Venus of Dreams (61 page)

Iris tried not to show her dismay at the man's ignorance. "You'd better talk to a biologist, Charles. It's too risky. You could be damaged when you're revived—there's always that chance."

"What are you talking about?" Tu-sen asked. "People have been frozen before, lots of times."

"Isolated individuals, during an emergency, when there was no alternative," Iris said. "They were people who had to be preserved until they could get medical attention. And they were frozen only for short periods, on a partly experimental basis. You may be talking about centuries, depending on what the Project Council decides to do. It's never been tried."

"Babies are stored all the time," Tu-sen muttered, "and sometimes for quite a while."

"Not infants—embryos and blastocysts. There's a difference between freezing a few cells and preserving an adult, and occasionally even an embryo is lost. It's why most medical people still prefer hibernation with adult patients, lowering the body's temperature and slowing physical processes just enough to put someone into a deep sleep, rather than freezing."

"Freezing, sleeping," Tu-sen said. "What's the difference?" She glared at Iris, as if resenting her for her knowledge.

Iris longed to utter a sharp retort about people who picked up bits and pieces of data from their screens and thought they knew everything, but restrained herself. "In one sense, there isn't any difference," she said, "namely, that neither method has been tried over a long period of time."

"We could take the chance," Charles said, already sounding a little more uncertain. Those at the nearest tables were still listening, and others had moved their chairs closer to Iris.

"Be practical." Iris put her hands on the table, palms down. "How much do you think the Nomarchies would have to spend to store everyone who wants a chance to settle? And think of all the specialists they'd need to do the job. The cost alone would prevent it."

Eleanor glared at her. "It might cost more at first, but it would still be less than paying us and supporting us while we're here." She lifted her head. "I know some figures—I've thought it out."

Iris was sure that Eleanor's mastery of such calculations was, at best, rudimentary. "It won't cost less than sending you back to Earth and giving you other work to do." She looked around at the other workers, hoping that some of them might understand. "Listen to me. We all knew when we started that we might not be the first settlers, that we might be working for future generations rather than ourselves. Do you want to risk having your children preserved along with you, without knowing what might happen?"

Charles slammed his wineglass down. "They'd risk no more than they would down there." His face was flushed with anger. "They told us we'd be settlers. Then they said it would take more time. Now they think there won't be enough domes for us all. You know what I think? I think they want Venus for themselves, that they never wanted us to settle, that they just wanted to keep us working until they didn't need us any more."

Iris took a breath. "Let's assume you're right about that, just for the sake of argument." She paused and gazed at Eleanor, then at Tu-sen, who was looking a bit more pensive. "Why would you be willing to entrust yourselves to such people, if they are as you say? How do you know you wouldn't be revived elsewhere, in a place where you wouldn't cause any more problems? For that matter, how do you know you would be revived at all? It would be easy to arrange an accident. And even if you were revived, what then? There'll be new tools, new ways of doing things. You might all have to be retrained, assuming you could fit in at all. And that's another expense for the Project, along with cryonic storage or hibernation for you and any future workers who might demand the same thing. It's impossible."

Charles seemed at a loss for words. "She might be right," a man behind him muttered.

Eleanor pushed her plate away. "If Earth won't help us, and we can't trust the Administrators to act, there are other places we can look to for help. There are the Habbers."

"Habbers!" a woman shouted.

Eleanor glanced at the crowd. "I don't like them any more than you do, but they have resources and they keep their agreements. They used to help us. Do we care who helps us now if we can have what we want?" She turned back to Iris. "Your son went to them. He and his friends brought us nothing but trouble, it's why the Habbers were expelled in the first place. The Habbers might listen to you and to others here who lost friends and relatives to them."

"I denounced my son for his deed, and he was no longer my son at that time."

Eleanor's fingers tapped against the tabletop. "A child is always yours, whatever such a record says. Once, I was sure you'd helped your son, but I suppose you've proven your innocence by staying here and being of service to us all. Still, you owe us something. You should try to help us fix the damage your son's caused. We'll see what the Administrators do when we get ready to appeal to the Habs."

Iris tensed. "Do you really think they'd let you? You'd destroy any chance of settling Venus if you made such an appeal. You'd certainly be sent back to Earth then."

"Do you think we'd just calmly walk onto the ships taking us back?" Eleanor shook back her short blond curls. "Oh, we stood by in the past, when only a few were punished, because the rest of us had too much to lose. We even learned to live with the Guardians. But if there's nothing left to lose—" She waved one chubby arm. "We'll see what happens to their precious Project then."

Everyone was silent for a few moments. "Why are you telling me this?" Iris asked at last. "There's nothing I can do for you."

Charles smiled. "Don't be so modest, Iris. The Linkers might listen to you if you tell them how we feel."

"I am sure they must already know."

"But they aren't doing anything about it, are they? Probably think it'll all die down and go away. They might listen to you. They'd know that you wouldn't go to them unless it was serious. The Administrators might see that they have to act."

"You were cozy enough with an Administrator once," Eleanor added.

Iris looked down. She had been aware of the growing impatience and discontent, but had refused to believe that it would give birth to such wild schemes. She should have seen this conflict approaching. It was Charles's place to make the workers' feelings known to the other Committees, but he would not risk being at the center of this dispute; clearly, he was already unable to quell it. He would rather have Iris as a go-between.

She stood up. "I'll see what I can do, but don't expect too much. I'll need a little time to decide whom to approach."

She hurried away. As she came to the path, a large hand grabbed her arm; Charles had followed her. "I've done my best to calm everyone," he said in a low voice. "You know that, don't you?"

"Of course." The man would expect her to make that clear in any discussion.

