Venus of Dreams

by Pamela Sargent

Her eyes widened. “And the Administrators approved?” That was surprising.

  The tall man grimaced. “We didn’t wait to hear their views.” He smiled down at them, then turned toward Te-yu; a strange look passed between him and the young pilot, as if they shared a secret.

  “You took an awful chance,” Iris said to Chen.

  “Not really. Those ships land all the time.”

  “But he said the Administrators —”

  “We didn’t have time to wait.”

  She trembled. “And you did that for us.”

  “For you. For Benzi, too, but for you.”

  They stood together, barely aware of the crowd around them. How could she have doubted Chen? Why had she believed that his love for her would finally fade? She owed him her life; he would feel more of a bond with her than ever. Something inside her was resisting that thought. She was suddenly ashamed that, even now, she still held back from him, that even her gratitude might not be enough to bring them together again.

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  Twenty-Three

  Iris cast a fearful look at Chen as they left her room. The door slid shut behind them. They passed two women in the curving corridor; the pair nodded brightly at them, and Chen was sure that he had seen them at a party. He had been at too many parties lately, during the past few days, to remember everyone he had met.

  Rose Milon had attended the Bat workers’ celebration of Chen and Michael’s deed. She had smiled as she offered her hand to Chen, but her eyes had held a hard, angry look. She had said nothing about reprimands, and was clearly content to leave that to her superiors. She had hissed her congratulations through clenched teeth.

  Chen and Iris had been back on Island Two for a week now. He had been awkward at the parties here; he had stood silently next to Michael as the pilot related their adventure yet another time. No Linkers had come to any of these gatherings; Chen still did not know what the Administrators thought of his deed. He had heard rumors: He and Michael would be reprimanded for acting rashly; he and the pilot would be rewarded for their initiative; the Administrators had been preparing to order a rescue just before they had boarded the scooper; Pavel Gvishiani and his circle, embarrassed by their own inaction when a rescue proved to be possible, were waiting for everyone to forget the matter, afraid to punish those others clearly saw as heroes. He could not tell which rumors might have some basis in fact, but now he was likely to find out.

  Chen had been sent away from the Islands once before; he had a black mark on his record already. He could hardly afford another.

  Chen took Iris’s arm as they entered the common room of her residence. A few of the people sitting there greeted her; her lips stiffened in a tense smile. It was worth it, Chen thought; it was worth it no matter what happened to him. He couldn’t see how they could do anything to Iris, and Benzi was safe. His son and Te-yu had only performed their duties as pilots and had acted bravely in a dangerous situation.

  They entered another corridor and rounded its curve; Iris’s eyes were glassy as they met his for a moment. She had looked at him in the same nervous way during their moments together in her room. He had hoped that they would be together at last, that their bond would be renewed. Iris had muttered something about going to Island Eight a few days earlier; Chen had said that there might be room for him on that Island, and she had not responded to his statement. There had been no more talk about Island Eight; even the members of Iris’s team, who had been at a couple of the parties, had not brought up that subject, though Chen knew that one of them had proposed sending her there.

  He should have asked Iris what she wanted from him now, but he could not bring himself to say the words. She was grateful, that was all; her gratitude was probably becoming a heavy burden to her. She did not ask him to stay; she did not ask him whether he was planning to return to his room in the workers’ quarters. She said nothing about their future; perhaps she felt that she did not have the right.

  He did not want her this way. He did not want her enduring his presence out of gratitude; she might begin to resent him for his claim on her life. He would lose even her friendship then.

  He stopped and drew her to one side of the curved hall. “I must say something.”

  Iris slipped her arm from his. “They’re waiting for us.”

  “I have to say this now. These days were good, but I should go back to my own quarters soon, don’t you think? There’s no need for me to stay here with you now.”

  He saw the relief in her green eyes before she lowered her lids, and felt a pang. For a moment, he had hoped that she might object to that suggestion. “Is that what you want?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Her arms circled his waist. “Oh, Chen. Why can’t I give you what you want? You saved my life, you risked your own. That would be enough for anyone else.”

