Venus of Dreams (55 page)

The probes extruded their spidery limbs as they dropped toward Aphrodite; their bright lights swept the darkness as their sensors and circuits, drawing on what they saw in this region, created images and transmitted them to the Islands' distant screens.

If light from above had been able to penetrate the enduring Cytherian night created by the Parasol's shade, an observer would have seen a giant pyramid on the horizon, a structure that dwarfed the nearest slopes. Its thick, heavy walls concealed the mighty engines inside, the engines that would move the world upon which the pyramid rested. Rods anchoring those engines penetrated to the edge of Venus's core; the engines waited inside the pyramid, surrounded by the metal skeletons of the devices that had built them.

This pyramid, and the two others sitting at other points along the equator, were monuments to human will. Robotic slaves had moved over the rocky, desolate land around these monuments, directed from afar by minds in frailer bodies that would have been crushed had they stood on this ground under the oppressive atmosphere. The robots themselves we only small mounds of corroded metal at the base of each pyramid.

The two probes, separated by several kilometers, landed to the south of the massive pyramid. Sensors hummed as the probes searched the darkness.

The probes waited. In Island gardens and rooms, and in the tubular rings of Anwara, people gathered near screens to watch the beginning of a new phase in Venus's transformation.

The year of 555 was nearing its end; its conclusion would be marked by the release of the power inside the pyramids on Venus's surface. Some of the Islanders had given life to an old and once-discredited rumor: that the date for activating those engines had been chosen for other than practical reasons, that a seer close to the Council of Mukhtars had drawn mystical inferences from this date and had chosen this time as the most propitious one.

Everyone on the Islands had risen early; many had not slept at all. A few had crept secretly to Island platforms to whisper prayers in an effort to appease any Cytherian spirits that might be disturbed by the forces to be released. No one spoke of the Habbers, without whom the pyramids could not have been built. This would be Earth's triumph and Earth's day, whatever the Habbers had done to help. On Island Two, the Habbers had all retreated to their residence; whatever joy they felt at observing the results of their handiwork would be discreetly hidden from the Islanders they had served. On another part of that Island, in the common room of one spiral-shaped residence, nearly two hundred people had gathered near a wall-sized screen to watch this stage of Venus's history as revealed by the probes far below.

Iris was one of the last to enter the common room. A few people seated at one table greeted her, but most were staring fixedly at the screen, where the giant silhouette of a pyramid was outlined by an eerie, reddish sky. For a moment, the murky but vivid image seemed so real that Iris had to remind herself that it was a creation of the probes, only a depiction of what might have been seen by someone standing under an illuminated sky.

She searched the room for Amir, though she did not really expect to find him there. He would be with the other Administrators in their ziggurat, regardless of his tentative promise to her; that was, after all, where he belonged at such a time. She lifted a hand to her throat, felt her necklace of green beads, and recalled that Chen had given her the beads years ago, on her birthday.

She had forgotten that while putting on the necklace. She had always imagined that Chen and she would watch this great event together; Chen's absence suddenly dampened her mood. She felt adrift, severed from a past that might have made this event even more meaningful to her. She wondered what Chen would be thinking as he watched with other workers, whether the beginning of this new stage of the Project would be, to him, only a sign of the end of his own dreams.

Chen, she thought, was probably not thinking of her at all. She was being foolish to wallow in such regrets. She had a new life ahead of her, with Amir; she had new dreams to replace the old, and Chen was also free to begin a new life.

She had known, early on, that Amir might be trying to use her in some game of his own, some plan to win more influence with the other Administrators; through Iris, he was beginning to win the loyalty of the Institute graduates she represented. She was, however, no longer a pawn, but one of the game-players herself. Amir needed her, and he loved her also; they spoke as often of love and a possible future bond as they did of their duties.

Perhaps Amir would not have come to love her if she had not been useful to him. Maybe she would not have felt so drawn to him if he had been only another specialist. She would not trouble herself with such musings, and she would not deceive herself. Amir loved her now, as she loved him, and part of his attraction was his Link and the promise that she would eventually be admitted to the ranks of those who touched the thoughts of cyberminds directly, those whose minds were honed to a sharp edge. She could not become such a person and still love Chen.

