Venus of Dreams (41 page)

"You were very good during the trip," she said at last. He did not reply. "I should have paid more attention to you. You see, I'm just as nervous as you are. I've worked so hard for this, and I guess I was thinking more of myself than of you."

He nodded. She watched the small screen in front of them as the shuttle glided out of the dock; Venus was hidden in the shadow of the Parasol. "I know how you feel," she went on. "I know how hard it was for you to leave Lincoln, and you were very brave about it. It was hard for me to leave, too, but please believe me when I say that you'll be happy here. You would have had to leave Lincoln anyway when you got older, and you'll have a lot of opportunities here you wouldn't have had there. Maybe someday, you'll do something that'll make the whole household proud of you, and then—"

"Why couldn't I stay on the ship?" he asked.

She glanced at him, stunned. "The ship?"

"With Rosa and the pilots. They liked me. They said I was the copilot. I thought—"

"But you couldn't have stayed with them. They were only—" She fell silent; she had been about to scold him for having such a foolish idea. What right did she have to scold him? She had left him for the Institute; she had taken him away from his home. Even now, she could not regret what she had done. Perhaps he was expecting her to leave again; the pilot had shown him more kindness than she had.

"I'll make it up to you," she said. "You'll see. You'll be happy on the Islands, and your father and I will help you in any way we can. I want you to feel that you can talk to us about anything that's troubling you. We won't leave you again, Benzi, I promise. You'll have a real home."

Even as she spoke, she felt somehow dishonest and wondered if the boy sensed that. She should have been enjoying her triumph instead of being disturbed by his worries; he should have been sharing her excitement instead of muttering some nonsense about staying aboard the freighter. Wenda would have called it a bad omen. Iris shook her head; she had left Lincoln behind long ago. She would put the past aside.

The shuttle fell into orbit around Venus. The future lay ahead of her; her line, embodied in her son, would begin here and share in Earth's greatest triumph.

Her spirits had lifted by the time they reached the Platform. Benzi seemed awed by the sight of the floating Island on his screen; he waved his hands happily as the Platform rose toward them from the darkness. She had been foolish to worry so much earlier, and Benzi had probably sensed her concern. It was no wonder he had seemed unhappy.

Iris was now impatient for the trip to be over. Her fellow passengers seemed to share her mood; they sat tensely in their seats as the cart carried them toward the airship bay. She said farewell to them there; she was the only one of the group going to Island Two.

"God go with you, son," one of the men said to Benzi. The boy pressed closer to Iris as she lifted their bags. "You're a lucky boy to be here."

"Lucky?" Benzi asked.

"You bet you are."

Benzi looked away from the man's intense gaze.

The airship they boarded was worn and shabby, smaller than the one that had carried them away from Lincoln. Other people bound for Island Two were already in their seats, most of them clothed in the gray garb of workers; a few were dozing. It was just another trip to them, probably one they had taken many times.

Two women glanced at Iris as she slid her bags under the seat; they wore the pins of engineers. "You're new," one said to her in Anglaic.

"Yes, I am," Iris replied.

"I can always tell, even if I haven't been informed of the fact earlier. Sometimes, they look like you, all full of thoughts about the wonderful deeds they have planned. Sometimes they look like they've made the biggest mistake of their lives, and sometimes they look completely panic-stricken. Welcome to the Project, young woman."

"Thanks." Iris settled Benzi in his seat and then sat down, feeling a bit deflated by the engineer's greeting.

"Sometimes," the woman continued, "the ones who have the most enthusiasm at the start are the ones who get most discouraged."

"That won't be true of me," Iris said. "I went from a farm town to the Cytherian Institute. I went through too much to get here. I won't be discouraged."

The engineer lifted a brow. "I must say, young lady, that you don't sound as though much could stop you."

All the doubts Iris had been keeping at bay returned. What if, in spite of everything, all her sacrifices had been for nothing? What if she made no real contribution to make up for all the hurt she had inflicted on others to get here? Others could have done her work on the Islands. She had a sudden desire to flee from the airship and beg for passage back to Earth, to what was known and safe.

