“Provided, of course, that I avoid problematic or ambiguous speculations.”
“You'd have a chance to meet a few of the other Administrators. You probably miss that kind of thing.”
He was moved by her concern. Even now, with her other worries and sorrows, she was thinking of him. But the gesture irritated him as well, making him feel even more obligated to her.
“Sigurd's close to a Habber woman,” Risa murmured. “I'm sure I don't know what he sees in her, but maybe she'll want to meet you, too.”
“We can think of this another time.” He suddenly wanted to change the subject, afraid she might glimpse his hidden hopes. He smoothed her dark hair back from her face. “You're getting too thin, Risa.” Her small, round body was leaner, her face more angular; the more sharply defined bones made her seem both more beautiful and more fragile.
“I'll get fatter when I'm pregnant. I'll have Tina scan me again in a couple of weeks. I might be pregnant already.” She lowered her eyes. “Maybe you've had second thoughts. Some people do after their implants are removed.”
“Well, I haven't.” His throat felt tight.
“We haven't even talked of how long we'll be bondmates. A lot of people ask for twenty years because they think their children are better off with a longer commitment between parents, but I wouldn't ask for more than ten—we can always renew it after that. I'd rather have our child seeing us choose whether or not to continue a bond instead of being bound by a pledge made years ago.”
His lungs felt constricted as he took a breath. He had been hoping she might want only a few years. “Ten years, then, if that's your desire.”
“I love you, Malik,” she said, “but there's a part of you I can't touch, that I don't know how to reach. I wish I could feel—”
He pressed his lips against hers, silencing her, then pulled her toward the cushion, wanting to lose his doubts in her embrace.
THE COUNCILOR
Twelve
The celebrations marking the beginning of the year 600 had passed two weeks earlier. As Sigurd strolled in the direction of the Administrators’ ziggurat, he wondered what this new century of the Nomarchies would bring. More demands from the dome-dwellers, he supposed, and more uncertainty about the resolve of the Mukhtars. During the five years since the Guardians had left his Islands, there had been no changes on the Council of Mukhtars, no news of any shift in alliances or of any Mukhtars losing their posts to be replaced by those more sympathetic—or more hostile—to the Guardian Commanders. The representatives of the Project Council who were stationed on Anwara were content to leave most decisions to Sigurd. That, of course, was to be expected. The Project Council would wait to see which faction grew stronger before acting more directly in Venus's affairs; they had to consider their own positions.
And I, Sigurd thought, have to retain the loyalty of those here while giving no one on Earth cause to doubt my intentions. He did not intend to be pushed aside by whichever faction triumphed.
Alim ibn-Sharif hurried around a bend in the path. The chubby Administrator nodded at Sigurd, muttered a greeting, and then hastened away as if intent on urgent business. Sigurd frowned a little; his colleague Alim might pose a more immediate problem than any Mukhtars. He had taken to chiding Sigurd in a fatherly way about his attachment to Tesia, pointing out that, in the absence of any clear directives from Earth, it would scarcely do for Sigurd to seem friendlier to Habbers in the interim. At the same time, Alim was also cultivating Kichi Timsen and occasionally spoke to Ishtar's Guide over the screen, even though her cult was as hostile to Earth's overt influence as to Habbers. Alim surely harbored ambitions of his own. The man might have given more thought to what was in the Project's interest rather than to what might further his own hopes.
Sigurd had spent part of the past two days in meetings with the Oberg Council, in a month, it would be the turn of the Curie Council to visit, and he supposed he would hear from them what he had heard from the Oberg settlers and from the Tsou Yen Council a few weeks ago—requests for more aid, speedier work on dome construction, and, most of all, complaints about troublemakers among the new arrivals.
Often, he regretted his decision to invite the dome Councils to Island Two for meetings. He had thought such visits would be largely a formality and a way for the settlers to feel more united with Islanders. Instead, they had turned into sessions of complaints and demands for various actions on his part; the Councils didn't seem to realize his limits. Perhaps he had only himself to blame for that. By inviting them here, he had led them to believe that he had the power to handle what they could not solve for themselves.
As he came to the open space in front of the ziggurat, he noticed that Risa Liangharad was at a nearby table under the trees; she was speaking to a white-haired woman. The other woman stood up and clasped Risa's hand; he recognized Alexandra Lenas, one of the Island's embryologists.
Alexandra strolled away; Risa looked toward Sigurd, then beckoned to him. He went to the table and sat down across from her as a small ape cleared away a teapot and cups. “I thought you'd be on your way to the Platform with the others,” he said, “Alexandra caught up with me after the meeting and asked me if I'd stay in her room tonight. Frankly, I didn't know how to refuse, and Oberg can get along without me for one more day. Alexandra's an old friend of my mother's.”
Sigurd nodded; he was familiar with the embryologist's record. “She supervised your gestation after your mother's death, didn't she? I suppose she wants to reminisce.”
“I imagine so,” Risa replied. “She sends us a message once in a while, but usually she's too preoccupied to talk for long. She's like a lot of your people—unless we dome-dwellers are actually here or have some problem that requires your attention, what we do isn't of much concern.”
