This is awful, Mahala thought as her voice continued and a map of Earth appeared. Why couldn’t she have stayed at home when her report was shown, instead of having to sit through it here? Shanghai’s impossibly crowded streets, where Chen had grown up while being trained as a mechanic, were on the screen now. The other children gaped at the sight of so many people gathering at markets and jostling one another in doorways; one street in that city could probably hold more people than the almost twenty-five thousand who lived in Oberg. The scene changed to one of a windswept plain, a vast expanse open to the sky; someone gasped.
Mahala looked away from the wall screen to the smaller one on her lap. Risa had told her stories of how Chen had been sent to a small Plains town in North America, where he had fallen in love with Iris, but she couldn’t have fit all of that into her report. There was barely time to show a bit of Shanghai and to say a little about the customs of the Plains, where the women lived in towns, farmed, and reared their children by themselves while the men traveled from place to place. Now she was gazing at a vista of pastel-colored houses crowded together amid olive trees on rocky hills; towers loomed in the distance. This was Amman, where her biological grandfather, Malik Haddad, her grandmother Risa’s first bondmate, had once taught in that city’s great university.
No wonder Ragnar’s report was so good, she thought bitterly. He had to show only one place, while she had to find out things about a lot of places and leave out much of what she knew.
Someone whispered behind her during the part of the report that showed the homelands of Boaz’s forebears. The tropical landscape disappeared, to be replaced by a view of Puget Sound, where Sef had spent his boyhood. By the time the scene had shifted to the Great Salt Lake of New Deseret, the home of Sef’s ancestors on his mother’s side, Mahala wished that she had found an excuse to stay home. Instead of seeming to have learned about a lot of different places, she sounded as though she didn’t know very much about any of them.
The report ended with a view of the monument to her great-grandmother, Iris. On the pillar, which stood in Oberg’s main dome, Iris’s sculpted face gazed out at the settlement that she had not lived to see. She and Amir Azad, the man whose image was next to hers on the monument, had given their lives to save others; people now lived inside domes on the surface of Venus because of them. Everyone knew the story in one version or another, but Mahala had not seen how she could avoid showing the monument, given the prominent place Iris held in Venus’s history. Now she wished that she had concluded with something else, maybe a view of Oberg as an approaching airship would see it. Reminding everyone that Iris Angharads was her ancestor seemed like boasting and getting above others.
“That was very interesting, Mahala,” Karin said as the screen image faded. “I’m sure we all appreciated seeing so many parts of Earth. You deserve some praise for organizing and putting together such a large amount of material.” Karin, Mahala thought, probably wouldn’t say anything bad about anyone’s report, since one of her duties was to encourage her students. “Any questions?”
Ragnar spoke first. “She’s got Habbers in her family.” The blond boy frowned as he looked toward Mahala. “She didn’t say anything about them.”
“We were supposed to tell where our people came from,” Mahala said, “not where they went afterward.”
“That’s because the rest of our people came here and stayed. Yours didn’t, at least not all of them. They came here first, and then they left Venus.”
“Just my grandfather Malik and my great-uncle Benzi, and they—”
Ragnar scowled. “They must not have wanted to be Cythe-rians.”
“That isn’t fair,” Mahala burst out. “Benzi’s here, living on Island Two.”
The teacher held up a hand. “Ragnar, without the help of Habbers, our Project would have been much harder. We wouldn’t be living here on the surface if it weren’t for their engineering contributions, and we wouldn’t have won an agreement from Earth without them. Mahala’s great-uncle might have gone to a Habitat long ago, but he came back here to aid us.”
Ragnar opened his mouth; Karin shook her head at him. “Every one of you probably has at least one family member who didn’t set the best example,” she continued. “The purpose of your reports is to give you a sense of your past, a feeling for your differences while you see that you’re all Cytherians now. What’s important is what brings you together, not what might divide you from one another.”
Ragnar was silent, but Mahala could tell he was furious; his face was paler than ever, and the hands holding his screen trembled slightly. It had to be embarrassing to have the teacher scold him, however gently, after he had given such a good report.
Karin motioned at a boy sitting near Mahala. “Shing, we’ll have your report now.”
Mahala rushed from the classroom when Karin dismissed them, slowing only when she reached the end of the hall. Usually few students left by this side door, but this time three girls were loitering outside on the path. One of them was Solveig Einarsdottir; Mahala’s heart sank. It was just her luck to run into Ragnar’s sister.
Ah Lin Bergen motioned to her. The small round-faced girl was Mahala’s age and lived in a house near Risa’s, but Ah Lin had started school a year earlier, when she was four.
“Come to the lake with us,” Ah Lin said. “We’re going to play there and then go over to Ellie’s house.”
Mahala eyed the others uncertainly. Ah Lin was all right, but she did not know Ellie Ruiz that well, and Solveig made her nervous. She was tall and had her brother’s white-blond hair; at seven, she was two years older than Ragnar, but seemed even older than that. She moved slowly and gracefully, the way an older person might, and her broad-boned, attractive face was so still and expressionless that it was impossible to tell what she was thinking.
“Come on,” Ellie said.
