Teofila had decided to save herself and Chen, as Iris had clearly hoped she would. The pilot had ignored his plea that they wait. The dome had blazed with the bright white light of an explosion only a few moments after the airship lifted from the bay. Even then, he could not believe that his bondmate was gone.
He looked up at the face of Amir Azad, the Linker who had died with her. There had been other lovers for Iris while she and Chen were bondmates; Amir had loved her once. Chen's resentment and jealousy had long since faded. Iris had demonstrated her love for her bondmate in the most final way possible, and he found some solace in knowing that she had not had to face death alone. The two were now a monument to the Project, ennobled by death; love and guilt had no place in their legend.
Chen sighed. Had Iris been here now, she might have gone to the mosque with Risa and said a prayer to her own gods, Mary and Jesus, for Pavel's soul. She would have been happy that Risa was trying to have a child; Bettina had removed Risa's and Malik's implants only yesterday, just before the news of Pavel's death. Iris would have been pleased that the couple, after consulting Oberg's demographic statistics, had decided to have a daughter; female children were more valued on the Plains, and Iris, in spite of choosing to have a son earlier, had retained a few Plains prejudices. She would have sympathized with Malik; Iris had known what it was like to live in a household where intellectual pursuits were mocked or considered impractical.
He closed his eyes for a moment as he ached once again for the woman he had lost.
“Greetings, Liang Chen.”
He opened his eyes. Kichi Timsen, the Guide of lshtar, stood near him; she was dressed in a plain black robe with a sash around her waist. Two young men, also wearing the sash of Ishtar, were behind her.
Chen nodded to the woman. The Guide had to be in her middle years, perhaps as old as sixty, but her light brown face was unlined and her black hair unmarked by gray strands. “Pavel is gone,” Kichi said.
“I didn't think you would mourn that,” Chen responded.
She lifted a brow. “You don't either, I would guess.” She glanced at the image of Iris. “No, I'm marking this moment, not mourning Pavel. He saw that we would have to be free of Earth, and yet he was willing to deliver us to the Habbers. He was far from knowing the truth. Others are far from the truth as well—they don't see that the Habbers may be greater enemies of our aspirations even than Earth.”
“They help us and we need them. They don't want any power over us.”
“They separate themselves from planets and the Spirit that dwells within the people who live on them. They wed themselves to their technology instead of seeing it as a tool we won't need in time. Habbers would have us become no more than isolates communing with cyberminds and imagining that our world can be encompassed and bound by conscious thought, but we can't be free by closing ourselves off from part of our nature. When we're able to leave these domes, such barriers will fall away and we'll embrace the Spirit.”
The Guide repelled him. Kichi had come to him years ago with her babble about Ishtar, clearly hoping to ensnare the bondmate of Iris Angharads. Her words made little sense to him, and not because he lacked the learning to understand them. He could not see any use in believing in unseen spirits, and he did not know why people would want to give up the technology that had made their visions a reality; that would be like resenting his chisels because he could not shape his pieces of wood with his bare hands.
“I've heard,” he said, “that it's more than spirits you embrace.” He glanced at the two men with her.
Kichi smiled. “Come to our meetings, Chen. That would ease your pain at the losses you've sustained. You can forget the son who betrayed you to join the Habbers, and the old man who let your bondmate risk her life. You can see Iris in the Spirit of this world and in the women you encounter during our rite.”
She must have guessed at how troubled his thoughts would be today and imagined that he would be susceptible to her words. “If Iris were here,” he said slowly, “she would have scorned your foolish talk. I won't listen to it in front of her monument.”
“More will come to our way,” Kichi said as he turned to leave. “Your descendants will see our truth. You'll—”
He hurried away, refusing to hear more.
* * * *
The crowd had gathered on the plain just beyond the main dome's External Operations Center. Sigurd Kristens-Vitos stood on a low hill with arms outstretched, as if he were about to speak. Chen had intended to return to his home but had little desire either to push his way through the crowd or to detour around it. Risa and the other members of his household were near the foot of the hill, looking up at the Administrator.
“People of Oberg!” Sigurd called out. The crowd's murmurings grew softer and then faded. “It was God's will that Pavel Gvishiani suffer for the errors that he made. Yet even after his disgrace, he continued to labor for this world and won some mercy for himself when he was allowed to spend his last years among you. We can honor him for that and for his devotion to Venus before his head was turned by dreams of power. We can take consolation in knowing that God, the Compassionate and Merciful, allowed Pavel to repent, and that God ordained that Pavel should live to see the beginnings of what he wanted to build. He has won his right to a place on one of your memorial pillars.”
Chen could dimly see the fair-skinned man's pleasant features. That face probably served the Administrator well, Chen thought; it was so boyish, so open and ingenuous, with wide-set eyes and a gentle mouth, that Sigurd hardly seemed capable of deception.
“I came here to say a farewell to one who once bore the burden of my responsibilities,” Sigurd continued. “Even the Project Council saw no reason not to honor Pavel this day, since he atoned for his deeds. The Mukhtars will always be swift to act against treachery, but they will also forgive those who repent.”
