Venus of Dreams (43 page)

She could live with a transfer, but not with the fact that Marc wanted to push her aside. This was a demotion, whether he admitted it or not. She would be out of Marc's way.

"I belong here," she said quietly. "You know my work's been good. Need I remind you of how often I've gone over your projections and recommendations and found problems? Do I have to tell you how useful I've been?" She thought of the evenings she had spent correcting Marc's errors and glimpsing a tiny factor he had not considered—evenings she might have spent with her son. She had often been too preoccupied to keep track of Benzi. She could recall times when she had turned around from her screen to greet her son and had been startled at the changes in him, the growth and slight changes in appearance that seemed to have taken place without her noticing them.

"You'll be useful on Island Eight, too, and you'll have enough time for your own work. There's no reason we can't consult about it over the screen should you feel that's necessary."

She gritted her teeth. He knew that even her resentment would not interfere with her work. He counted on her devotion to her job and to the Project, and knew she would not neglect her work in order to get back at him. He would continue to rely on her, but on Island Eight, she would not be a threat to his own position. She had allowed him to use her because the knowledge that she had been able to help the Project had been enough of a reward.

"Soon, you'll need me more," she said. "When Venus's rate of rotation is increased, that's going to add another factor to our models. You're going to need my input when decisions about sites for settlements are made. The rest of our team won't like losing me."

"The rest of our team will go along with me. And we aren't really losing you, are we? We're simply employing you elsewhere."

"I should have had my own team by now."

Marc waved an arm. "Don't evaluate yourself so highly, Iris. You have a clever little talent, but it'll fail you in time. Those things always do."

She held in the sharp reply she wanted to make to his belittlement. You wouldn't have stayed the head of this team without my help, she thought. "There's another reason I can't go to Island Eight," she said. "My bondmate is here. My son lives here when he's not stationed at the Platform."

Marc coughed. "Oh, come now. You're bringing that up rather late in our talk, aren't you? You haven't lived with your bondmate for years—your bond is dead in all but name. And your son has his own life to lead."

"They're my family. I can appeal to the Administrators and ask to be allowed to stay here."

"Oh, really. It isn't as though you'd never see them. You'd look like a fool making an appeal, trying to preserve a relationship that hardly exists. Of course, one could always settle matters by moving your bondmate and son to Island Eight as well. I don't know how happy they'd be about that."

She could not drag Chen and Benzi into her squabble; she had done little enough for them as it was. Typical of me, she thought bitterly, to think of them only when it might be convenient.

She had better grounds for appealing this transfer—her usefulness to her team here. At least a couple of the climatologists would testify to that; Marc was not the only specialist whom she had saved from a possibly damaging recommendation to the Administrators. Sometimes her advice had been no more than a suggestion that a particular model felt wrong, and a specialist had discovered his own error, but she had learned to trust her instincts.

She had to trust her instincts now as well. She could embarrass Marc with an appeal, but some of those who worked with him would not thank her for it. The Project was entering its most important phase soon; her colleagues' work might suffer if they were dragged into her petty dispute. They did not need such a distraction now. She would have to make the best of the transfer; she could still cling to the small hope that those above Marc might turn his request down. At least he wasn't trying to push her out to Anwara, or even back to Earth. In his own way, he was admitting that he still needed her.

"I wasn't really planning an appeal," she said. "But Sean might prefer to stay where he is."

"He might. We'll see." Marc's face softened a little; he had beaten her, and clearly knew it. "You'd better get ready to go. I suppose that if you find a pilot who's willing, you could always make your precious observations and collect your atmospheric samples—they can be analyzed just as easily on Island Eight. But just understand that I haven't recommended that you do this—you'll have to take the responsibility."

"Thank you so much," she said as she stood up.

"God go with you."

The door at the end of the hallway opened; Iris passed through it into one of the Island gardens. Two small, monkeylike creatures, tiny hoes in hand, were digging around one bush; another was cleaning a panel near the base of a nearby greenhouse. One monkey looked up and chattered at her; she strode by quickly.

