Venus of Dreams

by Pamela Sargent

  “He wanted it and so did Iris. I wasn’t going to fight it.”

  Charles stopped next to a bench. “What I mean is that it doesn’t look good.”

  “Some would disagree, Charles. They’d say we’re well rid of a son who acts like that. They’d say we’re better off without a formal tie to one who’s so friendly with Habbers.”

  Charles slapped him on the back. “Good point. But I guess you’d know about that kind of trouble — lucky for you that you learned that lesson. Except I hear he hasn’t been seeing his Habber friends, either.”

  Chen had not known that, but then he rarely knew what Benzi was doing now. “Well,” Charles went on, “I’ll see you next time.” The big man walked on down the path and waved at two more workers as they passed him. One of the workers was a small, round-faced blond woman named Eleanor Surrey; her smile widened as she hurried past Chen. He smiled back. Eleanor had never liked him, he knew; but he was important now and deserving of her friendliness.

  He sat down on the bench and rubbed his temples; often, he did not feel the strain of Committee meetings until they were over. At least Charles had not mentioned the carving he had asked Chen to do. He would have to finish it soon; if he refused to take any pay for it, he might be able to trade it for a favor of some kind.

  He thought of Benzi. He had told himself that such breaks were not unknown and often healed themselves in time. What have I done to you, son?

  The answer came to Chen almost at once; it was so clear that he was surprised he had not seen it before. This is what I think of your dream, Benzi was saying. This is what I think of being dragged here by two people I hardly knew, who thought only of what they wanted, who brought me into the world only as a means to their own ends. Your dream isn’t my dream, and I have only one way of showing you that.

  What is your dream, then? Chen wondered. What do you want?

  He looked up. Fei-lin was approaching, with a duffel thrown over his shoulder. Chen had forgotten that his friend was returning from the Bat today. Fei-lin was gazing at him expectantly. Chen rose, trying to think of what excuse he could use to explain why he had not yet presented Fei-lin’s request.

  Amir’s head rested against her shoulder. Iris stroked his dark hair. Their lovemaking often ended this way, with Amir nestling against her as a child might. He did not wear his arrogance when they were alone; he became a playful partner with few inhibitions. That quality had excited her at first; now, she wondered at- the reasons for it. Perhaps he saw her as someone who would not judge his intimacies and more playful nature in the way that another Linker might. Perhaps it didn’t matter to him how much he revealed of himself to a woman who was, after all, subordinate to him. It might only be a way of binding her even more to him and his purposes.

  She slipped out of the bed; he smiled up at her as she stood up. Wasn’t there love in his dark eyes for her? He had spoken of his love; there had even been talk of a child, yet she had to plague herself with worrisome notions. Angharad would have called her daughter’s thoughts a sickness; she would have said that too much thought destroys love.

  She padded across the carpeted floor, opened a door in the wall, and entered his shower. The warm water flowed over her. Amir’s water ration was no greater than hers or anyone else’s, but his stall was larger than her own and he did not have to share it with others. It would be very easy for her to get used to his bigger room, his wider bed, and the occasional delicacies that often turned up on the tables of Administrators. It was time for her to return to her own room and forget about such distractions for a bit. She looked down at her stomach; she was gaining weight, a tendency that Amir, who admired plumpness, encouraged.

  She felt a twinge of annoyance; he would shape even her body to please himself. As she dried herself, her annoyance faded. She seemed destined to love men who asked much of her, then to fail them because she could not be what they wanted. She might, in the end, fail the Project in the same way.

  She scolded herself silently as she rubbed at her hair with a towel. She had what she wanted, didn’t she? She would be able to help those who had come here from the Institute; she would be of more real aid to the Project.

  She left the stall. Amir sat up and held out his slender arms. She felt a twinge of the fear she still sometimes had in his presence. Once, she had seen that fear as a natural reaction to an Administrator who had a Mukhtar among his ancestors; now, it was his love that she feared. She went to him and held him for a moment as his hands cupped her hips.

