Authors: Pamela Sargent
Dyami gritted his teeth. "I've been working on something for the memorial, but it's just sketches so far."
"I'd like to see them, if you'd show them to me."
"Will you leave me alone after that?" Dyami asked. The Habber did not answer.
He lifted the tent flap, went inside, found his pocket screen, then left the tent. Balin leaned toward him as he sat down and called up his sketches.
"It's to be a pillar," Dyami said, "like other such monuments. We'll have images of the faces of the dead and a plaque with their names, but I want to do something different with the rest of it. The others have pretty much left this task to me, but I haven't shown anyone the sketches yet."
An image appeared; he was looking at the base of the monument he planned. Twisted, distorted human bodies ringed the base, their heads bowed; disembodied hands clutched at their necks or were fists against their backs. Above them stood other human figures, their arms outstretched, as if they were pleading with someone. At the top of the pillar, more nude figures with distended bony limbs held up rods that suggested wands; other broken bodies lay at their feet.
"I haven't yet worked out where the faces will go," Dyami said. "They'll be set in at various places along the pillar, with the panorama around them. Their names can appear about a meter or so from the base. Making the molds and casting the images may prove to be a challenge, since I haven't done anything on this scale before."
He blanked the screen and set it on the ground. The dome was darker now; a reflection of the dome's light was a silver disk floating on the smooth black surface of the lake. "You haven't told me what you think," he said.
"I'm impressed. No, that isn't the right word." Balin's voice sounded faint. "I'm moved, and I'm also grieving that such a monument ever had to stand on your world."
Balin took his hand. Dyami let him hold it. "I'm going to stay," the other man continued. "There will be work enough for me, and you should find it easy to avoid me if that's what you want, but I'll be here if you need me."
"If that's what you're hoping for, I don't even know if I'm still capable of it. You'll have to find another bed-partner. The thought of all that repels me now."
"I wasn't thinking of that." Balin stood up “Tesia's summoning me. I can wait, Dyami. I won't abandon you again."
"You may be waiting for some time."
"One thing I have is time."
Balin began to descend the hill. "Come back tomorrow," Dyami heard himself say. "I won't be at the refinery, and I want to do more on this house. You could keep me company while I work."
He was sorry as soon as he had spoken. Balin was threatening the refuge he had found inside himself, walled off from others; pain, regret, despair, and possibly disappointment lay beyond those walls. Balin might not be asking for love, but he was requesting trust. Dyami wondered if he could risk trusting anyone again.
"I'll come," Balin replied.
THE CYTHERIANS
The screen above Benzi was dark; there were no images of light and clouds to divert the airship's passengers and allow them to pretend they lived on a sunlit world. The airship's outside lights were beams stabbing into the darkness; the sound filling the cabin was the wail of a fierce distant wind. The only passengers, except for Benzi, were two climatologists bound for Island Nine.
He turned and looked back at the man and the woman. Their eyes were staring at the screen; they were silent as they listened to the wind.
The pilots had allowed him to sit up front with them; he had, after all, been a pilot himself. They were two blond young women with closely cropped hair who, except for their differing heights, might have been sisters. The taller woman reached up to adjust the band around her head; the other was gazing at one of the small screens among the panels before her. The two had seemed amused by his request, and his admission that it was an exercise in nostalgia.
He had told them the story in Island Two's bay, while they were waiting for the cargo to be loaded aboard; apparently the two women had not heard the tale before. "I was an apprentice pilot then," he had told them, "bound for Island Eight. The pilot with me was a woman named Te-yu, and my mother was the only passenger, which was probably just as well, as things turned out. First of all, one of our pumps jammed while we were dropping, and then the helium cells sprang a couple of leaks. We knew we couldn't pull out then, and we'd dropped low enough to be caught by a three-hundred-kilometer-an-hour wind. There we were, with leaks and failing pumps. We couldn't pull out, so we had no choice except to land and hope somebody'd find a way to rescue us. We jettisoned the dirigible and rode down on our chutes."