She saw that Marc Lissi was among those standing near the screen; he nodded and smiled as he caught sight of her. He had been dismayed, she knew, by her appointment to her current position, but had cloaked his resentment with a slightly obsequious manner while she, in turn, continued to acknowledge him as the head of her team. She had toyed with the idea of complaining about Marc to Amir, but had refrained from doing so. There had been no need; Marc could do little against her, and she did not care to make enemies. She would not allow herself to use the small amount of power she had carelessly; she would be fair. Her sense of virtue was slightly sullied by her knowledge that being fair was the most practical way to behave.

The room hummed with voices as people began to settle on tabletops, in chairs, or on the floor. "There you are!" a woman's voice called out; Iris turned toward Chantal Lacan. The slender blond woman made her way toward Iris. "I was wondering if you'd overslept."

Iris smiled. "Do you really think I would have?" She followed the taller woman as Chantal elbowed her way past the crowd to a table near one wall; Iris sat on the table as Chantal seated herself in a chair.

From here, she had a nearly unobstructed view of the screen. Those still standing quickly sank to the floor as the crowd grew quieter. A woman was hushing a few children sitting in one corner. "Be quiet now," she said as she shook a finger at the young ones. "You'll see great things today. This'll be something to tell your own children about." The comment made Iris think of Benzi, who no longer had a bond with her. She had sent him a message, had invited him to share this day with her and forget their differences for a little while. He had not even bothered to reply.

She glanced down at Chantal. At least her old friend was with her. There had been a place here on one team for another engineer, Iris had recommended Chantal, and Amir had arranged for Chantal to come here from Island Nine. Iris might, in time, surround herself with more old friends from the Institute, more of the people from that part of her past that now meant the most to her. Alexandra Lenas would soon come to Island Two; Edris Shaktiar and his bondmate Nahid now lived in one of Island Two's residences. She would renew old friendships and forget broken bonds; she would remake her own small world.

The room was silent now; even the children had stopped whispering. The people near Iris seemed to be holding their breath. Iris tensed as she watched the screen. This was what she had come to the Islands for, to terraform a world and be a part of great deeds; she was outside of herself for a moment, oblivious of the thoughts that had been troubling her only a little while before.

The apex of the black monument seemed to flicker against the hellish sky. Suddenly, veins of light appeared along the pyramid's walls; the ground rippled. Patches of molten rock became thin streams flowing out from the pyramid's base. More veins appeared along the walls, which were growing brighter; the pyramid began to glow as the walls cracked. The ground lurched abruptly as the screen went blank.

Another image flickered onto the screen. The pyramid, now smaller and more distant, was at the center of a storm of lightning. The cracks were white against the red, glowing walls. The pulse of antigravity was oscillating as it wrenched at the world below, shifting tectonic plates that had been locked for millennia, assaulting a planet. The engines inside the pyramid were tearing themselves apart with the release of so much power.

A new image appeared, sent by a probe drifting in the upper reaches of the lowest cloud layer. A small red spot glowed and then swelled as the clouds swirled angrily.

Iris imagined what that sudden jolt of power was doing to the planet, to the crust and the atmosphere. Mountains were sliding and crumbling. Movements along the ocean bottoms were creating tidal waves. The atmosphere was stirring into violent patterns. Aurorae would be playing at the poles as the spinning iron core of Venus cast a magnetic net to catch the solar wind. The increasing rotation was stately, majestic in her mind's eye; on the surface, its effects were a catastrophic christening.

The walls of the three pyramids, riven with cracks and faults, would stand as monuments to the endeavor. A thousand years from now, people would stand on a green, sunlit world and marvel at the dark ruins, inside which massive gravitational shoulders had pushed against a planet's inertia.

The effort, the effort, she cried within herself: the work, the work to change a world. She felt her own inertia, her unchangeableness; a world could be remade before she could change.

