Venus of Dreams (47 page)

Iris closed her eyes. That was it, then; if the dirigible lost its helium, they would never escape. She wondered what Marc was thinking. The Islands had to be aware of the seriousness of their plight by now, but she could not imagine how they could be rescued. Marc had warned her; she should have listened. He would be sorry, but able to absolve himself of blame, and maybe he would get along better with her replacement.

Her mouth was dry; she could hear only the sound of her own breathing. She was going to die; Venus would claim her in its own way. It was time to prepare her soul, recall some of the prayers she had almost forgotten. She thought of Chen. Her own suffering would be over before long, while Chen's was just beginning. He might have endured her loss, but to lose Benzi as well might be more than he could bear. He would grow to hate the Project, and his dream might die at last.

The ship shook. "Another leak," Te-yu said calmly. The pilot was losing control of the ship. Iris forced herself to sit up. They were still dropping, and being dragged to the west. Iris stared through her helmet at one small screen, where a map of the wind patterns flickered, then let out her breath. They might still have a chance.

The wind's speed had decreased; they were now caught in a wind moving at less than three hundred kilometers an hour—not much of an improvement, she thought acidly. They were still falling; there was no way, with the leaks, of gaming a higher altitude.

"Te-yu," Iris said, "how long will the helium cells hold up?"

"Not much longer. I'll bet the wind's doing some work on those leaks."

"Then we'd better start thinking about where to land." This suggestion was met with silence. "Airships have landed before," Iris continued.

"Reinforced ships," Te-yu replied, "stronger ships under better conditions, and they didn't try dropping through these winds. They came down where they aren't as strong." Te-yu, Iris realized, was still hoping somehow that she could bring the airship up; her pride as a pilot was warring with her common sense.

"Te-yu," Iris said, "if you can pull this off, there won't be a pilot on the Islands who can outbrag you. You won't have to buy your own drinks for a long time."

"And if we land," Benzi said, "how do we get out?"

"Let's worry about landing first." Iris tried to sound confident. "The crosswinds lower down flow to the north. That's our only chance. If we land in an ocean area, the acids will eat through this ship, even if we don't sink. We don't want to be near the volcanic regions, either—they've been a little too active lately. If we can get anywhere near the polar installation in the north, one of the Bat shuttles might be able to get to us, or we could get to it."

"Nice idea," Te-yu said blandly, "as long as I can control this ship. That, of course, is the drawback."

The ship bucked as it continued to fall. Iris glanced at a gauge and noticed that the wind's speed was decreasing. If they could land, if the leaks could somehow be repaired—she tried not to think ahead any further than that. Her neck was stiff; she shifted her shoulders inside her slightly bulky suit.

The ship trembled, throwing her against her harness. "Another leak," Benzi said, "and it looks like a pretty big rip."

Iris looked at the map. They were southeast of the Maxwell Mountain region; there was no chance of reaching the polar installation now, but a landing on the mountains might he possible. They were descending fast, with less than thirty kilometers to fall.

The ship veered, slamming her against the left side of her seat. "Can't hang on," she heard Te-yu say.

"Jettison the dirigible," Iris said. She heard a sharp gasp as the pilot sucked in her breath. "You heard me. Jettison the helium cells. We'll have to ride down on the cabin's chutes."

She waited, expecting Te-yu to object. Without the helium, they would lose even the small chance of getting off the surface by themselves. The chutes, like the pumps, might not work.

"Iris is right," Benzi said.

Iris waited. A jolt shook the ship; without looking at the pilot's panels, Iris knew that Te-yu had cut loose the cabin.

A northerly crosswind caught the falling cabin. At last, after a long, tense silence, the chutes opened, jolting Iris. Her gloved fingers dug into her armrests as the ship floated slowly toward the surface.

Here, the thick atmosphere was stagnant and still. The ship's outside lights were swallowed by a black fog, and droplets dotted the large screen; here, the acidic rain was a mist. Iris could already see the tiny lines the acid was etching into the screen's lenses.

The ship hit the ground suddenly, throwing them all forward against their harnesses, then bounced forward on its treads until it came to a stop. The cabin was leaning to the left, its floor at an angle. Iris heard a soft clicking sound as Te-yu released the chutes; on the screen, she saw one ghostly chute flutter past the lights.

