Authors: Pamela Sargent
"What would she tell it?" Dyami said. "I can't imagine why she'd want it."
"To make up for what's past. She feels she's failed Chimene, that if things had gone differently —" Sef swallowed. "So that we can put what's past behind us instead of blaming an innocent child for the deeds of her parents."
"Her parents?" But he did not have to ask who the father was; Chimene had designated him when she decided to store her ova. A child of Boaz and Chimene might live. His gorge rose. He would never be free of them.
"Risa's going to have the embryo frozen for now," Sef said, "to have more time to decide. She should know what you think. She can't make this decision if you —"
Dyami pushed his father's hand away, then gazed into Sef's brown eyes. "Why, if it's frozen," he said softly, "perhaps her dilemma will resolve itself. It's hardly unknown for something to go wrong in cryonic storage — the technique does carry a very small risk. The longer she waits, the more likely that is, and then the problem's solved. Quite clever of Risa, if you ask me. The embryo could suffer some damage from prolonged freezing, and that would be that. Or an emergency might come up that requires more of the lab's cryonic facilities — they're hardly unlimited. The embryologists might have to dispose of it and the decision would be out of Risa's hands — she could feel that she tried without blaming herself. One can always hope."
Sef was looking at him strangely. His mouth worked; his eyes glistened a little. He said, "We've lost you, haven't we?"
Dyami got up. "I should head for the greenhouse. Now that I'm free of other duties, I should make myself useful elsewhere."
Sef seemed about to say more. Dyami walked away, leaving his father seated on the bank.
Thirty-Five
Benzi lifted his eyes to the airship screen. Oberg's domes were visible below; patches of green under the domes surrounded disks of hazy yellow light. Two pilots seated in the front of the cabin leaned over their control panels as the airship dropped through the still, dark clouds.
I might have been one of those pilots, Benzi thought. He contemplated the life he had escaped. He might have followed his father to the surface, and left Oberg later only to ferry settlers and supplies. He would have built a home or shared one with Chen; he might have had a bondmate and children. He would have played a role in the struggles of these people, and wondered what he would have learned about himself. Would he have stood against injustice, or would he have closed his eyes to events for as long as possible? Would he have come to love this world, or grown bitter about its failures?
He had no way of knowing, and if he had stayed, by now he would have been an old man nearing the end of a century of life. He would be clutching at his small joys and sorrowing over his mistakes during the two or three decades he might have remaining to him.
A Habber could believe that there was time to make up for mistakes, to live past regrets, to experience one's feelings fully before letting them drop away. Cytherians and Earthfolk did not have that luxury; their accomplishments and mistakes affected the lives of people who might have no chance to reap their rewards or right their wrongs during their own lifetimes. Cytherians could not escape the consequences of their deeds by living on until even their memories of them had faded. They could not store their experiences in their cyberminds and pretend that these events were part of someone else's life.
In the end, Habbers could not escape the results of their actions, either, although it was much easier to believe that they could. Such a belief was a trap. That was why Habbers had to reach out to these people, before their trap closed around them and left them unable to make any effort at all. Otherwise, forgetting would be too great a temptation. His people would no longer be the companions of their cyberminds, and might become only their pets.
Benzi had not forgotten the promise he had made to Chen — that he would come here and see what his father had helped to build. He had not thought he would ever really keep the promise, yet he was here.
Mukhtar Kaseko, after playing his role of crafty benefactor, had departed with his people for Earth. Benzi had intended to stay on Anwara only until the hearings were over. They had gone on for nearly two months. The embittered statements of accusers and the unrepentant, self-justifying defenses of many of the accused had sickened him, reminding him of all the things he wanted to escape.