“That is a situation,” he said, “that I've been doing my best to remedy.”
“Oh, I can understand their feelings when I'm here. Oberg seems almost as far away as Earth.”
“I trust your daughter won't miss you too much,” Sigurd said.
Risa's expression softened. “Oh, she'll be fine. Chimene gets prettier every day, but that's to be expected—she does take after her father. We both sent a message to her great-grandmother on Earth just before the New Year celebration, and Angharad's reply came the day before I left. I do wish she hadn't gone on about how pretty Chimene is and how many lovers she's bound to have—she'll get quite vain.”
“And how is she doing with her lessons?” he asked politely, although his Link could have informed him of the child's progress in school.
“Very well, especially for a four-year-old—she can already read a few words. Actually, I have to tear her away from her screen to get her to do her chores.”
“With a father who can tutor her at home,” Sigurd said, “I suppose she'll be a good student.” A more troubled look came into Risa's brown eyes; he had seen that look before when Malik was mentioned. “Some of the students studying here with our specialists are hoping that Malik will give another set of lectures soon. It is a diversion from their normal courses, yet I'm told he's made no arrangements to come here, and it's been nearly a year since his last visit.” His eyes narrowed a little as he peered at her. “Perhaps it's only that he wants more time with you and your child.”
“He spends quite enough time with Chimene as it is,” she murmured before falling silent.
“As he should,” Sigurd said. “Of course, when she's older and more able to look after herself—”
“I've told him you'd like to have him here. I'd rather have him earning more credit and doing what he likes—it'd be one less thing for me to worry about. He seemed a little anxious after his last time with your people.” Her mouth twisted. “Maybe he expects a formal invitation from the Islands now.”
He wondered if Risa was aware of her bondmate's visits to the Habber residence during his last sojourn on Island Two. Malik had been discreet, and few knew of his visits there, but Tesia had told Sigurd of t
he Habber woman the scholar had seen. He guessed that Risa was ignorant of those encounters; she would hardly be urging her bondmate to return here otherwise.
“Perhaps he needs a different audience,” he said, “one that might offer him more of a challenge and would expect more than merely an intellectual entertainment. Several of the Administrators here have studied more deeply in his field, and a few people on Island Eight have expressed an interest in having such a diversion there. I'll see what I can do.”
“It's kind of you to bother about this,” she said.
He leaned back in his seat. Risa was a useful ally, and he did not want other concerns interfering with that usefulness. He had sensed for some time that she and Malik were having some difficulties, and he was a little sorry she had taken the man as a bondmate. Separating the pair for a short time would ease one of her worries, and perhaps he could find out from Malik how matters stood between them.
Risa folded her arms. “I should tell you,” she continued, “that the others on the Council were disappointed with what you told us today. They were hoping for something a bit more definite.”
He sighed, “I should think they'd be somewhat reassured. They complained about some troublemakers among those arriving from the camps. I pointed out that fewer of them have been coming here and that there's every sign Earth will be sending even fewer in the future.” He had spoken the truth; the fact that Earth was sending fewer immigrants here, and discouraging others from coming to the camps, was another sign that the Mukhtars were more uncertain. “There's every indication that you won't have so many troublemakers to worry about before long.”
“That isn't enough. The others wouldn't say it, but I will. We ought to have more to say about the people who are sent to our settlements from the camps.”
“You have that now,” he replied. “Your needs are taken into account. You can ask for certain types of workers or even a particular individual who comes to your attention, and it's not in anyone's interest to burden any community with too many settlers at once.” He knew that this statement was unlikely to satisfy her, and waited for her response.
“We should have the right to refuse those whose records show they might be a problem. Even some people who came from the camps themselves are saying that. You should hear Kolya on the subject—he thinks a few people are putting them all in a bad light.”
Sigurd said, “That's impossible.”
“Well, it isn't all we'd like. If anyone persists in creating trouble, we ought to have the right to expel him and send him back to Earth.”
“That's even less possible.”
Risa struck the tabletop lightly with a fist. “There's more stealing, and not just in Oberg—you must have heard complaints from the other Councils. It used to be enough to threaten thieves with public hearings and marks on their records and restitution, but now we have a few who just shrug that off. They know we're reluctant to call in an Island Counselor, and that they can't be sent back to Earth. They don't care about the disgrace, and there's a small group that almost admires them for being able to get away with something. It's always people from the camps, too—after all, everyone else has been approved by the Project Council or has grown up here.”
“It seems,” Sigurd said, “that one Cytherian is no longer as good as another.”
“Thievery isn't even the worst problem,” she said. “I hear rumors about incidents the victims are afraid to report, because they think it'll just bring them more trouble in the end. If we had more to say about the people we admit in the first place—”
“Some of your upstanding citizens are people whose previous records are dubious at best. Will you deny others a chance for something better?” He did not wait for her reply. “And having the power to expel others—” He tapped his fingers against the table. “Aside from the trouble and expense to the Project, it sets a somewhat dangerous precedent, don't you think?”
“That would be a last resort, Sigurd.”