One small screen showed them a schematic of the region in which they had landed; they had reached the southernmost part of the Maxwell Mountains, and the ship was perched precariously on a slope. Iris stared at the large screen, trying to imagine the high peaks around them. The atmosphere above them, even after the Project's efforts, had a pressure fifty times as great as Earth's, and she wondered how long the cabin, even with its heavy shielding, could withstand it; she could almost feel it pressing in around them. Perhaps the intense heat would get them first. She was beginning to wish that she didn't know quite so much about the dangers of this planet.

"Not bad for a landing, if I do say so myself," Te-yu said at last. "Benzi, I think your mother missed her calling. She might not have been a bad pilot herself."

Benzi grunted.

"You're a pretty good one too. Guess we can safely say that you're through with your apprenticeship."

"Guess so." Benzi paused. "We're not going to get out of this."

"We're still alive, aren't we?" Iris heard the lack of conviction in her own voice. "There's still a chance they'll find a way to get us out."

Benzi's sigh crackled on her suit comm. "Oh, if we'd had a few Linkers aboard, or Mukhtar Pavel, then maybe they'd go to some trouble. I don't know what they're going to do for us."

Iris had nothing to say to that. She could already sense the decisions being made on the Islands. If they did nothing, they would lose only one malfunctioning airship, two pilots, and a climatologist who had been less than one of her specialty's shining glories. If a rescue were attempted, more might be lost. It made sense; the Project had to cut its losses. Of course, they would have to make some show of a rescue, lest they seem heartless, but they would dither about it until it was too late to take any truly effective action.

"They'll know where we are," Te-yu said. "They'll know we've landed by now."

"We have to let them know we're alive," Iris responded. "We've got to send them a message."

"I've got some bad news for you," Te-yu said. "The ship's comm is out."

Iris almost laughed. "You certainly know how to cheer us up."

"Got some good news too. The cabin's holding up, and we seem to have plenty of air. Guess the rebreathing system hasn't gone the way of those two pumps."

It was over, then. The Islanders wouldn't know if they were alive; they would have an excuse not to attempt a rescue. She thought of the crates in the aisle behind them. One of them might contain medical supplies, might hold some drug that could end their waiting quickly. Iris shuddered. She couldn't die with the sin of suicide staining her. It was odd, she mused. The old faith that she had neglected and doubted still had a faint hold on her mind; she could almost see Mary waiting for her, an old friend ready to forgive.

Te-yu took off her helmet; after a moment, Benzi and Iris removed theirs as well. The ship's air seemed stale and warm; Iris wondered how long the ship's systems would last. Te-yu stood up slowly, holding the back of her seat as she took a step along the sloping floor. "I don't know about you," the pilot said, "but I'm going to check out our cargo." She moved carefully toward the aisle; Iris looked away, sure that Te-yu was also thinking of drugs.

"Chen will know by now," Benzi said softly. She remembered that he was working a shift at the northern Bat. "The news should have reached him already."

He'll think we're already dead, Iris thought. She tried to recall her last meeting with Chen. They had shared a meal, they had gossiped about friends; they had pretended that their bond still had some meaning.

"I wasn't a good bondmate to him," Iris said, "and I could have been a better mother to you."

"Well, I wasn't the kind of son you both would have preferred, either. I would have hurt you even more eventually. I would have—" Benzi suddenly looked away.

"You mustn't say such things, son. Before you were born, my own mother told me how much pain a child could bring to a parent, and perhaps you've done that, but you've brought joy as well. I've forgotten how often I myself had to battle with Angharad for what I wanted."

Benzi turned a bit in his seat. "Mother, are you saying that—"

"I'm saying that I'm sorry for much of what I've said to you. If I had it to do over, I would have been kinder to you."

"If you had it to do over; you would have done the same, and that's all right. Maybe we would have been closer if you hadn't been chosen for the Institute, if we hadn't been parted. But you couldn't have turned down such a chance."

Iris shook her head. "No, I couldn't have."

"I wouldn't have asked you to give up what you've done. But I wish you could see—that you could understand—" Benzi seemed to be struggling for words. "Your dream may not be mine," he finished.

