Venus of Dreams (7 page)

Iris had sent messages to Tad, too, asking the system for his location and then routing her words to him. The first time, she had sent the normal transmission, but Tad had surprised her by asking for a letter next time. He could not read the words, but he liked seeing the symbols form on a screen while knowing that his daughter was tapping them out, and a voice would give him the words.

His fourth message, the one that had come that morning, had been different. She remembered the excitement in his voice. He had called from Bogota; he was leaving Earth, taking a job in satellite repair, and would let her know in a few days which space station was to be his home base. He had been grinning; his flushed cheeks and slightly slurred voice had made her think he was a little drunk. She was happy for him, but she also knew she wouldn't be hearing from him as often. He could not spend all his credit on calls to her from so far away, and she couldn't afford many more letters, either. She had already spent much of her allotment on a keyboard with letters and numbers to attach to her room screen. Maybe she could transmit words alone, without an image and voice, to her father. That wouldn't cost as much, and he might find someone who could read them to him; on a space station, there would be many who knew how to read.

Constance and Angharad had not been pleased by Tad's news. "Tad thinks he's a Habber," Constance had said scornfully. "Going up there, when there's enough to do here." Angharad at least had the wit to object; Earth depended on such space ventures and Tad was working for the Nomarchies, not the Associated Habitats, who had long ago abandoned any enterprises near Earth orbit. But even Angharad had not managed to hide her displeasure. Anything that resembled Hab ways was open to some question, and she had seemed worried about the example Tad might be setting for his daughter. Angharad had watched Iris with narrowed eyes after the call.

She suddenly realized that someone was calling her name. Iris peered out from the wheat again, and saw Sheryl standing by the tractor, hands cupped around her mouth. Tommy and Daria were next to the dark-haired woman; Laiza and Greg had come out of hiding.

Iris hurried toward them, wondering what Sheryl could want. The woman shoved her hands into the pockets of her baggy shorts as she tapped the ground restlessly with one sandaled foot; her lips were pursed. "There you are. Come on."

Iris waited for an explanation.

"Come
on
." Sheryl pushed her toward the road, not bothering to explain.

"Bet you're in trouble," Daria called out as the other children began to follow them.

Sheryl swung around, looking annoyed. "Go back to your game."

"What is it?" Laiza shouted.

"That's for me to know and you to find out. You'll find out anyway—I'm sure it'll be all over town."

Sheryl herded Iris along, refusing to speak until they had passed several houses and had left the children behind. "There's a Counselor at the house," the woman muttered at last.

Iris halted for a moment before walking on. "But he already came." The Counselor for their region, Bart Jennifers, had come in the spring, taking over his room in the town hall to listen to any requests, complaints, or pleas for advice. He usually offered little more than reassurance, but his presence made the townsfolk feel that the Nomarchies were not neglecting them, and the personal contact was more reassuring than messages from afar. Bart never stayed in Lincoln more than a month. He could recommend a more specialized Counselor for any specific problems a commune or individual might have that he could not handle, but Lincoln prided itself on not having requested such services for nearly a decade. Other towns might have children who ran wild, or uncooperative citizens, or the occasional crime needing a judge's attention, but not Lincoln. The townspeople were capable of settling their own small troubles.

"This isn't Bart," Sheryl muttered. "It's another Counselor—a Linker—and she asked to see you."

Iris swallowed hard, imagining how angry Angharad must already be with her. What could she have done? Sheryl was striding briskly now, glaring at the ground, as Iris struggled to keep up with her. She tugged at the woman's shirt. "How did the Linker get here?" she asked. Another floater was not due until next Tuesday, but occasionally one made an unscheduled stop. She looked south, toward the cradle, but knew that she would not see a dirigible hovering there; she would have noticed a floater approaching from the field.

"She has her own hovercar."

Iris's eyes widened. A Linker, in a private vehicle—her visit had to be important, then, and it probably meant grave news. What could her commune have done to bring about such a visit? Why did the Linker want to see her? Why hadn't she simply used the screen?

