He had once thought of Habbers as being much like Linkers, but Balin had told Dyami a little more about his people. His Habitat's cyberminds, like Earth's, were complex machines that had achieved self-consciousness—so everyone assumed at any rate, since the cyberminds’ responses were indistinguishable from those of a conscious being. They were societies of mind, built up from smaller bits of data and simpler functions into minds that could not only mimic human thought but even surpass human minds in the amount of data they could store and analyze.
Linkers, however, treated their cyberminds as little more than servants or useful tools; they took only what they wanted from them while ignoring whatever conflicted with their aims. Habbers did not see their minds in that way, but rather as partners, beings whose judgments at times might be superior to theirs. Balin had claimed that, in many instances, it was impossible to tell whether his people or their cyberminds had decided on a given course of action, and it was a distinction that did not really concern the Habbers. Human minds, as he saw it, were other cellular automata interacting with their cybernetic children. A human mind and a cybermind were both marvelous and complex machines that grew, matured, taught, learned, reasoned, and felt. Through a Habber, a cybermind could act after perceiving that a particular action might be necessary. Earth's cyberminds might also possess volition, but their Linkers had given them no power to act, reserving that for themselves.
Would Earth's cyberminds grow discontented with this state of affairs? Balin had playfully suggested that they might. “How many times,” he had murmured, “do those cyberminds see what seems to them a rational and constructive course of action rejected for one that only furthers the limited aims of a few people? They might begin to wonder if that power should be left in the hands of human beings.”
“Linkers set the goals,” Dyami had replied, “and they're not likely to surrender that power. They wouldn't allow things to get to that point. At worst, to use a very old expression, they'd try to put the djinn back into the bottle.”
“But your people couldn't get along easily without them. It's no wonder they refuse any direct communication with our worldlets—their cyberminds might begin to exchange information with ours and see how matters could be ordered otherwise. As it is, they've learned what little Earth has allowed about us. They might wish to learn more in time—they are, after all, designed to gather and assess data. They might want to reach out to their cybernetic siblings.”
Dyami could almost wish that were possible. Some Linkers irrationally feared that if they allowed cyberminds to make more than trivial decisions, the machines would rule. The Habbers had shown, however, that human capabilities would only be enlarged by such cooperation. At least that was what Dyami assumed; he had known Balin as well as he knew anyone, and his lover's humanity was not diminished by his Link with his own cyberminds. But Balin's Hab, as he had admitted, was not like the ones near Mars and beyond; his people had chosen to retain much of what human beings were. They did not want to lose their ties with other human beings, but perhaps they would also guide both Cytherians and Earthfolk to that larger community of minds eventually.
If they ever came back, he thought. Chimene and her associates knew little about what Habbers really thought. She preferred to imagine plots and designs on Venus, and yet her fears were not entirely groundless. Closer ties with Habbers would inevitably clear away the deadwood that rotted in the minds of those like his sister, that created a decaying mass of hatreds, fears, and irrational longings. She spoke of embracing human nature, while rejecting the most beautiful aspect of any human mind—reason, the spirit of inquiry, the ability to discern the patterns that could open a universe to them. She talked of a fellowship with no barriers; what she wanted was a world where every mind was a reflection of her own poorly examined self.
“There you are.”
He turned; Amina was walking toward him. “My gardener has surrendered to the inevitable,” she said. “It stopped dead in its tracks. We're going to have to get everyone out here and let other work wait for a bit.” She peered into his face. “You're missing Balin again, aren't you?”
“Yes.” She could often tell what he was thinking.
“Suleiman wouldn't turn you away.”
“I know, and I'd probably enjoy it, but it wouldn't be the same.”
“Poor Dyami.” She put her arms around him and rested her curly blond head against his chest. “I do love you just a little. It's too bad you're not a woman.”
“I'm sometimes sorry you're not a man.” He smoothed back her hair. “Maybe we ought to try it together sometime. We wouldn't have to go through the whole business anyway, just the preliminaries, and we could close our eyes and pretend.”
“Your heart wouldn't be in it.” She released him and stepped back. “What problematic machines we are.”
“Only when others insist we're not working properly.” He took her hand as they walked along the shore. “When more people come here, we may have to pretend that we do.”
“That reminds me. Tasida had a message this morning, before she went to the plant. A friend in Mtshana said something about a few people on the patrol getting ready to come here. It's all very vague—nobody seems to know exactly who's coming or when.”
“I imagine they'll let us know,” he said. “We don't have to let them land.”
“You're still thinking about that? I'd go along with you, but you'll never get most of the others to agree.”
“At least that would show Ishtar exactly how we feel.”
“It wouldn't do us any good,” she said. “That's what our friends would say—most of them. We're stuck here and we have to get on with our lives, just like everyone else.”
“That's the attitude that made that wretched cult get as far as it has.” Dyami sighed. He had not gone out of his way to be openly antagonistic himself. He had hidden away here, thinking he could live untouched by Ishtar.