She wanted to protest that he would have come to share it, but she could not begin their old argument again, not now. She might have been able to face her death here bravely if she had known her son would make his own contribution to the Project, but her dream had only led him to his death. She reminded herself that Benzi would not have been in this ship if he were not a pilot, if he had heeded her protests against such a choice. That thought was unworthy, and shamed her. She thought of Angharad, whose line would end here.

Te-yu was making her way back to her seat; Iris lowered her eyes, afraid to look at what the pilot was carrying. Te-yu had to end it the way she thought best; Iris would try to talk her out of taking her life, but would not forcibly restrain her.

"Well, what do you think?" the pilot said. Iris looked up; Te-yu was holding small, glassy containers of food. "Oysters. How's that sound? And we've got broccoli, bamboo shoots with mushrooms, and fish in wine. Or, if you prefer, we could try the smoked salmon and a piece of North American beef. Somebody on Island Eight is going to be mighty sorry about missing these imports—probably paid enough for them too."

Iris let out a yelp, relieved, surprised that she could still laugh.

They ate in silence. Te-yu was clearly savoring the food; Iris, after waiting for the containers to heat hers, found that she could not swallow it. Benzi was picking at his oysters with his fingers.

"There's one thing I regret," Te-yu said, her mouth full. "I was always going to ask Chen to do one of his carvings for me, kept meaning to ask."

"I didn't know you knew Chen that well," Iris said.

"Oh, I don't, but I think most of his friends have a carving of his by now. He's done a few for others. I hear that even a couple of Linkers have them."

Chen, Iris thought, had never told her that.

"I saw him a few times with Benzi," Te-yu continued, "gave him a few tips about piloting. Once, he came over to my room and put in some time on my band and simulator."

Iris was puzzled. "Why would he do that?"

"He did it for me," Benzi said. "It was a surprise. He wanted to know a little bit about it, wanted to be able to talk to me about what I was doing. He thought it might help him understand me, I guess. It was a nice gesture, when you remember that he wasn't any happier about my choice of work than you were."

Iris looked away, unable to meet her son's eyes for a moment.

"I want to ask you something," Benzi continued. "When you were on Earth, before you were chosen, when you were still in Lincoln, what drew you to this place? I don't mean that business about working for the glory of the Nomarchies or whatever—that's not what I'm asking."

It had been a long time since her son had asked her such a question. "I saw a chance for something new," she replied. "I saw that Earth didn't have to live with its limits, that we could reach for more. I wanted to do something for the future instead of only clinging to what was."

"Doesn't it occur to you that the Project might only be another way of clinging to the past? Do you think the Cytherians are going to be any freer than Earthfolk in the end? Don't you know that they'll come up against the same limits unless they become something else?"

She couldn't listen to this talk, which sounded like something a Habber would say. "You might have shed such a mistaken idea," she blurted out, "if you'd stayed in school and learned more of the Project's history." She saw immediately that she had said the wrong thing; a muscle twitched in Benzi's face as he stared past her.

Te-yu fidgeted, as if uneasy at hearing the conversation. "Well, maybe I'll get a carving anyway," the pilot said lightly. "Chen could always do one as a model for my spot on the memorial pillars."

Iris looked up at the screen. The ship's air seemed warmer; she could feel the darkness and the atmosphere pressing in on them. The ship's two lights were feeble beacons. As she watched, one beam suddenly went out.

Te-yu cursed. Swinging one arm, she dashed the remains of her feast to the floor.

The tiers of the northern Bat's docks were a lattice on which tiny lights, embedded in the metallic beams, seemed like ornamental jewels. The latticework stretched up to the Bat's dark belly; above the Bat, bright wings reached beyond the shadow of the Parasol, dwarfing the structures below.

Chen crawled along one metal beam toward the entrance ahead. Next to him, on the lowest level of the docks, the pitted hull of a docked ship was a giant, curving wall. A component along the beam had failed just after the ship had docked; Chen had managed to replace it, and now the automatic ship's tanks of compressed oxygen, which it had carried up from the north pole's installation, were being lifted out by massive metal claws and placed in the lift. The Bat's work would continue with only a small interruption; a steady stream of tanks would be flung into space.