Venus of Shadows

by Pamela Sargent

  Ishtar had given him to her. She lifted her head, knelt with her knees on either side of him, and opened herself to his touch before guiding him into her. His back arched; he clutched at her hips. Her inner muscles tightened as she rocked on top of him; she lifted her shroud and let it fall.

  Sef let out a cry. His face was distorted by horror; for a moment, she feared he might throw her from him. The screen image of a future Venus illuminated him with its dim greenish light. He twisted under her, and then his arms were around her, pulling her down to him.

  “I love you,” she whispered, feeling the soft hairs of his chest against her cheek. “I've always loved you, and now you'll love me, too.”

  The barrier between them was gone; he would appease the Spirit through her. A dart of pleasure stabbed inside her, then blossomed as her cries mingled with his.

  Twenty-five

  The airship rose above the peaks of the Freyja Mountains, then hovered a bit before it slowly moved southeast. Turing was now only two small glowing spots on an open plateau surrounded by walls of rock. As the domes disappeared behind the mountains, the image on the screen above the two pilots changed. A rust-colored stagnant mist hung over black barren slopes as yellowish droplets sifted down from above. The screen was showing an image of what people might have seen had there been any light to illuminate this dark landscape.

  Dyami rested his head against the back of his seat. The image, there primarily for the diversion of any passengers, did not interest him; the mechanisms that were creating it did. The ship's sensors gathered data about what lay outside, but its lenses alone could not have produced this image. Fractal geometries were the lenses through which this landscape was glimpsed; using the data the ship collected with its sensors, the vessel's computer could calculate exactly what light would have revealed, down to the smallest detail. The image was a model based on the symmetries that underlay the rocks outside, the thicker pockets of mist, the movement of the atmospheric winds high overhead, the position of Venus in relation to the sun. The image was a picture built up from millions of parallel calculations; had the sun been shining down on Venus now, the world would have looked exactly like this. Mathematics could pierce the shadows and illuminate what might otherwise remain hidden.

  Mathematical formulas were a tool, a way to find order, view the invisible, plot paths, discern what was possible, and describe chaos and disorder—the points at which a system began to break down or where a small variation might have a great effect on the whole. To Dyami, mathematics reflected a beauty and truth he longed to glimpse more often; his world seemed an imperfect shadow that had fallen away from their light.

  He had never spoken such thoughts aloud to Balin, but the Habber clearly viewed the universe in a similar way. Yet he and the other man differed in some respects. To Balin, the technology with which he worked seemed almost incidental and was of interest only when it furthered his speculations. For Dyami, it was almost the reverse; he looked for ways to apply what he glimpsed. Mathematics provided a bridge linking him to Balin, the purest expression of the love Dyami felt, the only way, it seemed, that he would ever be able to express it.

  The female pilot took off her band and turned to face him; her copilot continued to monitor the ship's panels. Dyami tried to ignore the sashes around both pilots’ waists. “You must be glad to be going home for a while,” she said.

  “I suppose I am.” He was the only passenger on the airship; some of the seats, and the aisle between them, held secured cargo—crates of refined metals used in circuitry and ceramics with a variety of purposes.

  “It's odd that you, of all people, wanted to work in Turing. You are the Guide's brother, after all.”

  Dyami shrugged. “My sister has never offered an opinion about that. The Habbers wanted some of us to work with them there, and surely that makes more sense than leaving Habbers to themselves. It wouldn't serve our purpose to have them in control of Turing.”

  “Still—” The pilot rested her arms on the back of her seat. “There are dangers in being around Habbers too much, especially for those who lack faith. You can come to believe they're friends, and they can never be that.”

  “Seems to me we're being of service to Ishtar. True believers don't have to endure constant contact with Habbers or contamination by their thoughts, and you'll have a group of Cytherians who can eventually make use of what those Habbers teach us.”

