Venus of Dreams (3 page)

"Venus might have been a world like ours," Bari said, "but its development took a different path. Now our world is also changing. We may need to transform it in the future. Look at Venus, and consider how tenuous our grip on life is, and how easily it could have been otherwise on our world."

It's my star, Iris thought, my world. I might even stand on it someday. She was like Venus. Bari would shield her for a time as the Parasol shielded that world, protecting her as she learned. The clouds around her mind would vanish as Bari led her to light.

Two

For several months after her talk on the hill with Julia, Iris kept her secret, telling only her grandmother about what she was learning, but she was betraying herself in other ways. Exhausted by her nights of secret study, she often napped during the day instead of playing with her friends, and the women of her house were beginning to notice her pale face and the shadows around her eyes.

In late fall, after the harvest of the summer crop and the settling of the farm's accounts, Iris was summoned to her mother's room.

Angharad was sitting cross-legged on her bed; Julia was seated in a chair by the window overlooking the courtyard. Angharad took off the slender gold band encircling her head and shook back her long brown hair as her brown eyes focused on her daughter. She scowled at the girl.

"You've been up to something," Angharad said.

Iris glanced desperately at Julia; her grandmother must have told her secret. Julia's green eyes narrowed as she shook her head slightly, then covered her mouth with one finger; she was signaling to Iris that she had said nothing.

"I listened to the accounts three times," Angharad went on. "I thought there had to be a mistake, but there wasn't. We have less credit than I expected and everyone else's account is in order. You've been spending more than your allotment. Exactly what have you been buying?"

"Nothing," Iris mumbled.

"Don't you dare lie to me. I know you couldn't have spent that much here in town or the shopkeepers would have told me about it, asked me how rich this commune was getting if a child could throw so much around. You'd better tell me now."

Iris swallowed. "Lessons. Lessons with my band and screen, that's all. I didn't do anything wrong."

Angharad arched her brows. "Lessons? Lessons in agriculture don't cost anything for us."

"It wasn't that kind of teaching."

"Exactly what land was it, then?"

Iris looked down at the blue rug. "Reading, numbers. Stories about different cities, things about the Project on Venus."

"Reading?" Angharad sounded more surprised than angry. "Stories?"

"A teaching image tells me how to find out things. Her name's Bari. Sometimes she gives me things to learn that I don't care about as much, but then I see how they help me with other stuff I do want to learn, and she asks me questions to see if I got it right. She says I know almost two years' worth of prep studies already." Iris paused, suddenly wishing she hadn't bragged about that.

"Prep lessons? For a school?" Angharad choked on the words, as if about to laugh. Iris looked up; her mother had a crooked smile on her face. "What makes you think you'd be chosen for a school? Why would you want to fill your head with all of that? It won't make you a better farmer."

"I don't know," Iris answered. "I was curious."

"It's a waste of time and credit. I can't keep you from spending your child's allotment—you have a legal right to that. But I won't have my own funds drained. Now I'll have to program a restriction. I never thought I'd have to do that with my own daughter."

Iris stifled a cry. She had never considered the cost of the lessons; her friends often spent hours on mind-tours and game scenarios without using up their allotments. Now there would be no more lessons until her next allotment was due, in the spring. She would not be able to bear the long, confining winter without her lessons.

"Iris hasn't done anything wrong," Julia said.

"Come here," Angharad said to Iris, patting the bed. The girl reluctantly sat down next to her mother. Angharad stroked Iris's hair, touching the brown locks gently. "You're only eight years old. I suppose it's natural to be curious about things. But none of that learning will be of use to you later—it's only for people who are chosen for schools. People who learn more than they should become very unhappy, because it affects their minds. You don't want to be unhappy, do you?"

"No." How, Iris wondered, could her lessons make her happy now and unhappy later? Were they like Angharad's pecan cookies, which made her sick when she ate too many?

