Venus of Shadows

by Pamela Sargent

  As he left the bathroom, he heard laughter in the common room. Risa and Nikolai were seated on the floor in front of a low table, eating from a tray filled with vegetables and pieces of bread. The Russian seemed to be making himself at home; Malik was surprised at how much that irritated him.

  “Not bad,” Nikolai said as he munched on some bread.

  “Our food used to be pretty dull,” Risa said, “but we've learned more ways of storing and preparing it. The community greenhouses grow a lot of beans and peanuts, along with enriched dwarf strains of wheat and rice. We've got beets, cabbage, parsley, onions, tomatoes, and some households keep rabbits and goats. We don't really need the protein from their meat and milk, since we can get enough from some of the other foods, but the animals can eat things we can't, and they do add some variety to our diet. It's also simpler than building vats to manufacture animal protein, the way the Islands do.”

  “What about your own greenhouse?” Nikolai asked.

  “I've been doing pretty well with berries and spices, but I raise some basic foods, too. I trade some of the surplus or exchange it for credit.”

  “I wouldn't mind seeing your greenhouse.” Nikolai got to his feet. “But I'd better wash up while I have the chance.”

  He left the room; Malik seated himself. Risa pushed the food toward him. “The experiment seems to be going well,” he murmured as he helped himself to some bread.

  “Experiment?”

  “I meant these domes. They are a kind of experiment, since the terraforming of Venus could have gone on without them. The Islands were here, and people could have waited out the centuries for Venus to cool before building surface settlements. In a way, they're here partly for political reasons—a lot of people working for the Project, especially common workers who saw a chance for a different kind of life, became impatient and didn't want to wait.”

  “Why should they have waited?” Risa pushed back a loose curl of dark hair. “They had the means to build these domes, and people willing to live in them.”

  “I was only saying—”

  “We're the ones who are really committed to this Project. The Islanders—well—it doesn't mean the same thing to them.”

  “Surely they're equally devoted to this Project.”

  “In their own way, but most of them are specialists. Sometimes you get the feeling that their scientific work means more to them than the Project as a whole, and I don't know if it's wise for some of them to be as close to the Habbers as they are.”

  “If you work with someone, it's natural to form friendships.”

  “I doubt that Habbers really know what friendship is.” She poured him a cup of herb tea. “Your record says you were a teacher,” she continued. “We need a teacher in our west dome school, and since my friend Noella Sanger's moved out, we have room for you here. She's living with Theron Hyland, the teacher who put in the request for you. I'll introduce you to both of them tomorrow.”

  “I was a historian,” Malik said. “I'm not sure why you need me here. Don't your young people go to the Islands for more specialized training?”

  “Yes, but we don't need you for that. You're here to teach the small children. We have screens, of course, and a lot of recorded materials, but teachers can guide and motivate the students. They gain so much more in a group than if they only pursued their lessons alone, and here every child has a chance to attend a school. It's important work, Malik. Earth only gives such an opportunity to the most promising children.”

  He felt disappointed; he had imagined older students already past their early training. “I don't know if I'm suited for that, Risa. I taught in a university. I—”

  “You can read, and you must have studied other things before you specialized. There's not much chance that we'll get someone with your kind of training too often. You should do well enough.”

  “I've never taught children.”

  She frowned. “Maybe you think that because you were a Linker, you're entitled to something else. I didn't see that you have many other useful skills. You're lucky to get work that'll win you some respect. What did you expect, anyway?”

  “I suppose,” he said slowly, “that I must be grateful.”

  “There isn't much else you can do here—even the Islands don't have much use for historians, as far as I know. And isn't history just a bunch of stories the Mukhtars would like people to believe?”

  He was stung. “Not in my case. The Mukhtars didn't much care for some of my writings. That's why I lost my Link—one of the reasons, anyway.”

  “Well, you can write what you like here. Most won't be interested enough to pay it much mind.”

  Her bluntness and frigid stare were annoying; he was beginning to see why, attractive as she was physically, no man had warmed enough to her to make a pledge. “That's very reassuring,” he snapped. “It's always good to know that no one cares about what one does.”

  She flushed a little and lowered her eyes. “I shouldn't have put it quite that way. I only meant that you wouldn't be bothered about it.” She paused. “My father has some records. He brought them along when we came here—they're mostly records of my mother, messages, what she did and thought. He probably wouldn't mind showing some of them to you. My mother is something of a historical patron saint to people here.”

  “Iris Angharads,” he said. Risa looked up; her eyes widened a little. “I know a little about her. A mind-tour producer on Earth was hoping to use her story in a historical mind-tour about Venus—your father's, too.”

  “With appropriate distortions, no doubt.” She sighed, apparently unimpressed. “Actually, you're here now because my father learned about you from a Habber pilot. I might as well tell you—you'll learn soon enough. My father had a son who abandoned the Project to join the Habbers. He sent a message here and told Chen about you, and my father went to Theron with the news.”