She hated the monkeys, which weren't really monkeys at all but altered primates tailored genetically to do certain simple tasks. The first of the creatures had arrived shortly after Iris had come to the Islands, as part of an experiment. There were still only a few, but eventually they would be allowed to breed and there would be more.

Once, robots had done their tasks, and workers had tended and repaired the robots. The workers had already complained about the monkeys; every one of the creatures meant one less place for a worker, one more person who would not be able to earn a chance to settle the new world. That was the main reason Iris disliked the animals, which were otherwise appealing in their way until she thought of what their presence could mean. Linkers would get rid of all the workers if they could, she thought. They'd like a world of Linkers and robots and monkeys and no one else.

Just beyond this garden was the spiral where Iris had lived ever since coming to the Islands over a decade ago. She followed the path down a gentle slope and entered the spiral-shaped building. A few of the spiral's two hundred resident specialists had gathered in the common room to share a meal; she nodded at them as she passed their table and walked on through a curving corridor until she came to her own room.

Her name, in Anglaic letters, was posted on the door; a small holo image of her face was embedded underneath. She palmed her door open. She would have to pack a few things for her trip.

The tiny room felt close. She went to the wall opposite the door and pressed her hand against the frame of a square, mirrored surface. The mirror flickered, then revealed a rolling plain dotted with birch trees. She would have to change the image; she had stared at this particular view too often.

Unless she was working at her desk, or ready to sleep, Iris didn't care to spend much time in her room, for too much in it evoked memories of the past. She would recall that Chen had once used a particular drawer to store his chisels. She would remember how Benzi had perched on the bed when she had found the time to talk to him. He would speak quickly; his body was never relaxed, as if he expected to be dismissed at any moment.

She sighed; she had almost forgotten that she would not have this room much longer. Turning, she pulled out a drawer from the wall, took out a small bag, and began to pack. She would take one change of clothes, a brush and comb, and an extra pair of shoes; she could find anything else she might need on Island Eight. Her hand brushed against one corner of the drawer, and touched a large, round marble; she plucked it out, held it up to the light, and remembered.

Chen had shown her to this room when she arrived on the Island. The room had been meant for only one person, but Chen had assured her they would have it only until a larger room was available. Benzi was to have the room next to theirs, which he would share with another boy.

The boy's name was Ismail. He explained that his parents also lived in that residence and that he and an older brother had shared the room until recently, when his brother had taken a bondmate. Ismail was a year older than Benzi; he babbled of the Island where he had been born as Iris and Chen watched Benzi unpack.

Benzi seemed happy with his room; Iris wondered if he was relieved that he would not be sharing one with her and Chen.

"Come on," Ismail was saying to Benzi. "I'll show you around outside."

"Hadn't we better have supper first?" Iris said. "And maybe you're too tired to wander around just yet."

Benzi's smile faded. He glanced from her to Chen, then turned toward the other boy. "He can have supper with me," Ismail said.

"Is that all right?" Benzi asked.

Iris looked down at her son, trying not to feel too disappointed. Benzi would need more time to get used to her and Chen; perhaps it was just as well that he would have his own room during the adjustment.

"Anyway, you must want to be with him." Benzi jerked his head toward his father.

"Well, you can eat with Ismail, then. I'll come and tuck you in after supper."

Benzi grimaced with embarrassment; Ismail lowered his gray eyes. "I can tuck myself in," Benzi said.

"Well, just don't stay up too late." Chen patted Benzi on the head before following Iris from the room.

As they entered the room they were to share. Iris admitted to herself that she missed Benzi's presence; she would now be alone with her bondmate. She unpacked hastily as Chen showed her where to put her things. He was asking her about her trip; she spoke of her journey, relieved at having something to talk about.

