The dome’s light had faded into the dim light of night by the time she was near the western end of the lake. A wooded area separated the houses near the pathway from the shore. Mahala made her way through the grove, heading toward the silvery water that was barely visible through the trees. As she emerged from the wooded land, she saw what looked like a body lying on the shore to the north.
She hurried in that direction, picking up her pace until she was moving at a run. As she came closer, she saw that the body was prone, with long pale hair plaited in two braids. Solveig, she thought, recognizing her friend, suddenly afraid of what might have happened to her.
“Solveig,” she whispered as she came up to her friend’s side. Solveig’s green tunic was wet, her white pants covered with mudstains. Mahala knelt and saw that Solveig was breathing; one of her hands clutched a bottle. She was reaching toward the other girl when she heard a moan.
“Solveig,” Mahala whispered again. “Are you all right?” She took Solveig gently by the shoulders and eased her onto her back. “What happened?”
Solveig groaned and clutched at her belly. “I feel awful.”
“You look awful.” Mahala took the bottle from her; it was empty. Dinel’s Cytherian Whiskey: she wanted to hurl the bottle into the lake. “What did you do to yourself?”
“Left the rest of you when you got to the tunnel,” Solveig muttered. “I went back to Dyami’s, and he and Amina were in the kitchen, and I took the bottle and came out here.”
“So you decided to get completely drunk,” Mahala said, disgusted.
“That isn’t it.” Solveig was silent for a long time. “I didn’t come out here just to drink. I was thinking about my situation, turning it over in my mind, wishing they’d never picked me for that school and then maybe I wouldn’t ever have found out what I really wanted to do, and how I’ll never be able to do it now, and the more I thought about it, the more it seemed that my life was over. And then I thought, If it’s over, then it doesn’t matter what I do now, I could just walk into the water and just float out until I couldn’t get back. Everybody would think it was an accident, and they’d be sorry for a while but they’d go on, you and Ragnar and Frani and everybody else.”
“Sohreig,” Mahala said, angry that Solveig could have considered such an action and yet also pitying her for having such dark despairing thoughts.
The other girl was struggling to sit up. Mahala slipped her arm around Solveig and helped her up, then sat with her, letting her friend lean against her.
“I got here,” Solveig said, coughing a little, “and finished the whiskey, and by then I was so drunk I could hardly stand. I waded into the water, figuring I’d pass out, and floated for a while, and the water must have revived me. Found out I actually could swim a little. All I remember after that is stumbling out of the water, so I must have passed out after that.”
Mahala did not know what to say. Solveig might have died here. Frania and Ragnar would never have been able to remember their ceremony without thinking of Solveig; Mahala would not have been able to walk by this lake without recalling her lost friend. She wondered if Solveig had thought of any of that.
“When it comes right down to it,” Solveig continued, “I guess I wanted to live after all. I was thinking that before everything went black. I’m sorry—it was a horrible thing to do.”
They sat there for a while, gazing out at the water. “You’re lucky other people didn’t come out here while you were in the water,” Mahala said. “They might have pulled you out and sent somebody for help, and then you would have had a real mess on your hands. The school probably wouldn’t have taken you on as a teacher’s aide, since your actions wouldn’t have set a good example. I don’t know if they would have had a hearing or not—probably not, because you could always argue that too much whiskey marred your judgment. But the Turing Council certainly would have sent you to a physician, maybe even called in a Counselor for you.”
“I would have had a black mark on my record.”
“Maybe, maybe not. It wouldn’t have made much difference one way or the other. Anyone who knew for sure what had happened might have tried to keep quiet about it, but you know how gossip can spread.” Mahala tightened her arm around her friend. “You could have died. I would have been furious with you then, and I would have been mourning you for a very long time.”
“What are you going to do?” Solveig asked.
“I don’t know. If I do nothing, and you try something like this again, I’ll always wonder if I could have prevented it.”
“I won’t do anything like this again.”
“Now I know why you wanted to volunteer for Bat duty,” Mahala said. “Putting yourself in the way of danger would have been another way to settle things once and for all.”
“I couldn’t do that.” Solveig sagged against her. “I was thinking that I couldn’t go on Bat duty while I was wading into the water. Not caring what happened to me, not thinking about whether I lived or died—I would have been a danger to any worker near me. Doing away with myself here seemed to make more sense—at least it would just be me and nobody else.”
“Idiot.”
“It made sense at the time,” Solveig said. “Mahala, what are you going to do?”
“Get you back to Dyami’s house. Get you cleaned up and into bed. Dyami and Amina are probably asleep by now, but if they see us come in, we can always let them think you were just celebrating too much.” Mahala paused. “I won’t say anything as long as you promise me you’ll go to Tasida and tell her what you tried to do. As long as you let her help you, she’ll have to keep whatever you tell her in confidence. She must have had people come to her with similar problems, and if it’s something that needs a specialist, she’ll send you to somebody else.”
“A specialist?” Solveig asked, sounding apprehensive.
“In case there’s some underlying physiological or metabolic problem that might have contributed to your mood.”
Solveig let out a sound that might have been a laugh. “It wasn’t my metabolism—it was that damned whiskey.” She picked up the empty bottle.
“Do you think you can walk now?”
“I can walk.”
Mahala helped Solveig to her feet, but kept hold of her by the arm as they started along the shore of the still and silent lake. “I’m glad you came to your senses, Solveig. I would have missed you terribly. Just thinking of it makes me ache inside.”
“Look at this. I’ve ruined my best tunic, my shoes are full of water, and I’ve got the worst headache of my life.”
“Serves you right,” Mahala said, looking out over the black water. “It’s better than being dead.”
