Venus of Shadows

by Pamela Sargent

  “I think Andrew was hoping he could ask you about our meeting later,” Risa said. “He's always thought he should have been on the Council himself.” She gestured at the duffel hanging from his shoulder. “Would you like to have someone carry that?”

  “I'm capable of carrying my own bag.”

  Her mouth tightened; she was clearly worried about why he wanted a meeting with the Council. “We'd better go then. The rest of the Council is waiting.”

  They began to walk toward the center of the dome in silence. As they passed the mosque, the call to prayer sounded, but no one seemed to be heeding it. “Perhaps you want to pray before meeting with us,” Risa said.

  “I think not, may God forgive me.” She knew perfectly well how careless he was in his observances. Perhaps the Oberg Council only wanted a little more time to prepare for the meeting; he hadn't given them much warning.

  Risa said no more until they entered the Administrative Center. “We were surprised that you decided to come here,” she murmured. “It would be simpler to use the screen—we had no desire to take you away from your other demands.”

  “My presence was necessary,” he replied, “and I haven't visited these settlements in some time. I thought it appropriate to come here now, especially since your recent actions have greatly troubled my thoughts.”

  Risa stiffened a little as she pressed a door open; surely she must have expected that. But perhaps not. The Council must have thought that since he had not acted before, he would have little to say now.

  The rest of the Council was seated on cushions, their pocket screens on the low table in front of them. Risa sat down next to Istu Marnes; the only cushion left was on the side opposite the five people. Sigurd seated himself there and smoothed down his robe, then slipped his duffel off his shoulder.

  “In the Name of God, the Beneficent, the Merciful,” he recited automatically, “Whose Hand guides us all. May He guide us now.” The five stared at him blankly. He knew that they rarely, if ever, began their meetings with an invocation, but he felt a need for the comfort of tradition.

  “May His name be praised,” Alain al-Kadar said at last.

  “In the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ,” Curcio de la Cruz muttered as he bowed his head.

  “May the Holy Mother Mary bless us,” Jeannine Loris offered.

  Sigurd felt irritated. Mentioning other faiths at the start of meetings was not unknown but was certainly not common, since it was often a sign of disagreements to come. Risa and Istu said nothing, apparently having no deities of their own to invoke.

  Alain gestured at a teapot and tray of small cakes. “Would you care for some refreshment, Linker Sigurd?”

  “No, thank you. I would like this meeting to be a private one. I shall keep a record of my own, of course.” He tapped the jewel on his forehead. “Considering what I'm about to say, you may not wish to record this for yourselves.”

  Alain touched a button on his screen. “Very well.”

  “Now,” Sigurd said. “I'm free to tell you exactly how much you've disappointed me. I thought you were capable of governing yourselves. Instead, you've abused your authority.”

  “Are you talking about those three men?” Jeannine asked.

  “Of course I am.”

  “They were responsible for a woman's death,” Risa said. “There was no doubt about that.”

  “That fact counts in your favor,” Sigurd said, “but it doesn't excuse what you did.”

  “What could we do?” Risa asked. “Nora's household deserved justice. Some would have killed those men without a hearing, but we gave them one and the chance to speak—”

  “Spare me your arguments,” Sigurd said. “I already know what they are.”

  “You didn't try to stop the hearing. You allowed us to—”

  “I had a misplaced faith in your judgment, and once you'd sentenced them, I was powerless to intervene. What I should have done was to summon Guardians from Anwara immediately, but then the people you represent would have said I hadn't given you a chance to show you could handle this yourselves.”

  “You must have seen the hearing,” Istu said, “or looked at a record of it. We did what the people who elected us demanded.”

  “Does being an elected representative mean following a mob?” Sigurd asked. “It was your duty to lead, to make them aware of the possible consequences of such an act—instead, you pandered to them. Your people are going to have second thoughts about this—it's come to my attention that a few already have. If they suffer for what you did, they'll turn on you. People who have power should think of how quickly those they serve can turn against them. Pavel Gvishiani, may God give his soul peace, learned that lesson.”

  Alain lifted his head. “They were murderers. Even the Koran tells us that a murderer may be punished by death.”

  “The Koran also tells us that expiation is received by those who show mercy to such people. I doubt very much that you were pondering the revealed Word of God while you were holding that hearing. You passed a death sentence. There hasn't been a death sentence on Earth in ages. How ironic that you, who pride yourselves on building a new society free from Earth's flaws, should resort to a punishment that even Earth gave up.”

  Jeannine's lip curled. “We're not that ignorant, Administrator. We know that some on Earth disappear and aren't seen again and that some communities execute wrongdoers without suffering more than a reprimand. At least we made our decision openly, in a hearing. Are you telling us that Earth would have preferred that we send those men back and give them the problem of dealing with them?”

  Sigurd did not reply.

