She said, “If we can’t get along, I’ll go back to Oberg.”
Amina’s blue eyes widened. “You’re homesick—is that it? Do you want to go back?”
“No, but it’s better than having you move out of Dyami’s house.”
Dyami set down his screen. “I wanted to have you here. I thought being here would be good for you. Maybe I was wrong.”
Mahala got to her feet and went to the door, then stepped outside. A slender man with curling black hair was walking toward her; she recognized Balin. On the opposite side of the creek, a group of about twenty young people was coming in this direction. Some were older children, while others seemed to be in their early teens; they were massed together, keeping pace with Balin. Apparently Frania had already noticed them. The small girl was hurrying up the hill toward the bridge.
Mahala went down the grassy slope toward Balin. “Greetings,” she called out.
“Mahala.” The Habber raised his hand, but his smile seemed hesitant. The crowd of boys and girls had halted by the bridge, but did not come across it; three were carrying what looked like long rolls of cloth under their arms. Frania watched them for a few moments, then turned toward Balin and Mahala.
“That’s, uh, Frani Milus,” Mahala murmured, remembering the other girl’s nickname. “Amina’s niece,” she added.
“I know. We’ve met.” Balin held up a hand in greeting. Frania nodded at him, but he was staring past her at the crowd on the other side of the bridge.
“They’re here again,” Frania said as she came to Balin’s side.
He said, “There are more of them this time.”
“Who are they?” Mahala asked.
“Children who want us to do more for them than we can,” Balin replied. Some among the group were unrolling the cloth they had brought with them; the sheets were covered with lettering. They sat down, holding up the cloth signs; one was in Arabic, the other two in Anglaic.
THE WORLD WE WANT IS NOT HERE, one sign read. Another said: GIVE VENUS LIFE SO THAT WE CAN HAVE OUR OWN LIVES. Mahala had been studying Arabic on her screen, but did not know enough to be sure of what the third sign said.
“Habitat-dweller, help us!” one boy shouted. Others took up the cry. “Habitat-dweller, help us!”
“What is it?” Mahala said.
“Don’t be afraid,” Balin said. “They won’t hurt us. All of these demonstrations have been peaceful so for.”
“You mean it’s happened before?”
The Habber nodded. “They’ve been calling on my people to terraform this planet as quickly as possible, to speed up the process somehow—as if we could somehow magically shorten the time needed to make this world live. I’ve never been sure if, after that, their wish is to stay here or to come to live with us.”
“‘We are slaves of the Project, in bondage to Earth’s dreams,’” Frania said tonelessly. Mahala glanced at her, startled. “That’s what the sign in Arabic says.”
She had not known that the other girl already read Arabic. She thought of what Solveig had told her the other night, about the chance that the Project might fail.
“This group’s larger than the last one,” Dyami said behind her; Mahala had not heard him come down the hill. The children fell silent.
“What are you going to do?” Balin asked.
“Nothing,” Dyami said, “as long as they just sit there and they’re peaceful. Their families have to handle this. I’m not about to make a formal complaint about children expressing their opinions.” In spite of his reasonable words, he sounded angry, his voice low and strained.
“They’ve come here before?” Mahala said.
“Yes,” Dyami said, “when Balin comes to visit. They’ll go away.”
“They used to come to the Habber residences here,” Balin said, “and sit there with their signs. Lately, they’ve taken to following some of us around.”
Dyami linked his arm through Balin’s. “Come inside.” The two men climbed toward the house. Mahala was about to beckon to Frania when the other girl sat down.
“Maybe they’re right,” Frania said.
“About the Project?”
“The Project killed my parents.”
“It was an accident,” Mahala said. “That doesn’t make it any easier for you, but—”
“This planet killed them. Maybe it killed your parents, too. Maybe they would have been better people somewhere else.” Frania turned; her hazel eyes were filled with tears. “Some of your people went to live in the Habs, didn’t they?”
“Just my great-uncle and my other grandfather.”
“And they’re still alive, aren’t they? They’ll be alive for a long time. They’ll be alive when all of us here are dead. Maybe they’ll be alive forever.”
“You don’t know that for certain. Habbers can die—Balin will tell you that. So would my great-uncle Benzi.” Mahala paused. “I guess I can understand why you hate this place.”
“I didn’t used to hate it. Once I wanted to stay in ibn-Qurrah forever. I didn’t—” She let out a sigh, then bowed her head.
The children across the bridge were getting to their feet, rolling up their long pieces of cloth. They drifted away slowly, in groups of two or three, some moving alongside the creek, others wandering toward the lake. These demonstrations could not have been going on for very long; she had visited Dyami less than a year ago and had not seen anything like this.
She could understand why Dyami had sounded so angry and even a bit frightened. Perhaps the Ishtar cult her mother had led had started the same way, with just a few people who dreamed of something beyond the Project.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did to you,” Frania said. “Before. In our room.”
“It’s all right,” Mahala replied. “I shouldn’t have been so mad at you, either. I’m not angry with you anymore.”
