Venus of Shadows (2 page)

"There are also some heroes in this part of the story," Wadzia continued, "who would be inspiring. I'm thinking of Iris Angharads and Amir Azad in particular."

Malik nodded; he had refreshed his memory of recent Project history before his guest's arrival. Iris Angharads had been a climatologist working on the Islands, Amir Azad a Linker and Administrator. Both had died attempting to resolve the situation Pavel had created. Their deaths, according to one sentimental interpretation, had led to Pavel's remorse and his surrendering of himself to Earth for punishment.

"There's a memorial to Iris and Amir in one of the surface settlements." Wadzia sipped some coffee. "Maybe I could show that monument. Earth reclaims its dream, and we end with settlers building a new world for Earth's greater glory."

"A lot of settlers don't quite see it that way," he murmured. "Some still dream of being free of us. A few Mukhtars wonder if they're looking at a world that might try to escape from their grasp again."

"I don't have to dwell on
that.
We'll see a future Nomarchy, and people who are mindful of their loyalty to Earth."

"I almost think you wouldn't mind going there yourself."

She laughed softly. "I'm happier being a spectator, seeing history's grand sweep and dramatic moments, without being drawn into all the smaller struggles and personal disappointments that also play their role in events." She tilted her head. "I imagine you feel much the same way."

"I suppose I do." She was reminding him of his current worries. His uncle might be too involved in the Mukhtars' political disputes for Malik's family to remain spectators for long.

Wadzia's legs were crossed; the body covered by her blue tunic and pants was slightly arched, as though she was subtly trying to display herself. "You also never touched on one important reason for the Project," he said, "namely, that we might need what we learn from terraforming Venus here on Earth." Karim al-Anwar might have been a dreamer, but he, along with others, had noted the rise in Earth's temperatures, the slow melting of its polar ice caps, the gradual flooding of coastal cities, and the increase of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. He had seen Earth's possible future under Venus's clouds.

"I don't want to alarm people," she responded. "The ones who are likely to experience this tour may not stop to think that Earth will hardly become a desert any time soon. Besides, we've postponed the day of reckoning by moving so much of our industry into near-space, so it's not anything to worry about now." Wadzia's hand tightened around her cup. "May I tell my team that you're in agreement with me, that we should include what this version omits?"

"If you think it'll do any good."

Her face brightened a little. "Oh, it will. Maybe I can show you an early version. It'd be a mock-up, just the images without the sensory effects, and you could point out anything the authorities might find objectionable."

"Be sure that I will." What a mind-tour designed for ignorant people showed could not matter; advising Wadzia to shade the truth could not really count as intellectual dishonesty. Refusing to state certain conclusions in his writings, or keeping his lectures safely ambiguous so that they did not contradict the accepted historical theories, would be more serious failings. I may come to that, Malik thought, wondering exactly how much he might restrict his own thoughts in order to keep what he had.

His cowardice disgusted him. "The Venus Project is problematic," he said. "Here we are, hoping for a new world and a new culture that might revitalize our own, and yet for Venus to have a chance at doing that, it should be left to grow in its own way. By placing too heavy a hand on those Cytherian settlers, we risk losing what we hope to gain."

"The Mukhtars wouldn't like to hear that."

"A few of them think it," he said. "It'd be more sensible to grant the Cytherians autonomy and allow the Habbers to contribute even more to the Project. Some resent what it's cost us already."

"Impossible." Her eyes widened in shock. "The Mukhtars can't take a Project they've touted as our greatest effort and turn it over to Habbers who affront us at every opportunity. Even people who don't care about Venus would see that as a betrayal. It's bad enough that we needed Habber help in the first place."

"Does it really matter in the long run?" He suddenly felt a need to display some courage and recklessness, even if only with words. "Habbers are one branch of humanity, we're another, and the Cytherians will undoubtedly be a third. We'll diverge for a time, but we may draw together eventually and find a common destiny, as the different regions of Earth did so long ago. Venus could be a bridge between Earth and the Habitats, and there's much we could gain from more contact with Habbers." Malik fell silent; this was the kind of talk Muhammad had warned him against.