The room had only one chair, in front of the screen; Iris sat down on a cushion while Chen sat next to her. He held out one hand; a marble lay in his palm. "It's a gift," he said. He held it up; she saw a tiny globe mottled with red and black. "Venus as it was." He turned it in his hand; the other side was blue and green. "Venus as it will be."

She took the marble from him and smiled. "Where did you get it?" she asked. He told her of a friend who had made it and how the friend might be willing to put it on a necklace chain if she liked; Iris barely heard his words. She was looking at the narrow bed where they would spend the night, at the small room they would have to share.

Chen fell silent. Iris quickly filled the silence with talk of her household's recent gossip. As she spoke of Constance's new lover, a pained look crossed Chen's face. Of course, she thought; he wouldn't want to hear about Lincoln now. She had not even asked him about himself, and there had to be much he hadn't said in his messages to her.

Tomorrow, she would be meeting with her new colleagues; she needed time to prepare for that. She needed to sleep, so that she would be fresh; making a bad impression at the start would hardly help her. She wanted to mention these concerns to Chen, but then he would probably lead her to their bed and she was already dreading that intimacy.

She was suddenly ashamed of having such thoughts. Chen had been on this Island, waiting for her; he probably felt as awkward as she. She owed him some consideration. She would have to make the best of this bond, for Benzi's sake as well as for Chen's. She had disrupted her son's life enough; she could not disrupt it more with a broken bond.

She had come here believing that she would at last be free to make her contribution to the Project; instead, she felt chained to problems and concerns that might only interfere with her work and keep her from doing her best. If it had not been for Chen, she might have come here from the Institute without being tied to a bondmate and son.

"Iris," he said as he took her hand. "I want it to be the way it was for us. I wish I had more learning so I could help you with your work. Listen, why don't we go outside and have supper in one of the gardens, so you can see—"

She released his hand and stood up. "I think I'm too tired to go anywhere. I'm almost too tired to eat."

"Of course. The trip."

"We'll have time during the next few days for you to show me around."

"I forgot to tell you, Iris. I've got to start another shift on the Bat the day after tomorrow. I won't be back for two months."

She was facing away from him as he spoke; he would not see either her relief or her bewilderment. Why hadn't he asked for more time to be with her? She had learned enough from his messages about his work to know that he could have requested the time, expecially under these circumstances. She thought of how quickly he had left Earth for the Islands, with only a message for her.

He made love to her that night as if she were still the inexperienced girl he had known in Lincoln. For the first time in her life, she pretended to a response she did not feel.

Iris put down the marble and closed the drawer, then set her bag on the bed. Chen had set his bag in the same spot while packing his things.

He had moved out of the room a year after she had come to Island Two. She should have realized that he would leave her, but she had not seen into his heart for some time. He had been away at the Bat during much of the year; during his time on the Island, except when they were in bed, they occupied themselves with Benzi and with talk about their son. Benzi had warmed toward them both, but it was Ismail's family he turned to most often for companionship, and Iris had to remind herself to set aside some time for her son.

She did not talk to Chen about her work, much of which he could not understand in any case. He had become what he was when she first met him, a man of few words.

"I have news for you," she said as they sat by their screen eating a light supper. Chen had returned from his shift that day, and she had not had time to speak to him earlier. "There's a larger room in this building we can have now, if we want it. It's just down this hall, so Benzi can keep the room he has, but there'll be space for him in the new one so he can stay there with me while you're away. You know how he feels about this one—it's so small he thinks that he's in my way when he stays."

"Isn't he?"

"Isn't he what?"

"In your way." Chen poked at his food with his fingers.

"Of course he isn't. I'll admit I haven't done as much for him as I should, but I've had to prove myself to my team. First Marc would pick at my models or dismiss my suggestions, and now he's actually starting to ask me for my opinion. I suppose that's good, but it means more work for me. Anyway, Benzi had his own schoolwork to do, and he and Ismail always seem to have somewhere to go with their friends."