"Iris?" Benzi was tugging at her sleeve. "You look funny. Aren't you glad?"

She put a hand on his head. "Yes," she said fervently. "Yes, Benzi. I'm very glad."

At last Iris stood under the dome of Island Two. She lifted her eyes toward the soft yellow light of the dome overhead.

She had wanted to view the airship's approach to this Island in silence, but the two engineers had occupied her in conversation, and she had caught only a glimpse of the dome's hazy light before the airship had docked. Other passengers had made their way to the seats near her; their talk, distracting as it was, had cheered her, and yet she had the feeling that a few of them were trying to recapture their own enthusiasm for their work through her. She had wondered how many of them might be harboring hidden regrets about their choice, or about the Project itself, or who might be longing for the people they had left behind who could not share their dream.

She lowered her gaze to the slender trees and bright flowers lining the white pathway ahead. The door to the bay slid shut behind her; her traveling companions were greeting friends.

I'm here, she thought; I'll never leave again, I'm home. A wild joy filled her; her real life would begin.

A man detached himself from one small group of people; she found herself looking into Chen's eyes. Iris started; her face felt hot. He would be a stranger after all this time; he might see her as a stranger too.

She looked away quickly and tugged at her son's arm. "Your father," she said. "You should greet him."

Chen knelt by the boy. "Benzi! Don't you know me?'

"Chen," Benzi said.

"You know." Chen rubbed the boy's head and stood up "Iris," he whispered. His eyes did not meet hers. "I do know what to say. I had so many words to speak, and now I can't say any of them."

He was the man who shared her dream. However much they both might have changed, that would be enough to bind them together. She reached for him and felt his lips brush against her forehead. I'm not the girl you knew, she wanted to say. Instead she said, "I've missed you."

He suddenly released her; she heard a short sob. Benzi was crying. Chen took his son's hand. "I know," he said. "You miss your grandmother and all the others. It's all right. Let it out if you have to."

Benzi pressed his lips together and wiped his face with one sleeve. "I won't cry," he said.

Iris picked up her bags and handed one to Chen. She would share her life with her son; in time, he would share her dream. She led Benzi onto the path; they left the garden and walked into the light.

PART THREE

Twenty-One

Fawzia Habeeb rarely stood on ceremony; she seemed unaware that some formality could be reassuring to others. This was one of her less agreeable traits, but then, as far as Pavel Gvishiani was concerned, she had few agreeable ones. Instead of alerting him through her Link, she had arrived on Island Two unannounced, and he barely had time to prepare for her visit to his room.

Fawzia sat on a cushion across from Pavel, smacking her lips daintily as she savored one of the candies he had set out for her. Fawzia's short black hair was curled around her oval face. It was a pretty face, with peach-colored cheeks, full pink lips, and long lashes framing large black eyes, but it was not a face that appealed to Pavel, who could see the cosmetic effort that had gone into it. Instead of her Guardian uniform, Fawzia was wearing a green silk robe over white trousers. Perhaps she was being considerate of the Islanders, who were always displeased at the sight of a Guardian, though she could hardly conceal who she was. Maybe it was only that the Guardian uniform revealed too much of her short-legged and slightly dumpy figure.

She had arrived, as usual, without an escort, as though she were only a simple Guardian soldier instead of Yukio Nakasone's second-in-command. She had brought a small package with her, but had not said what it contained. Pavel refused to look at the package, afraid that he knew what was in it. Fawzia couldn't know, he told himself; the package was sealed, and she could not have opened it.

"Yukio hasn't seen much of you lately," Fawzia said as she munched on another piece of candy. "You ought to pay him a call sometime soon."

"I sent him a message not long ago. You can give him my greetings."

"Poor man. He feels so useless on Anwara. There's so little for him to do. I keep telling him he ought to visit the Islands more, keep up with the Project's progress. There's no reason we can't all get along, in spite of how some of the Islanders feel about us."

"No reason at all."

"I think he really misses Earth," she said, "even after all these years at his post."

"Maybe he'll get a chance to go back. I'm sure you could handle his command."