"Obviously you were saved," the shorter pilot said.
"Not until our sensors had failed and our air was going. Even our suits weren't much protection against the increasing heat inside the cabin. A scooper ship, with my father and a pilot aboard, came from the northern Bat for us, but we had to creep down a rocky mountainside on the cabin's treads to reach it."
"Sounds like quite an apprenticeship," the tall pilot murmured. "I'm surprised you're anxious to get on an airship at all,"
"On the contrary," Benzi said. "It reminds me of how fortunate I am to be alive."
"Iris Angharads certainly had an adventurous life. I hadn't heard that story about her before. I must keep up with more of our historical records. But what I don't understand is why you were dropping in the first place if you were headed for Island Eight. Weren't you maintaining altitude?"
"Iris had an interesting approach to her work in climatology," Benzi replied, "a quirk, if you will. Even with drones to gather data, and probes sending back information from the surface, she took any opportunity she could to observe things more directly. She relied, in part, on her intuitions, and she often had the feeling she might be able to sense something herself that all those other sensors couldn't. She was being sent to Island Eight, and as long as we were going, she figured we might as well take a sample of the lower atmosphere on the way. She'd listen to the winds when she was aboard airships, whenever she could talk the pilots into opening the sound sensors so she could hear them for herself."
"A bit risky for you," the pilot said, "descending like that, with no bays where you might land. I always say you can trust maintenance to keep you safe only if you don't take foolish chances."
But Iris, he thought now, had always been one to take chances; she was incapable of simply observing from afar. Benzi had believed that he might, that he could watch her world from a distance, untouched by its storms and upheavals. Decades ago, sitting in airships much like this one, he had felt only resentment and the urge to escape, to free himself of everything holding him here. Soon, if it was necessary, he might have to accept more bonds with Cytherians that might not so easily be broken.
Risa had promised him a message when he was back on Island Two. He wondered what she would tell him. It did not matter; he was finally prepared to accept the responsibility she might feel forced to give him. He might find the first of the Cytherians who would share his dream of going to the stars.
* * *
Dyami was leading Amina away from Oberg's bay when a familiar voice called out to him.
"Dyami!" Teo was running toward him, past a few tents that housed the recent arrivals from Earth. "I wanted to greet you." He pumped Dyami's arms. "I can't talk long — I have to get back to the lab."
Dyami tried to smile. Teo was still the same slender, dark-haired man he had seen on his last visit nearly eight years ago. He noticed one difference; his friend was no longer wearing Ishtar's sash. He thought of the occasional messages he had received from Teo. In the earlier ones, Teo had spoken of how concerned he had always been when he had not known what was happening in Turing and of how he had tried to rouse others to indignation. In later messages, his deeds had grown in the telling until Dyami might almost have thought that Teo was at the center of those working against Ishtar.
Dyami let go of Teo's hands and adjusted his pack. Teo's messages resembled those some of his other schoolmates had sent. They had all seen that those close to the Guide were committing excesses; they had not known what was going on in Turing or they surely would have done something about it. They certainly did not want him to think they would have tolerated such abuses of their fellow citizens. But that was all past, and they wanted him to know that they all expected a visit whenever he came back to Oberg.
They did not say what some of them probably thought, what a few newcomers in Turing had said before being silenced by icy stares. Turing's monument was a bit on the dramatic side, wasn't it? Surely some of the stories told during the hearings there were a trifle exaggerated, and anyway, hadn't the former prisoners, by not trying to conceal their indifference to Ishtar, brought some of their trouble on themselves? It had all been a terrible mistake, of course, but they could not think the Guide and most of her followers had much to do with what the patrol in Turing had done.
Dyami pulled Amina forward gently. "My housemate, Amina Astarte. This is my old friend, Teo Lingard."
