He guided the two Habbers across the bridge, then climbed toward the building above. “This is where we were confined.” He moved toward the spot on the slope where Sigurd had fallen. “Sigurd was here, as nearly as I can recall. He couldn't have felt much when he was hit. If he'd been stronger when he got here, he could have survived, but the beatings and lack of food made him weaker, and the patrol was being more abusive toward the end. They tended to single out some of us for special treatment.” His voice had risen a bit. “But you must have heard all about that during the hearings.”
Tesia turned toward the creek. “We had a lot of time together,” she said. “I'd tell him he was foolish to love me when he might have had a bondmate. He'd say that he felt he already had a bond with me, even though we couldn't have made a pledge. He wanted so much for your people and ours to—” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Leave me. I must have some time by myself.”
“Tesia—” Balin began to say.
“Please.”
Balin beckoned to Dyami. They began to move along the bank; the two were several paces away before Dyami looked back. Tesia was sitting now, her legs folded; her hands trembled as she lifted them to her face.
“She needs to be alone now,” Balin said as they walked on. “This kind of death is hard for us to accept, even to comprehend, and it's difficult for us to grieve in the company of others. She needs to experience it fully, and when it's past, she'll commune with others through her Link and bring herself into balance. The pain will fade, but the memory will be kept.”
“How convenient for you,” Dyami muttered, “to be able to handle it that way, wallowing in it and then storing it all away.”
“Dyami—”
“Why don't you go back to the dining hall? Your old acquaintances here will be delighted to see you again, and they'll find you a place to stay.”
Balin did not reply. Dyami quickened his pace, but the other man remained at his side.
* * * *
A few more houses were being constructed near the creek, beyond the large greenhouse on the eastern bank. Some of those who had decided to stay in Turing preferred sites where there would be few neighbors—for a while anyway. Stacks of materials lay next to raised walls and tents; the people sitting outside the tents called out greetings but did not invite Dyami and Balin to stay.
They want us to enjoy our reunion, Dyami thought; they probably think we want to be alone. Or perhaps they were only used to the fact that he rarely sought their company now.
His own tent stood on a small grassy hill that overlooked the spot where the creek flowed into the lake. The dome light was just beginning to fade when he caught sight of the hill. Walls, with spaces for windows, were up in what would be the back of the house; the space where his common room would be was only a flat open floor. Large glassy windows, tools, a crate of components, and other supplies were stacked on the slope below.
“The bathroom's finished,” Dyami said. Balin had not said a word during their walk; he glanced at Dyami and lifted his brows. “That makes things convenient. No roof yet, but the bathroom can be used. It may take me some time to finish the work, since I prefer to do it alone, but I don't lack for supplies. Everyone outside seems anxious to assure us that we'll get whatever we need if they can provide it.”
Balin peered up at the wall as they climbed the hill. “It doesn't look like the usual design,” he said.
“It isn't. Some of us are planning a few variations. I'm going to have the kitchen, the bathroom, and any other space in the back, and the common room will have windows on three sides. I want a large common room, with windows and no walls. The outside surface will reflect light so no one will be able to see inside. We can manufacture the windows in the ceramics plant now—they're light and they're sturdy. Allan Sirit did a lot of the work—he can tell you more about them.”
“From the size of the space,” Balin said, “it looks as though that room will be most of the house.”
“I plan to spend much of my time in it, and I find I dislike any feeling of confinement lately. This site means a longer walk to the refinery, but I wanted to build near the lake.”
Balin gazed at him speculatively. “And away from other people.”
“Yes,” Dyami replied.
“By yourself?”
“I feel no need for housemates. If it's necessary, I can always allow a new arrival to stay with me temporarily.” He thrust his hands into his pockets. “You didn't bring a bag.”
“Tesia and I put ours on a cart. A friend said he'd see they got to the dining hall while we waited for you.” Balin lowered his eyes. “I don't know how long she'll be staying. Everything here just reminds her of Sigurd, and yet she feels that he'd want her to be here.”
“Maybe you should go back to her now.”
Balin tapped his forehead. “If she wants me, she'll summon me.” He suddenly gripped Dyami by the arms. “Dyami—”
“You shouldn't have come back here.” Dyami freed himself from the Habber's grip. “I'm not the person you knew. I killed a man, one who was barely more than a boy. I wasn't content with disabling him—I kept hitting him with a rock until I knew he was dead. It's not even that I care so much about that. About the only regret I have is that I waited so long before I did it, that I couldn't stop him from doing the things he did to me.”
“I still care about you. Don't you believe that?”
“Then I pity you. You were able to leave before. It shouldn't be hard to go now.”
Balin said, “I didn't want to leave. I had no choice.”
“And now you're back, as though nothing had happened in the meantime. Can't you see I don't want you here?”
Balin stared at him for a long time, then sat down in front of the tent. Dyami clenched his fists; would he have to compel the other man to go? If he lashed out now, it might be the way it was with Maxim Paz, when he hadn't been able to stop, when the hand holding that bloody rock had kept rising and falling of its own accord.
Balin finally spoke. “I still have that sculpture you cast of me. Have you kept the other one?”