"Spend more time with your friends. You'll have to get along with them when you're older. Forget your lessons, and I won't do anything about what you've spent on them. You know more than you have to now."

"No," Julia said abruptly, brushing back a lock of her light brown hair. "I can give Iris some of my credit. There's more than enough."

Angharad gaped at the older woman; then her jaw tightened. She pointed her chin at her mother while Julia glared back. Both women had the same heavy jaw and strong chin; they made Iris think of Laiza's bulldog defending a bone.

"Do you want Iris to end up like you?" Angharad said at last. "Do you want her to grow up wanting things she can't have instead of being happy with what she's got?"

"How can learning hurt her? Besides, even if there is hurt in some learning, it might still be right. She'll have something to occupy her mind when there's little work to be done. It's better than spending her time in games and gossip."

Iris realized that the two women had forgotten she was present. This was part of an old argument to them; she had heard their voices rise and fall in debate behind closed doors and in the common room downstairs. Iris had caught an occasional angry phrase without understanding what the disagreement was about.

"The learning might," Julia continued, "even be of use to others here. Iris might bring more interesting tidbits to our gabfests." Julia's voice held its usual mocking tone.

"She might want to leave," Angharad said. Iris kept her eyes down; that possibility had often crossed her mind. There was more to life than Lincoln, her grandmother had said. Iris might want to see the cities she had visited in mind-tours; even more, she wanted to travel to where the new world was being terraformed. She was sure, however, that she would return home. She would have to come back, as Julia had, but she would come back with accomplishments to relate and part of her dream fulfilled; she would have no regrets.

"And what if she does leave?" the older woman responded. "I did, and here I am. She'll be back long before she has to take over our commune."

Iris bit her lip. Her grandmother was not being honest. Almost every time they had spoken together lately, Julia had mentioned the few who had escaped Lincoln and the Plains altogether, implying that Iris might do the same. Already, the girl was beginning to long for the company of someone she could talk to about the things she was learning. Julia listened to her but could offer few thoughts of her own, and Bari was only an image.

But I'll come back, Iris thought. I can do what I want and then come back. She could not yet imagine cutting herself off from Lincoln forever.

"I have to think of our line," Angharad muttered. "It's my responsibility now, and it'll be Iris's later." She glared balefully at her mother. "You might have thought of your own responsibility to it earlier."

Iris's family had always lived here. All of the residents of her house shared equally in the farm, but Iris's ancestors had owned the land and were considered the traditional leaders of that household. Angharad, although she consulted with the other women, had the power to make decisions whenever there was disagreement; she represented the views of the household in town meetings and town council sessions with the heads of other Lincoln farms. If Angharad had no more children and Iris left Lincoln, the leadership would pass to Angharad's cousin Elisabeth, and Iris knew that her mother thought Elisabeth was not up to the task. She couldn't leave for good, in spite of what Julia might think; the farm would need her.

Iris had to speak up. "If I learn things," she said, "wouldn't that help the farm?"

"Useless knowledge won't help," Angharad replied angrily. "I've made my decision. You are not to continue these studies. If you must learn something, learn practical things—how to keep the land fertile, when the best times are for planting, what new strains are available, how to assess the weather."

"I can still give her some of my credit," Julia said. "What she does with it is her concern. You can't stop me."

Angharad swung her legs over the bed and stood up swiftly, nearly hitting Iris with her arm. "I'm in charge now, I'll decide matters." She clenched a fist, looking as though she wanted to strike the other woman.

"It's true I turned everything over to you," Julia answered calmly. "You can make us both abide by your wishes if you think the farm's interests are at stake, and I suppose you could argue that they are, since Iris is your daughter. Of course, I won't accept your decision now. I'll want to discuss it with the rest of our household. Maybe they'll agree with you, and since we all dislike unpleasantness and have to get along together, it would be hard for me to go against them."

Angharad smiled, looking triumphant.