  “You would have done the same for me.”

  “I don’t know if I could have been as brave.”

  “We’ll still have our bond for a while,” he said. “We have our son. That’s enough.” Somehow, he kept his voice calm and reasonable. “Your life is yours, not mine.”

  She let go of him. “My life is the Project’s,” she said in a low voice, “and so is yours. We’d better find out what’s planned for us.”

  “Iris, I —” Chen fell silent; words were failing him again. He had wanted to say that he could not have loved a woman who did not share his devotion to the Project, but surely she knew that by now. He had wanted to tell her that he understood, that if she had loved him more, and had failed to do her best here because of that love, that he might have come to love her less.

  They walked on until they were in front of her Counselor’s door. “Well,” Iris sighed. “Let’s get it over with.” She took his hand for a moment. “If they do anything to you because you acted to save me, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  The door opened. Three people were sitting on cushions around a low, glass-topped table; the large screen on the opposite wall showed a rosy desert sunset. Chen nodded at Betha Simmes, his own Counselor; the tall fair-haired woman smiled back at him.

  “Ah. There you are,” one of the men said. “Chen, I believe we’ve met before. I’m Terrence Kikuyu, Iris’s Counselor. Please do sit down.”

  Chen and Iris seated themselves at one end of the table as Terrence poured out glasses of water. Betha was still smiling. Her smile was making Chen nervous; Counselors seemed to smile most when they had something disturbing to say. A Counselor’s smile may bring you tears; that was one of the first proverbs he could remember hearing. Terrence’s white teeth were gleaming in his dark face.

  “I’m so pleased you both made time to meet with us,” Betha murmured, as if Iris and Chen had been given a choice in the matter. “Our other guest is Amir Azad.” She waved at the bearded man who was sitting between her and Terrence. Amir Azad wore a Linker’s gem on his forehead. Chen swallowed; he had heard the name before. Amir Azad was not only a Linker but also an Administrator; attention from such a person rarely resulted in anything good.

  Terrence brushed a hand nervously over his thick black hair; he also seemed uneasy in the Linker’s presence. “Amir would like to converse with you both,” he said. “Betha and I will, of course, be happy to consult with you afterward, should you feel it necessary to share your thoughts with us.”

  Iris was not smiling. Amir Azad leaned across the table, took a glass, sipped, then set the glass down. “You two have been responsible for quite a fuss lately.” His voice was smooth. “I would have invited you for a discussion days ago, but I don’t suppose your social schedule would have allowed that. You must be growing tired of recounting your adventures to everyone who invites you to a party.”

  “Not at all,” Iris said.

  “You risked your life, your son’s, and a pilot’s in an unnecessary attempt to get an atmospheric sample, and to make observations.”

  Iris lifted her chin. “I would have risked nothing if a pump had
n’t failed, and that was hardly my fault.”

  “If that pump had failed at a higher altitude, you would have been in no danger. You had no business asking a pilot to descend to that level.”

  “Te-yu didn’t see any problem in doing so,” Iris replied.

  “I don’t care what she thought. I suppose she’s partly to blame for the incident, but you bear a larger share of the responsibility. You’re a specialist. A pilot would naturally tend to follow your direction.”

  “My son was aboard,” Iris said evenly. “I wouldn’t have willingly exposed him to danger. You can’t blame me for this.”

  Amir glanced at Chen. “You’ve been even more reckless than your bondmate here. You and the pilot Michael Anastas endangered yourselves and risked losing a needed scooper vessel instead of waiting to hear of our plans.”

  “We couldn’t wait,” Chen said.

  “And here again, I must say that you bear more of a responsibility than the pilot. Rose Milon has informed me of what happened. You were determined to make a rescue attempt by yourself, and your colleagues on the Bat were disinclined to prevent you from trying. The pilot, seeing that you had no chance alone, wanted to increase the odds in your favor. Perhaps he should have attempted to talk you out of it, though I can understand why he acted as he did, in the heat of the moment. Still, it was your idea. I doubt that the pilot would have acted on his own.”