The worst were the hearings held in Turing. The people there had carefully assembled their evidence, knowing that if they did not prove their case, they themselves might be held to account for the violence they had unleashed against their captors. Scanner records of damaged bodies showing the effects of abuse had been displayed. Some former prisoners spoke in toneless voices of their beatings, rapes, deprivations, and torture, while others could barely be understood through their weeping. A man in charge of the Turing patrol had foolishly kept recordings indicating that his people had been given free rein with their prisoners. The turning point in those hearings had come when a few on the patrol, hoping for mercy for themselves, verified many of the worst stories.
Earth had finally agreed to take the accused in Turing and some of the worst offenders in other settlements, promising confinement and sessions with Counselors. Benzi had his doubts about that proposed punishment, and suspected that some of the condemned would disappear once they reached the home world. A few might have been Earth's agents all along, and now the Mukhtars and Guardians had reason to silence them for good.
All the negotiating, the subterfuge, and the stories he had heard left Benzi longing to return to his Habitat. Chen was gone; he did not have to keep an old promise to him. Benzi remained unmoved even after a vast majority of the Cytherians had voted in favor of asking the Habbers to return to Venus. It had taken a brief message from Risa Liangharad, the sister he had never seen, to make him decide to stay, at least for a while.
Risa did not mention the referendum. She wanted Benzi to see his father's house and to hear about Chen's life there from those who had loved him. She wanted to share her memories, which were all she had left of some of the people she had loved.
Was it only curiosity and an old promise that had brought him here? Or was it that Risa had reminded him of bonds he thought he had shed? Somehow, he felt that if he left now, he would be repudiating the efforts of Habbers to reach out to these people. By denying what was left of his own family, he might be rejecting the greater human family of which they were a part, and with whom his people might still find a common destiny.
* * *
Benzi and the five Habbers traveling with him to Oberg were greeted outside the bay by Risa and a man named Dalal Singh. Both were members of Oberg's Council, there to welcome them officially. Risa kept her eyes averted from Benzi, apparently content to take refuge in formalities during their first meeting; he could not tell what she was thinking.
When the short speech of welcome was over, the Habbers were led away from the bay toward a cluster of buildings overlooking the small grassy space. A few curious onlookers trailed them, but they did not seem anxious to engage them in conversation. Benzi felt uneasy under their gaze. Some might be people who still had their doubts about them, who had only reluctantly voted to allow them back.
They stopped in front of a small round building. "Habbers used to live here," Dalal Singh said. "We've done what we can to make it ready for you, but if there's anything else you require, please let the Council know. You'll have to excuse me now — we're still trying to resume normal operations, and I have other duties."
"Thank you," Czeslaw replied. "We'll look forward to meeting with the Council soon to discuss how we can best be of service."
Dalal bowed a little, then hurried away. Risa remained behind; she was gazing directly at Benzi now. She had Chen's dark hair and pale brown skin, but her small rounded body was Iris's, as was her broad-boned face. Her hair was beginning to gray a little, and lines were etched around her large, almond-shaped brown eyes.
"May I speak to you?" she said a bit stiffly.
"Of course. Would you like to come inside? We could talk while I store my belongings."
"Maybe you'd rather walk. I can show you a little of Oberg." She seemed uncertain about entering the residence.
"Very well. I'd enjoy that." He handed his bag to Czeslaw and followed her away from the building; she was leading him back toward the main road. He grew conscious of the dome overhead, the gardened landscape that resembled and yet was so different from the hollow at the Habitat's center. Here, he could not look up and see the land curving above, or imagine the openness and vastness of the space beyond the Habitat's corridors.
"I hope," Benzi said, "it isn't awkward for you, having a brother who's a Habber."
"A brother. From the way you look, you might be my son."
"We live long lives on the Habs."
She said, "Some say you never die."
"That isn't entirely true. We can lose ourselves eventually." He did not explain. She might not see giving up many of one's memories, or persisting as a pattern of thought inside cyberminds, as death. "We also have our accidents. Like you, we have to depend on an environment we've built and must maintain."
