Venus of Dreams (29 page)

Michiko looked up. "Iris, you cut your hair."

"Had it cut this afternoon." Iris tilted her head. "How's it look?"

"Pretty good," Sarah replied.

"It'll be a lot less trouble. I don't have time to fuss with my hair." Iris wondered what Angharad would say about her closely clipped hair when she saw it on the screen; her mother would probably be too shocked by her clothes to notice her hair. She tugged at her skimpy shorts, sure that she would never get used to her revealing garments.

The door chime sounded; Iris turned. "Who's there?" lan shouted at the door.

"Anthony Leilas."

Ian groaned; Sarah rolled her eyes. "Should we let him in?" Michiko asked Iris.

"Might as well."

"You're too kind," Michiko went on. "Just because he's a Linker's son doesn't mean you have to put up with him."

"Iris and Anthony are both from the Plains," Edwin called out. "It's natural to spend time with somebody who reminds you of home." Iris smiled at Edwin gratefully; there was a trace of homesickness in his voice.

Michiko made a face. "Anthony went to another university before he came here, that's what I heard. They say he had some trouble there." Michiko did not say where she had learned this, and Iris was sure that the other girl had not gained access to Anthony's records. Perhaps Anthony had let such a story out himself. That would be like him, to brag about past difficulties instead of concealing them.

"Oh, let the fellow in," Edwin said.

The door slid open as Anthony entered. The others nodded at him before turning away; he ignored them as he came toward Iris. "Thought you might want to go over Nimero's lecture with me," Anthony said in a loud voice. "I know the math's giving you trouble."

Iris flushed as she looked up at his angular face. Anthony was smiling; his gray eyes seemed to be mocking her.

She led him up the ramp toward her room and opened her door. He followed her inside and sat down on the edge of the bed while she seated herself in front of her screen. She was about to call up the lecture, then turned. "Did you have to announce to everyone that I'm having trouble?"

"Oh, come on. I'm sure it's no surprise to them. I thought you wanted your friends to know that's the only reason I'm here, for some tutoring. I mean, it is, isn't it?"

She lowered her eyes. "Of course."

"You'll have to master this simple stuff. You've got a course in fractals coming up, and if you can't get through that, you won't make much of a climatologist—or anything else, for that matter."

She glared at him; he was baiting her again, playing on her fear of failure. "I'll do perfectly well," she responded. "I wouldn't be here if the school didn't think I could pass. The Nomarchies don't like to waste money. And, after all, I have you to help me."

He chuckled. "Oh, you'll get through. You work hard enough to overcome your shoddy preparation. You're just the sort they want for the Project—anyone who had an easy time might not be ready to deal with the Project's obstacles. And you don't seem to have the same trouble with that history of the Project course, since you so readily swallow all that propaganda."

She sighed. "Did you come here for another argument about that?"

"Not at all, though you argue for yourself well enough, and that helps me sharpen my own arguments. It's interesting to listen to people who are so devoted to the Project."

"Well, why did you come to the Institute, then?" She recalled what Michiko had said about Anthony. "I'm sure you could have gone to another school."

"I wanted to come. I was admitted, so I came. I just don't deceive myself about what the Project will actually bring about. I don't ignore its contradictions. Besides, I want to be a geophysicist, and what better place is there for it than here?"

"You'll have to want more than that to stay."

His smile widened. "I see you got your hair cut. I liked it better before, but you look more like most of the other students now. I suppose that's why you did it."

"It won't be as much of a bother."

"And looking like everyone else is only incidental, of course."

She wanted to snap at him, but held back. He was a better student than she; he had helped her before, and tolerating his jibes was a small price to pay for that. She wondered what Anthony got out of the tutoring; maybe he was secretly homesick, too, and only wanted to be with someone else from the Plains.

"Let's listen to the lecture," she said. "There's one thing—"

"Oh, we can listen to that later."