  “Even so—” The pilot paused. “I've always wondered why the Guide's own brother didn't choose to join our fellowship. That must cause your sister some sorrow.”

  “Chimene knows we must all find faith in our own way,” Dyami replied. “Her love for our mother isn't lessened because Risa never joined. Don't you say that the Spirit must be embraced willingly and without coercion?”

  “Yes, but sometimes one must be guided to make the effort. Some people are like children—they don't always know what's best unless you're a bit firmer with them. The Guide has been patient. I don't question her wisdom, but—” The woman smiled. “You should attend some meetings when you're back in Oberg. You may find that you're ready for enlightenment now, after being among our enemies for some time.”

  “Perhaps I shall.” He lapsed into silence, keeping his eyes focused on the screen above her. At last she turned back and put on her band.

  He did not like to think about Chimene. Her beliefs and obsessions were at the center of a system whose branches were distorting his world, threatening it with disorder. She would be a threat to him if he was not careful.

  Already, he longed to be back in Turing, where he could pretend for a while that Ishtar could not touch him. No members of Ishtar, except for the few pilots who stayed there temporarily between trips, were inside Turing, and the pilots generally kept to themselves. The two hundred Cytherians there and the fifty Habbers who worked with them met freely, as they could never have done elsewhere. No patrol existed to question them about their actions; no one looked askance at their friendships.

  Turing had, in fact, become a kind of school; perhaps the Habbers had intended that all along. Much of their actual work was done by machines and cyberminds; Dyami's work in engineering left him enough time to enjoy discussions with Cytherians and Habbers. No one called such sessions seminars, although that was what they were. Dyami had planned to stay in Turing only for a short while before going to an Island school that had accepted him. Now he felt that he might learn more by remaining where he was.

  How long would Ishtar tolerate the situation? That depended on factors he could not control and had no power to engineer. Having the Habbers here served to keep Earth at a distance, but their presence was also an affront to the cult that despised and feared them.

  An affront to Ishtar ... an offender against the Spirit—he had heard such words several times, whispered not about Habbers alone but about a few settlers as well. He was an offense to Ishtar. He had always known that, even before Teo had discovered his secret.

  * * * *

  Dyami had been fourteen, sprawled on his bed with Teo. They had been going over a geology lesson before setting aside their screens to gossip about a few of their schoolmates; Teo often spoke scornfully about how some of the boys had begun to behave in the presence of the girls they knew. He could not recall exactly when they had stopped talking, when he first realized that Teo was looking at him with more intensity. His friend's affectionate grip on his shoulder had suddenly become an embrace.

  They groped at each other awkwardly. Teo loosened Dyami's garments and gripped him with his hand before Dyami could protest. Then he was suddenly growing hard, holding the other boy's hand as he shuddered and spent himself. The spasm of pleasure made him reckless; he pressed his mouth hard against Teo's and held him firmly, delighting in his friend's response when the dark-haired boy spurted against his belly.

  The fear came then, a terror he had rarely felt. One of the household might have come to his door; he had carelessly revealed what he was to his friend. He could no lo
nger pretend that the urges he felt could be kept hidden.

  Teo said, “You are like me. I knew you were, I felt it for a while.”

  Dyami sat up and fastened his pants. “How did you know?” His fear was growing; how had he given himself away?

  “Little things. You don't go off with some girl to her house to fool around. You never really look at the other boys in the bathroom at school or join in when a few of them start showing each other how they do it alone. They just think we're shy, but I guessed—you're my friend, so I can guess how you think, and I figured you might be like me. You didn't want to watch them at it because you knew you'd enjoy it too much.” Teo leaned back against a pillow. “Don't look so worried—they can't know. They probably think you don't want to do anything like that if it might get back to your sister. She might think it's an offense, even if it's just guys fooling around.”

  “Does anyone else know about you?”