  He stiffened in surprise. “Benzi did that? I spoke to your brother on Earth, but I didn't think—”

  “I don't need to hear anything about him.” Her voice was once more cold and toneless. “He broke his bond with us, and there's no reason I should care about him—I never knew him anyway. He's just another Habber now.”

  “You have Habbers working with you here. The Project couldn't have come this far without their help.”

  “They're useful. That doesn't mean I have to like them. Maybe they think they can use us against Earth someday, but I don't care about that as long as we get whatever aid we need from them.”

  He was not off to a good start with this woman. His learning was of little interest to her, and his brief acquaintance with her brother was another mark against him.

  “I'm sorry,” she said suddenly. “I am being a bit rude, aren't I? No one's ever accused me of being excessively friendly, but I don't usually act this way. It's just that—”

  “I'm not what you expected.”

  She poked at a vegetable. “No, you're not.”

  “I'll do my best to be useful,” he said. “People here must think something of you if they're planning to put you on the Council.”

  “People come to me for advice, and I try to be honest and fair with them—I suppose that's why. Some see me as a little bit like a Counselor. Actually, I get advice from an old man who was once an Administrator—he's almost like another father to me. His name's Pavel Gvishiani. He's made his own mistakes, but I guess he's learned from them.”

  Malik tensed. He had not known that Pavel Gvishiani was still alive. He was going to ask about him when Nikolai entered the room.

  “I feel better already,” the younger man said. “Mind if I look at the greenhouse now?”

  Risa stood up, obviously relieved to see him. “I'll show it to you.” The two hurried to the door. “Would you like to come along?”

  “No, thank you.” The door closed behind them; Nikolai would appreciate some time alone with her. Malik nibbled at a sweet pepper. Nikolai was ingratiating himself as quickly as possible; Risa probably p
referred his company to Malik's. A sturdy man with practical talents was more valuable here than a learned former Linker. He smiled at his wounded vanity. He had felt some desire for Risa when she spoke to him more warmly, but that was only a response born of old habits. He would have to live here for a while, and it would be easier without entanglements.

  He surveyed the room. A small table in one corner held small blocks of wood, chisels, and a knife; a lump of clay was being molded into a face. A cloth was draped over another object.

  “It's a hobby,” a voice said as the door whispered open. A small Chinese man was walking toward him; his hair was gray, and he carried a small tool chest. “I saw a young man going into the greenhouse with my daughter, but I assume you're the teacher. I saw your image while listening to your record.”

  “I am,” Malik replied. “You saw Nikolai Burian—he lived with me in the camp.” He was about to stand; the old man held out a hand, motioning him to stay seated. “I'm Malik Haddad.”

  “Liang Chen.” The old man set down his tool chest. “Maybe you'd like to see a little of my carving. I don't have any training, but it's something I always enjoyed. Risa's mother used to say it's because I'm not good with words and have to let my hands speak for me, and she was right.”

  Chen removed the cloth and held up a carving of two long-necked birds with webbed feet; the head of one bird rested against the neck of the other.

  “That's beautiful work,” Malik said, marveling at the detail of the feathers on one outstretched wing.

  Chen covered the carving again. “It's a gift,” he said. “I don't want Paul to see it yet—he's the son of my friend Bettina, and I'll give it to him and his new bondmate when they've made their pledge. When I was a boy on Earth, the people in my village sometimes gave a pair of geese to a young couple. Geese mate for life, so it was a way to wish the couple well. We don't have those birds here, so this bit of wood will have to do.”

  Chen sat down on a cushion near Malik. “Has Risa told you about your work?”

  Malik nodded. “It seems I'm here to teach the children. She didn't tell me much more than that.”

  “We were lucky to get you.”

  “Maybe not. I haven't taught young children before.”

  “You'll find ways, as long as they want to learn. I never had much learning myself. Screen lessons taught me a little reading after we got settled here, but my mind's too old for much new learning.” The wrinkles around Chen's eyes deepened as he frowned. “Risa had the chance, but she left school early—she said learning more wouldn't be useful.”

  Malik could not tell if the man was disappointed with his daughter or simply stating a fact. “Risa doesn't sound like an unschooled person to me.”

  “She was always quick, and her teachers praised her, but she said she could learn whatever else she wanted to know by herself. I wanted more for her, but—” Chen shrugged. “She has what she wants, and she's respected by people. She may be on our Council soon, and that will make her an important person here.”

  “I know a little about your life,” Malik said, “what you and your bondmate Iris did. That must make you a person of some importance yourself.”

  The old man smiled. “I saw a danger and did what I could. It's no more than anyone else would have done. I never wanted power over others, or to be near those who had it—it fills them up until there's no room for anything else, and makes them see others as only pieces in a game. From where they stand, that must seem what life's all about.”

  Chen was better with words than he had admitted, and his sentiments reflected Malik's. He thought of what Risa had told him about Pavel Gvishiani. Clearly, she did not share her father's views and probably saw Pavel's deeds in a different light.

  Was the disgraced Administrator once again trying for some power or influence through Risa or others? Malik felt apprehensive at the thought. He did not want to be near power of any kind again, where someone with influence might strike at an enemy through him, and yet its attraction was still there. He could be tempted by his desire to be respected and honored once again.