People were walking about in the square, while others stood in front of wide shop windows that displayed goods; several women eyed Iris and Sheryl as they passed, but did not offer the customary greetings. Sheryl quickened her pace. "Mother of God," she said; she crossed herself and then made a curving motion over her belly with one cupped hand as they passed the church. "A Counselor unbidden means ill fortune unsought." The woman said the old proverb as if it were an irrefutable truth. "And that goes double if she's a Linker as well."

Neighbors were lurking in the road, staring at the small, domed craft parked in front of Iris's house; Sheryl glared at them as she and Iris entered. The woman paused in the hallway for a moment, smoothed back Iris's hair with one hand, then ushered the girl into the common room.

The entire household had gathered, except for Mira, who was taking her nap. Tyree, sitting on the floor, fidgeted at LaDonna's feet; Eric, looking vacant, sat next to Constance on the sofa. Iris glanced at her mother, who was sitting near the large window that faced the road. Angharad's lips were drawn back from her teeth in a tense smile.

"So this is Iris," the Linker said. "Now I've met all of you."

Iris turned toward the visitor. The woman had the brightest blue eyes Iris had ever seen, and her short hair was nearly white. A glass of beer, untouched, sat on a table near the Linker.

"My name is Celia Evanstown." The woman's lips curved in a slight smile. "You see, child, where I grew up, it was the custom to take the town's name for one's own. There are a lot of Evanstowns." She smiled still more, as if making a joke; Iris heard a few nervous laughs. "Please sit down, Iris. I've been trying to reassure everyone here about the purpose of my visit. Do put yourselves at ease. I know what some say about such visits."

Sheryl coughed, looking a bit paler as she seated herself near LaDonna. Iris went to the ottoman and sat down, folding her hands. "Can I get you anything else?" Elisabeth asked in a high, trembling voice. "I mean, if you'd prefer whiskey, or a glass of wine—" Angharad shot her cousin a glance; Elisabeth lowered her brown eyes.

"Please don't bother. Actually, I came here to speak of matters concerning young Iris. I must apologize again for not having warned you—you see, I was passing this way anyway, and thought it might be simpler to drop in now. You'll all be even busier later in the season."

Iris stared at the gem on the woman's forehead, unable to meet her eyes.

"Yes, Iris," Celia continued. "You were born in 522, so you'd be nine now, wouldn't you?" Iris nodded, wondering why the Linker was asking that when she must already know. "It seems you've been taking the preparatory lessons for schooling. Isn't that so?"

Iris nodded again. Angharad's mouth tightened; Constance's hazel eyes widened with fear. Iris could imagine what they were thinking. She had attracted a Linker's attention. Her brief conversation with Jawaharlal could be forgiven, but not this visit. Angharad had always fulfilled her duties as a citizen; now, through no fault of hers, her privacy and that of the commune had been lost. The record of their lives would be open to the Linker, who could call up any information about their farm, their assets, what their credit had been spent on, their recreation and past histories. Celia had probably already called up such information through her Link during her journey to Lincoln. Such information gave her, and all Linkers, power over everyone else. One could never know what such powerful people might do; it was better to live decently, in some obscurity, with only a regional Counselor poking into one's affairs.

"It seems you've done well." Celia took a small sip of her beer. "Almost three years' worth of lessons in little more than a year, and some supplementary studies too." Her blue eyes went blank for a moment as her Link glittered. "What drew you to studying, Iris? You won't need to know all of that to be a farmer."

Iris struggled to keep her hands still. "I was just curious. I didn't mean—" She paused, remembering her father. Tad had told her to stick up for herself; nothing she would say could possibly make matters any worse. She lifted her head, forcing herself to gaze directly at Celia. "First, I wanted to find out more about the places I saw in mind-tours, and then I started wondering how they became how they are now and how Earth had changed."

Celia tilted her head. "There are history mind-tours for that."

"But they didn't tell me what I wanted to know—they were more like adventures. Finally, Bari—the teaching image—told me that if I learned how to do certain things, like reading, I could find out more."

