“Impossible.” Her eyes widened in shock. “The Mukhtars can't take a Project they've touted as our greatest effort and turn it over to Habbers who affront us at every opportunity. Even people who don't care about Venus would see that as a betrayal. It's bad enough that we needed Habber help in the first place.”
“Does it really matter in the long run?” He suddenly felt a need to display some courage and recklessness, even if only with words. “Habbers are one branch of humanity, we're another, and the Cytherians will undoubtedly be a third. We'll diverge for a time, but we may draw together eventually and find a common destiny, as the different regions of Earth did so long ago. Venus could be a bridge between Earth and the Habitats, and there's much we could gain from more contact with Habbers.” Malik fell silent; this was the kind of talk Muhammad had warned him against.
“Dangerous words. Linker Malik.”
He rose, knowing that it was time to end his brief show of bravery. “Much as I would enjoy prolonging this visit, my duties require my attention.” He was speaking in Arabic now, anxious to find refuge in its formalities; Wadzia seemed a bit disappointed as she got to her feet. “I shall look forward, God willing, to your presentation at another time.” Her eyes were lowered, her lips turned down; Malik took her arm and guided her toward the door. “I would like to hear more about what you've been doing these past years—perhaps you are free for dinner this evening.”
“That would be most pleasurable,” she replied. “Since my bondmate's work has taken him to Baghdad, my evenings have often been lonely.” There would be a bondmate, of course; young women of Wadzia's age in this Nomarchy were rarely unpledged. The man was probably from her village; she might have been promised to him even before attending the university. The two would have made their pledge, and perhaps gone through the rite of marriage as well, because their families would be shamed if they refused. Now, he supposed, they had an understanding that allowed them other companions as long as they were discreet. It was a common enough arrangement.
Her novelty would divert him for a while; he was already trying to determine which restaurant might provide the most seductive atmosphere. He sighed as he once more felt his familiar weariness.
* * * *
The University of Amman was near Malik's residence, and he usually walked there instead of taking the private hovercar provided for his use. The towers of the school and the tall, terraced apartment buildings surrounding it rose above a city of small, pastel-colored houses packed tightly together on low mountainsides. Other towers dotted Amman, looming over dwellings that might have been carved from the multicolored stone.
Malik had grown up in Damascus, but this city had claimed his heart when he first came here to study. Its clear, biting air invigorated him, and he had never tired of exploring its rocky hills and twisting streets. He had been happy to win a position in Amman; it was the city in the New Islamic Nomarchy that he loved most.
Olive trees and cedars lined the pale paths of the university complex; they were tall, straight trees unlike the tiny, stunted ones that grew in the crags and small spaces between houses. A small group of students walked toward him, chattering in Hebrew, then nodded respectfully as they drew near.
“Salaam, Linker Malik,” one of the young men said in Arabic. “May I ask—we have been told that you will be visiting Jerusalem next term.”
“As God wills.” Malik touched his forehead. “Isaac Alon has invited me, and I am looking forward to spending more time in the Eastern Mediterranean Nomarchy.”
“I must tell my brother, then—he is a student there. He will be hoping to meet with you.”
One of the female students was ogling him quite blatantly; her large hazel eyes were much like Luciana Rizzi's. Malik drew his brows together. He had promised Luciana he would see her tonight, before Wadzia's visit; his Link would have reminded him had he bothered to consult it. Even after two years, he was not entirely accustomed to the Link; now he would have to change his plans. Perhaps not; he could find an excuse to give Luciana. It was always a sign that a particular love was fading when he began to make excuses.
“I shall hope to meet your brother, then,” Malik said. He could not remember this student's name. He opened his Link to call it up, and heard only a dead silence.
The shock of meeting a block in the Link's channels made him tense; it had to be a malfunction. What could be wrong? He trembled and swayed unsteadily as another young man caught his arm.
“Is something the matter, Professor?” the student asked. Two other men were coming toward him. One wore the khaki garb of the local police; the other was in the black uniform of a Guardian.
“Malik Haddad?” The Guardian spoke gruffly, omitting Malik's title. Malik nodded; the student released his arm and stepped back. “You're to come with us. We have orders to detain you.”
“You must be mistaken,” Malik said. “I have a seminar to conduct.” His Link was still blocked; he was suddenly afraid. “I think you should know—”
“Come with us,” the Guardian said. The students were watching him with blank expressions as he was led away.
THE DREAMERS
One
The spires of Tashkent lay far behind him. To the south, above the port outside the city, a shuttle climbed Earth's sky. Malik trudged east along the side of the road, feeling the weight of the pack on his back. The people with him had held their heads high as they left Tashkent's port; now their pace was slower, their heads bowed.
The asphalt of the ancient thoroughfare was broken; hundreds of feet had already worn away a path under the row of bare-limbed trees that lined the road. A young woman near Malik suddenly stumbled on a patch of uneven ground. He reached out and caught her by the elbow.
The weariness left her strong-boned face as she smiled up at him. “The Mukhtars dream of their new world,” she said in Russian, “yet they punish some of those who seek it.”