“I’m lucky I’ve got Amina.” Frania slowly got to her feet. “I’d better go back inside and show her I’m not still angry at you.”
Mahala stood up. “I’ll come with you, Frania. Friends?” She extended her arm.
“Yes, friends,” Frania said as she clasped Mahala’s hand.
8
Mahala struggled to breathe in the heat. The entire species would die out, all of the small furry creatures that huddled near her feet. The air was close and warm, the few plants inside the small dome wilting. Leaves and stalks had been eaten by the animals, chewed down to their roots; little was left except the lichens and moss. A small rodent clutched at her foot. They might survive for another two generations, but their grim fate was certain after that; the air would be unbreathable, the plants that fed them gone.
She removed the slender band from around her head. Wil-helm Asher, her teacher, was talking to one of the other students, but Balin was assisting him in the classroom. She beckoned to the Habber; he rose and came toward her.
“Well?” Balin said, settling on a cushion next to her.
“They’re going to die.”
“All of them?”
“Look at this graph.” She held out her screen. “If everything stays the same, in two generations there’ll only be about six to twelve of them left, and by then they won’t have air to breathe or food to eat.” Mahala sighed. “I made a mistake somewhere.”
Balin took the screen from her. The graph faded as another appeared. “If it was one of our domes,” she went on, “we would have built another one before things got so bad, and then moved out, and then worked on this one, starting all over with new topsoil and microorganisms if we had to.”
“Indeed.”
“I cut the birthrate this time, but there’s still too many of them for the environment, and they can’t build a new dome for more space—it isn’t allowed by the program. And even if they could, it would be a while before that dome was ready to support life, so a lot of them would die anyway.”
“Maybe you didn’t make a mistake,” Balin said. “Perhaps this is the way it has to come out.”
<
br /> “Why?”
He smiled. “Ask yourself that.” He stood up and went to Wilhelm’s side. Gino Hislop-Carnera had taken off his band and was scowling at his screen; apparently his projected ecology had turned out as unsuccessfully as hers.
Mahala set down her screen. She had been in Turing for nearly six months now, and for much of that time had wondered what the teachers in the north dome’s school were trying to teach them. Most of their lessons and projects seemed to raise more questions than they answered. She could usually guess at what her teacher in Oberg was trying to convey, while Wilhelm Asher rarely gave her a straight answer to anything.
She picked up her screen, calling up an image of her mind-tour’s doomed rodents. The problem was that her assumptions were too limited; she was beginning to doubt that there was any way, given the restrictions built into the problem, to solve it. The rodents could be given some rudimentary intelligence, but their dome was the whole of the environment she was allowed to construct, with nothing outside of it for her creatures to use as a resource. Maybe that was what she was supposed to discover, that there was no solution to this problem.
In that case, she would have to break the rules in order to find a solution. Was that what Wilhelm was trying to teach them? Was that what they were supposed to do?
Frania, seated just in front of her, removed her band and rubbed at her head. They had both been assigned to the same class when starting school here. Mahala had been happy about that at first, since it meant having at least one person she already knew amid the crowd of strangers.
Now she sometimes wished that Frania had been assigned to another teacher. The other girl clung to her, keeping near her throughout the day and doing schoolwork with her at night. Since they lived in the same house, Mahala could hardly invite other schoolmates over without including Frania in their activities. There had to be a way she could encourage Frania to go off on her own once in a while without hurting her feelings.
A break from school was coming up soon. Dyami and Amina had not said anything about their plans for the girls, but Mahala assumed that she would go to Oberg and visit Risa and Sef during that time. She could have a real talk with Solveig, instead of just sending messages or saying what she had to say quickly, so that Dyami would have more time to talk to Ragnar about his drawings and carvings. Solveig and she had not spoken to each other for almost a month, and the last time, Solveig had mentioned that her parents were in the middle of what she called a “big decision,” one she could not discuss with anyone outside the family, even Mahala, until Einar and Thorunn had made up their minds. Maybe Frania would be sent to stay with her grandfather for a while, but if not, some time by herself while Mahala was in Oberg might be good for the other girl.
“I think,” Frania said, “that I’m ready to give up on my dome.”
“Aha!” Gino grinned as he glanced in their direction. “They could have a war. That’s one way of settling things.”
“No one said anything about a war,” Frania said.
“And nobody said we couldn’t have one. I think my creatures are going to start fighting.” Gino put on his band. Mahala smiled, admiring the boy just a little.
Balin and Wilhelm were talking. Sometimes it seemed that Balin, during the days he was here, was as much their teacher as Wilhelm was. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for the Habbers to spend as much time as they did at the school. Less than a month ago, some of the older students had protested outside the school itself, attaching a banner to the front door before two teachers hastily pulled it down. The message, in Anglaic, had been a simple one:
YOU OFFER US HELP
NOW GIVE IT
The demonstration had cost all of the protesting children a black mark in their records, the first time anyone had received such a penalty for this particular offense. The Turing Council had to become more severe, since the other settlements were now aware of the protests and the young people were becoming bolder in staging them.