"Now, Anthony. I have other things to review too."

He stood up and stared at her for a long moment, then began to pull off his shirt and shorts. "Well?" he said as he stretched out on her bed.

She stared at his lean, naked body, too surprised to speak for a moment. She took a breath. "I don't know about you, but where I come from, the woman has something to say about who comes to her bed."

He lifted one dark brow. "Where I come from, a man can read the signals before the woman has to ask."

Her lip curled. "What signals?"

"Oh, come now. We're both from the Plains. I doubt you can be alone with a man for long without having it cross your mind."

Her cheeks burned.

"I've been picking it up," he went on. "I suppose your housemates have, also."

Could that be true? She thought of Jomo, and how surprised he had been when she shoved him out of her room. She and her housemates might get along now, but barriers still existed, moments when she was all too aware of how different they all were from one another. Her friends in Lincoln, whatever their attitudes toward her and her odd pursuits, had at least been predictable, had shared the same assumptions. She swallowed. None of that mattered. She and the other students had all come here for the same reasons.

"If I've been sending signals, as you put it," she said, "they've been inadvertent."

"Probably unavoidable, too, since you haven't had a lover here. I should think you'd be feeling a bit restless."

"I don't want a man now."

"Are you afraid of what some of the others might think of our customs?"

She was, a little. The female students, she knew, would be likely to judge her even more harshly than the males; she had overheard their scornful tones while they gossiped about other Plains students. Iris had quickly learned not to be too blunt while speaking to other women of men. Her longing for her old home nearly overwhelmed her again.

"It isn't just what people might think," she said at last. "You know about my son. My son's father and I—" She paused. She had nearly mentioned their bond. "We became very close. He isn't from the Plains, and his customs aren't ours. It might hurt him to know that I had lovers here."

"Does he expect you to spend decades on the Project without lovers?"

"He plans to join me there. He lived on the Islands before, you know."

"Did you make promises?"

She shook her head quickly.

"Then I don't see your problem. He must know Plains customs, and you don't have to tell him anything. He'll probably assume you've been having other men in your bed anyway, so refusing them won't make any difference. He has no right to expect that of you." She winced at his words, since she had often thought the same thing herself. "Fighting yourself and your impulses is hardly going to help you clear your mind for your work."

She rose slowly, wanting to tell him to put on his clothes and leave, but no words came to her. Anthony sat up; his fingers closed around her wrist. He pulled her down on the bed.

She lay there passively as he took off her shirt and shorts, surprised at how little she felt. I don't want this, she thought. She tried to draw away; he pushed her down. She rolled on one side, concealing her breasts with one arm; he pulled her arm back. His hands were hurting her. She gazed into his face and thought she saw rage.

His mouth was on hers; teeth bit into her lip. She twisted away, but her struggles only seemed to arouse him more. The women of her household had sometimes talked about such men, ones who would try to mix pain and pleasures, who bore some hidden anger at the women who were at the center of Plains life. She should have seen Anthony might be such a man. She had believed that his arguments with her about the Project and its goals were only one mind testing another. Now, it seemed that they were continuing their true argument silently in her bed; if he could not defeat her with words, his body would. Thinking of lovemaking that way seemed a perversion.

He entered her roughly, pushing at her knees with his hands. She felt her body shudder, then realized that she was responding to him. She fought against herself as a spasm shook her; a harsh cry escaped her lips. He moaned as he gripped her.

After a long time, he was still. He withdrew and lay beside her. She gazed at the lighted ceiling. She had been too long without a man; Anthony had known that.

"Feel better now?" he asked. She did not answer. "I'll bet the only reason you made love is because I told you it would clear your mind for your work."

"I wouldn't call it love."

He chuckled. "What difference does it make? You can put it out of your mind now, for a while. I'll be around if you need me, and you don't have to worry about what I think. You can concentrate on your studies and become even more valuable to the Project."