“They want the way to be hard,” Malik replied in the same language. “If it were otherwise, too many would want to leave, and even the Habbers couldn't find ships for them all.”
The woman's smile faded as her tilted black eyes grew hard. “They think we'll forget when we're on Venus, that gratitude will wipe our memories clean and make us honor the Mukhtars again.”
A young man near her turned; his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he glanced at Malik. Malik had seen that look from others, back in the port. “Do not speak to him, Katya,” the young man muttered.
Malik had done what he could to conceal what he was. His long sheepskin coat was like those many of these people wore, and he had wound a turban around his head. He had given himself away somehow, perhaps when he had forgotten himself and addressed the Guardian at the port in formal Arabic.
He could imagine what the man and the woman were thinking—either that he was a spy sent to ferret out those who might prove troublesome or that he would not be among these people now unless he had offended someone powerful. In either case, he did not belong, and it would do no good to speak to him.
He would have to live among these people. He had thought they would accept him as a fellow emigrant, one who shared their dream; now he saw how foolish that hope had been.
Malik glanced back at the distant city and recalled other visits to Tashkent. On his last trip there, he had taken an airship from Bukhara. From his window, he had enjoyed the sight of a Central Asian spring—flat green land irrigated by canals, fields white with the cotton that was still grown for the formal robes of Linkers, slender trees with pink and white blossoms. A student from the university had been sent to greet him; Administrators had invited him to their homes and accompanied him to Tashkent's lively markets. He had not been allowed to enter the city this time. A Guardian had greeted him, then scanned the identity bracelet on Malik's wrist before pushing him roughly in the direction of this road.
The plain stretched before him. A touch of winter was still in the air, but spring came early to this region; on the horizon, m
achines were already tilling the soil. He thought of how far they still had to walk, and of the people who had traveled over this land in past times. Persians and Greeks had carved out their conquests, caravans had brought silk from China, horsemen of the steppes had come in search of loot, and Russians had expanded their empire here. Now the land bore the footprints of those seeking a new world far from Earth.
The small group of fifteen people moved away from the road and settled on the grass to rest. The woman who had spoken to him looked away as he sat down. The young man seated himself next to her, warning Malik away with his eyes.
Silence would not help him now; he had to speak. “I have heard,” Malik said in Russian, “that the barriers separating us on Earth do not exist on the new world, and yet I see those barriers here.” He looked around at the others as he spoke but saw only cold stares and averted eyes. “I am to labor on Venus with you. I've given up all I had to join you, yet you shun me.”
No one spoke. He repeated his words in Anglaic, then waited.
“You know why we're here,” the young man near him said at last. “However hard our lives may be on Venus, we'll have the chance to rise and to see our children rise. The Nomarchies may scorn us now, but we'll win their respect. You have the look of a man who held a higher place than ours. Why would you choose to travel with us? Why do you try to hide what you are?”
Malik forced himself to gaze directly at the man. “To show that, whatever I was before, I am one of you now.”
The young man shook his blond head. “Perhaps you're a spy.” He smiled mirthlessly. “But you'd make a poor one, since we so easily see what you are. Why would you wait with the likes of us, hoping for passage on a ship?”
“Because I lost everything.” Malik shrugged out of his pack. “My family was dishonored by my fall from favor, and told me that their shame might be lessened if I left Earth. There's no chance that, disgraced as I am, I could be chosen for the Project, so if I want to get to Venus, my only choice is to wait with you.”
“You think your chances will be better than ours,” a bearded man said.
“I have less of a chance. They need willing workers there more than they need my kind.”
“I'm still puzzled,” the black-eyed young woman said. “It seems—”
The young man gestured angrily. “Don't speak to him.”
“I'll speak if I wish, Alexei.” The woman turned back to Malik. “I am Yekaterina Osipova, and this man who thinks he can speak for me is my younger brother, Alexei Osipov.” The blond man scowled but was silent. “I would hear more of your story, should you wish to tell it.”
“Our pasts don't matter now,” another woman muttered.
“Unless we find out more about this man,” Yekaterina replied, “we won't be able to trust him. Do you think we can build a new world on suspicion?”
Her words were sincere, but Malik supposed that the Guardians had planted a few spies among the hopeful settlers in the camp that was this group's destination. That was one of the reasons for allowing such camps.
“My name is Malik Haddad,” he said. “I was a professor at the University of Amman, but I also had an uncle who was close to the Council of Mukhtars. He had hopes of rising to a place on the Council and of one day giving me a position on his staff.”
Alexei's green eyes narrowed. “Then you had even more than I thought.”
“My uncle's ambitions weren't mine,” Malik responded. “I was happy teaching history and doing my writing. It's true that my uncle's position smoothed my path, but it was my own work that won me my place. Some had questions about what I said and wrote. That didn't matter until my uncle lost favor with those who now have more power among the Mukhtars. My uncle, you see, was close to those who forced Abdullah Heikal from the Council twenty-six years ago.”
His companions stared at him blankly. Most of them, he realized, were probably illiterates who had only the sketchiest knowledge of past events.