  * * * *

  By the time Nikolai and Risa returned from the greenhouse, she was calling him Kolya. When the Russian left, just before dark, he was promising to visit again soon.

  Risa then led Malik to his room, where he managed to conceal his dismay; the enclosure was not much larger than one of his closets in Amman. Drawers were set into one wall; a bed with a large drawer under its mattress sat under a small, curtained window. A cushion was in one corner; he saw no other furnishings except for a clothes rod and a few hangers.

  “I hope this will do,” Risa said. “We're still working on designs that might give more of an illusion of space, and the houses we have are relatively easy to build and to expand if we need more rooms. You're probably used to more.”

  “I'm sure I'll be comfortable,” he said, wondering what other illusions he would have to accept. “All this room might need is a large wall screen with a mirrored surface. The mirror would give you a feeling of space, and you could call up landscapes for—”

  “It would cost,” she said flatly. “Some might also find it a bit ostentatious.”

  She left him alone to get settled. After hanging his clothes on the rod and storing his other belongings in the drawers, he went back to the common room.

  The other residents of the house had returned and were already gathering around the low table for supper. Risa introduced Malik to the others. Bettina Christies was a plain, narrow-faced, middle-aged woman with reddish-blond hair; her son, Paul Bettinas, had hair like hers, but he was stockier in build. Paul had brought along a young woman named Grazie Lauro who was to become his bondmate; she was slender, dark-haired, and took every opportunity to hold Paul's hand or to gaze into his eyes as they ate.

  “We don't stand on formality,” Bettina said as she handed Malik a plate of bread. “We're usually all here for the evening meal, but if you're late or have to eat earlier, just go to the kitchen and fetch a meal for yourself. You do know how to cook.”

  “A little.”

  “Well, there's always bread, and you can help yourself to the stored fruits and vegetables. We don't have a food-mat in the house, but the school and some of the larger buildings do.” She peered across the table at Malik with her pale blue eyes. “You look healthy enough, but then, you wouldn't be here if the Platform Guardians found anything on your scan.”

  “The Platform Guardians? I was scanned before I left Earth, but no one at the Platform gave us even a basic med-scan.”

  Risa let out her breath. “They're getting careless again,” she said angrily. “We've told them over and over—”

  Bettina raised a hand. “It's unlikely that he picked up anything during the journey, but I'll do a scan now, just to be safe. Come with me.” Malik rose and followed the physician from the room. “It's probably best to be careful,” she continued. “Anything contagious could spread quite rapidly in a settlement.”

  The examining room, with its desk, stool, cushion, and padded table, was not much larger than Malik's room. He sat on the table while Bettina passed her med-scanner over him. “What kinds of medical problems do you treat here?” Malik asked.

  “Accidents, usually—chemical burns, broken bones, pulled muscles, that kind of thing. Everyone's scheduled for a routine scan with a physician once a year, and the older folks who need it get their rejuv shots to clear out their protein cross-linkages. I can treat a lot of things here or in the patient's home, but anything more serious gets sent over to the main dome's infirmary. More serious than that, and you get bumped up to one of the Islands, to the real medical specialists. Had one patient who lost an arm when something fell on him during a quake, so he went to Island Three for a prosthetic replacement. And I deliver babies, of course. My son's able to handle that, too—he's a paramedic—but some expectant mothers don't want a man with them when they're giving birth. It was like that on the North American Plains, where I came from. We alw
ays thought it was bad luck if a man was in the room during childbirth.”

  “And if it's something the Island physicians can't treat?” Malik said.

  “Then you live with it, or die with it, and we do what we can to make you comfortable. It costs the Project too much to do anything else—we can't ship every disabled or dying person back to Earth. Frankly, we don't have a lot of the equipment you'd find in the average city hospital on Earth, even though some of the Habbers have helped with a few difficult cases, and that's why we stress prevention. I can't tell you how many times I've told people to be more careful doing their work or to take some basic precautions when the seismologists have predicted a quake.”

  She sat down at the desk and stared at her small screen. “Just what I expected—there's nothing the matter with you. You look just as good inside as you do on the outside.” She lifted her head and batted her eyes a little; he remembered that she was a Plainswoman and probably used to flirting.

  They returned to the common room; Malik noticed that Risa had left the table. “Where's Risa?” Bettina asked.

  “Leilani came by,” Grazie answered. “She wanted to talk with Risa alone, outside.”

  “About that bondmate of hers, I expect.” Bettina sat down and gazed affectionately at Chen. “Turkan Belis told me today he'd like to have you do a carving of his daughter.”

  Chen looked up. “If she'll sit still long enough, which she won't.”

  “Do her from memory, then.”

  Chen shook his head. “I'll have to ask for a holo image to look at.”

  “Chen does very well with his carvings,” Grazie murmured as she slipped her hand into Paul's. “He'd do even better if he demanded more credit for them. He still gets requests from some of the Islanders.”