“You say that now. Anyway, that's not my primary worry. If the Administrators here grant you that power, we'll be giving you authority Earth doesn't yet want you to have. It can't be done.”
“Earth withdrew its Guardians from the Islands, didn't it?” she said. “Seems to me that's giving you more authority to decide things here.”
“That's exactly why I refuse to use it,” he answered. “The situation remains uncertain, and I'm not about to give the Mukhtars an excuse to tighten their grip once more.”
She said, “You're thinking of your own position.”
“Consider whether or not you'd be better off with someone like Alim ibn-Sharif in my post as Liaison to the Project Council. My interests and yours coincide—surely you don't want the Mukhtars to have cause to doubt my loyalty.”
She gazed at him steadily for a few moments. “If you're so concerned about that, maybe you should put more distance between yourself and the Habbers here—one Habber in particular. That's something else the Oberg Council was reluctant to bring up. We can accept their presence, but we're not foolish enough to view them as friends. It isn't just Earth's opinion you should worry about either—your actions give those fools in Ishtar a way to sow doubt about your loyalties.”
“I've considered that,” he admitted reluctantly. He thought of Tesia and quickly suppressed his feelings.
“That wretched cult's also complaining about our problems,” Risa said. “Kichi Timsen keeps threatening to ring up the subject at a hearing—she says several members of Ishtar are willing to volunteer their services as a patrol, to protect people and ferret out any wrongdoers. She'd just love to have that power—it'd be like having Guardians in our settlements.”
“You needn't resort to anything so drastic,” Sigurd responded. “There are other alternatives. You can stop thefts by simply making sure every house has a palm-print lock and a scanner as well. Tell your people that they must wear their identification bracelets at all times instead of only when they're leaving their settlement, and make certain a record is kept of their movements. Make it clear that anyone who doesn't report an offense he knows about risks a reprimand or any other punishment you deem suitable. Call in a Counselor more often for the recalcitrant.”
She slumped in her chair. “All of that seems contrary to our ideals—to everything we've worked for.”
“No more than expelling those you can't handle and depriving them of the chance to atone for their deeds. You may have to temper your idealism with some realism. Work this out, or admit that you aren't able to govern yourselves after all.” A few specialists were seating themselves at a nearby table; Sigurd lowered his voice. “You may tell your colleagues in Oberg that I'll report your discontents to the Project Council, and tell them that serious problems might be avoided if they exercise more control over the immigrants they send here. It'll be better if they think of this as my suggestion rather than yours. That's all I can do.”
“They won't act—they'll just dither about it and do nothing, and if something comes up that we can't handle, it'll be on the record that you warned the Project Council. That'll be to your advantage, I suppose, but perhaps not to ours.”
He said, “You sound as if such a situation is inevitable.”
“Probable. Let's hope it's not inevitable.” Risa rose. “I've taken enough of your time, Administrator.”
* * * *
Sigurd stood up as Tesia entered his room. Bewilderment flickered in her hazel eyes momentarily; he was wearing his white robe, and he had set out some tea on a low table. She was clearly puzzled by such formalities; he had not told her why he had invited her here.
“Salaam, Tesia.” He bowed a little and touched his forehead. “My Link is open, since it was my wish that other Administrators here witness our meeting. I've discussed with them what I'm about to say to you. You may open your own Link if you like. My colleagues are aware that I've often communicated to your people through you, but perhaps you'd prefer to have other Habbers view this meeting directly. You've
often spoken of the lack of a hierarchy among your people, and this discussion concerns all of you. I don't want to offend any Habitat-dwellers here by acting as if I assign you more importance than you have.”
She stared past him, her face now composed. She was wearing a pale green coverall that clung to her slight body, as if she had anticipated a more intimate encounter. “I shall open my own Link then,” she said, “although they're hardly offended by having you treat me as an intermediary.”
She walked toward the table and sat down; he seated himself across from her. “In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful,” he muttered quickly. “May His hand guide us all.” Tesia did not respond to the ceremonial phrase.
Sigurd gestured at the wall screen on his left, where an image of the Ishtar Terra landmass was visible. He sent a directive through his Link; the image expanded until the Lakshmi Plateau and the mountains bordering it filled the screen. To the west, the narrow range of the Akna Mountains met the Freyja mountain range in the north. Among the Maxwell Mountains in the east, tiny blisters representing the ten domed settlements glowed.
“Oberg's fourth dome is ready to be settled,” Sigurd continued. “Kepler's and Galileo's new domes can be occupied in three or four more years, and construction on additional domes for Lyata and Mtshana will soon be completed. As you know, we intended to keep these settlements small, with some twenty to twenty-five thousand people in each cluster of domes.”
“We're aware of that,” Tesia said. She was probably wondering why he was stating the obvious; she would not guess that he was trying to postpone what he planned to say. “There will soon be less to occupy my people in the Maxwell Mountains.” She was, he noticed, gently mimicking his stiff, formal tone. “At the current rate of settlement and reproduction among the dome-dwellers, what you have there now should suffice for another two decades at least, according to the statistical projections you have allowed us to see.”
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