“In 568,” Malik continued, “you may recall that Earth had to punish an Administrator on Venus's Islands who had allied himself with Habbers in order to seize power over the Project for himself.”
“My parents told me the story,” one man said. “I hadn't yet been born. They said nobody here really knew much about what happened until it was over.”
“I'm not sure I understand it all now,” a woman added. “I know Earth sent Guardian ships to blockade the Islands until that Linker gave himself up, and that some Islanders died in a surface explosion when they—”
“Perhaps I may tell you about it,” Malik said. “I have some knowledge of those events, and those who hope to be settlers should be familiar with them.”
The group gazed at him passively, apparently willing to listen if only to pass the time. He had seen a similar look on the faces of a few of his students. “I should begin by reminding you of an earlier incident in 555, since it's connected to what followed. A small group of pilots, dissatisfied with their lot on the Islands, managed to board a shuttlecraft and fled to the nearest Habitat. Naturally, the Project could not ignore such an act of betrayal—those pilots, dreaming of an easier life among Habbers, had betrayed Earth's greatest effort. The Habbers refused to return them, arguing that they had always accepted any who wished to join them, so most of the Habbers remaining on the Islands were forced to leave, and a Guardian force was stationed there to reassert Earth's rightful authority.”
“I think I heard about them,” a man muttered. “But what does that have to do with the blockade?”
“Pavel Gvishiani, the most powerful of the Island Administrators, had ambitions of his own. He believed that, with the Habbers as allies, he could wrest control of the Project for himself and become its sole ruler. Naturally, his ambitions suffered a setback when most of the Habbers working with the Project left and Guardians arrived.” Better, Malik thought, to give the official version of events. “But Linker Pavel plotted with the Guardian Commander there, won her support, and brought more Habbers back to the Islands. It was a blatantly rebellious act. He'd totally ignored the Project Council's authority by taking such action on his own.”
“So Earth blockaded the Islands,” a woman said.
Malik nodded. “The people there were cut off from the outside and warned to surrender. With Earth's ships in orbit, any shuttle leaving or arriving at the Island port called the Platform could be disabled or destroyed. The Islanders had the use of only their airships after that, which, as you all know, are useless for travel through space. Earth might have attacked, but the Mukhtars, in their wisdom, knew that damaging or destroying the Islands would set the Project back for decades, maybe longer. They were also compassionate enough not to want a battle that would take many lives.”
“And the Mukhtars are so kind,” one young man said with a sneer.
“The Islanders knew they couldn't resist a blockade indefinitely,” Malik went on, “and the Habbers were making no move against Earth's ships, even though some of their own people were still on the Islands.”
“That's because Habbers are cowards,” someone whispered.
Malik ignored the remark. “Then a small group of Islanders decided to take matters into their own hands. They made plans to board an airship, seize part of the Platform, plant explosive devices, and threaten the entire port with destruction if Earth didn't back down. You can understand how serious a threat that would have been. Earth would have lost everything the Mukhtars were trying to regain.”
The plan, considered objectively, had not been so foolish, however insane it appeared. The Islands drifted slowly around the planet in the thin upper atmosphere of Venus, nearly one hundred and forty kilometers above the surface. The location offered certain advantages. The Islands were held by Venus's gravity and were at a safe distance from the fierce winds that still raged below; the atmosphere also provided some protection against meteor strikes. But the protective domes enclosing the ten Islands made it impossible for shuttlecraft to land there. Helium-filled dirig
ibles were the only vehicles that could land in the Island bays; the Platform, an eleventh Island without a dome, was the port for the shuttles carrying supplies from Anwara and the dirigibles that conveyed cargo and passengers to the other Islands.
Had the port been seized, all of the Islands would have been hostage; Earth would have had either to retreat or to see the Platform destroyed. The Islands, with their thousands of trained specialists and workers, would have been completely isolated from the outside until a new port could be built, and that wouldn't have happened in time to save those Islanders. The Project would have been set back indefinitely. The Mukhtars, after investing so much in Venus, might never have made up for that loss.
“But those people never got to the Platform,” Yekaterina said.
“No, they didn't. A worker named—named—” Malik had to think for a moment before coming up with the name. “It was Liang Chen, I believe,” he said at last. “This man found out about the plan, and the personnel on the Platform were warned not to allow a landing there. Unfortunately, Liang Chen himself was taken prisoner by the plotters, who immediately headed for the surface when they learned they wouldn't be able to land their airship, with its cargo of explosive devices, on the Platform. They managed to get to one of the three domes the Project had built in the Maxwell Mountains. The dome wasn't yet habitable, but several specialists were working there, housed in a shelter inside. The plotters took them prisoner and said they would blow up the dome and everyone inside if Earth didn't call off its ships. They wanted what amounted to a declaration of independence from Earth. By this time, Linker Pavel must have seen that he had lost control over his Islanders and that others might also risk such suicidal gestures.”
“Did anyone ever use all this in a mind-tour?” a man asked. “Seems to me you could.”
“One was being planned,” Malik replied. “It's why I became more familiar with the story recently.”
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