"Eleanor's been pestering me, and she's got a lot of people on her side. I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but matters can still be resolved. I'm sure we can all trust you." His hand tightened. Charles knew how hard-earned that trust had been for her, and probably suspected how she feared losing it. But his words also carried a warning. If she failed to win any consideration of the workers' complaints, she, rather than Charles, would be a target for their rage and disappointment.

"We understand each other," he went on, "both of us being from the Plains and all." She had known he would mention that sooner or later. "We got away, and I don't think either one of us wants to go back."

She did not speak, afraid to admit how much she sometimes longed for Lincoln now. But she could return to her own farm and the possibility of being her commune's leader; Charles would be only another wandering man, while here he was a leader himself. He would not understand how Island life had palled for her. It had been different when a goal was in sight; now she was only going through motions and routines. Days passed with no seasons to mark the passage of years; even trips to other Islands offered only the sight of different faces among the same carefully tended environments.

I'm getting old, she thought. My life is slipping away from me. For a moment, she could almost sympathize with Eleanor, who probably wanted a change as much as anything else, even if that change jeopardized the Project.

Charles released her arm. "Give Chen my greetings," he said. "Tell him that I hope things are going well for him, that they continue to go well."

She watched him walk away along the right fork of the path, then frowned. He had always avoided mentioning her bondmate before, and she wondered why he had spoken of Chen now.

Chen said, "It's a threat."

He had been rubbing Iris's temples while she told him of the meeting. She lifted her head from his lap and sat up on the bed, covering her chest with the sheet. "Sending you greetings is a threat?"

Chen shrugged his bare shoulders. "I have to work with some of those people on the Bat. A lot of things can happen if you get in trouble and others don't help you fast enough. Charles just wants you to be persuasive." He leaned back against the wall. "I'm not surprised at any of this."

"You could have alerted me a little sooner."

"I did. I heard talk on my last shift. You just weren't listening. I guess you didn't want to believe it."

"Well, I do now." She rested her head on her knees as she wrapped her arms around her legs. "Mother of God, why did they have to come to me? I didn't ask for this."

He stroked her back. "You have influence now. You earned it."

"I don't want it, and I don't have that much."

"The Linkers would listen to you. In the end, they care about the Project. They probably just haven't decided what to do. It's easy to let things drift."

She sighed. "I'm getting old."

"You look the same as you did when you were thirty." He pinched the flesh on her hip. "A little fatter, maybe."

She did not smile. "We still have a place to go," she said. "If the Project's going to come to this, I'd rather leave and go back to Lincoln. At least there—"

"In your house? With a bondmate? Do you really think you could live there again, forget what you've tried to do here? Do you really think they'd accept you?"

"My household—"

"I don't care what they say in their messages. They may say they miss you, but they wouldn't welcome you back."

"My mother might need me later."

"Your mother made her peace with you. Do you really want to live there?"

"It might be better than a life under the domes," she replied. "The workers have some vague notion that they'd be freer there. They get tired enough of life on the Islands—what do they think it's going to be like on Venus, without what we have here?"

"How can you ask that?" He grasped her shoulder. "Whatever it's like, it'll be ours, and our children's." He lowered his arm. "You forget our own child. Would you really drag that child back to Earth, give up her chance at something more?"

She plucked at the sheet. The child he spoke of did not yet exist, was no more than a promise and some frozen sperm and eggs stored by the embryologists, but the child-to-be often seemed as real to Chen as if Iris were already carrying her.

She glanced at her bondmate. Chen looked almost as young as he had when they met, and she had not aged physically; there were years left in which to become parents again. That had been one of her reasons for postponing the child's gestation; waiting until actual settlements seemed more certain was another excuse. It was comforting to think of the stored genetic material, and she no longer had to feel guilty when sending messages to Angharad, for her mother would have a granddaughter.

Iris would have the child, and yet part of her still resisted the idea, was happier thinking of the potential child than dealing with the actuality of one. She had failed with one child, had never really known him; she might fail again. She should not have waited after promising Chen they would have another; the waiting had only fed her doubts.

"We've waited long enough," Chen continued, anticipating her remarks even before she had spoken, as he often did. "We should have the child soon. You wouldn't think of leaving the Islands then—you'd have a reason to stay."

She touched his cheek. "I have a reason now. Whatever I say, I couldn't return without you, without knowing we could still be together." Chen, she understood deep down, would never be able to bear living in Lincoln, whether her household welcomed him or not; Eric's memory would haunt him. "I'd always want you with me." Admitting such feelings to him frequently would once have shamed her; now, she only regretted that she could not convey them more often, could still not easily admit to feelings that her household would have labeled a foolish weakness or worse. "Anyway, it seems foolish to think of having the child as things are now."

"You're right. You'll have to speak to someone."

"Charles's idea is ridiculous. I can't go to any Administrator with something like that. I'd be wasting their time." Her neck was beginning to ache again. "I'll have to go to Pavel Gvishiani, if only to convince him that he must do something."

She had spoken with Pavel only briefly and infrequently. She had not forgotten that he was primarily responsible for bringing Guardians to the Islands, but she had managed to forgive him for that, as she hoped he had forgiven her for her past mistakes. She had even come to understand him a little. He shared her devotion to the Project; he had never lost the devotion to it that had dominated her own life, for he had nothing outside of his work. Without Pavel, she realized, the Project might not even have come this far.

Yet, in spite of her sympathy for the Linker, she feared him more than she had feared anyone. In his presence, she had often felt that if she displeased him, that if he suddenly saw her as an obstacle to his wishes, he would sweep her away as if she were no more than a fly.

"I'm afraid to go to Pavel," she admitted.

"You think he doesn't know that? That's why he'll listen. He'll know you wouldn't go directly to him unless it was urgent, and it is. Everyone knows that things can't stay this way. I don't like to think of what some of them might try to do."