  She loved him and she would not willingly hurt him. She wanted to be worthy of the trust he had in her and her abilities as a liaison. But he also had power and a position that she wanted to share, and she wondered if that fact distorted this new love. She wanted to love him freely, and worried that she could not. Her lips touched his forehead, near his Link. Perhaps their love could not blossom fully until she was also Linked and fully part of his mental world.

  Maybe Angharad was right, she thought. Better to take love as it comes, without demands; better to let the flame burn and die and be happy with one’s memories instead of trying to keep the fire alive. Better to live one’s life in the company of friends and children instead of linking it to a man’s. She had failed with Chen; she might also fail with Amir.

  She released him. “I have to go.”

  “Stay with me,” he said in Arabic.

  “I have tarried here too long,” she said in the same tongue, which she had learned at the Institute. “I must attend to my work.”

  “Your work is with me now.”

  “My work is also with my team, and it is even more important that I tend to it now, with what lies ahead.” She began to dress.

  “But you will not go back to your quarters right away,” Amir said. “You will wander first, and perhaps your path will cross that of your bondmate, as it so often does of an evening.”

  She glanced at him. His expression had hardened. She looked away. “It may,” she admitted.

  “He still possesses your heart.”

  She straightened, trying not to show her fear. “I cannot deny that,” she responded. “I shall always have some feeling for the man who encouraged me and who saved my life and who gave me —” She paused; she had been about to speak of Benzi, and felt a pang. “But that love does not diminish what I hold in my heart for you, Amir. Chen and I share only words and thoughts and memories of the past. You and I will share the future.”

  He was staring at her intently. She turned away and ran her fingers nervously through her hair. “You have never asked me to sever my bond with him,” she said.

  “A bond is a pledge. It should not be broken. You have severed one bond already, but I know that you did not seek to have that come about. If we are ever to have a bond, I would want to believe that you would keep it. It is not your bond with that other that concerns me, or your talks, or your memories of him — it is what you still carry in your heart for him.”

  “That is all past.” She touched his cheek, hoping he did not see how much his words disturbed her. Amir’s love might grow too strong; such a love could turn into hate if she ever disappointed him. It might be wise to avoid Chen, lest Amir’s anger touch him. It might be best to tell Chen the truth about her love for Amir, which her bondmate might still see as a passing dalliance. It would be crueler to Chen to let him keep hoping.

  “I love you, Iris,” Amir said, and she felt the weight of that love.

  The platform that circled Island Two was ahead. Chen climbed the steps to the railing, then leaned against it as he gazed through the dome at the darkness.

  Several paces to his left, ten workers had gathered. One gray-haired man held up his arms and swayed a little; those with him moved their lips soundlessly, as if whispering a chant, then bowed their heads. One woman caught sight of Chen and motioned to the others; Chen held up a hand, palm out, and made a reassuring sign: Be at peace. I haven’t seen you.

  He turned back toward the railing. Charles disa
pproved of such gatherings; he would have expected Chen to scold the workers. Chen, however, could sympathize with them, even though he rejected their beliefs.

  He wondered what they were seeing in the darkness, what vision might be taking shape in their minds. When he had first come to the Islands, an old woman had taken him aside and told him of beliefs that others shared: The transformation of Venus would release the spirits so long imprisoned there; the spirits would lend their power to those living on the surface of that world; in times to come, the Islands, the Bats, and all the artifacts of man would vanish, and the spirits would lend their powers to the settlers, who would become true Cytherians, free of both Earth and Habitats. Chen had mocked the old woman’s words, yet had seen that he shared part of her vision. He wondered how many others secretly came here to whisper spells that might appease the dormant spirits below.

  He waited. Iris, he knew, often came here at this time just before retiring, sometimes alone, occasionally with Amir Azad. Whenever she was with the Linker, Chen would greet them and then leave them to themselves, marveling at how much the two had come to resemble each other in their manner. They both had the same casual, relaxed walk and placid smile; Iris’s eyes often held Amir’s dreamy, abstracted stare, as if she were already a Linker listening to the soft voices inside her head.