Celia nodded. "And exactly what do you intend to do with this knowledge?"

"I don't know. I mean, I know I'll be a farmer, like Mother, but I thought that learning some lessons might help me be a better one, I guess."

"But you're not just learning about farming. You're preparing for a school, and there is no school here."

Iris took a breath. How could she explain herself? "I just want to learn," she said, twisting her hands together. "When I figure out something that's hard, and learn how to do it, it makes me happy." She scratched her head. "I can see a kind of pattern instead of just something all by itself, how things go together and what made them that way and how people might change them." She paused; she had almost mentioned Venus, and her secret desire to go there. "It doesn't matter if I go to a school or not."

"And how long do you plan to continue with these studies?"

She sat up straight. "As long as I can. As long as there's something I want to find out and don't know."

Celia chuckled. "You have a lifetime of work ahead of you, then. Well. There is no school to send you to, but I see no reason why you shouldn't go on with your studies."

Iris nearly sighed with relief. "There's a school in Omaha," she burst out, surprised at her own boldness.

"Hush your mouth," Angharad said quickly. "That's not for the likes of us."

"There are children Iris's age in that school," Julia said; Angharad motioned to her mother to be quiet.

Celia glanced at Julia pensively. "You've been paying for many of the lessons, haven't you?" the Linker asked.

Julia stared back. "There's no harm in that."

"Even if schools demanded payment, which they don't, and you could afford the credit, there would be no place for the child."

"Because the children of Linkers and Counselors and such get preference," Julia replied.

"My mother is one who speaks her mind," Angharad said in nervous tones. "Forgive her talk."

"She's right," Celia said: "But there are reasons for that. We have to allocate our resources carefully. Educated people are a resource we need, but schooling can be wasted on some. We need at least some assurance that the training will be put to some use, and the children of Mukhtars and Linkers and Counselors are more likely to use it. Their parents guide them in that direction. That doesn't mean we neglect others." She turned toward Julia. "You've encouraged the girl when she needed that, but there's no need for you to spend more of your credit on this. The Nomarchies will cover the cost of her lessons from now on, provided she wishes to continue with them."

"Oh, I do," Iris said, overwhelmed by such good fortune.

"Even if nothing comes of it except the learning itself?"

"Oh, yes. I can learn just as much here—I don't care about not going to a school." Iris shifted a little on the ottoman, certain that Celia had caught the dishonesty in that statement. She wanted to tell the Linker of her wish to work on the Venus Project, but could not do so in front of the others. Angharad would find a way to keep her from reaching that goal if she learned of Iris's wish; Iris knew she would have to keep her dream a secret until Angharad was powerless to interfere. That thought pained her; to reach her goal, she would have to deceive those she loved most.

Celia looked around at the others in the room. Wenda's face was stern; Iris could not tell what the old woman was thinking. Eric glared at Iris resentfully with his dark eyes. He wanted, she knew, to be a shopkeeper someday, but there was little chance of his becoming one. Eric was bound to make the rest of the day miserable for her, but Iris didn't care. The Nomarchies cared about her lessons; even Angharad could not stand up to a Linker. Celia had to feel that Iris might accomplish something with the lessons being given to her.

"It would help," the Linker said softly, "if Iris were able to set aside two or three hours a day for her studies in the morning. She'd be fresher then, and would get more sleep at night. Of course, this is only a suggestion. She should be able to carry out all her other obligations without difficulty."

"Oh, indeed," Angharad responded. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"We'll see what crop these seeds yield in the future." Celia rose. "I'm glad I stopped by, but I've taken enough of your time. I did so enjoy meeting all of you—it's nice to know that Iris has such a good home."

Everyone stood up; Angharad showed her teeth in a relieved smile. Celia murmured a few words to Eric as she passed the boy, who beamed; the Linker then patted Tyree gently on the head as Sheryl hurried to press the door open for the departing visitor. Lilia blushed as Celia complimented her on her blue dress, which Lilia had sewn herself; the other children, Iris saw, would not feel left out.