“We found a great spot to go wading,” Ah Lin added. “Nobody ever fishes there.” Solveig said nothing.
“Uh, I have to meet my grandfather,” Mahala replied, “or he’ll worry about me.” That lie would only make the others think of her as even more of a baby, but she could not think of any other excuse.
Ellie shrugged. Solveig stared past Mahala. “Maybe some other time,” Ah Lin muttered as they walked away.
Mahala wandered toward the park that bordered the school, already regretting her decision. Why couldn’t she be more like her schoolmates? Maybe it was her family. Risa could talk all she wanted to about how one Cytherian was as good as another, but her grandmother and her family were still unusual. Risa was influential enough as a Councilor to have Jamilah al-Hussaini, who was an Administrator and the Liaison to the Project Council, consult her, and even if Risa had not been on the Oberg Council, she was still the daughter of Iris Angharads.
Risa was respected, but her first bondmate had seized the chance to flee to the Associated Habitats, those hollowed-out asteroids and artificial worldlets inhabited by the people who had abandoned Earth long ago, and her daughter had caused her such pain that Risa had wept after telling Mahala about her. That had frightened Mahala, seeing Risa weep; her grandmother was usually impatient with tears and crying. Why couldn’t her people have been more like other folk? Instead, they seemed to produce heroic sorts, such as Iris, or else people like Chimene, whom everyone seemed embarrassed to mention.
That was what it came down to, Mahala supposed. She was different from her friends because of her people and what they had done, and there was nothing she could do to change that.
She was turning from the path toward the greenhouses when she heard a muffled sound among the trees. Mahala spun around. Ragnar Einarsson was sprawled on the ground, as if he had tripped over a root.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“What’s it to you?” He got to his feet. “I was waiting for you.”
“Leave me alone.” She backed away, afraid.
“You little bitch. My report was better than yours—admit it.”
/> “Yours was a very good report, Ragnar.”
“Yours was shit. Even Karin knew that.”
“You didn’t have to say those things about my family.”
“Why not? It’s true. Those Habber people of yours aren’t even the worst. There’s your dead parents my mother says we shouldn’t talk about when we’re around you, but I know what they did to my father. They had him beaten because they knew he hated them. He might have been killed if the Revolt hadn’t started when it did, and then my mother would have been all alone with Solveig.”
“Leave me alone or—”
“What?” Ragnar stepped toward her; his pale blue-gray eyes were wild. “What’ll you do? Go running to your grandmother to tell on me?”
She turned and ran toward the road, then fell. Something heavy was pressed against her; a hand grabbed at her long hair, pulling it hard. Mahala struggled, but the boy had her pinned. He yanked her hair again, making her whimper, then pushed her face against the grass.
“Stop it,” a woman’s voice called out.
Ragnar let go; Mahala lifted her head. The strange woman Sef had warned her about was walking toward them along the road.
Ragnar got to his feet. “It’s none of your business,” he shouted.
“Maybe it’s none of my business if it’s a fair fight, but this didn’t look fair to me. You’re a lot bigger and heavier than that little girl, and it didn’t look as if you were giving her much of a chance to fight back.”
Mahala stood up, her knees shaking. Ragnar glared at her, then suddenly raced toward the trees.
The woman stared after him, then moved closer to Mahala. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Mahala nodded.
The woman smiled, looking even prettier; for a moment, she looked almost exactly like one of the images Mahala had seen of Chimene. “I’ll walk you to the road if you like,” the woman continued, “but I don’t think he’ll be back.”
“He’ll just come after me again tomorrow.”
“Outrun him, then—you probably could. Just head for the road or the greenhouses. He’s not going to come after you while a shift’s ending and people are going home.”
They walked toward the road. “What’s your name?” the woman asked.
“Mahala Liangharad.”
“You’re Risa Liangharad’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were.”
In the grassy space beyond the trees, Sef was talking to a few men by the road. He caught sight of Mahala, then strode toward her.
“There’s my grandfather,” Mahala started to say, but the woman was already hurrying away from her across the road.
“You’re a sight, child,” Sef said as he came to her. “You’ve got dirt all over yourself.” He knelt and wiped her face with a sleeve; she winced as he rubbed her right cheek. “And you’ve got a bruise there. What—”
“Somebody tried to beat me up.”
“Who—”
“One of the boys. It doesn’t matter.” However frightened she was of Ragnar, she did not want Risa confronting the boy’s parents. “Anyway, that woman came along and scared him away.”
“So that’s why you were with her.”
Mahala nodded. “She helped me, Sef. She can’t be as bad as you say.”
“I said she was troubled, not bad.” He took her hand as they walked along the edge of the road. A cart rolled past them, then slowed to pick up the men waiting for it. “Still, there’s no reason to go out of your way to have anything to do with her.”
“Sef?” She paused, then asked, “Was Einar Gunnarsson beaten and almost killed, before the Revolt?”