  A hand touched his right arm. He turned and gazed into Iris’s green eyes. She was alone.

  Her hands curled around the railing. “We’ll have a lot of work soon,” she said, “as soon as the pulse speeds up Venus’s rotation.” She often began their conversations like that, without a greeting, as if they had already been talking for a while. “We’ve studied our projections and models, of course, but one never knows. Let’s hope those installations on the surface do what they’re supposed to do.”

  “The Habbers seem sure that they will,” Chen said. “They built them. They must know.”

  “Some people aren’t so sure. I’ve heard arguments no one’s brought up in ages — that part of the Parasol could be left in place to shield Venus from solar particles, that we don’t need the magnetic field that rotation would create, that the settlers could learn how to survive long nights and days. Well, there’s no use worrying about it now.”

  “What does Amir think?”

  “Oh, he isn’t too worried. He may not like Habbers, but he has faith in their technology.” Her face had brightened as she spoke of Amir. Chen felt a twinge; things had been easier when he was sure that Iris did not love the Linker. She had forgotten her old warning to herself about the distraction of love.

  He took her arm as they began to walk along the platform. The dome’s silvery light had lengthened the shadows of the trees below; dark forms rippled on the steps as the workers descended them. Perhaps the spirits those people believed in had required special prayers to appease them before the Habber installations tore at their world.

  “Charles mentioned Benzi to me today,” Chen said. Iris’s hand tightened on his arm. “He disapproves. I wonder if he’ll try to use it against me sometime.”

  “I don’t see how he can. At least Benzi’s keeping the name we gave him. That has to mean he won’t forget us entirely.” She paused. “Unfortunately, I can understand why a child might need to break with his parents.” Iris sighed. “Oh, Chen, do you think he might change when the Project enters this new stage, when we’re actually beginning the work of planning the settlements? He’s so young — maybe he’s just impatient. Maybe he feels that all he’d ever do here is wait.”

  “Maybe,” Chen replied.

  “I think of having another child, but I wonder if that child would turn away from me too.”

  Hope flared within him, against his will.

  “I should tell you this,” she continued. “I should have told you sooner. Since Benzi cut his ties with me, I’ve been thinking of my line and what I promised Angharad. I’ve told myself that I could be a better mother this time. Amir and I have discussed it.”

  He gazed straight ahead, refusing to look at her face.

  “We’ve talked of having a child together. Our feelings are strong, but I don’t know if they’re strong enough for that. Anyway, I thought you should know. I shouldn’t deceive you by letting you think my love for him is less than it is.”

  “Do you want to break your bond with me?” Chen kept his voice steady.

  “I couldn’t do that. Amir would not approve — he has too much respect for such customs. And I certainly can’t have his child while I’m still your bondmate without violating our contract. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  He slowed his pace. “Do you care for him so much, then?” He could barely say the words. “Would you give him all those years?”

  “He’s not like anyone I’ve known. Of course, he’s a Linker. He can hold our world inside his head. When he communes with the cyberminds, he’s blind to me, I’m only another thread in the pattern. I sometimes think Linkers can only love one another, that only someone who shares that Link can truly touch their hearts. I won’t know what really exists between Amir and me until the time I’m Linked.”

  “And yet you’re planning a life with him.” Chen could not keep the anger out of his voice.

  “I love him enough for that. He loves me enough to plan for it.”

  “He loves you for what he can make of you,” Chen burst out. Iris started; he saw that he had wounded her with that statement. “I love you for what you are, much as that pains me.”

  “Amir loves me,” she whispered, “and he will not share my love with anyone else.”

  So it had come to this, Chen thought. She would not have asked him to leave the quarters they once shared, but would wait for him to see that that was what she wanted. She would not cut her ties with him, but would manipulate him into doing so. She would then console herself by believing that he had made the choice.