“Suleiman seemed interested in it, so I gave it to him.” He did not bother to explain his reasons for wanting to be rid of it. The image of Balin had always been nearby whenever Maxim Paz was tormenting him.
“Have you had time to do any others?”
Dyami gritted his teeth. “I've been working on something for the memorial, but it's just sketches so far.”
“I'd like to see them, if you'd show them to me.”
“Will you leave me alone after that?” Dyami asked. The Habber did not answer.
He lifted the tent flap, went inside, found his pocket screen, then left the tent. Balin leaned toward him as he sat down and called up his sketches.
“It's to be a pillar,” Dyami said, “like other such monuments. We'll have images of the faces of the dead and a plaque with their names, but I want to do something different with the rest of it. The others have pretty much left this task to me, but I haven't shown anyone the sketches yet.”
An image appeared; he was looking at the base of the monument he planned. Twisted, distorted human bodies ringed the base, their heads bowed; disembodied hands clutched at their necks or were fists against their backs. Above them stood other human figures, their arms outstretched, as if they were pleading with someone. At the top of the pillar, more nude figures with distended bony limbs held up rods that suggested wands; other broken bodies lay at their feet.
“I haven't yet worked out where the faces will go,” Dyami said. “They'll be set in at various places along the pillar, with the panorama around them. Their names can appear about a meter or so from the base. Making the molds and casting the images may prove to be a challenge, since I haven't done anything on this scale before.”
He blanked the screen and set it on the ground. The dome was darker now; a reflection of the dome's light was a silver disk floating on the smooth black surface of the lake. “You haven't told
me what you think,” he said.
“I'm impressed. No, that isn't the right word.” Balin's voice sounded faint. “I'm moved, and I'm also grieving that such a monument ever had to stand on your world.”
Balin took his hand. Dyami let him hold it. “I'm going to stay,” the other man continued. “There will be work enough for me, and you should find it easy to avoid me if that's what you want, but I'll be here if you need me.”
“If that's what you're hoping for, I don't even know if I'm still capable of it. You'll have to find another bed-partner. The thought of all that repels me now.”
“I wasn't thinking of that.” Balin stood up “Tesia's summoning me. I can wait, Dyami. I won't abandon you again.”
“You may be waiting for some time.”
“One thing I have is time.”
Balin began to descend the hill. “Come back tomorrow,” Dyami heard himself say. “I won't be at the refinery, and I want to do more on this house. You could keep me company while I work.”
He was sorry as soon as he had spoken. Balin was threatening the refuge he had found inside himself, walled off from others; pain, regret, despair, and possibly disappointment lay beyond those walls. Balin might not be asking for love, but he was requesting trust. Dyami wondered if he could risk trusting anyone again.
“I'll come,” Balin replied.
THE CYTHERIANS
The screen above Benzi was dark; there were no images of light and clouds to divert the airship's passengers and allow them to pretend they lived on a sunlit world. The airship's outside lights were beams stabbing into the darkness; the sound filling the cabin was the wail of a fierce distant wind. The only passengers, except for Benzi, were two climatologists bound for Island Nine.
He turned and looked back at the man and the woman. Their eyes were staring at the screen; they were silent as they listened to the wind.
The pilots had allowed him to sit up front with them; he had, after all, been a pilot himself. They were two blond young women with closely cropped hair who, except for their differing heights, might have been sisters. The taller woman reached up to adjust the band around her head; the other was gazing at one of the small screens among the panels before her. The two had seemed amused by his request, and his admission that it was an exercise in nostalgia.
He had told them the story in Island Two's bay, while they were waiting for the cargo to be loaded aboard; apparently the two women had not heard the tale before. “I was an apprentice pilot then,” he had told them, “bound for Island Eight. The pilot with me was a woman named Te-yu, and my mother was the only passenger, which was probably just as well, as things turned out. First of all, one of our pumps jammed while we were dropping, and then the helium cells sprang a couple of leaks. We knew we couldn't pull out then, and we'd dropped low enough to be caught by a three-hundred-kilometer-an-hour wind. There we were, with leaks and failing pumps. We couldn't pull out, so we had no choice except to land and hope somebody'd find a way to rescue us. We jettisoned the dirigible and rode down on our chutes.”
“Obviously you were saved,” the shorter pilot said.
“Not until our sensors had failed and our air was going. Even our suits weren't much protection against the increasing heat inside the cabin. A scooper ship, with my father and a pilot aboard, came from the northern Bat for us, but we had to creep down a rocky mountainside on the cabin's treads to reach it.”
“Sounds like quite an apprenticeship,” the tall pilot murmured. “I'm surprised you're anxious to get on an airship at all,”
“On the contrary,” Benzi said. “It reminds me of how fortunate I am to be alive.”
“Iris Angharads certainly had an adventurous life. I hadn't heard that story about her before. I must keep up with more of our historical records. But what I don't understand is why you were dropping in the first place if you were headed for Island Eight. Weren't you maintaining altitude?”