"I didn't understand what you did for a long time," Risa said. "I might as well admit that. Habbers were only people who brought grief to my father by luring his son away. But I think I can understand you a bit more now. After what's happened here, you must feel that you made the right choice."
"But I've chosen to come here now."
"I wonder how much good it'll do," she said. "We never change, do we, people like us. We came here to make something better and look what we've done. We just go on making the same mistakes — Earth's mistakes, the ones we thought we'd never repeat."
"You shouldn't look at it that way," Benzi said, "There was a time when a man such as Kaseko Wugabe would have been incapable of resolving a conflict peacefully. There are restraints on such people now, one of them being their knowledge of their history and what fighting brought to Earth in the past. Earth can be made to back away from such battles now, to see how much might be lost otherwise. Maybe your people have also learned from what's happened here."
"Until we slip again."
"You might," he said, "but probably not as far."
"Not that it matters to you. It's all so theoretical to your people. You can always run away from it."
"No, we can't," he answered. "That's what we've learned."
They crossed the main road and entered a grove of trees. He saw a low wall and the darkness of the dome above it. "We've been told," she said, "that most of the Islanders who fled to the Hab before will return to carry on their work here."
"Yes."
"Do you know if Malik Haddad will be among them?"
He glanced at his sister. "No, he won't."
"So he's happy among your people then."
Happy? Benzi frowned a little. Adrift was a more accurate description. His friend Te-yu called Malik a lost soul, haunted by the past, uncertain of his future. "He's not unhappy," he said. "I think he may choose to visit Venus someday but maybe not until some of his memories have faded."
"Perhaps you remember the message you sent to Chen from Anwara," she said, "before Malik arrived here. Chen put in a request for his services as a teacher in our dome. That's how he came to live with us. You must find it odd that one message from you could have altered our lives so much."
He felt a twinge; maybe that was another reason he had come back.
They were near a clearing; a pillar lay ahead. Benzi was close to it before he recognized his mother's face on the monument. His eyes fell to the inscription that spoke of Iris's sacrifice.
"I thought you might want to see Iris's memorial," Risa murmured. "Chen's image is over there among the memorial pillars." Benzi stared at his feet as he recoiled inwardly from these monuments to death. "Maybe I was mistaken," she continued. "To Habbers, I suppose any death seems too soon."
He took her arm. "I'd like to hear about my father's life here, and your own. You said in your message that I might come to your house. Maybe I could stay there with you while I'm here, in the place where Chen lived. I won't be in Oberg very long, as I told you in my reply to your message. It seems I'll be more useful on Island Two."
She was silent for a while. Perhaps he was pushing too much, assuming she would welcome him into her household for a time. She turned toward him and smiled a little. "So you'd like to hear about the life you might have shared," she said. "Maybe you should stay in my house. It might set a useful example, having a Habber as a guest. Maybe if your people and mine shared more of our lives, we wouldn't be so quick to distrust you again."
"Perhaps."
"And what will you be doing on Island Two?"
"I'm not entirely sure yet," he said. It was too soon to talk of his own hopes, his dream that his people might eventually look out to the stars and voyage beyond this solar system. If they did, they might need companions on their journey, people forged by this world who were unafraid of that challenge and would welcome it, men and women who would teach their fellow Cytherians to look beyond the clouds and the darkness that hid the heavens from them. "I've spent my recent years learning more physics, and I was once a pilot here. I'm sure some use will be found for me."
"Well." She released his arm. "I never thought I'd actually see you, Benzi. I assumed you'd always be just a name and a few stories Chen told me about you. I'm still not sure how I feel."
"Neither am I."
"I wish you could have seen a sister who wasn't just an aging woman burdened by the sorts of sorrows you probably can't understand." Risa waved at the other memorials. "There's an image of my daughter Eleta over there — she died of the fever when she was only a child, the fever some blamed on your people. My other daughter took her own life, and though some are calling it a noble act, it doesn't erase my pain." She lowered her voice. "And my only surviving child has become a man I hardly know."