“Well, you've ensured your precious Cytherians some freedom.” The Mukhtar showed his teeth. “See if they use it to invite you back.”
“That must be up to them—which reminds me.” Tesia moved closer to his chair; Kaseko glared up at her. “There is the matter of a plague that afflicted the Cytherians some fifteen years ago. I think you should have a statement in your part of the agreement that makes it clear how that came about.”
The Commander sucked in her breath; Kaseko leaned forward. “We had nothing to do with that.”
“But you did.” Tesia, Benzi knew, had saved this for last. “A fever broke out near one of your camps. The Guardians there thought they had it under control, but they were careless, and a few people carrying the virus arrived on Venus. The Mukhtars were terribly concerned when they heard of the outbreak there, but there was little they could do and they quickly saw how the illness might be used to their advantage. They ordered that all evidence of the outbreak on Earth be concealed so that our people, whose vessel had brought the infection there, would be blamed for the plague, in the absence of any other suspects.”
“That,” Kaseko said, “is a ridiculous story.”
“I think not, and I'm sure you can buttress it with some evidence. I certainly find it much easier to believe than the suspicions some of our people have—that you deliberately infected a few emigrants in the hope of rousing the hatred of Venus against us. Surely we have to put that story to rest, especially on Venus, or it's going to be much more difficult for you to be allowed any role here at all.” Tesia paused. “I would not like to see your reputation sullied by baseless rumors.”
Kaseko did not reply.
“Or you can mull this over, and we can argue about it in future discussions while you worry about how many of your colleagues on Earth may be growing impatient with you. I'm sure you'd like to get back as soon as possible.”
“I could detain all of you,” he said. “I could make you very sorry you came here.”
“You'd lose everything then.” Tesia smiled. “That satisfaction would cost you much, Mukhtar Kaseko. You'd be throwing away such a lovely agreement, and you'd have only a disabled satellite and a lot of discontented colleagues on Earth in return. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if you came to us then and begged us for refuge.”
“Very well.” The Mukhtar sank back against his chair. “We'll see if anyone believes it.”
“I'll be looking forward to seeing your draft and the images you propose to transmit with it. Your statement will be most inspiring, I'm sure. In the meantime, I think it's your place to announce that we have come to an agreement, so that the Cytherians can proceed with arranging for their elections and getting back to their normal duties. Many will bless you for it.”
Kaseko waved a hand wearily. “As God wills.”
The other Habbers rose. Czeslaw offered an arm to Tesia as she walked toward him; Benzi and his companions followed them from the room. He had fled this world, only to return as part of an effort to save it; he wondered what Iris and Chen would have thought of that.
* * * *
Dyami had not gone to meet the arriving airships. It was his turn, and Suleiman's, to guard their prisoners; he felt a sense of relief. At least he would be spared seeing all those greetings, all those relatives and friends of people in Turing rushing to meet their loved ones, sobbing their tears and telling them that everything would now be put right. Some supplies would be arriving in the ships, components and promising new strains for the greenhouse, tents to house the visitors during their stay. When he was relieved of his post, he would go to the bay and help bring in some of the cargo; it would be an excuse to avoid the sight of all those people pretending that everything could be as it once was.
Sef had sent a message saying he would be coming. Dyami had sent one back, saying that wasn't necessary and that his father's household probably needed Sef there. He hoped Sef had taken the hint.
“My sister may be looking for me,” Suleiman said. He was sitting on the other side of the dormitory door, his wand in his hands. The dark-haired young man didn't seem terribly anxious to see her, but Suleiman, unlike Dyami, was capable of mimicking emotions he no longer felt when necessary.
Dyami's friend, along with most of the others, had been viewing messages and keeping himself informed during his free moments; Dyami had been unable to work up much curiosity. Even the news of Chimene's suicide left him unmoved; it was only another story from an unreal outside world.
“It'll be a relief when the hearings are over,” Suleiman continued.
“You're looking forward to that?” Dyami asked.
“Talking about what's been done to us? Having to live through all of that again?” Suleiman's thin lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I just want it to be finished and for that damned patrol to get what they deserve. It ought to be death, but the new Councils, when they're elected, would never allow that. Anyway, the story is that Earth may agree to take them off our hands, and when they hear what they've done, maybe they'll decide it isn't worth the bother of keeping them locked up and will dispose of the wretches themselves.”
Hearings, Dyami thought, might solve little. Every one of those guards probably had a relative or friend who might plead for mercy. Some would argue that the guards were sorry for what had happened. Tasida had been collecting medical evidence with her scanner—the signs of beatings and torture and other injuries—but the former guards might try to cast doubt on the stories of their accusers.
He thought of what lay ahead—the wounds of his body displayed on a screen for all to see, the story he would have to tell in order to justify his own violent acts. He and his friends would be as much the subject of a hearing as their tormentors.
A cart rolled toward them, its treads flattening the grass. The vehicle halted at the edge of the hollow as people began to climb out; Dyami saw the tall frame and broad shoulders of his father. So Sef had decided to come here after all. He was walking toward Dyami now, with a stocky young woman at his side.