“That’s an odd question,” Sef said. “What made you think of that?” She did not answer. “A lot of people suffered then,” her grandfather continued. “Einar could have been one of them. I don’t know him that well—he and Thorunn moved here from Tsou Yen when their daughter Solveig was still an infant, and he isn’t a talkative man.” Sef sighed. “Better not to think about those days, Mahala. Anyway, I have some good news. Dyami’s going to be here in three days.”
“Really?” The last time her uncle had visited, he had brought her a doll he had carved himself. He might bring her another present this time, and Risa was always in high spirits when he was in the house.
“He’s only staying for five days, but luckily I have some time off. Maybe I can even talk your grandmother into postponing some of her Council business while he’s here.”
“Maybe I can miss school, too.”
“No, you mustn’t fall behind.”
“I can do the work at home. The screen can teach me as much as—”
“You will go, Mahala. When you’re older, you won’t be able to take time off from work whenever you like. You’re very lucky to be in a school, to have that chance. I sometimes wish I’d had a chance at more schooling myself, but very few kids on Earth get chosen for a school or have parents powerful enough to get them into one.”
She would not be able to avoid Ragnar, who seemed to hate her because of things that had happened long ago. Mahala was beginning to see why her grandparents did not want to talk about the past. They would definitely not want her asking questions around her uncle Dyami, who had suffered more than most during the time before the Revolt.
“I wish—” Mahala began.
“What?” Sef asked.
Mahala glanced up at the slowly darkening dome. “I wish I already knew everything I had to know.”
“No, you don’t,” Sef said.
“Why?”
“Because then there’d be nothing left for you to find out.”
Her grandfather made it sound as if there would always be secrets. No, Mahala thought; every secret grasped and understood meant one less unknown that might rise up and hurt her, as Ragnar had tried to do. Maybe when all of the secrets were gone, she would no longer have to fear anything.
3
Mahala managed to evade Ragnar for two days. She got up early, before first light, gulped down bread and fruit for breakfast, and was on her way to school by the time the rest of the household was awake. After school, she ran as fast as she could to the community greenhouses to meet Sef. So far, Ragnar had not come after her, but she wondered how much longer she could keep avoiding him.
“Mahala.”
She started, then looked up from her schoolwork. Karin had come over to her table and was leaning over her, a worried look on her face. “Are you feeling all right?” the teacher asked.
“I’m fine,” Mahala replied.
“You looked as though you were about to faint.”
Mahala tried to stifle a yawn, but failed. “It’s nothing.”
Karin frowned, then walked away. Ragnar was staring at Mahala from across the classroom. She gazed at her screen, trying to concentrate on the arithmetic lesson.
“Wrong,” a gentle voice said from the screen. “Please add these numbers again.” Mahala obeyed, then traced another set of numerals on the screen with her stylus. Ragnar would be waiting for her after school. She could take the usual way home, but Sef, with time off that he had earned coming to him, would not be working any shifts at the greenhouse during Dyami’s visit.
“That is correct,” the screen voice said. “Very good, Mahala.” A new column of numbers appeared. Even after her uncle Dyami left, Sef would return to the west dome’s bay and his usual job of repairing and maintaining the diggers and crawlers used for surface operations. He would not be able to walk home with her after school anymore.
She yawned again; the numbers seemed to float on the screen. Before she could trace out her answer, the soft chime marking the end of the school day sounded.
Mahala jumped up from her cushion, ready to run for the door. “Farewell, children,” Karin called out. “Mahala, please stay—I’d like to speak to you.”
The others scrambled around cushions and tables toward the door. Ragnar shot her a look of triumph as he left the room.
Her only chance had been to leave the school ahead of him, and then to run home as fast as she could.
Mahala sidled around a table. “Is something wrong?” Karin asked. “You look tired. Have you had a checkup lately?”
“Paul checked me,” Mahala mumbled as she approached the teacher’s console. “Paul Bettinas, one of my grandmother’s housemates—he’s a paramedic.”
“Yes, I know.”
“He gave me a scan before I started school. I just haven’t been sleeping enough. I’ll try to go to bed early.” She waited to be dismissed, but the teacher motioned to her. Mahala sighed as she sat down on a cushion near the console. Ragnar might already be waiting for her outside.
“I don’t think it’s just lack of sleep,” Karin murmured. “You’ve been nervous, too—looking around as if you expected somebody to bite you. Is there some sort of problem?”
“It’s nothing.” She couldn’t tell Karin about Ragnar. If the teacher reprimanded the boy, Ragnar would hold it against Mahala and blame her for any black marks Karin added to his record.
“Does it have anything to do with that assignment I gave you, that report on your family? Did Ragnar upset you with his questions?”
Mahala was afraid to look up; Karin was getting too close.
“It’s the kind of project we always assign our new students,” Karin went on, “but I should have seen that it might present a few problems for you. Your immediate ancestors were—well, much more interesting than most people.”
“My grandmother told me about my mother,” Mahala said, “that she killed herself. Risa said she did it because she was sorry about a lot of things.”
“A lot of people besides your poor mother had reason to be sorry,” the teacher said softly. “Some didn’t think about anything back then except protecting themselves. It was hard to know whom to trust then or who might betray you. Your grandmother Risa was one of the courageous ones who stood up for what was right. You can take pride in that.”
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