth might lack in other resources, it had no shortage of people.
“You might have been taking a risk,” Alonza said, “even with our agreements. Ways might have been found to keep you both on Earth without violating any treaties.”
Dream of Venus and Other Science Fiction Stories Page 7