"Dangerous words. Linker Malik."

He rose, knowing that it was time to end his brief show of bravery. "Much as I would enjoy prolonging this visit, my duties require my attention." He was speaking in Arabic now, anxious to find refuge in its formalities; Wadzia seemed a bit disappointed as she got to her feet. "I shall look forward, God willing, to your presentation at another time." Her eyes were lowered, her lips turned down; Malik took her arm and guided her toward the door. "I would like to hear more about what you've been doing these past years — perhaps you are free for dinner this evening."

"That would be most pleasurable," she replied. "Since my bondmate's work has taken him to Baghdad, my evenings have often been lonely." There would be a bondmate, of course; young women of Wadzia's age in this Nomarchy were rarely unpledged. The man was probably from her village; she might have been promised to him even before attending the university. The two would have made their pledge, and perhaps gone through the rite of marriage as well, because their families would be shamed if they refused. Now, he supposed, they had an understanding that allowed them other companions as long as they were discreet. It was a common enough arrangement.

Her novelty would divert him for a while; he was already trying to determine which restaurant might provide the most seductive atmosphere. He sighed as he once more felt his familiar weariness.

*  *  *

The University of Amman was near Malik's residence, and he usually walked there instead of taking the private hovercar provided for his use. The towers of the school and the tall, terraced apartment buildings surrounding it rose above a city of small, pastel-colored houses packed tightly together on low mountainsides. Other towers dotted Amman, looming over dwellings that might have been carved from the multicolored stone.

Malik had grown up in Damascus, but this city had claimed his heart when he first came here to study. Its clear, biting air invigorated him, and he had never tired of exploring its rocky hills and twisting streets. He had been happy to win a position in Amman; it was the city in the New Islamic Nomarchy that he loved most.

Olive trees and cedars lined the pale paths of the university complex; they were tall, straight trees unlike the tiny, stunted ones that grew in the crags and small spaces between houses. A small group of students walked toward him, chattering in Hebrew, then nodded respectfully as they drew near.

"Salaam, Linker Malik," one of the young men said in Arabic. "May I ask — we have been told that you will be visiting Jerusalem next term."

"As God wills." Malik touched his forehead. "Isaac Alon has invited me, and I am looking forward to spending more time in the Eastern Mediterranean Nomarchy."

"I must tell my brother, then — he is a student there. He will be hoping to meet with you."

One of the female students was ogling him quite blatantly; her large hazel eyes were much like Luciana Rizzi's. Malik drew his brows together. He had promised Luciana he would see her tonight, before Wadzia's visit; his Link would have reminded him had he bothered to consult it. Even after two years, he was not entirely accustomed to the Link; now he would have to change his plans. Perhaps not; he could find an excuse to give Luciana. It was always a sign that a particular love was fading when he began to make excuses.

"I shall hope to meet your brother, then," Malik said. He could not remember this student's name. He opened his Link to call it up, and heard only a dead silence.

The shock of meeting a block in the Link's channels made him tense; it had to be a malfunction. What could be wrong? He trembled and swayed unsteadily as another young man caught his arm.

"Is something the matter, Professor?" the student asked. Two other men were coming toward him. One wore the khaki garb of the local police; the other was in the black uniform of a Guardian.

"Malik Haddad?" The Guardian spoke gruffly, omitting Malik's title. Malik nodded; the student released his arm and stepped back. "You're to come with us. We have orders to detain you."

"You must be mistaken," Malik said. "I have a seminar to conduct." His Link was still blocked; he was suddenly afraid. "I think you should know —"

"Come with us," the Guardian said. The students were watching him with blank expressions as he was led away.