She rolled over on her side, turning her back to him. "I don't understand you, Anthony. I don't know why you're here. You don't seem to care about the Project the way the rest of us do."

"You're partly right and partly wrong. I
do
care about it, but
not
the way the rest of you do. I can learn more about planetary evolution here than anywhere else. But I don't want to turn into some mindless slave of the Mukhtars doing it."

Iris sat up. "We're not—"

"You're becoming one. You'll swallow what they tell you and think you're a part of some noble enterprise. Maybe it would be, if the Mukhtars let it alone and allowed it to become what it should be—another human society working for its own goals rather than Earth's glory. The Mukhtars don't want to think of that. They think of power, and glorifying themselves with this Project. If the Project doesn't further that aim, they'd crush it without a qualm. They don't care what they have to do to anyone to achieve their ends. And you won't, either, after you've been here long enough, and you'll tell yourself that anything you have to do is for a good end. You probably think I have cruelty in me, but wait until you see what you turn into. It's a pity. I thought you might be different."

"You ought to be more careful about what you say."

Anthony shrugged. "I never have been."

"Well, you'd better start. Just because you're a Linker's son doesn't mean—"

"It means I know more about how things really are than you do." He got up and began to dress, then reached into his pocket. "I almost forgot. I brought something for you." He threw her a round blue crystal; it landed in the rumpled sheets.

Iris picked the stone up. The crystal felt warm, and it was oddly soothing to hold it. "What is it?"

"A mood stone. It affects the nerves somehow when you hold it, calms you. You can keep it—I have a couple of others." Anthony smiled lopsidedly. "Better than looking for some man to calm you down instead."

She let the stone fall. His eyes narrowed; he was looking at her as if he were judging her, and had found her disappointing. She pulled the sheet over her shoulders, wondering if he had guessed that there had been only two men for her before him.

He said, "I really don't like to be cruel to you, but something in you just seems to bring it out."

"Don't blame me for what you are."

He left the room; the door slid shut. She would have to study Nimero's lecture alone, without Anthony's help.

She thought of Chen, and felt angry with herself for yielding to Anthony. She pushed the thought aside as she picked up the stone. She had made a mistake with Anthony; she would not make another. It would be better not to see too much of a student who harbored such doubts about the Project. She tried not to think of how Anthony had looked at her when he gave her the crystal, as though he had wanted to apologize but could not bring himself to do so.

She got up and walked to the screen, then sat down to review the lecture again.

Esteban was waiting at a table in the front room; he stood up as Iris came down the ramp. "We can talk here if you like," she said. "The others are all out."

"Let's take a walk instead," the bearded young man replied. He ushered her through the door, then took her arm.

They walked along the pathway in silence until they came to the nearest garden, then sat down on a bench near a flower bed. At one end of the garden, a few students were sitting outside a small stone dwelling as they listened to a young man play a flute. In the darkened garden, Iris could not see the group clearly; they seemed shadowy wraiths listening to a ghostly song.

"You've been here for nearly five months now," Esteban said, "and you've hardly poked your head out of your room except for seminars and discussions."

"I've had a lot to do. There isn't much time for anything else."

"Maybe you're working too hard. You ought to get out more, make some friends. You're getting along with your housemates, but I know from talks with them that you tend to keep to yourself. It has to be affecting you. I know you come from a place where people have a sense of community, where strong friendships are formed that have to last a lifetime, and the ones you form here will be even more important later."

Iris leaned back against the bench. "I'm more used to being alone than you think. Most of my friends in Lincoln never understood what I wanted."

"Even so, you ought to participate more in the life of the Institute."

She glanced at him. Esteban had been assigned to her and to several other students as an advisor; he was planning to be a Counselor when his own studies were completed. His suggestion was probably a warning that getting through her courses might not, by itself, guarantee her place at the Institute. "You may be right, Esteban. It just seems that most of the others are quicker, or have learned more. I have to work harder than they do."