"But maybe," Julia went on, "I can get some of them to agree with me, as long as Iris promises that her studies won't keep her from her chores or other obligations. And they might not take kindly to seeing you tell me what to do with my own money. It sets a bad precedent. They've always been free to spend theirs as they wish and they might wonder if you'll come up with your own ideas for their funds. You might produce bad feeling. In all the time I've lived here, I've never seen an argument about this sort of thing."

"They'll agree with me," Angharad insisted.

"Perhaps. And it will certainly give them a fine topic for talk at parties. They'll say that Angharad Julias can't even control her own child without dragging her whole household into the fight. They'll say that Angharad Julias tells her own mother how to spend her credit and shows ingratitude and disrespect for the old. That would be a pity, especially since you dream of being elected mayor someday. I don't think Lincoln would want such a leader."

"They won't want a leader who lets her daughter get above herself." But Angharad's smile had faded; her arms hung uselessly at her sides. "You old bitch," she whispered. Iris blinked, shocked by her mother's harsh expression.

Julia ignored the insult. "They might praise one who has a daughter with a brain. You can tell them that the studies will make her a better leader and a credit to the town. You can show that we're not the dullards Linkers and city folk take us to be. It's all a matter of how you present it, daughter."

Angharad sighed.

"Show some wisdom," Julia said. "A leader should know when she's lost, and accept it gracefully."

Iris felt torn. She climbed off the bed and went to her mother's side, looking up at Angharad's mournful, round face. "I'll do my chores, I promise," she burst out. "I always finish them, don't I? I won't talk about Bari to anybody." That, she knew, would be the hardest promise to keep. "Angharad, please."

Angharad took her hand. "I'm afraid Julia's left me no choice." The girl's chest swelled with happiness. "But if you slack off, I'll have to bring the matter up, whatever happens. Just remember that."

Angharad was smiling again. For a moment, Iris almost believed that her mother was glad she had lost. Was that why she was smiling? Or was Angharad only thinking that she would win out over Iris in the end?

Winter had come to Lincoln. The wind whistled through the streets and came to a howl as snow fell steadily; icy white dunes covered the fields and clogged the roads. The townsfolk rarely ventured outside during this season, preferring to socialize with the aid of their screens. Each house was well stocked with provisions, and the shops were closed until early spring. The climatic changes that had brought tropical springs and scorching summers to the Plains had also given the land brief but extremely harsh winters, as if in compensation for the high temperatures the Plains usually endured.

Iris had opened her window. She rested her hands on the sill, listening to the murmur of voices below. Her room overlooked the courtyard, which was surrounded on all four sides by wings of the house. The heated courtyard, protected by an invisible shield, was immune to winter, and the household often preferred to gather there instead of in the common room downstairs. Most of Lincoln's houses had only domes over their courtyards; installing the force field had been Julia's idea and she had spent a lot of her credit on it, yet she rarely sat in the courtyard with the others, whose talk made her impatient or irritable. Iris often wondered if giving the house the luxury of a force field had been Julia's way of making up for her lack of warmth and friendliness. Her grandmother, whatever her feelings, was stilll a Plainswoman and had tried to treat her commune fairly before turning it over to Angharad.

Iris sat down on the window seat. She was too tired to study and not tired enough to sleep. She had to get more rest; it was her turn to help in the kitchen tomorrow and her room needed cleaning as well. Angharad had already scolded her for allowing it to become so disorderly, and Iris had not forgotten her mother's threats.

The winter, imposing isolation, had given her more time to study. The afternoon hours that she usually spent with her friends during other seasons were her own. She still spoke with the other children occasionally over her screen, or joined them outside for games in the snow when the wind died down long enough; if she hadn't, Angharad would have counted it as another mark against her.

She stretched out on the window seat, pillowing her head on her hands. Sometimes, when she couldn't sleep, the sound of talk below would bring on drowsiness, soothing her until she drifted off there or stumbled hazily to her bed.