“Iris had an interesting approach to her work in climatology,” Benzi replied, “a quirk, if you will. Even with drones to gather data, and probes sending back information from the surface, she took any opportunity she could to observe things more directly. She relied, in part, on her intuitions, and she often had the feeling she might be able to sense something herself that all those other sensors couldn't. She was being sent to Island Eight, and as long as we were going, she figured we might as well take a sample of the lower atmosphere on the way. She'd listen to the winds when she was aboard airships, whenever she could talk the pilots into opening the sound sensors so she could hear them for herself.”
“A bit risky for you,” the pilot said, “descending like that, with no bays where you might land. I always say you can trust maintenance to keep you safe only if you don't take foolish chances.”
But Iris, he thought now, had always been one to take chances; she was incapable of simply observing from afar. Benzi had believed that he might, that he could watch her world from a distance, untouched by its storms and upheavals. Decades ago, sitting in airships much like this one, he had felt only resentment and the urge to escape, to free himself of everything holding him here. Soon, if it was necessary, he might have to accept more bonds with Cytherians that might not so easily be broken.
Risa had promised him a message when he was back on Island Two. He wondered what she would tell him. It did not matter; he was finally prepared to accept the responsibility she might feel forced to give him. He might find the first of the Cytherians who would share his dream of going to the stars.
* * * *
Dyami was leading Amina away from Oberg's bay when a familiar voice called out to him.
“Dyami!” Teo was running toward him, past a few tents that housed the recent arrivals from Earth. “I wanted to greet you.” He pumped Dyami's arms. “I can't talk long—I have to get back to the lab.”
Dyami tried to smile. Teo was still the same slender, dark-haired man he had seen on his last visit nearly eight years ago. He noticed one difference; his friend was no longer wearing Ishtar's sash. He thought of the occasional messages he had received from Teo. In the earlier ones, Teo had spoken of how concerned he had always been when he had not known what was happening in Turing and of how he had tried to rouse others to indignation. In later messages, his deeds had grown in the telling until Dyami might almost have thought that Teo was at the center of those working against Ishtar.
Dyami let go of Teo's hands and adjusted his pack. Teo's messages resembled those some of his other schoolmates had sent. They had all seen that those close to the Guide were committing excesses; they had not known what was going on in Turing or they surely would have done something about it. They certainly did not want him to think they would have tolerated such abuses of their fellow citizens. But that was all past, and they wanted him to know that they all expected a visit whenever he came back to Oberg.
They did not say what some of them probably thought, what a few newcomers in Turing had said before being silenced by icy stares. Turing's monument was a bit on the dramatic side, wasn't it? Surely some of the stories told during the hearings there were a trifle exaggerated, and anyway, hadn't the former prisoners, by not trying to conceal their indifference to Ishtar, brought some of their trouble on themselves? It had all been a terrible mistake, of course, but they could not think the Guide and most of her followers had much to do with what the patrol in Turing had done.
Dyami pulled Amina forward gently. “My housemate, Amina Astarte. This is my old friend, Teo Lingard.”
“You may have glimpsed my image on his screens,” Teo said to the blond woman. He raised his brows as he turned toward Dyami again. “You mentioned a new housemate in your last message, but you didn't provide any details. Does this signal a change in your inclinations?”
Amina laughed. “We're only friends. My own inclinations run in an entirely different direction.”
Teo's smile widened; he seemed relieved. “In that case, Dyami, I should tell you that I know a couple of interesting m
en who would very much like to meet you.”
Dyami sighed; he had expected that sort of invitation. He thought of a young man who had recently come to live in Turing, who had been quick to seek Dyami out. The man had been disappointed when Dyami shied away from talking of the past, and even more downcast when his advances were politely but firmly refused. Teo's friends were probably like that young man, anxious to feed on the tales of suffering that might provide fuel for their own fantasies. Perhaps the notion of comforting a victim appealed to them, or maybe their fantasies were darker ones; he had seen something of Maxim Paz in the young man's eyes.
Teo's smile had faded. “You needn't worry now,” he said. “Some people may still look askance at us, but as long as we're not blatant—well, discretion is preferable to deception, I suppose. Things are better, and maybe that's all we can expect for now.”
Dyami tried to think of what to say. “It isn't that,” he murmured at last. “I'm content with Balin as a lover. I haven't felt the need for others.” This much was true. Balin had been patient, and Dyami had found contentment and love with him again, but there were still times when he needed to retreat, when fear and distrust still inhibited him.
“Ah, yes, the Habber.” Teo tilted his head. “Well, you could meet these men anyway—they'd like to talk to you at least. You see—” He looked away. “I know what you're thinking, that all I did was try to protect myself, that I wasn't really thinking of anyone else as long as they left me alone. I have learned something since then, and so have others. You do believe that, don't you?”
“Of course,” Dyami replied, not sure he did.
“You must come to visit me, both of you. Amina can hear all about our childish adventures. Will you be staying here long enough to welcome in 634?”
Dyami shook his head. “We're only here for a week. We'll be in ibn-Qurrah with Amina's family for the new year.”
“Well, then. I must get back to the lab, and you're probably anxious to get to your parents’ house.”
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