Dyami got to his feet. Sef's pace quickened; he held out his arms. Dyami shrank back a little, then endured his father's embrace passively.
“Son.” Sef stepped back and released him. “This is Devora Poulis—my son, Dyami Liang-Talis. Devora's one of the people who volunteered to come here and help you out.”
Suleiman had mentioned that earlier; some people had offered to come to Turing to take over the duty of guarding their prisoners until their hearings took place. The woman held out a hand; he watched her warily.
“Your wand,” she said at last. “I'll need it. You'd probably like to have some time with your father.” Dyami gripped the weapon more tightly, then reluctantly surrendered it to her.
“My friend, Suleiman Khan,” he muttered as the other man stood up. A woman was suddenly rushing toward Suleiman; she threw herself at him and covered his face with kisses. Dyami suddenly wanted to get away from the people now fanning out around the hollow as they called out names.
“Come with me,” he said to Sef. He led him to the other dormitory. “You can leave your pack in my room.” They went down the hallway and stopped at Dyami's door; he pressed it open. “Hope you don't mind staying here. It's small, but there should be enough space for both of us.” He took the pack from Sef and set it on the floor.
“Risa wanted to come, too,” Sef said, “but there's a lot she has to do now. Yakov finally managed to talk her into running for a place on the new Oberg Council, and there's her work and our household's. House seems kind of empty now—just Kolya, Paul, and Grazie—but when you're home—”
“I don't know if I'll be coming home.”
Sef ran a hand through his chestnut hair. “Well, the election will be over in a couple of weeks, and everyone wants to settle the hearings after that—no sense in dragging things out. You'd be able to come home any time you like.”
Dyami leaned against the wall. “I'm not sure I want to leave Turing. There's work for us here in the p
lant and refinery. We can start building our own homes. A lot of us are thinking of staying on.”
“After what's happened to you here?” Sef shook his head. “I'd think this would be the last place you'd want to stay.”
He could not explain; Sef would not understand.
“Teo sends his greetings,” Sef went on. “Some of your old friends and schoolmates are anxious to welcome you back. They say they haven't had any replies to the messages they've sent.”
“I wonder how many of them would have lifted a finger,” Dyami said, “if they hadn't learned about Boaz's and Alim's intentions. They weren't thinking of us, just of what might happen to them if Boaz won out. If that Mukhtar had granted Chimene what she wanted in the first place, they would have been so overjoyed that they wouldn't have troubled themselves over our fate.”
“Dyami—”
“Let's walk. Maybe you'd like to see more of Turing,” Dyami went into the hall, where others were leading visitors to their rooms. He pushed past the people without speaking; Sef caught up with him when he was outside.
They walked toward the creek in silence. The cheerful but strained voices of visitors and the more muted, hesitant ones of his friends faded until he could hear only the trickle of the creek. The land along the bank was still marked by the wide, flat lines of the crawlers’ tracks.
Dyami glanced at his father's plain brown shirt and pants. “I see you're no longer wearing your sash,” he said.
“There's no need. You know why I joined in the first place. I admitted that to Lena, but I think she was aware of it anyway. She says she has no wish to hold any members who joined reluctantly or who want to leave Ishtar, although it's her hope some will find their way back.” Sef cleared his throat. “You'd be surprised at how many are now saying they only joined to protect their households.”
Dyami did not reply.
“Lena's not happy about being the Guide, but she knew refusing it would only cause a lot of dissension. Carlos told me that she said it must have been Chimene's idea of a joke, but it may be one of your sister's good deeds after all. Lena's a reasonable and kind woman—she doesn't want any power, and she's made it clear that the right way demands tolerance while pursuing Ishtar's goals. She's even set a sort of precedent by asking the fellowship to acclaim her as Guide. She's preparing them for the idea that when her time is past, it should be they who select the next Guide, and she has no intention of moving to your sister's house. She'll continue, as much as possible, to lead the life she's always led. She'll encourage those who want to live outside the barriers that confine others and honor them for that, but she thinks those with more flaws are the ones who need her more. She isn't likely to surround herself with an inner circle.”
“So Ishtar will go on,” Dyami muttered, wondering why it had to exist at all.
“In a somewhat different fashion. I know how you feel, Dyami, but many in the group did turn against much of what was being done in the Guide's name. Trying to destroy Ishtar now wouldn't solve anything. We have to work together now, not keep fighting each other.”
They had to be reasonable, he thought; they had to forgive, dispense justice at their hearings, and then go on to heal their wounds. They had to put this behind them, and if he could not, they would all be quick to chide him for refusing to let go of the past, for being hard and unrelenting, for not being able to become what he once had been.
“Your mother could use a message from you,” Sef said. “In a way, she blames herself for what happened to your sister. She and Lena were the last people to see Chimene, and Risa was fairly severe with her. Now she wonders if she might have saved Chimene's life if she had been kinder.”
“She shouldn't reproach herself for that,” Dyami said tonelessly. “Chimene escaped a hearing, and the rest of us are free of her.”