  Teo shook his head. “I'm not stupid. I was pretty sure about you though, and if I'd been wrong, at least you wouldn't have told anybody else—I knew that.” He nudged Dyami gently in the ribs. “I kept thinking about you. There must be someplace we can go, where we don't have to worry about anyone seeing us. Or we can always lock our doors and tell our parents we have to concentrate on our lessons.” He laughed. “You want to be with me, don't you?”

  Dyami nodded, but his fear was still there, threatening to overpower him. He wondered if the pleasure he longed for so much was worth enduring that fear. Teo did not seem afraid; he almost seemed to welcome the danger involved.

  “How long have you known?” Teo asked. “I mean about yourself.”

  “I think I always did. When I was younger, there was this teaching image—I used to daydream about him a little without really knowing why. I'd look at certain men and start wondering about them, and then I'd try to put it out of my mind. Whenever I touched myself, I'd think about a man. It never worked if I thought about a girl.” Dyami closed his eyes for a moment. “I kept hoping it would go away. Now I'm pretty sure it won't. Even physicians and Counselors might not be able to do that much for me—it's too complicated. I looked up some research. They'd probably have to play around with my hormonal levels and work on my behavior for years, and even then I might not be that different. Makes more sense to leave it alone—there are places where people don't care, but I guess none of those people decided to come here. Besides, it'd cost too much anyway, and I knew I couldn't tell anyone—I didn't want anybody to know.” Dyami bit his lip. “An affront to Ishtar—that's what Chimene would call me if she ever knew. She'd have somebody dragging me to meetings and harping at me about appeasing the Spirit and how Ishtar will love me and forgive me only if I spend my whole life pretending I'm something I'm not.”

  “You don't feel guilty about it, do you?” Teo asked.

  “No.” He could not feel guilt at having desires he had not chosen to have; it could not matter to others what he imagined when he was alone, pleasuring himself. Fear was what he felt—fear of discovery, combined with a feeling that to protect himself he could never give in to what others called love, that he might always be lonely. Knowing that Teo shared his desires was a small consolation, but now he would have to fear for his friend as well.

  Dyami looked up at the airship's screen; the flatter land of the Lakshmi Plateau stretched before him. He and Teo had shared other moments alone after their first encounter, but Dyami had never been able to shed his fear; it was always there, waiting to make him pay for a moment of joy with hours of despair and dread.

  He had never admitted his fear to Teo, who took his pleasure without inhibition and felt only contentment when it was past. But Teo must have sensed something was wrong; he had never been able to ease Dyami during his brooding silences afterward. He had not been surprised when Teo began to hint that he had found a couple of other companions; Teo had wanted to give him some joy and had failed.

  Since then, except for an infrequent meeting with Teo when his desire had grown too great, Dyami had lived without love. Even in Turing, where he knew there were a few others like himself, he had never betrayed what he felt. Turing might not always be the refuge it was now; his fear had not left him even there. He was safe only if he hid what he was. If he reached out to anyone else, he risked an interaction that might create its own pattern of disorder, one he could not map mathematically or control, one that might lead to shame and disgrace.

  He thought of Teo, whom he might have loved, and Balin, the Habber he knew he loved now. He wished that the communion of thought he shared with Balin were enough to ease the aching inside himself.

  * * * *

  Teo was waiting for Dyami just outside Oberg's bay. The dark-haired young man shook his hand lightly, but the warmth in his eyes was that of a lover. Dyami's eyes narrowed as he stepped back; under Teo's open dark vest, barely visible against his gray tunic, he saw the black and red sash of Ishtar.

  “You didn't have to meet me,” Dyami said.

  “It's no trouble. I'm working in the main dome now with a team of lab technicians, tending to all those little details so that the chemists aren't unnecessarily distracted. Didn't I tell you in my last message?”

  “I don't think so.” Dyami was silent until they were past the pilots’ dormitory and near the greenhouse complex. “I never thought I'd see you wearing the sash,” he said in a lower voice. He felt a twinge of fear; maybe Teo had changed.