“When I heard that Malik Haddad had fled with the Habbers—” Amina chuckled. “I can still laugh about it. Oh, that must have been a blow to the Guide. I'm sure it tarnished her little triumph for her, seeing her own father repudiate her beliefs so thoroughly.”
“Malik was a coward to leave.”
“No, he was wise. If he was that close to Habbers, he would only have been disgraced along with Sigurd Kristens-Vitos and those others. Or else his dear daughter would have been after him until he confessed his sins and donned the sash.”
Dyami felt a flicker of fear. Maybe now Chimene would insist on dragging him back to Oberg, where it would be much more difficult to placate her with only a few vague words about how his thoughts sometimes turned to her teachings. The deception sickened him; he recalled again how she had spoken to him during his visit, how her hands had clutched at him.
“I'm going to try once more,” he said, “to talk some sense into the others here. If we refuse to let any more ships land and let the other settlements know we want nothing to do with Ishtar, it might be just the sort of action that could inspire others to act.”
“You won't convince our friends,” she said, “and people in the other settlements would just say the Habbers had subverted us, or worse. We might as well give in gracefully. Anyway, it can't be any worse than the way we all lived before we came here.”
They halted by the shore. The smooth surface of the water stretched before them, undisturbed here by any currents. Dyami picked up a pebble and threw it. The stone dropped into the water and a pattern of circles fanned out over the lake.
* * * *
Dyami waited inside the bay. The thick wall that closed off the cradle area during landings was down; the airships carrying new settlers to Turing would be descending by now. Turing had been given no more than a day's warning, and the four remaining pilots in the south dome had been ordered to leave in their ships earlier that day, since they would be replaced by pilots coming with the settlers.
“Let's hope they brought enough tents,” Allen Sirit muttered.<
br />
“They know what it's like here,” Luinne Mitsuo said. “They'll probably want to build houses right away. We may finally have a few comforts.”
Allen ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. “You'd think they would have given us a list of names. The Oberg Council didn't even reply to my last message when I asked if we should make any provisions for small children.”
“I doubt they'd send children with the first group,” Suleiman Khan said. “They'd wait until they're settled first.”
Dyami moved to the edge of the small group. Allen had suggested that a few of those who did not have pressing work today gather to greet the new arrivals; it could not hurt to look as though they welcomed this group. Dyami frowned. Somehow this whole business felt wrong. He had asked Risa what she knew about the people coming to Turing, and she had not been able to tell him a thing.
He had sent her a message just that morning on impulse. He had phrased it carefully, but his mother had practice in discerning exactly what he meant. He had told her that he was looking forward to meeting whoever arrived and that he would be speaking to her again within two weeks to let her know how they were getting along. She would know what he was really saying—that he was worried and that if she did not hear from him by then, something was wrong.
His fears were probably groundless. He would tell himself that and then remember that Chimene had not replied to any of the three messages he had sent to her during the past month and a half. That wasn't like her; she had always replied to the others within a day, even when she was away from Oberg, He knew her usual patterns; something had altered them.
The lights on a large console near the wall lit up, signaling that air had cycled into the bay beyond. Dyami stepped back as the wall slowly began to lift.
The pilots were the first to descend the ramps leading up to the three airships. They strode quickly toward the waiting group and passed them without a word; their faces were grim. Then others were filing down the ramps, all of them wearing Ishtar's sash, each of them carrying a wand. More than half of them were men; they all seemed to be members of the patrol. Dyami tensed. He had expected that some would be part of the patrol; he had not anticipated nearly sixty of them.
The strangers came toward them; those in the front had their wands pointed directly at the group, as though they expected resistance. “Greetings,” Allen said faintly.
A short, stocky man stepped forward, keeping his wand aimed at Allen's chest. “I'm Jonah Kanmer,” he replied. “I'll speak for my associates. The Guide and those closest to her have been worrying over what to do about you. People who have lived so long among Habbers, without believers who might have guided them, may not yet be fit to live among the rest of us.”
“Let me reassure you,” Allen responded. “The Habbers are gone, and we wish only to continue with our work for the Project. You needn't fear—”
“Be quiet. We'll soon see how fit you are. I'll tell you what I've heard—that you plot against Ishtar, that you dream of seeing the Habbers return so that you can rule over us with them, that some of you have practiced offenses against the Spirit. Everything will change now—you'll be brought to see the right way and to follow it.”
Dyami moved closer to Allen. “Perhaps so,” he said, “but the Guide has always claimed that people must search for the truth in their own way. After all, if she's in possession of the truth, that truth will eventually impel all to believe, and—”
A hand struck the side of his head before he could react; Dyami staggered, then righted himself. He blinked, trying to focus on Jonah's broad face.