THE DREAMERS

One

The spires of Tashkent lay far behind him. To the south, above the port outside the city, a shuttle climbed Earth's sky. Malik trudged east along the side of the road, feeling the weight of the pack on his back. The people with him had held their heads high as they left Tashkent's port; now their pace was slower, their heads bowed.

The asphalt of the ancient thoroughfare was broken; hundreds of feet had already worn away a path under the row of bare-limbed trees that lined the road. A young woman near Malik suddenly stumbled on a patch of uneven ground. He reached out and caught her by the elbow.

The weariness left her strong-boned face as she smiled up at him. "The Mukhtars dream of their new world," she said in Russian, "yet they punish some of those who seek it."

"They want the way to be hard," Malik replied in the same language. "If it were otherwise, too many would want to leave, and even the Habbers couldn't find ships for them all."

The woman's smile faded as her tilted black eyes grew hard. "They think we'll forget when we're on Venus, that gratitude will wipe our memories clean and make us honor the Mukhtars again."

A young man near her turned; his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he glanced at Malik. Malik had seen that look from others, back in the port. "Do not speak to him, Katya," the young man muttered.

Malik had done what he could to conceal what he was. His long sheepskin coat was like those many of these people wore, and he had wound a turban around his head. He had given himself away somehow, perhaps when he had forgotten himself and addressed the Guardian at the port in formal Arabic.

He could imagine what the man and the woman were thinking — either that he was a spy sent to ferret out those who might prove troublesome or that he would not be among these people now unless he had offended someone powerful. In either case, he did not belong, and it would do no good to speak to him.

He would have to live among these people. He had thought they would accept him as a fellow emigrant, one who shared their dream; now he saw how foolish that hope had been.

Malik glanced back at the distant city and recalled other visits to Tashkent. On his last trip there, he had taken an airship from Bukhara. From his window, he had enjoyed the sight of a Central Asian spring — flat green land irrigated by canals, fields white with the cotton that was still grown for the formal robes of Linkers, slender trees with pink and white blossoms. A student from the university had been sent to greet him; Administrators had invited him to their homes and accompanied him to Tashkent's lively markets. He had not been allowed to enter the city this time. A Guardian had greeted him, then scanned the identity bracelet on Malik's wrist before pushing him roughly in the direction of this road.

The plain stretched before him. A touch of winter was still in the air, but spring came early to this region; on the horizon, machines were already tilling the soil. He thought of how far they still had to walk, and of the people who had traveled over this land in past times. Persians and Greeks had carved out their conquests, caravans had brought silk from China, horsemen of the steppes had come in search of loot, and Russians had expanded their empire here. Now the land bore the footprints of those seeking a new world far from Earth.

The small group of fifteen people moved away from the road and settled on the grass to rest. The woman who had spoken to him looked away as he sat down. The young man seated himself next to her, warning Malik away with his eyes.

Silence would not help him now; he had to speak. "I have heard," Malik said in Russian, "that the barriers separating us on Earth do not exist on the new world, and yet I see those barriers here." He looked around at the others as he spoke but saw only cold stares and averted eyes. "I am to labor on Venus with you. I've given up all I had to join you, yet you shun me."

No one spoke. He repeated his words in Anglaic, then waited.

"You know why we're here," the young man near him said at last. "However hard our lives may be on Venus, we'll have the chance to rise and to see our children rise. The Nomarchies may scorn us now, but we'll win their respect. You have the look of a man who held a higher place than ours. Why would you choose to travel with us? Why do you try to hide what you are?"

Malik forced himself to gaze directly at the man. "To show that, whatever I was before, I am one of you now."

The young man shook his blond head. "Perhaps you're a spy." He smiled mirthlessly. "But you'd make a poor one, since we so easily see what you are. Why would you wait with the likes of us, hoping for passage on a ship?"

"Because I lost everything." Malik shrugged out of his pack. "My family was dishonored by my fall from favor, and told me that their shame might be lessened if I left Earth. There's no chance that, disgraced as I am, I could be chosen for the Project, so if I want to get to Venus, my only choice is to wait with you."