Venus of Dreams (62 page)

Iris pondered his words. Chen's carvings were popular even among some of the Administrators, and because many preferred to sit for him instead of letting him use a screen image as a model, he sometimes heard useful bits of news. Carving had been an outlet and escape for Chen after Benzi's defection; he had worked at it compulsively. His work had intrigued those bored with the Islands' usual amusements, and some had come to enjoy the presence of the carver who would add a little beauty to their rooms. He could now pick and choose among the many who requested a little of his time; those who had once shunned him now offered him credit or favors. His success was as unsought for and as inadvertent as her own.

"You've never carved me," she said, digging an elbow into his ribs, "even after all this time." This gentle accusation was almost a ritual with them. She would look a little hurt; Chen would say there was no need to carve when he had the original with him, and the conversation would end with his hands roaming over her body as he showed her how he would shape the clay and the wood. "I'm practically the only person in this corridor who has a holo of her face on the door instead of a carving."

"I carved your face once," he said, surprising her. "I carved you when you were at the Institute, but I didn't really see what was inside you then. I couldn't give that carving to you, and I couldn't keep it, so I sold it. I never tried to carve you after that, and now—I can't imprison your soul in a piece of wood." He paused. "It would be good for you to see Mukhtar Pavel for another reason. Some are saying he's grown weaker. Some think he's no longer able to act."

"I pray that they're wrong," Iris replied. Pavel might not be able to stop some of his own colleagues from moving against him if they sensed weakness, and the Project would suffer during their squabbles. "I had better request a meeting immediately."

Twenty-Eight

Iris could rarely go to the Administrators' ziggurat without being reminded of her last meeting with Amir Azad. She had gone out of her way to avoid him ever since, and that had been difficult in the Island's closed environment. He had come toward her almost every time she had glimpsed him; she had snubbed him when she could and muttered some excuse for not conversing with him when she could not. At first, she had kept away from him because her anger was still fresh and later, out of consideration for Chen, who knew that Amir was the only other man with whom she might have shared her life. She could think of Amir calmly now as she climbed the steps, could feel grateful that she had not tied her life to his and had kept her bond with Chen.

Three Guardians were standing by the entrance. She held out her wristband, thinking that they wanted to assert a little of their authority, but one of them waved her on into the hall with only a glance. She walked past closed doors, nodding whenever she passed a Linker. She tried to tell herself that Pavel Gvishiani would be sympathetic to the workers; his grandparents had been workers themselves. Pavel, however, would be unsympathetic to anyone who might threaten the Project.

She hesitated in front of Pavel's door; it opened quickly after scanning her. Pavel Gvishiani was not alone; Amir Azad was sitting on a cushion near him. Amir had been restored to his place on the Administrative Committee a few years earlier, but she had not expected to find him here.

"Greetings," she said as she stared past the men at the shelf above them, where a carving of Chen's sat. The carving showed a broad face with hollow cheeks; Pavel's mouth had been captured in a smile, but his heavy brows hung over watchful, observant eyes. Somehow, Chen had captured two of the Linker's qualities—Pavel's willingness to be charming when that served his purpose and his ability to be harsh when necessary.

Iris was suddenly afraid. She glanced back at Pavel, who had risen to his feet courteously instead of waiting for her to seat herself. "Greetings, Iris. Do sit down." He gestured at another cushion.

She sat down and folded her legs. "Greetings," Amir said. Iris did not reply. "When I heard that you would be meeting with Pavel," he continued, "I asked if I might be present, and Pavel generously agreed." Iris nodded coldly; she was in no position to demand that Amir leave.

Pavel arched his thick brows, which were as white as his hair. "When you requested this meeting, you said that you had something important to tell us. Our Links are closed. No one else will hear our conversation."

"Several workers asked me to speak to someone in authority," she said quickly. "Those who spoke to me spoke for many. I thought this was something that might require your attention. They feel that the Project is stalled, that Earth isn't doing what's necessary now. They feel that they've been given false hopes, and they're no longer content with that."