Maybe they would stop, Mahala thought as she picked up her band. Some of them probably wondered why she had not joined them, given that she had two relatives who had made the choice the students presumably wanted to have. That, of course, was exactly why she could not join the protests. “Don’t you have anything to do with that nonsense,” Risa had told her over the screen during their last conversation.
Mahala closed her eyes, trying to concentrate once more on the dilemma her virtual rodents faced.
“It works,” Gino said to Mahala. He was talking about the warfare he had programmed into his project. “I mean, it works in a way.”
“What do you mean, in a way?” Frania asked.
“The problem is that they have to have a new war every couple of generations. I’m not sure if Wilhelm will allow that.”
“I don’t believe it,” a girl said behind Mahala.
Mahala lifted her head. Down by the lake, a banner fluttered from a tree. GIVE US A CHOICE, this one said.
“I wonder who put it there,” another girl said, “and how they did it.”
“They must have sneaked the banner out during our free time,” Gino was saying, “then waited until everybody else was back inside.”
“Which means,” Mahala said, “that the teachers can find out who did it. All they have to do is figure out who was late getting back to class.”
Gino shrugged. “No one’s going to admit doing it, and a few kids are always late. They can’t blame them all.”
The other children stopped by the tree to stare up at the banner; someone would have to climb the tree, or fetch a ladder, to get it down. Mahala walked toward the path that skirted the lake, Frania trailing her.
“They really took a chance,” Frania said.
“They could have been caught so easily,” Mahala said.
“Gino was late getting back. But Wilhelm was late, too, so I don’t think he noticed.”
Mahala frowned. Children her age were not involved in the demonstrations as far as she knew—not that she actually knew much more than what she had heard others gossip about and whisper. Some said that the older children who were protesting publicly were only a small number of those who were involved in the demonstrations, that many others sympathized with them.
She was not even sure of what they wanted. Did they think that the Habbers could really do much more for the Project than they were already doing? Or were they hoping that the Habbers would suddenly send for their ships and take them all away to their Habs? If they kept it up, eventually the Turing Council would have to hold hearings, before the protests spread to other settlements.
“I can see,” Frania said, “why they do it.”
“It won’t do any good,” Mahala said.
“Maybe not, but—” Frania paused. “You want to see other places, you’re always saying you do. I do, too. What’s so strange about other kids wanting the same thing?”
“I’m not so sure that’s all they want.”
“Maybe it is. Maybe it’d be easier to live here if you knew you could go somewhere else later.”
“But we can do that now,” Mahala objected.
“If you’re smart enough to get into an Island school, you can go. If you get into the Cytherian Institute, you can see Earth. That’s about it, Mahala. Most of us will never get those chances.”
“People come here from Earth because they think it’s better here, don’t they?”
“But that’s their choice. What about us? Nobody asked us if we wanted to be here. What if we want something else?”
Mahala glanced back at the school building. The other children were still looking up at the banner. Wilhelm strode toward them with another teacher. She saw Balin then, up in the tree’s lower limbs. The Habber shook the banner from his hands; it fluttered to the ground.
Dyami, she realized as she watched Balin, had more reason than most people to worry about such protests. If it seemed that the presence of the Habbers was provoking the demonstrations, the Project Council might
consider asking them to leave the domed settlements, even the Islands. Earth’s Mukhtars might have less power over them now than in the past, but the Island Administrators could not ignore their authority altogether, and the Mukhtars might welcome a chance to reassert their authority here.
If that happened, Dyami might lose Balin for good.
“Seven days,” Amina said, “is about the limit, I’m afraid.” She smiled at Frania, “But we’ll be in the east dome, so you’ll be near your old friends, able to see them as much as you like.”
Frania smiled back at her aunt. Amina had announced her plans for the school break just as they sat down to dinner. She had some days off owed to her, so she was going to take Frania to ibn-Qurrah. They would stay with friends of Amina’s, in a house not far from that of Frania’s grandfather, which meant less opportunity for Amina and her father to get into arguments.
Frania’s hazel eyes glowed; she was obviously looking forward to the trip. Mahala poked at her plate of beans. She had expected to spend the entire break in Oberg, but Dyami had mentioned that she would not be going there until Frania and Amina left for ibn-Qurrah. Many of her schoolmates here would be clearing deadwood from the wooded land on the lake’s eastern side with the aid of some adults or helping out in the Turing community greenhouses; Dyami wanted her to spend some of her free time helping with those tasks.
She could plead with him to change his mind, to send her to Oberg sooner; her uncle might give in. He might understand if she told him that she had to talk to Solveig about the big decision her parents would soon make. Could they be thinking of severing their bond? Mahala thrilled at the thought Separating from a bondmate was extremely unusual, given all the obstacles to such a decision, but separations weren’t unknown.
It was a silly idea. Thorunn and Einar got along so well that they hardly ever fought, and somehow she could not imagine Einar getting excited enough about anything to have such a monumental disagreement with his bondmate.
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