  Chen was not so sure about that, but held his tongue; he did not want to see Michael reprimanded.

  “You had no business acting without our guidance,” Amir continued. “Some might say that you mistrust our direction. Some might claim that you do not respect our authority, and that you’ve shamed us. Others might say that because we rely on cooperation here, individuals acting entirely on their own endanger all of us. An eye cannot decide to become a hand, a nerve cannot decide to ignore the commands of the brain.”

  “Cells can adapt to new circumstances,” Iris said, “and a brain can sometimes fail the body.”

  “Be careful, Iris Angharads,” Amir said in a low voice. “I don’t care for the implications of that remark.”

  “I think we’ve done you a service.” Iris pointed her chin at the Linker; she was showing no sign of fear. “Because of the failure of that pump, and what happened to us, you can demonstrate to Earth how much more aid we really need, so that such accidents don’t happen again with more serious consequences. We’ve shown that a damaged airship can survive on the surface, something that will be important to know when such ships are traveling there regularly. Chen and Michael Anastas have come up with a way to rescue such ships. On top of that, the cabin and its cargo were saved. The ship’s sensors observed a great many things before they failed, and we have all those observations to examine.” A smile played around her lips. “Why, some on Earth might find our adventure quite an exciting mind-tour. The Project Council’s bound to reap a little extra credit from that, and some of it will undoubtedly come our way.”

  Amir was still for a moment; then he laughed, shaking his head. The two Counselors chuckled, looking relieved. “You’ve said nothing we haven’t said among ourselves, but I didn’t expect to hear it from you.” He paused. Chen became aware of an odd gleam in Amir’s dark eyes; the Linker was staring at Iris in an almost predatory way. “This is still a bit embarrassing to my colleagues and to Administrator Pavel.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” Iris said. Terrence fidgeted, clearly trying to get Iris’s attention, but she was ignoring him. “It depends on how you handle it.”

  “I suppose you think there’s nothing we can do to you, now that you’re heroes to so many here. People might object to seeing you punished for such a brave deed.”

  “They might,” Iris said. “Too bad that Te-yu and my son and I didn’t go completely to pieces instead of hanging on and hoping for a rescue. Too bad that Chen and the other pilot didn’t fail to reach us, so that you could have been proven right.”

  “Iris,please ,” Terrence murmured; the Counselor was looking very unhappy.

  “One fact does emerge from this incident.” Amir stroked his beard. “You two are clearly unsuited to hold your present positions. Marc Lissi has had his complaints about you.” He turned toward Chen. “And you, a worker, try to take command instead of appealing to your superiors.”

  Chen had to speak. “We had to act. We didn’t have time to ask you what to do.” Chen was silent for a moment before plunging on. “We’re trained to look out for others on the Bats. We have to trust others in order to do our work there. It seemed right to act.” He might as well say what he thought; it was unlikely he could alter any decision the Administrators had made.

  Amir tilted his head. “You were thinking of your bondmate and child, not of your responsibility to the Project and to us.”

  “What would you have lost if we’d failed?” Chen asked. “An airship, a scooper, and a few people who could be replaced. If Earth didn’t give you another scooper shuttle, you could have turned to the Habbers. Administrators have done that before. The Habbers could give you better ships, better control units, more —”

  Amir stiffened. Iris signaled to Chen with narrowed eyes and a shake of her head. He had gone too far; he had reminded the Linker of how important the Habbers’ help had been to the Project.

  “The Habbers do nothing for us that we couldn’t have done for ourselves eventually,” Amir said in a low voice. “Their assistance has done no more than speed our progress. This is our Project, not theirs.” He scowled. “I wouldn’t speak so warmly of Habbers if I were you, Liang Chen. According to your record, you were a little too eager to seek out their company in the past. I was sure you had mended your ways, I was sure you had given that up, that you were grateful to be brought back here after your temporary exile from the Islands.”