"The workers have a Committee of their own," Pavel said. "They might have requested a meeting with one of us themselves."

"They weren't sure you'd listen to their Committee. They thought—"

"—that I'd be more likely to listen to you," Pavel said. "Or, that if I didn't, at least their Committee wouldn't be blamed for your failure. I suppose that at least one of its members came to you with this request. How transparent they are, and what an odd choice they've made for a spokeswoman in this case."

"Is it so odd?" she asked. "I've come to you before."

"Yes, but in this case—I haven't forgotten that it was your son and his friends whose actions brought these problems upon us."

Pavel had never alluded to that incident before. Iris lowered her eyes. "I want to do what I can to repair the damage, to keep matters from getting worse. The workers are getting impatient and desperate—they may do something foolish that could set the Project even further back, and Earth could be quite severe with all of us then."

Pavel nodded. "We're well aware of how impatient the workers are growing."

"But you haven't done anything about it."

"Because I'm apparently too feeble to act."

She forced herself to gaze directly at him. "There are some who say so, Administrator Pavel."

"And what did these people tell you?"

She bit her lip. "They told me that they want to be stored cryonically or put in hibernation until the domes are ready. I told them how foolish an idea that was, and then they said that if Earth won't give us what we need, they're prepared to ask the Habs to do so. That's how far things have gone. You know how they feel about Habbers, and yet they're willing to do that."

"Some of them work in communications," Amir murmured. "I suppose that if they were desperate enough, they'd get a message through to the Habs and not worry about the consequences. And if the Habbers were then willing to return, and we refused to accept them, we'd have a great many angry workers to deal with and no way to do so. The Guardians we have here could hardly control them all."

Iris glanced at the bearded man, and realized that he and Pavel must have known what she would tell them as soon as she had asked for this meeting. The Island cyberminds to which they were Linked must already have predicted the possibility of this problem and could probably even determine which workers were likely to be most discontent.

"In the end," Pavel said, "all of us want the same thing, do we not? All of us—Earth, Linkers, the workers, everyone." He paused. "I want to ask you a few questions, Iris, and you must be honest with me. There are complexities in human behavior that sometimes adversely affect the projections of cyberminds. You live among the workers. Tell me this. If I appealed to Earth, perhaps even to the Mukhtars themselves, and asked them to allow the Habbers to help us again, would the workers be satisfied, even if it took years to get Earth to agree?"

Iris folded her hands. "But if you asked the Mukhtars, wouldn't they see that they couldn't wait?"

"They'll think of their positions. Even making such a request would provoke a struggle among the Mukhtars, and until that's resolved, and one faction wins out, no decision would be made. You haven't answered my question. Would the workers wait?"

She shook her head. "I think it's gone too far for that. They're tired of waiting and seeing nothing done to make it possible for them to be settlers. Some believe that Earth might even find a reason to abandon the Project."

Pavel leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "Tell me something else. Why should I believe your assessment? Your son was plotting with his friends, most likely for months, while you, his own mother, suspected nothing. Don't tell me that you weren't close to him, either. You saw him on occasion and you faced a dangerous situation with him—people often reveal much about themselves when they are dealing with danger. Why should I believe that you understand the feelings of other Islanders and can predict what they might do when you failed to see your own son's intentions?"

Somehow, Iris kept her face still. Pavel had given her an opening; she could admit that she might be wrong, leave this room, and wash her hands of the matter. She could tell Chen that Pavel had not listened to her; she and her bondmate could return to Earth and admit that their dream was finally dead. But something in her would die as well; once, she would not have given up so easily.

She took a breath, then spoke carefully, trying to keep her voice steady. "I knew. I knew about my son. I don't mean that I knew consciously what he was planning to do, but all the signs were there. He sought the company of Habbers, he didn't care about the Project as I did. When he was gone, I understood at last that I should have seen it coming. He'd given me all the clues. But I was distracted by my own ambitions at the time, and I simply refused to see. What I'm saying is that, even though I've convinced others of my innocence by now, I was, in fact, guilty."