  “If we'd given them up,” Risa said, “Earth would have used that as an excuse to increase its own authority here, They would have wanted that, I suppose, but we—”

  “Be silent,” Sigurd said firmly. “As a matter of fact, the Project Council hasn't informed me of any displeasure on the part of the Mukhtars. They regret the action, of course. They feel it shows a certain brutality on the part of those who should have been ennobled by participating in this glorious Project. They won't praise you for what you did, but they see that it solves a few small problems for them. They, like you, had been concerned about some of the people waiting in Earth's camps for passage, people like the three you executed. They're perfectly happy to unload a few malcontents on you, people who will do well enough if they feel there's something in it for them, but they hardly want violently antisocial types to impede the Project's progress.”

  Sigurd paused. The Councilors seemed puzzled by his words, as he had expected. “Some people have decided, in the wake of rumors about what has happened here, to leave the camps and remain on Earth, where you can be sure they are pursuing unpleasant but necessary work. Others will probably be more circumspect. The camps will be easier to control, and the Mukhtars may be relieved that they don't have to settle a few problems for you or have the trouble of transporting troublesome settlers back to Earth. The more cynical may even take a certain pleasure in seeing people who prate about their ideals sink to the level you did.”

  Risa frowned. He had hoped that she, at least, might show a few regrets. “But if Earth feels that way,” she said, “then why are you here?”

  “You forget that the Habbers are also concerned with what happens here. I had a talk with two of their people a few days ago. Both men made it quite clear that they're unhappy with what you did.”

  Risa sniffed. “The Habbers? What business is it of theirs? Surely they didn't expect us to hand those men over to them.”

  “For all their brilliance in other respects,” Sigurd responded, “the Habbers are often naive.”

  “They'd like us to think so,” Risa said. “They're always so calm and rational, as if darker thoughts never pass their minds. That Habber at the hearing was probably just trying to look—”

  Sigurd shot her a glance. “Oh, no. He meant what he said. The Habbers who spoke to me made that quite clear. I had to explain the obvious to th
em—that Earth would hardly be reassured by their intentions if they knew Habbers were willing to harbor killers. They understood, but they found your action distasteful, to say the least. Their own ships brought those men here only to be executed—they find that hard to stomach. They're not happy with the idea of having their people living among those who could carry out such an execution.”

  Risa said, “I suppose they'd be happier if we'd let them go. Those men might have killed a Habber instead—how would they have liked that?”

  “They wouldn't have demanded other deaths in return. As I said, they're very displeased. They don't like to feel that their aid may only help yet another brutal society to exist, or so they claim. Perhaps they're not willing to admit that they're also concerned about their own safety here, but I suspect they are. Another mob might turn against them, you know. For people who have such prolonged lives, death holds even more terror than it does for us.”

  Sigurd drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “The Habbers do not want to see such an incident repeated. If it is, they'll remove their people and their resources from this Project altogether. They didn't put it quite that way, of course. They don't like to make threats so baldly.”

  “If the Habbers leave—” Risa looked down.

  “You're beginning to understand,” he murmured. “You know that I'm one who shares your dream. I have to balance Earth's interests against those of the Habbers in order to keep this Project going, while leaving you as free as possible. Things are uncertain on Earth. If the Habbers abandon us now, there will be a vacuum here that some factions among the Mukhtars will rush to fill, and you'll be even more dependent on Earth. You'll have to accept more control from them to keep your world. Is that what you want?”

  “An incident like this won't happen again.” Risa sounded a bit more uncertain this time.

  “You'll see that it doesn't.” Sigurd folded his arms. “That will require changes.” There was no point in telling the Council that Kichi Timsen had sent him a message a few days ago, although Risa would guess that when she heard what he was about to say. “You could have prevented this unfortunate incident by being more vigilant in the first place. You do so at your other work—taking care of smaller problems before larger ones develop that aren't so easy to handle. You ought to secure your homes—you should have done more about that as soon as you noticed an increase in thefts. You should require that anyone who's found guilty of any action that involves the property or safety of others be required to wear an identity bracelet at all times so that a record of his movements can always be traced. Those who prove they're trustworthy after that can be allowed to remove them after a time.”

  “Those are your suggestions?” Risa said. “I can't say I care much for them. We've always worn those bracelets only when leaving our settlements.”

  “When I called them suggestions,” he replied, “I was being diplomatic.” He paused to let that sink in. “You should also form some sort of patrol, people who will see that order is maintained, who will handle problems and restrain others when necessary, and who can hurry to a person's aid immediately—a kind of police force, if you will. On the Islands, our Counselors handle the few problems we have well enough, but since you don't want Counselors, you'll have to pick your patrol from among your citizens. I've been informed that there are several who will volunteer for such duty and who can organize the patrol. I suggest that you make such an announcement as soon as possible.”

  “I never thought I'd see that here,” Istu muttered.

  Risa glared at Sigurd. “I can guess who'll be the first people to volunteer. Ishtar will love the chance to look out for everyone else.”

  “Such intolerance is unbecoming,” Sigurd said. “If, in spite of these measures, you have another sad incident that results in grievous harm or death, you would be well advised to find other punishments. Death is much too final a sentence.”

  Risa gestured with one arm. “Police—imprisonment. That's what you're talking about. It's contrary to everything—”

  “Sentencing people to death hardly bodes well for the future of your communities.” Sigurd leaned forward. “You've always trusted your fellow Cytherians, or so you say. Trust them with a little more authority to patrol themselves and prevent more trouble.”