  Chen shifted a little on his cushion, suddenly afraid that the Linker knew everything about him, even about his secret work in the Plains. He had not thought of that in a long time, had walled off his guilt; now, he remembered Eric and how he had died.

  “Let’s get to the point,” Iris said. “Don’t you think it’s time to tell us why we were called here?”

  “Don’t be so impatient.” Amir’s mouth twisted; he seemed about to smile again. “What neither of you knows is that we were planning to ask those on the northern Bat to attempt the rescue that was carried out. You merely anticipated our orders. A bit embarrassing still for us, since you showed a lack of trust in our judgment by not waiting, but not the infraction it might have been.”

  Iris raised a brow. Chen was sure that the Linker was lying, but Amir and his colleagues could make everyone believe his statement was true. They might even convince themselves of its truth in time. Chen and Michael would no longer seem insubordinate and reckless, but only premature in their actions.

  “Success,” Amir went on, “should be rewarded, especially if it furthers all of our aims, don’t you think? Please don’t think badly of me for keeping you in suspense. I spoke up for you both in my meetings with other Administrators, but I had to see what you would have to say for yourselves. I think you’ve shown that we’ve made the right decision about you both.”

  Betha cleared her throat; Terrence sighed, looking relieved. Obviously Amir had not shared his intention with them. Chen was suddenly angry. The Linker had been toying with them; now, he probably expected their gratitude.

  Amir straightened a sleeve of his white robe. “Iris, the Administrative Committee needs a liaison with those trained by the Cytherian Institute. I’ve felt we’ve needed one for some time — after all, you people were trained specifically for this Project rather than coming to it from other work. Even some of the members of the oldest families here are coming to see that you should be treated with more consideration. I think you should be our liaison. We’ll listen to your suggestions and complaints. You’ll be an administrative assistant, but with luck and persistence, you may become an Administrator yourself someday.”

 
Iris seemed stunned; she lifted a hand to her face. “Administrators are always Linkers,” she said tonelessly.

  “So they are. But we can provide the training for your Link if you do well.”

  Iris’s eyes widened; her cheeks grew pink. “I never thought —” She turned her head toward Chen. He tried to look pleased. His hopes were gone; he knew that he would lose her now. He bowed his head for a moment, ashamed of his selfishness.

  “You’ll remain here, of course,” Amir was saying. “No need to send you to Island Eight, as Marc was recommending. You’ll spend time on other Islands if a situation calls for that kind of attention. The rest of the time, you’ll continue with your work in climatology. We must all continue in our various specialties here, needless to say. Frankly, your intuitive approach might be better suited to aiding the Administrative Committee. When dealing with people, one can’t rely only on data and projections.”

  “Of course,” Iris responded. “I’m grateful for your trust in me. Everyone from the Institute will be happy you’re thinking of us.” Her face was flushed with pride; her eyes had already taken on some of Amir’s predatory gleam. Her face had a hard, fierce look Chen had rarely seen.

  Amir’s eyes met Chen’s. “And, since we already have a Workers’ Committee, it should be quite simple to add another to their number. I think you might do well in such a position.”

  Betha was beaming, as if his accomplishment were her own. Chen averted his eyes from his Counselor. “I can’t,” he said.

  Amir let out his breath. “What do you mean, you can’t? You showed some initiative. Clearly, that means you should be in a position where it can be used, so that you don’t disrupt the Project. You won’t have as much work to do, and you’ll have a little more time for that hobby of yours I’ve heard about.”

  “It isn’t that,” Chen responded. “I wouldn’t be a good person in that kind of post. Words are hard for me. I wouldn’t be a good spokesperson for others.” He could not say what he really felt, that the attention of those in power was a dangerous thing. Nancy Fassi had taught him that. His life would be even more open to their scrutiny, his actions to their manipulation. Those on the Workers’ Committee were often distrusted by other workers; he would be separated from those like him without being fully accepted by anyone else. Even his carving would no longer be a pleasant and fulfilling pursuit; he would not be able to carve anyone in authority without being expected to speak up for the Workers’ Committee and its interests.