He sighed as he stared at the home he would soon leave behind. The pain of that thought was a blow; he realized, with guilt and unhappiness, that this pained him even more than the loss of Tonie. She had guessed the truth; she was like him; she would put the dream first, and cut herself adrift from anything that might rob her of it. He was no longer surprised that she had spoken to him so bitterly.
He put his feet under him and rose, then descended the other side of the hill until he came to a pale stone path. The path wound through the grove of trees, leading him past five girls with flowers in their hair and by a table where a few Linkers were enjoying an evening meal. The shadows swallowed him; he strode on until he came to the edge of the small wood and heard the soft drone of human voices.
Chen had come to the place where the Island’s memorial pillars stood. The twenty pillars lined either side of the path; faces cast in metal gazed down at him sightlessly as he bowed his head a little. Names in several languages also adorned the pillars, and bouquets of flowers had been placed on the ground below.
Four old men stood near one pillar that was not yet completely filled with names and faces. They swayed a bit as they finished saying their prayers. Chen wondered if they were praying for one long gone or for themselves; their gray hair and wrinkled faces were signs of their own approaching death.
Chen stopped at the pillar and bowed from the waist, wanting to show respect. “My son,” one man said, gesturing at one of the faces. “Gone these many years. Lately, I’ve been remembering him again.”
“I’m sorry,” Chen said.
“Do not mourn. He was a bad young man in some ways, quick to fight and too free with women, but I loved him, and at least he had a purpose here.”
“You should rejoice, young man,” another man said, smiling bitterly. “Here, you see four old ones who will soon be gone to make room for your children.”
“Not my children,” Chen replied. He hurried away, refusing to explain his response.
After a few more broad strides, he had come to the northern edge of the Island, where the path ended at the bottom of a flight of stairs. He climbed the stairs to a curved platform and leaned against the railing.
Island Two was over two kilometers wide, and the platform curved around the Island’s diameter. He gazed through the dome at the blackness outside, feeling it fill his soul. Venus was below, hidden from him, beyond his reach.
He and Tonie had decided to make their pledge here, in sight of the world their children might have settled. A bitter taste filled his mouth.
Venus would not be his world after all. He understood how empty Corazon’s promise probably was. Another worker would eventually take his place; others would finish building this world. All he had to offer the Project, besides the skills many others had, was his youth and strength, which would ebb away every year he was gone.
Footsteps sounded on the platform. He glanced to his left. Tonie was walking toward him; she had thrown on a blue knee-length robe over her shirt. He was about to wave her away; she held up a hand.
She said, “I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did.”
“You said what was true.”
“I wish I could take it back.” She put one hand on his; he did not pull away. “I want to ask you something, Chen. Tell me the truth. If they were sending me back to Earth, and keeping you here, would you make a pledge to me? Would you follow me back to Earth?”
He was silent for a time. “I don’t know,” he said at last.
“That’s not what you mean. You do know, I think. The only difference is that you wouldn’t have been so cruel if you had to tell me you were staying.”
“Tonie, I —”
“I love you, Chen, but I want to stay here. I would have kept loving you if we could be together. Maybe that’s the point. It would be easy for us to love each other if nothing was in our way. That might mean we don’t love each other enough.”
“It sounds like something Corazon might say,” he replied.
“She’d be right too. We both want the Project more than we want each other. Maybe this way, we can find people we’d love more than we love the Project.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“Someone we love as much, then.”
“I don’t think,” he said, “that I could love anyone who didn’t share this dream.”
“Then you would have stopped loving me if I went back with you, if I were willing to give this up.”
“You twist words, Tonie. You try to make something good come out of this.”
“Maybe it will.” She leaned against him and rested her cheek on his chest.
He had been right to fear coming here, to open himself to the dream and have it taken from him. He had been wrong to want more instead of being grateful for the life the Nomarchies had given him.
He would never see the pyramids below glow when the power within them was released to move the planet. He would never see domes rise on the surface and the land beneath them blossom. He would never kneel down and grasp the soil of a new world in his hand. Venus would become no more than a star in the sky.
Chen’s hands curled around the railing as he stared at the world he had lost.
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Seven
The night sky was cloudy, and many of the women of Lincoln had brought light-wands into the field. Iris stood at one end of the line of girls, next to Laiza; in front of her, Angharad’s face glowed in the light.
Dory Trudes, the mayor, was speaking; Iris had already lost the thread of Dory’s speech. Iris would be a woman when she left the field.
She had known her own ceremony would come soon; the changes in her body had shown her that. Her breasts were already forming; a fine down was beginning to sprout between her legs. She had prayed that she would not begin to bleed until winter, longing for the extra year of childhood that would give her, but she had spotted and then flowed at the end of August.