  “Is that all?” Jeannine asked.

  “No. You have an election coming up soon. You've all been on this Council long enough, so you needn't run again. Use the excuse that you're tired and feel that others should take your place.”

  “That's almost like admitting we were wrong,” Risa said.

  “You're lucky I don't ask you to resign right now.”

  “Did the Habbers demand that, too?”

  “Not at all,” he said. “But it may reassure them if you leave the Council. Do I have your agreement? I'm sure you'll honor your word, especially since I'll keep a record of our talk. You'll maintain your authority as Councilors if you present my suggestions as your own, and you're hardly in a position to defy me.”

  “So that's what it comes to,” Risa said bitterly. “Oberg can elect us, but the final power rests with you.”

  “It rests with me when you prove incapable of handling it yourselves.”

  “And you're trying to save your own position.”

  “Of course. You should be more concerned about who might replace me if I displease the Project Council now—someone who might not be so patient with you and who might consider Earth's interests more important than yours.”

  Sigurd got to his feet. “Are you going to act on my suggestions then?” The Councilors nodded passively; only Risa gazed at him directly. “I'll mention your plans during my meetings with the other Councils. They'll have to be persuaded to take similar steps. God be with you.”

  As he was about to turn toward the door, Risa spoke again. “These settlements are all we have. The Project Council can return to Earth, and the Habbers have their homes elsewhere, but where can we go? I doubt most of us could even function in some other environment. We were only defending what we have—there'll never be anything else for us.”

  “I want to preserve it, too.”

  * * * *

  Sigurd had the rest of the day ahead of him before an airship would take him to Tsou Yen. He wandered through the main dome and stopped by the community greenhouses, where a few people greeted him tentatively and began to offer carefully qualified remarks: The Council members had done what they had to do, but—The three men were clearly guilty, but—Severe punishment was necessary as a deterrent, but—

  Obviously all of them were trying to figure out exactly what he thought. He uttered a few vague generalities, implying that the Oberg Council now had doubts about their action and had asked for his advice.

  He made his way toward the main road. A cart with two men and a few crates passed; Sigurd motioned to it, discovered that the cart was headed for the west dome, then climbed aboard. By the time they came to the tunnel, the men had overcome their shyness enough to talk.

  “I wasn't at the hearing,” the older man said. “Had some plumbing to do in my house that just wouldn't wait, so I had to look at it later. I thought maybe they did the right thing, but now I don't know,”

  “You did let them hold the hearing, Administrator,” the younger man said. “I guess you thought whatever they decided was fine, didn't you?”

  “They are your representatives,” Sigurd said. “They act in your name. I was not about to deprive them of their rightful authority. They are always free to consult with me, but it's up to them whether or not they follow my advice.”

  “Maybe I shouldn't ask this,” the older man murmured, “but what do you think?”

  Sigurd glanced at him. “That there are more constructive ways of dealing with such offenses. Fortunately, your Council seems to think so as well and may soon have suggestions to offer.”

  The cart emerged from the tunnel into the west dome. Sigurd waited until the cart was passing the trees that bordered the school, then
raised a hand. “I'll get off here. Thank you for the ride.”

  “Maybe they should have listened to that teacher,” the younger man said.

  “Maybe they should have,” Sigurd replied.

  “I thought he was just being soft-hearted, but—” The man shrugged.

  Sigurd strolled toward the trees. Maybe Risa should have listened to Kichi Timsen earlier; the Guide had claimed, in her message to him, that she had offered suggestions to Risa on how to deal with the accused men. Kichi had not bothered to make her suggestions openly at the hearing. She had assessed the mood of the crowd and of some of her own followers, had seen that little could be gained by speaking then.

  He did not care for Ishtar and knew that Kichi was trying to use this incident for her own ends, but her group would be useful to him now. Letting them think that he was a bit more sympathetic to their aims would make them useful while giving him more control over them.

  The west dome's school was a small one-story rectangle with wide windows. Children raced through the open doorway, then halted to stare at the unfamiliar sight of an Administrator. Risa had spoken of their future welfare at the hearing. He wondered how many of these children had been there and what sort of lesson they had drawn from the fate of the three men.

  “What an honor!” a bearded man called out as he came near. “I didn't expect to see you here, Administrator. I'm Theron Hyland, one of the teachers here. Would you care to see the school?”

  Sigurd shook his head. “I thought, as long as I was in Oberg, I'd visit with Malik Haddad. Some of my Islander friends are so anxious to know if he plans any more lectures. Please don't let me interfere with your obligations.”

  “Oh. He should be along any minute. We're letting the children out earlier today. To be honest, they've had trouble concentrating on their work lately.”

  Several children and a few adolescents were still gaping at Sigurd; Theron shooed them away as Malik came outside. A little girl was with him; Sigurd had seen her image before, during a couple of his talks with Risa. The child, with her long black hair and large dark eyes, was quite beautiful; he wondered if she was aware of that.