Chen's mouth twisted. He doubted that Pavel had ever regretted anything except his failure to become this world's ruler.
“I did not, however, come here only to mourn. Pavel is gone—our Project continues.” Sigurd paused for a moment. “It has long pained me that Earth still distrusts us, that the Mukhtars are still mindful of the few Project pilots who fled to a Habitat decades ago and also of the man who wanted to seize the Project for himself. But that man is at peace with God, and now that we can see our world beginning to bloom inside these domes, could anyone wish to betray us by following the example of those pilots? The Habbers who labor here with us only serve our ends and those of Earth, and there is nothing to fear from them. They know that their way is not ours. They know that those who are strong enough to become Cytherians will never surrender power to Habbers, and Earth is coining to see that as well.”
Chen recognized most of the people in the crowd by sight; there seemed to be no Habbers among the mourners. He looked toward the round windowless building where some of the Habbers working in Oberg lived, and saw no one standing outside. Some claimed that Habbers could extend their lives past any normal span. The story could not be proved because no Habber had remained with the Project for more than two or three decades, but seeing Benzi's youthful face on his screen had lent some credence to such tales. A funeral might seem meaningless to Habbers.
Perhaps the Habbers were not so wise as they sometimes seemed. Malik had once spoken to Chen of past times, before the rise of the Nomarchies, when well-meaning people with an abundance of resources had tried to help those who had little. Sometimes, such efforts had been successful, but often they had created other problems—people who tried to emulate the more powerful culture only to become alienated from their own people, dependence on the gifts of the wealthier culture, even the destruction of the weaker one.
“The Linker may say that,” someone near Chen muttered, “but it's said he's grown closer to Habbers.” Chen turned his head slightly; Kichi Timsen and her two companions were near him.
“To one Habber in particular,” the second man replied to his friend.
The Guide shrugged. “Too many Islanders think that they can be close to Habbers and remain uncontaminated by their ways. Sigurd can be forgiven by some as long as he's useful. When he no longer is—” Kichi's voice trailed off; her eyes were cold as she stared toward the Administrator.
“Guardians have remained on the Islands,” Sigurd was saying, “and yet we have long felt that any reason for their presence is past. Earth must preserve the peace, but we have peace here. We are Earth's children, but children can honor a parent freely without being compelled to obedience. We have pointed this out to Earth on several occasions, and the Mukhtars have listened.”
Everyone was very quiet now; even the small children a few paces in front of Chen had stopped fidgeting. “You will be pleased to know,” Sigurd said, “that within a week's time the Guardian force will leave the Islands. A few will remain on Anwara, and the others will return with their Commander to Earth. This is a sign of Earth's trust and faith in us. God grant that this trust is never abused.”
The crowd began to cheer. Chen was silent, wondering what this announcement meant. Did Sigurd have enough influence over the Project Council and its colleagues on Earth to bring this about? Chen doubted that, even though the Administrator had implied that he did. Earth would not be removing the Guardians only because Sigurd thought it wise; the Mukhtars surely had other reasons for this withdrawal. Chen disliked the Guardian presence as much as anyone, but knowing that the force was on the Islands had kept the settlers subdued. They might now grow more impatient with Sigurd and with those Islanders who had to balance the Cytherians’ interests against Earth's. Risa would be on Oberg's Council; he suddenly feared for his daughter.
Kichi Timsen was smiling as the crowd continued to cheer. The pilots had resented the presence of Guardians on the Platform most of all, and many pilots were members of Ishtar. The Guide seemed pleased by the news.
Sigurd lifted his arms, silencing the crowd. “Fellow Cytherians!” he called out. “It is fitting that on this day, when we gather to remember Pavel Gvishiani, we look forward to a future in which we can demonstrate our loyalty to Earth freely as we pursue our destiny here. God be praised!”
“God be praised!” the crowd echoed.
Sigurd moved down the hill and stopped in front of Risa. He spoke with her for a few moments before he greeted another Council member. Chen shook off his darker thoughts. Iris would have greeted this news with joy, been proud of her daughter's new prominence, and chided him for his worries.
He waited until the crowd began to disperse, then made his way home alone.
* * * *
“I wonder what it means,” Bettina was saying. “I used to think Sigurd was too young to hold his position, but he's raised himself in my estimation. If he could make the Project Council see reason on this point—”
“He probably didn't convince them of anything,” Paul interrupted. “Earth will save an expense, and there'll still be some Guardians on Anwara. Sigurd was only trying to make himself look good with that little speech.”
“It doesn't matter,” Grazie murmured. “It means we'll be a little freer than we were, without those wretched Guardians and having to worry that they'd be sent to our settlements. It's too bad the Administrator couldn't have said so outright instead of speaking of how loyal we'll be to Earth.”
Malik picked at his food. Most of the talk at supper had been of Sigurd and the Guardians; Pavel had hardly been mentioned. He looked across the table at Risa. Her eyelids were lowered, and her food remained untouched; she alone seemed to be sorrowing for the dead man.
Chen rose and excused himself. The events of the day had clearly tired him, and Malik knew Risa's father had few reasons to mourn Pavel.