Iris had known that by starving herself, she might postpone menarche; she had gleaned that bit of information from her studies. She had skipped as many meals as she could and had picked at the rest. Angharad had finally noticed her frailty and the loss of weight and had dragged her to Letty Charlottes, where she had received a stern lecture while a tiny implant was placed in her arm. The lecture had enraged her; the substances the implant had released had made her ravenous, and she had already gained back most of her lost weight. Iris rubbed at her arm; Letty had removed the implant earlier that week, replacing it with the contraceptive implant that a young woman would need until it was time to have children.
“I welcome you all to our communes as women,” the mayor was concluding. “May your life’s blood enrich our fields as you become part of life’s cycle.” Dory’s arms made the sign of a helix as she pulled out a needle and moved to the head of the line of girls.
Angharad was smiling; Iris tried to smile back. This was supposed to be the happiest day of her life so far; her mother would expect some sign of joy. Iris glanced at Julia; her grandmother looked away.
Iris had received a message from Celia Evanstown that morning. She had expected the worst, and had been pleasantly surprised at Celia’s news. Iris, the Linker had said, would continue to have her studies paid for as long as she completed each year’s work by the summer. The news had lifted her spirits throughout the day, and she had been too busy with preparations for the ceremony and feast to think about what Celia had said. Now she was sure that the worst had only been postponed.
When the feast was over, she would have to take up a woman’s life. There would be more to do around the house, more work in the greenhouse, consultations with her mother about farm business and how much grain to plant on their land next year, and more distractions. She would be expected to join the women for their almost-nightly gabfests; if she was going to be part of the community and eventually take over the commune’s leadership, she would, like her mother, have to learn which bits of gossip might be useful or
revealed a problem that would have to be solved.
She was behind in her studies as it was. The disciplines of biology, chemistry, and physics required concentration and careful study of the simulated laboratory work as she entered her assumptions and watched each experiment’s results. She would have to make up the work this winter, and wondered how she would find time to do it.
Iris’s studies, and the way in which she worked, were similar to what students in schools did, but students in schools were also part of a community of scholars, with seminars and discussion groups and the chance to be with those who shared their interests. The teaching images occasionally set up such discussions over the screen for Iris and other solitary students, and encouraged them to seek one another out. Iris, after a few awkward and embarrassing calls to young people who had seemed either uninterested in her attempts at conversation or unimpressed by the insights she had to offer, had at last found a kindred soul.
Her name was Alexandra Lenas. She was Iris’s age, wore her blond hair in two long, fat braids, and was a shopkeeper’s daughter; she lived in a town near Topeka. Alexandra’s family were Spiritists; her mother encouraged the girl’s studies a bit, but then Alexandra had a sister who would be able to take over the family’s shop. Alexandra did not have to worry about the future of her line, and already had a clear idea of her goals. The subject of biology was her greatest interest, and embryology the field that especially attracted her.
With Iris, she also shared a desire to work on the Venus Project. Alexandra had mapped her own future. First, she would be chosen for the Cytherian Institute, a new school where students in various fields were trained specifically for the Project and absorbed a sense of its purpose while learning their subjects. After that, she would take more training in her specialty. Then, she would be sent to Venus, where she would live on one of its Islands. Such a goal seemed nearly impossible to Iris, who had feared that she might never get to Venus except as a greenhouse worker if she got there at all, but Alexandra had pointed out that the Institute contained many students of much humbler origins.
Iris, partly encouraged by Alexandra’s devotion to her own field, was beginning to become more interested in the study of climatology. She would gaze for long hours at models of Earth along with the graphs and charts and mathematical symbols showing the effect of a slight rise or fall in temperature, the harvesting of trees in one region, a volcanic eruption, or a slight emission of sulfur dioxide from one of the factories that had once dotted Earth’s surface before such industries had been moved into space. She studied models of Venus’s meteorological history as well, noting the circumstances that had made that world so different from Earth. The subject gave her a sense of how much a tiny, seemingly insignificant event could alter a great deal; at the same time, it made her conscious of how much still lay outside humanity’s control. She studied the mathematics that outlined chaos and the points where systems began to break down, and saw her world as a reflection of those symbols.
Such pursuits also had a practical benefit. She could soothe Angharad’s doubts by saying, quite truthfully, that she was learning about weather, a subject that could only help a farmer.
Iris longed to meet Alexandra. The other girl had hesitantly mentioned inviting Iris to her home for a visit, or traveling to Lincoln herself. Iris had been forced to put her off with excuses, knowing that Angharad would not approve. Studying was one thing; actual contact with a girl who would only encourage such nonsense was quite another. Iris was afraid of pushing her mother too far, of losing what she had already gained.
Dory was standing in front of her. The mayor seized Iris’s arm, pulled out another needle, pricked the girl’s finger, then held Iris’s hand out. “You are a woman, Iris Angharads.”
“I give my blood to the communes,” Iris replied. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she had almost forgotten the importance of this ceremony. Dory let go; Iris reached into her pocket for the handkerchief her mother had given her earlier and wrapped it around her lightly bleeding finger. Angharad had carried the same handkerchief to her own ceremony, as had Julia; Iris felt the weight of generations.