Sef made a sound that might have been a moan. Maybe his father was still remembering the times he had lain in Chimene's arms. They were near the small bridge that led to the dormitory where he had been imprisoned; Dyami gestured at the building on the other side.
“That's where they held us,” he said. “We're still talking about what to do with it. Some want to tear it down, while others want to leave it as a kind of reminder. We could put in some screens, with images representing some of the things that were done to us here. Perhaps I could contribute some sculptures I might cast, now that I've had an opportunity to observe what certain kinds of treatment do to the human spirit and body. It should prove an interesting subject.”
Sef grimaced, sat down, and covered his eyes with one hand. Dyami said, “I meant it as a joke.”
“Did you?”
He seated himself next to his father, careful not to get too close. “Do you think the Habbers will be sending people here?” Dyami asked.
“They will if we request it. I have a feeling that we probably will.”
“I suppose they've become bored without our foibles to amuse them. They must have been relieved to have an excuse to send ships to Anwara. I trust they won't be unduly upset about what happened after they abandoned us.”
“Dyami.” Sef gripped his arm; Dyami longed to shake off his hand. “Risa's lost two daughters. You're the only child she has left, you and—” He paused. “I'd better tell you before someone else does. Most people don't know this, but there are rumors, and Risa told me about it herself. There's an embryo in one of the artificial wombs, Chimene's daughter. If nothing is done, the child will be born in less than eight months.”
Dyami tensed.
“Risa's the closest relative,” Sef continued. “She has to make a decision. She could let someone else adopt the child, but it is part of her line. She doesn't know what to do, and she's also concerned about your feelings in the matter. She can't bear the thought of giving up her rights and having her grandchild grow up knowing that Risa didn't take her, that her own grandmother decided to have nothing to do with her, but at the same time she doesn't want to lose you over this. She's guessed how you might feel about having the child with us.”
“What would she tell it?” Dyami said. “I can't imagine why she'd want it.”
“To make up for what's past. She feels she's failed Chimene, that if things had gone differently—” Sef swallowed. “So that we can put what's past behind us instead of blaming an innocent child for the deeds of her parents.”
“Her parents?” But he did not have to ask who the father was; Chimene had designated him when she decided to store her ova. A child of Boaz and Chimene might live. His gorge rose. He would never be free of them.
“Risa's going to have the embryo frozen for now,” Sef said, “to have more time to decide. She should know what you think. She can't make this decision if you—”
Dyami pushed his father's hand away, then gazed into Sef's brown eyes. “Why, if it's frozen,” he said softly, “perhaps her dilemma will resolve itself. It's hardly unknown for something to go wrong in cryonic storage—the technique does carry a very small risk. The longer she waits, the more likely that is, and then the problem's solved. Quite clever of Risa, if you ask me. The embryo could suffer some damage from prolonged freezing, and that would be that. Or an emergency might come up that requires more of the lab's cryonic facilities—they're hardly unlimited. The embryologists might have to dispose of it and the decision would be out of Risa's hands—she could feel that she tried without blaming herself. One can always hope.”
Sef was looking at him strangely. His mouth worked; his eyes glistened a little. He said, “We've lost you, haven't we?”
Dyami got up. “I should head for the greenhouse. Now that I'm free of other duties, I should make myself useful elsewhere.”
Sef seemed about to say more. Dyami walked away, leaving his father seated on the bank.
Thirty-five
Benzi lifted his eyes to the airship screen. Oberg's domes were visible below; patches of green under the domes surrounded disks of hazy yellow light. Two pilots seated in the front of the cabin leaned over thei
r control panels as the airship dropped through the still, dark clouds.
I might have been one of those pilots, Benzi thought. He contemplated the life he had escaped. He might have followed his father to the surface, and left Oberg later only to ferry settlers and supplies. He would have built a home or shared one with Chen; he might have had a bondmate and children. He would have played a role in the struggles of these people, and wondered what he would have learned about himself. Would he have stood against injustice, or would he have closed his eyes to events for as long as possible? Would he have come to love this world, or grown bitter about its failures?
He had no way of knowing, and if he had stayed, by now he would have been an old man nearing the end of a century of life. He would be clutching at his small joys and sorrowing over his mistakes during the two or three decades he might have remaining to him.
A Habber could believe that there was time to make up for mistakes, to live past regrets, to experience one's feelings fully before letting them drop away. Cytherians and Earthfolk did not have that luxury; their accomplishments and mistakes affected the lives of people who might have no chance to reap their rewards or right their wrongs during their own lifetimes. Cytherians could not escape the consequences of their deeds by living on until even their memories of them had faded. They could not store their experiences in their cyberminds and pretend that these events were part of someone else's life.
In the end, Habbers could not escape the results of their actions, either, although it was much easier to believe that they could. Such a belief was a trap. That was why Habbers had to reach out to these people, before their trap closed around them and left them unable to make any effort at all. Otherwise, forgetting would be too great a temptation. His people would no longer be the companions of their cyberminds, and might become only their pets.
Benzi had not forgotten the promise he had made to Chen—that he would come here and see what his father had helped to build. He had not thought he would ever really keep the promise, yet he was here.
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