Jonah said, “As I told you, things will change. Those who cannot yet come to Ishtar, but who are willing to hear something of the truth, can be left to search their souls, but others need more persuading. You'd better get this straight now—we have authority here, granted to us by our Guide and the Councils that serve us all. We will bring you closer to the Spirit in whatever ways we choose, and you will listen to us until we see the light of truth in your souls. All of us here have volunteered for this mission—it is our way of showing our love for you. Some might say that the Habbers have corrupted you too completely for you ever to be part of the fellowship, but I can't accept that. You will see our love, but sometimes love requires firmness and discipline.”
“You have no right—” Dyami began.
“I have every right!” Jonah raised his wand again; Dyami recoiled. “Did you think this settlement was yours alone? I see you'll have to learn about sharing as well. Let me tell you what this place will be now—a place of repentance, a place where people will be brought to the truth who cannot reach it in any other way.”
Jonah motioned to a few of his companions. “Take these people to their dining hall and keep them under guard, along with anyone else who's in the north dome.” He gestured at another group. “Thomas, go to the plant and the refinery, and bring out everyone there. If anyone resists, use whatever force is necessary. Leave a few of our people there to monitor the systems. We'll unload the supplies and join the rest of you in the north dome.”
A man shoved Dyami. He turned and followed his companions from the bay.
* * * *
In the dining hall, Dyami and his companions were told to push the tables to one side of the room, then to sit down near the opposite wall. One of their guards motioned at a square component that had been placed on the wall near the screen. “What have we here?” he asked.
“A sound system for music,” Allen answered. “That way, if someone's using the screen for something else, the music needn't be interrupted, or—”
“Well, you won't need it now.” Others began to dismantle the system. By the time others were being led into the hall, their guards were already disconnecting the screen.
Their guards—that was how Dyami was already thinking of them. The new arrivals had a hard look about them; he supposed that many, perhaps most, were people who had no other work except their patrol duties. He wondered what inducements they had been given to come here; surely Jonah had exaggerated when he said they were volunteers. But perhaps not; maybe they were such strong believers that they really felt they had a mission here. He would have preferred to think that they had been bribed or threatened in some way; that might have given him and his friends a chance to come to some understanding with them.
Prisoners, he thought. He was already thinking of himself and his colleagues in that way.
No one spoke. A couple of men had made an attempt at some conversation; the guards had silenced them with glares and lifted wands. Other people were led inside; he noticed a bruise on the cheek of one woman, while another man looked dazed as he clutched at his chest.
When everyone had been collected and the guards had eaten from their packets of provisions without offering any food to the others, Jonah stood up. “We've noted your names on our list,” he said. “We're now going to attempt to bring some order here—it seems you've been living in a somewhat disorderly way in your tents and little shacks.”
“We had to make use of what we were given,” Amina called out; she was sitting with Tasida near the door. “We didn't want to build houses until they could be properly planned, and we didn't care to ask for additional materials when the other settlements might have needed them more.”
“How thoughtful of you. Have any of you moved to the dormitories that housed the Habbers since they left?”
“No,” Dyami said. “We thought we'd leave them free for those who might be joining us here.”
“I doubt that very much,” Jonah said. “You were probably just hoping that your Habber friends would return before long. They won't, you know. Get that through your heads. They don't care what happens to you now. You'll learn who your true friends are.”
Jonah thrust his wand under his sash, then folded his arms; those standing to either side of him kept their wands aimed at their prisoners. “We're going to search those dormitories, and then we'll be accompanying all of you to your residences. You'
ll be given a chance to collect whatever you may need. Then you'll be housed in the Habber dorms. We'll dismantle the other dwellings and use your dorms ourselves for the time being.”
Allen stood up. “May I speak?” he asked.
“Ah, you're learning some manners. Go ahead.”
“Wouldn't it make more sense for you to use the Habber dorms and for us to stay in the others? The Habber dorms can house only about twenty-five people each, while the men's and women's dorms can each house nearly fifty. There are about sixty of you, and some two hundred of us.”
“You'll live where we tell you to live.” Jonah turned to the man standing at his right. “Start searching the Habber dorms.”
* * * *
The rest of the day was spent in waiting. When the Habber residences had been searched, those who lived in the other dormitories were led outside in small groups. They returned carrying packs; from whispered comments, Dyami learned that they had been allowed to have no more than a mat and a few clothes. He supposed that this was part of teaching them to be more indifferent to possessions.
When the dormitories had been searched, the people of Turing were allowed to line up near the kitchen, where they were given what food remained; apparently their guards would not let them prepare more. Dyami made do with a piece of bread, water, and a spoonful of bean soup. Guards led them in small groups to the lavatories in the dorms, then back to the hall, where they were to sleep. Those with packs used them as pillows as they rolled out the mats they had been allowed to keep; the others stretched out on the floor.
Dyami slept restlessly on the hard floor. Their guards, watching them in shifts, refused to dim the lights. Once, he started up out of his sleep only to see a hard-eyed young man standing near him, toying with his wand as if he were trying to decide whether or not to stun Dyami with its beam.
Venus of Shadows Page 56