Fawzia lowered her lids modestly, but not before Pavel saw the glint of ambition in her eyes. Yukio had to find the woman quite a trial; she was just waiting for a chance to push her superior out of the way. Yukio might miss his old home, but the Guardian commander had too much pride to give up his command; Fawzia might dislike Yukio, but would never act against him unless she was sure she would win out. He wished the two could think more about the Project, and less about themselves.

Pavel had cultivated those assigned to Anwara. Many of them longed for a place on the Islands themselves, and Pavel had gone out of his way to make them feel that they were as much a part of the Project as were the Islanders. He had sat through countless boring meetings in the stark, cramped rooms of the space station, and had arranged for other members of his Administrative Council to greet those from Anwara who had finally won an assignment to the Islands. He had taken a proper, if distant, interest in the Cytherian Institute, though he suspected that its somewhat naive students had been exposed to too much Earth propaganda. He had impressed the visiting Project Council members with the Project's progress. He had listened to their recommendations while making sure that, in the end, they followed most of his.

"I wouldn't make a bad commander," Fawzia said. "I'd cause less friction than Yukio sometimes does. He can't just do his job and keep order, he has to keep arranging little lectures on Nomarchic history while he harps at us about our loyalties."

"You mustn't hold that against him," Pavel said smoothly. "It's good that he reminds us of our loyalty to Earth. We mustn't lose sight of our purpose—Earth's greater glory and accomplishment."

Fawzia leaned forward. "Our loyalty is to the Project, Pavel." She smiled. "Isn't that how those of us here show our true loyalty to Earth?"

"How odd to hear a Guardian say that. You're the arm of the Mukhtars, after all."

"The Mukhtars want to see settlements. The sooner we have them, the happier they'll be." Fawzia popped another candy into her mouth. She could not look at food without devouring it; she could not gaze at anything on his shelf without handling it.

At least Fawzia and he had the same end in mind, the success of the Project. He did not deceive himself about her motivations; she would gobble up control of the Project, too, if she could.

Guardians, he thought bitterly. There would be no Guardians among the settlers if he could help it.

"The problem with Yukio," Fawzia continued, "is that he really believes what he learned on Earth and can't modify his views. I've spoken to him about this Habber business, but he simply refuses to allow them on Anwara."

Pavel lifted a brow. She should know that Yukio would never give in on that point. Habbers could not dock any of their spaceships at the space station and then take shuttles to the Island Platform, but had to travel directly to the Platform in their own shuttles. Their spacecraft could dock at the one Habitat orbiting the sun between Venus and Earth, which the Habbers had built before their agreement with the Nomarchies limited them to Mars and the region beyond; from that Habitat, reaching Venus by shuttle was simple enough. Yukio had presented the Habbers with only a mild inconvenience, but he had asserted his authority, complaining that allowing Habbers on Anwara might provoke incidents and anger the torchship pilots who stopped off there between flights.

"Of course we know," Fawzia was saying, "how necessary the Habbers are to this Project. It seems we could make a few allowances for that."

"Yes, we need them," Pavel said carefully, "but the Project is Earth's vision. We mustn't lose sight of that."

Was Fawzia trying to show how much more useful and sympathetic she could be than Yukio was? Pavel, in spite of his dislike of the woman, would have preferred to see her in command of the Guardians on Anwara, and could find ways to bring that about. He did not, however, want to make an enemy of Yukio, as he would if he acted overtly against the commander. He did not want Yukio to go back to Earth with resentments to share with others who had doubts about the Project.

Fawzia finished the last of the candies, then rose. "I must be going," she said. "You needn't show me out. I'd like to take a little stroll before I leave. Anwara can get tedious, and your Island environment is so refreshing. Oh, I almost forgot. I brought that along for you." She gestured at the package; Pavel kept his face still. "I happened to run into the pilot carrying it. She was quite insistent that she wasn't to give it to anyone but you, that you'd said you'd come out to Anwara to get it yourself, but I convinced her it would be simpler for me to bring it to you." Fawzia's eves widened a bit.