The field was suddenly silver with light; the moon shone down through the purple clouds. “A good omen,” she heard Wenda whisper.
The ceremony was over. Iris thrust her handkerchief back into her pocket. Angharad linked her arm with Iris’s as they began to leave the field. “I’m so proud of you,” Angharad murmured. “You didn’t even flinch.” Iris did not reply; she had been so preoccupied that she hadn’t had time to flinch. “I thought you were the prettiest girl there.”
Iris bowed her head, imagining that the other women were telling their daughters the same thing.
“She looked just like you did, Angharad,” Wenda said as she gestured with her walking stick. “I could almost believe it was you standing there if it wasn’t for those green eyes of hers — same thick hair, same budding bosom.” Wenda cackled. “Bet some of those nice young men back at the town hall would like to get their hands on her.”
Iris swallowed, annoyed at the thought. The studious boys she had sometimes talked to over her screen, to her relief, had never seemed interested in such matters; she had been able to forget that they were males.
“Why, before you know it,” the old woman continued, “she’ll be going to Letty to have her plug removed.”
“I’m only fourteen,” Iris said. “I’ll have my implant for a while.”
“Your mother was sixteen when she had you. The years’ll go by before you know it, child.” Wenda sniffed. “Guess I can’t call you child now. The moon coming out like that — it’s a good omen. Maybe now you’ll stop that nonsense with your lessons.”
Never, Iris thought as they approached the houses ahead, following the rows of shining wands. She shivered a little in the cool air, and tried not to think of her obligation to her line. I won’t give it up, not until Celia takes the allotment away. She tried not to dwell on that.
Iris carried her plate to the table in the center of the room, where she and the other young women would sit. They had been first on the line; already a few young men were lingering near the table as they eyed the young women, who were conspicuous in their long white dresses. Laiza batted her dark eyes at one man; her white silk dress revealed much of her shoulders and a little other small breasts. Iris sat down next to her friend, smoothed down her own skirt, and wondered how she would be able to eat in her tight-waisted garment.
Daria and Madeline began to giggle as a young man sat down across from them. He arched his brows as Daria patted her red hair and loosened a button near her collar. “Can I have that?” the man said, pointing at a chicken wing on Daria’s plate.
The red-haired girl simpered. “If you get me another one later.”
“I’ll get you anything you want.”
Daria giggled again. People were seating themselves at other tables, talking loudly about how this would be the finest feast Lincoln had seen; the loud voices and shouted remarks were making Iris feel dizzy. A woman put a large bottle of wine on the table; a man set a tray of glasses next to it.
“I wish my father were here,” Laiza said. “He promised he’d come, and he didn’t even send a message.”
“I’m sure he tried,” Iris said.
“He said he’d have a special surprise for me too.”
“Well, he’s always kept his promises when he could,” Iris said. “There’ll probably be a message from him when you get home. Just be glad you see him as often as you do — most girls don’t see their fathers so much.”
“Mother of God.” Laiza put down her fork. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry, Iris. I wish your father could be here.”
“It’s all right.” Iris had not thought of Tad for a while, but the autumn feasts always reminded her of him. She poked at her food, then nibbled at a piece of bread. Angharad and Maria Fays, Laiza’s mother, were laughing together as they chattered at their table; they seemed almost
like girls themselves. A few members of Lincoln’s small Muslim community were discreetly pouring wine into cups. At the other end of Iris’s table, Patricia and Bess draped their arms gracefully over the backs of their chairs as they flirted with Eric.
Would it be so bad for her to give up her studies and accept her life here? She would still have what she had already learned and could buy herself a few more lessons during free moments. Few mocked her now; even Eric had given her a grudging respect. The boy, rapidly approaching the age when he would have to take on a man’s responsibilities, would have stayed in Lincoln if he could. Swallowing his pride, Eric had asked her to teach him how to do his own accounts and to read labels so that he could apply for work as a shopkeeper, but Lincoln’s shopkeepers had enough apprentices among their own children. Eric would never understand her desire to leave.
I could be important here, she thought. If she quit now, others would respect her a little for having tried to master difficult subjects while praising her for remembering her responsibility to her line. But if she waited for Celia to take her allotment away, she would once again look like a fool.
She thought of Alexandra, The blond girl would be disappointed in her if she gave up now. Iris couldn’t give up; there was too much left to learn.
“Hello.” A young man set his plate on the table as he sat down across from Iris. He reached for two glasses and began to pour some wine. Patricia and Madeline rolled their eyes as they ogled the new arrival; as she gazed at the man, Iris could see why. His blond hair curled around his lean, handsome face; his gray work shirt was unbuttoned nearly to his waist.
“I haven’t seen you before,” Laiza said as she pushed her own glass toward him.
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