  He wanted to think more kindly of her. Iris had gone against all her upbringing when she had tried to make a life with him; he had known that a bond would be hard for her and that he could not ask for too much. Now, she was ready to give herself to the Linker, drawn to him by what he could offer.

  Chen longed to lash out. “This is our last meeting, Iris.” He said the words harshly, and felt an odd, twisted satisfaction in the look of pain that crossed her face. “Seeing you now only torments me more. It’s time to end it.”

  She reached for his hands. “Chen, I —”

  He pulled away from her. “We had enough love before. Let’s leave it at that. We have some memories now. I don’t want to poison mine by hoping any more.”

  Her head drooped. “I suppose that’s best. My Link would only separate us from each other later, even without Amir.” She lifted her eyes to his; her face was pale in the evening light. “You think I don’t care for you, Chen, but even now, I can’t imagine my life without some contact with you. Amir senses that — he’s jealous even of these moments we have together. I care for you enough not to want to give him cause to do anything against you. I knew that this would have to be our last meeting.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I’m not a child you have to tell stories to. You have Amir now. I hope you find what you want with him.”

  Her eyes glistened. He spun around and walked away, refusing to look back.

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  Twenty-Five

  Two small, round globes, probes sent by the Islanders, dropped through the Venusian clouds. Winds shrieked as needles of acidic rain lashed the probes; a patch of sky was suddenly riven by forks of lightning. Life was in the dark clouds, where the strands of algae still fed on the poisons there; humanity’s microscopic garden had taken root in the stormy atmosphere.

  The winds died as the probes entered the still and stagnant cloud layers beneath the storms. Their destination was the equatorial continent of Aphrodite Terra where, around the shores bordering Aphrodite’s highlands, a black and calm dead ocean lapped gently at the land.

  The probes extruded th
eir spidery limbs as they dropped toward Aphrodite; their bright lights swept the darkness as their sensors and circuits, drawing on what they saw in this region, created images and transmitted them to the Islands’ distant screens.

  If light from above had been able to penetrate the enduring Cytherian night created by the Parasol’s shade, an observer would have seen a giant pyramid on the horizon, a structure that dwarfed the nearest slopes. Its thick, heavy walls concealed the mighty engines inside, the engines that would move the world upon which the pyramid rested. Rods anchoring those engines penetrated to the edge of Venus’s core; the engines waited inside the pyramid, surrounded by the metal skeletons of the devices that had built them.

  This pyramid, and the two others sitting at other points along the equator, were monuments to human will. Robotic slaves had moved over the rocky, desolate land around these monuments, directed from afar by minds in frailer bodies that would have been crushed had they stood on this ground under the oppressive atmosphere. The robots themselves we only small mounds of corroded metal at the base of each pyramid.

  The two probes, separated by several kilometers, landed to the south of the massive pyramid. Sensors hummed as the probes searched the darkness.

  The probes waited. In Island gardens and rooms, and in the tubular rings of Anwara, people gathered near screens to watch the beginning of a new phase in Venus’s transformation.

  The year of 555 was nearing its end; its conclusion would be marked by the release of the power inside the pyramids on Venus’s surface. Some of the Islanders had given life to an old and once-discredited rumor: that the date for activating those engines had been chosen for other than practical reasons, that a seer close to the Council of Mukhtars had drawn mystical inferences from this date and had chosen this time as the most propitious one.

  Everyone on the Islands had risen early; many had not slept at all. A few had crept secretly to Island platforms to whisper prayers in an effort to appease any Cytherian spirits that might be disturbed by the forces to be released. No one spoke of the Habbers, without whom the pyramids could not have been built. This would be Earth’s triumph and Earth’s day, whatever the Habbers had done to help. On Island Two, the Habbers had all retreated to their residence; whatever joy they felt at observing the results of their handiwork would be discreetly hidden from the Islanders they had served. On another part of that Island, in the common room of one spiral-shaped residence, nearly two hundred people had gathered near a wall-sized screen to watch this stage of Venus’s history as revealed by the probes far below.