Pavel was silent.

"I made up my mind," Iris continued, "that the only way I could atone for my negligence was to stay here and do as much as I could for the Project. I told myself that I would never avoid seeing the truth again. I have no ambitions to distract me now, and do not willingly turn away from whatever I sense because it might be unpleasant. I've heard the workers—more important, I've sensed their mood in our residence, and one close to me has convinced me that I can no longer let this pass. The workers want something done now. Some of them are so tired of waiting that they'll risk anything to bring an end to it, even their own punishment. And if you do punish them, you'll only provoke others and convince them that they have no more to lose. Please believe me. You must act soon."

"I believe you," Pavel said softly. "I am also moved by your willingness to admit your lapses and faults." His words carried a sardonic tone. "Here is another question for you, Iris Angharads. What do you think I should do?"

How could he ask her that? She could not decide such matters for a Linker. Perhaps he really was as weak as others thought. She looked into his dark, glassy eyes and saw no weakness there. "I think," she replied, "that you must appeal to the Habbers now, because they're the only ones who can give us the help we need. Once they're here, you'll have nothing to fear from the workers, and you'll show that you can act. Earth might see that it would be wiser to go along with you, even if you act without the authority of the Project Council and the Mukhtars, and may find some face-saving way of living with your action. If they do not, we can be no worse off."

"Do you know what you're saying?" Pavel asked.

"I know. I still hate them for stealing my son from me, for giving me no chance to be closer to him than I was, but I would go to them and beg them for help myself if I could. I told you that I don't turn away from the truth. I see what we must do, distasteful as it is. You may call me a traitor for it if you wish, and punish me for speaking this way, but at least I'll know that I've done what I could for this Project in my small way."

Pavel sighed. "I had already decided that I must do what you say." She started at those words. "Hearing you propose such an action convinces me that I was right, for I know how the Habbers have wounded you." He was silent for a moment. "I face a dilemma. If I ask the Habbers to return, I set myself against Earth. If I do nothing, I'll lose control here and pay the price for that. And if I root out the most discontented and dangerous folk and rid the Islands of them, I risk fanning the flames."

Pavel's face hardened. "I've given my life to this Project," he went on. "I won't see it set back because of Earth's pride and obstinacy. We have no choice. We must call upon the Habbers for help before the workers, or others, do something rash and endanger everything."

Amir tensed. "I didn't think you would actually decide to do this, Pavel. Do you think the Mukhtars will simply stand by and let that happen?"

"How many ways does Earth have to enforce its will here?" Pavel said. "They count on our loyalty and on our desire to keep our places as Administrators. Once the Habbers are here, Earth will risk a conflict with them if it tries to act, a conflict it cannot afford and that it would surely lose. They'll see that they have to accept it."

"But the Council," Amir protested, "and the Guardians—"

"I'll deal with the Council. Most of its members on Anwara will understand. As for the Guardians, they must follow their commander, and I believe that Fawzia Habeeb will have reason to throw in her lot with us." Pavel scowled. "Right now, our immediate problem is the Habbers. They have to be told that it's we, not Earth, who want them back, and they may not want to return under those conditions."

Iris twisted her hands together; her fingers were cold.

"It's good that you came to see us, Iris," Pavel continued. "I've been told there have been rumblings on the other Islands as well. You may be useful when it's time to convince your fellow Institute graduates of the need for this action—I know how schooled you all were in loyalty to Earth."

She lifted her head. "Our first loyalty is to the Project."

"How reassuring to hear you say that." The Linker was sounding sardonic again. "Now, we can't risk sending a message directly to the Habs ourselves—if others somehow pick it up, our plans will be exposed prematurely. I'm afraid that I'll have to visit the Habbers here, and make our request."