"You may have glimpsed my image on his screens," Teo said to the blond woman. He raised his brows as he turned toward Dyami again. "You mentioned a new housemate in your last message, but you didn't provide any details. Does this signal a change in your inclinations?"
Amina laughed. "We're only friends. My own inclinations run in an entirely different direction."
Teo's smile widened; he seemed relieved. "In that case, Dyami, I should tell you that I know a couple of interesting men who would very much like to meet you."
Dyami sighed; he had expected that sort of invitation. He thought of a young man who had recently come to live in Turing, who had been quick to seek Dyami out. The man had been disappointed when Dyami shied away from talking of the past, and even more downcast when his advances were politely but firmly refused. Teo's friends were probably like that young man, anxious to feed on the tales of suffering that might provide fuel for their own fantasies. Perhaps the notion of comforting a victim appealed to them, or maybe their fantasies were darker ones; he had seen something of Maxim Paz in the young man's eyes.
Teo's smile had faded. "You needn't worry now," he said. "Some people may still look askance at us, but as long as we're not blatant — well, discretion is preferable to deception, I suppose. Things are better, and maybe that's all we can expect for now."
Dyami tried to think of what to say. "It isn't that," he murmured at last. "I'm content with Balin as a lover. I haven't felt the need for others." This much was true. Balin had been patient, and Dyami had found contentment and love with him again, but there were still times when he needed to retreat, when fear and distrust still inhibited him.
"Ah, yes, the Habber." Teo tilted his head. "Well, you could meet these men anyway — they'd like to talk to you at least. You see —" He looked away. "I know what you're thinking, that all I did was try to protect myself, that I wasn't really thinking of anyone else as long as they left me alone. I have learned something since then, and so have others. You do believe that, don't you?"
"Of course," Dyami replied, not sure he did.
"You must come to visit me, both of you. Amina can hear all about our childish adventures. Will you be staying here long enough to welcome in 634?"
Dyami shook his head. "We're only here for a week. We'll be in ibn-Qurrah with Amina's family for the new year."
"Well, then. I must get back to the lab, and you're probably anxious to get to your parents' house."
"Amina wants to see the monument first."
"Of course."
Dyami clutched Teo's shoulder; the other man brightened a little. "We will visit you," Dyami said.
* * *
A cart filled with passengers rolled past as Dyami and Amina left the main road. Dyami glanced at the group; a few of the people wore sashes. He found himself wondering how many of them had stood by, closing their minds to anything that might require them to act, and how many had actively aided Ishtar, convinced that anything the Guide did was right.
In the clearing where the monument stood, a small gardening robot was watering the grass. Amina took his arm as they approached the pillar. "Here it is," Dyami said. "I trust it's what you expected." She looked up at the faces of Iris and Amir without speaking. "My grandfather came here once in a while to polish the monument — he never thought anyone else was tending to it properly. His own memorial's with the other pillars."
They walked toward the other monuments. He was about to point out Chen's image to her when a holo image on the pillar next to it caught his eye. Chimene's large dark eyes stared out from the top of that pillar; the image was alone, far above the other faces clustered near the center and base of the memorial. A trampled wreath of flowers lay in front of the monument; a torn banner was attached to the wreath.
He bent forward and read the banner's lettering:
to the memory of our guide,
chimene liang-haddad,
who loved us all and who lives on
Dyami straightened. "Playing a martyr's role," he said hoarsely, "is becoming something of a family tradition." Amina's hand tightened around his arm. "We'll never be free of her, will we?"
"You shouldn't have seen this now," she said. "Have you decided what you're going to tell your parents?"
"I think I have." He turned away from the pillar. "When the hearings were over, I expected that one of the things we'd have to endure was the pity of others and their efforts to reassure us that everything was fine now. What I didn't expect was that they'd want us to reassure them. They want to forget — they don't want to think that all of us are capable of certain deeds. They prefer to think it was just all caused by a few misguided or malicious people."
"Dyami —"
"And now I'm supposed to forgive and forget."