  “You don't think it means anything, do you? My parents decided to join. It would have looked strange to them if I hadn't, especially since I'm not living with them now. This way, they can rest assured that the son they have their doubts about is safely part of the fellowship.”

  “You didn't tell me you'd moved either.”

  “Didn't get a chance—I only moved about a month ago. I put up a small house in the southwest dome. I had to set up another household—hiding some of what I do was getting to be troublesome.”

  “A household?” Dyami asked.

  “A friend who's like us—he's not my lover, but at least I don't have to hide anything from him—and two women who are lovers and don't want anyone to find out. It's a convenient arrangement for all of us.”

  Dyami's hand trembled a little as he adjusted the duffel hanging from his shoulder. He could not imagine trusting others that way, even people who were like him. A sudden surge of guilt, or shame, or anxiety over being found out could lead one of the others to betray his friend.

  “You can meet them while you're here,” Teo continued. He glanced up at Dyami's face. “Don't look so nervous. They don't know about us, and I won't be the one to tell them. They think you're only my close childhood friend, and they'll be happier if they think you don't know about them.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn't have told me.”

  “I can trust you,” Teo said easily. “People like us have to be damned sure about who's trustworthy. Anyway, we've all joined Ishtar, so we're quite respectable. We can go to meetings and tell anyone who approaches us that we prefer to share the rite among ourselves, and if it can't be avoided—well, I've found I can steel myself and pretend I'm with a man.” He laughed. “It isn't too bad once you get used to it. A couple of women have even complimented me on my vigor. If they only knew—” Teo chuckled again. “My parents have been quite pleasant to me since I moved out, even though they were somewhat disappointed that I did. They can be happy believing that either Haru or Sharla will eventually become my bondmate or thinking that my housemates and I will move closer to perfection and live the way your sister's household does.” Teo was smiling, but Dyami caught the bitterness in his tone. He had chosen denial; Teo had chosen deception.

  “Speaking of your sister,” Teo went on, “I suppose you must know about the child she's planning to have.”

  Dyami raised his brows. “No, I didn't.”

  “I know you don't have a fellowship in Turing rushing to spread good news about our Guide, but I thought one of the pilots might have told you
on the way back. Chimene and Boaz Huerta have stored their genetic material so that they can have a child together. Our Guide's precious genes will be preserved.”

  “Why didn't they just have their implants removed? They're young enough.”

  “Apparently they want to wait,” Teo replied. “Maybe Chimene thinks a pregnancy now would unnecessarily deprive her of her enjoyment of our rite. Of course, we're all overjoyed that, whatever happens to Chimene or Boaz later, they've made that commitment to leaving a child among us.”

  Dyami's mouth twisted. “How delightful—a potential relative who's Boaz's child.” He had met the man only a few times; he had noticed how Chimene occasionally glanced at him, as if she were uncertain of herself without him. Whenever he thought of Boaz Huerta, he felt fear.

  “That reminds me,” Teo said. “Maybe you haven't heard this joke in Turing. The Guide and her housemates are sharing the rite, and they get carried away with their exertions, and by the time they're finished, they've worked up quite an appetite. So they go to their kitchen but find out they're practically out of food. Well, that's not a problem, since they figure someone else can feed them, so they go over to another house.”

  “Go on,” Dyami said. “I haven't heard this one.”

  “This household's in Ishtar and you are supposed to share, so they get out a gigantic repast for the Guide and her friends. After they're finished, they realize they're very thirsty, so they go to another house and drink up most of the liquor in the place—but that's all right because they're with brothers and sisters, and you are supposed to share.”

  Teo took a breath before continuing. “All that drinking just gets them all hungry again, so they go to a third house, get everyone out of bed, and have another meal—some imports from the Islands and just about everything you can imagine, and they wash that down with some wine. Then, as they're staggering home, the Guide says, ‘It's a wonder everyone doesn't join Ishtar! See how much better off we are when we share?'”