She was again trapped inside herself. Images from other probes were appearing in rapid succession: a volcano spewing lava; a giant black wave rushing toward a barren shore; colorful bands of light dancing above the ugly, squat structure of the installation at the south pole. In the upper corner of the screen, diagrams and symbols confirmed for Iris what she already knew: Venus had begun to turn more rapidly.

A shout rose from the crowd, a wordless cry of triumph. Chantal jumped to her feet and pounded Iris's back. People were surging around them. "We've done it, Iris," Chantal shouted. "We've really done it."

Iris tried to smile, wondering why she felt unable to share in the jubilation. The greatest event I'll ever witness is over, she thought. She had anticipated it for so long, and now it was nearly past. All that remained was to wait for the planet's movement to verify what the symbols and projections and incoming data had already told them, that Venus would complete the first rotation marking this phase in its history in about thirty-four hours, hours the Islanders would pass in celebration until they were all called back to their familiar duties.

"We've done it," Chantal said more quietly as she perched on the edge of the table.

Iris gazed into her friend's pale blue eyes. "I don't think we two can claim the credit."

"The Project did it, and we're part of the Project, aren't we?"

The Habbers had done it, she thought, not that it mattered. She felt a bit of sympathy for the Habbers then; it was they who should have been honored in the celebration. They deserved a little more gratitude.

She sighed. There were still great deeds ahead, and a world to settle. She had a son, whose loyalty she would have to win back if he was to be part of her dream once more.

Ten pilots on the Platform had hastened to one of the shuttle docks. Benzi was the last to arrive; when he entered the dock, he saw that he was alone. The others had already boarded the waiting craft; they would be waiting for him.

He lingered near the tail of the shuttle. It was not too late to turn back. He could leave this cylindrical, enclosed dock and go back to the airship bay; he could forget that he had ever been part of this plan. Those aboard the shuttle would not wait more than a few more minutes for him. The warning alarm would sound; the wide circular exit above the shuttle's prow would open, and the lift on which he was standing would carry the shuttle up to the Platform's outer surface. He could walk back out into the safety of the corridor and watch them leave on a screen.

He had cut his ties; there was nothing to hold him here, yet he hesitated. He was still afraid to take this last step.

The door behind him slid open; Benzi spun around quickly. Jeffrey Arnold was entering the dock; his broad, freckled face broke into a smile. "Thought I saw you before," the young man said. "When your car stopped in the corridor, I saw you bolt in here like you had a pack of dogs at your heels. Figured I'd come down and see why."

Benzi was silent; he hadn't even seen Jeffrey in the corridor.

"I was going to head back to the bay," Jeffrey continued. "We'd better hurry, or we'll miss the show—screen'll start showing pictures mighty soon."

Benzi thought of his friends inside the shuttle; he had to get Jeffrey away from the dock. He was suddenly angry with himself for lingering here. He had to get aboard; he might never have another chance.

"You go ahead, Jeff," he said at last. "I've got things to do here."

Jeffrey's smile faded as he came closer to Benzi. "What's going on?"

"Michael Anastas is taking a shuttle up, see if we can pick up some images from orbit. Ought to look—"

"Hey, you don't need a shuttle for that. They've got plenty of other ways to get those images." Jeffrey scowled. Benzi watched him warily. He should hit Jeffrey now, disable him long enough to get aboard, knock him out if possible so that Jeffrey could not warn others. The red-haired young man was taller, but Benzi knew that he was quicker and stronger than the other pilot.

He couldn't do it. Even if he succeeded, Jeffrey might not be able to get out of the dock before the cylinder opened and the lift ejected the shuttle. Jeffrey was his friend; they had gone through their pilot training together. He couldn't leave with Jeffrey's death on his conscience.

Benzi grasped the other pilot's arms firmly. "Listen to me, Jeff. I've got to get on this shuttle now. Others are inside waiting for me. We're not going to be picking up images in orbit—we're heading out for the nearest Hab." Jeffrey started; Benzi held on to him. "You've been a friend—be a friend now. Walk out of here and pretend you didn't see a thing."