“That was something,” Nikolai said, “having the Administrator come over to us afterward to greet us—well, to greet Risa anyway.”
“Risa's consulted with Sigurd before,” Grazie said, “over the screen. He does think something of her.”
“Maybe something of Malik, too.” Nikolai lifted his brows.
The Administrator had made Malik uneasy. Sigurd's gray eyes had been studying him during the brief encounter; he had seen the man glance from him to Risa speculatively. The Linker had murmured a few words about a paper of Malik's he had recently read while hinting that he might enjoy future discussions with him. He had succeeded only in reminding Malik that the two men were no longer equals.
“You haven't said anything about Sigurd's speech,” Bettina said as she gazed at Malik. “You know more about what goes on among the Mukhtars than we do—maybe you have some ideas.”
“I can't shed very much light on this topic. When I went to the camp, I knew that various Guardian Commanders were trying to gain more influence over the deliberations of the Council of Mukhtars. I have no way of knowing which faction in that struggle was responsible for recalling the Guardian force here, and no way of finding out. The one message I've had from my family was confined to family news, and it wouldn't be prudent of me to ask if they know more about the current situation.”
“Then I might be right,” Paul said. “Sigurd probably didn't have much to do with the decision.”
“What about you?” Nikolai leaned toward Malik. “It might mean better things for you if your family gets stronger again.”
“Little would change for me even if that were the case. My life is here now—that choice was made when I came here. At most, my family might erase the record of my disgrace, but that would be only in the interests of their own reputation. You should hope that whatever struggle's taking place now goes on for a long time, Kolya. That would keep Earth distracted from Venus's affairs.”
Malik stood up. “Excuse me,” he went on. “I should prepare a discussion for my pupils. With today's events fresh in their minds, it might be appropriate for them to spend some of their free time tomorrow learning more about the Project's history.”
Paul set down his cup. “That's something we all know.”
“Then my young students must be the exception,” Malik replied, “since they seem to know only family stories or exaggerated and misleading tales of individual exploits, along with a few vaguely defined and poorly thought-out ideals.” He was revealing too much of his sour mood. “Good night.”
He went to Risa's room. He had moved his belongings there the day after her last visit to Pavel. She had explained that they did not need separate rooms now that they were planning to have a child, and since Nikolai was to remain in the household, it was time the Russian moved out of Bettina's examination room. Her request had been reasonable; he could find no objections.
The door closed behind him; he felt trapped. Why had he ever agreed to this? He knew that Risa's feelings for him had deepened, but he had been unprepared for the desperation in her voice. She had given him a way to avoid any real ties; only wounded pride and a half-formed hope that he could grow to love her more had led him to promise a pledge. He was still drawn to her, but the novelty of making love to her and the challenge of surprising her comparatively inexperienced body with his caresses would soon pall.
He had convinced himself that he could find contentment in what he had and know some peace; Administrator Sigurd's speech had changed everything. Guardians would be leaving the Islands, and a few Islanders had fled to the Habbers before. There was a chance, a small one, that he could escape; all it would take was one or two disaffected pilots whom he could trust and the time to make some plans. He could forget the Earth that had disgraced him and the new world that imprisoned him inside a domed settlement. He could free himself from being only a pawn in the game played by the more powerful. How could he happily bind himself to Risa now, with such a possibility, however improbable, tantalizing him?
Bitterness welled up inside him. He thought of the children he taught. Basic skills would be enough for most of them; he was little more than someone who guided them through their lessons. His talk of literature and history was only a momentary diversion for them, his as
signed readings only exercises. Even if he found a student who had the makings of a scholar, the demands of life here would eventually force the child to put aside such an ambition. The specialists here and the settlers who arrived from the Cytherian Institute were learned in their way, but they could never replace the community of scholars he had left behind.
He sat down on a cushion in the corner and leaned against the wall. He heard voices outside; Risa was saying good night to Nikolai. The door opened and she walked toward him. Her head drooped; her face was drawn. She sank to the floor and reached for his hand. Knowing that he did not truly love her, and that he would hurt her deeply if he ever admitted it aloud, made him feel a sudden tenderness for her.
He said, “I'm sorry about Pavel.”
“He didn't want me to mourn.” She lifted her head. “At least you had a chance to meet Sigurd. I didn't know he'd read something of yours.”
“It surprised me, too. The piece was a somewhat specialized one on how a scholar during the New Islamic Nomarchy's earliest days reconciled certain points in Islamic law with the socialist ideology that was prevalent in Central Asia even after those lands were no longer under Russian control.” Risa's eyes widened as he spoke; she was trying to seem interested, although he suspected much of his talk mystified or bored her. “On the other hand, the essay might have been of interest to the Administrator, since he's trying to reconcile Cytherian hopes with Earth's desires.”
“I've been meaning to speak to him about you,” she said, “and now I have a bit of an excuse. If he's curious about your work, then others might be also. Maybe he could arrange some lectures or seminars for you on the Islands when your students have time off from school to learn other skills. Some of the Islanders would probably enjoy that sort of meeting, and you could earn some extra credit.”
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