Solveig let the door close behind her, then said, “It’s settled. I start as a teacher’s aide two days from now.”
Mahala, seated at a low table, looked up from her small screen. “Who are you working with?” she asked.
“Virida Wynnet,” Solveig replied. “She’s good. Her students always give her good ratings, and she has training in both pediatrics and child psychology. I asked her about giving our students more exposure to astrophysics and astronomy, and she heartily approves of the idea—she asked me to design a program.”
“Wonderful,” Mahala said. She would be starting early tomorrow with Tasida, who had one patient due to deliver a child at almost any moment. There was a chance that she might be up well before first light if the woman went into labor this evening. She studied Solveig; her friend seemed her usual calm, placid self. Solveig, she knew, had consulted Tasida, but Mahala had not asked what the physician had advised or if she had prescribed any sort of treatment.
“What are you looking at?” Solveig asked.
“I’ve been reviewing a couple of studies on a new strain of sulfide-oxidizing bacteria. A team of microbiologists on Island Seven has proposed seeding our oceans with this particular strain soon. Their computer models indicate that they should thrive in the deepest areas of the oceans.” She sighed.
“I should be reviewing obstetrical studies instead.”
“I went to see Ragnar after speaking to Virida,” Solveig said. “I told him that he was mad if he signed up for Bat duty. He said he’d think it over. Frani’s pulled duty piloting airships on the runs between Turing and the other settlements, so she’ll be back here every two or three days. That’s good. It means Ragnar won’t be alone for too long.”
Mahala said, “You’re worrying about rum.”
“Yes, I am.”
Mahala was about to blank her screen when a tiny light winked on along the border. “There’s going to be a public announcement now,” she said.
“The Turing Council?” Solveig asked.
Mahala shook her head as an image of Masud al-Tikriti appeared. “No—this is from Administrator Masud.” Masud’s image vanished, to be replaced by that of a bearded man in a formal headdress whom she did not recognize. “Administrator Masud and someone else,” Mahala added. “This may be important.”
She got up, went to the small console in the back of the room, and turned on the wall screen. An alto voice murmured, “Mukhtar Tabib al-Tahir and Administrator Masud al-Tikriti have concluded their series of meetings on Anwara and are now ready to issue a statement. This statement will be given by Administrator Masud, and it will be repeated on a public channel every hour for the next two days. Those who wish to do so may call up the statement in written form an hour from now.”
“It is important,” Solveig said as Mahala sat down in front of the screen. “They wouldn’t be repeating it so often if it weren’t.”
A split screen was now showing the face of Mukhtar Tabib on the left and that of Administrator Masud on the right. “I never heard of Mukhtar Tabib al-Tahir before,” Mahala said.
“Neither have I,” Solveig said. Neither of them had paid that much attention to Earthfs politics, but it seemed to Mahala that she should have known something about Tabib al-Tahir before now if he was important enough, and trusted enough, to have been sent to Anwara in secret to discuss matters involving the Project
“I can tell you a little about him,” Dyami said from behind them. Mahala turned; she had not heard her uncle come inside. “Mukhtar Tabib became part of the Council of Mukhtars less than two years ago. He allegedly spent his first year persuading his enemies to retire, which they were apparently only too willing to do since Tabib’s cousin, to whom he is supposedly as close as a brother, became Commander of all the Guardian forces at about that time. Tabib spent a few months of his second year as Mukhtar getting several of his allies onto the Council of Mukhtars and securing Masud al-Tikriti’s position as Liaison to the Project Council.”
“Were you looking at his record?” Mahala asked before realizing that much of what her uncle had found out could not have been deduced from any public record.
“No—Benzi sent me a brief message this morning, telling me those few facts about the Mukhtar and saying that we can now regard Mukhtar Tabib as the most powerful person on Earth. Benzi himself has been at most of the meetings on Anwara either in person or through a private channel.”
“Benzi?” Mahala felt even more confused. “Is this something involving the Habbers?”
“Yes, and the Project and our future relations with Earth as well.” Dyami came toward them and sat down in front of the screen. “Amina’s staying over at Tasida’s office tonight. I sent a message to Ragnar and Frani telling them to stay in their house for now, and I sent Risa and Sef a message offering the same advice to them and their household. And I was relieved to find you two here at home.”
Solveig gaped at him. “Is it that bad?”
“I don’t know. Benzi seemed hopeful, even excited, but he also said that what happens now is going to depend largely on how people here react to this announcement.”
Mahala kept her eyes on the screen. The Administrator was taking a while to begin his statement, as if wanting to make sure that he had the attention of as many people as possible before he began. The screen went blank for a moment, and then the face of Masud al-Tikriti appeared.
“Fellow Cytherians,” he began, “and I address you as such, because even though I have been among you for only a short time, I consider myself one of you. I have known for some time that it was God’s will that I should make your world my own.”
Solveig sighed. Mahala leaned forward.
“Transforming this world was Earth’s dream,” Masud continued, “and yet that dream brought doubt and distrust. Our home world hoped to create a new world here, a place where something new would grow, and yet many Earthfolk feared that we might turn against the old world and break our ties with her. But that was never our dream.”
His dark eyes gazed out from the screen. “Freeing themselves of Earth’s bonds,” he said, “and of the bonds of planets altogether, was the dream of the Habitat-dwellers, and yet they have found themselves drawn back into involvement with the people of the worlds they once sought to escape. And we who dream of making a new world for our descendants must live knowing that many generations still have to pass before that dream is realized. This is nothing new in human affairs, for people of the distant past also knew that they were sacrificing much for those who would follow and would not live to see whatever they made, but never before has the realization of a dream lain so far in the future.”
The Administrator paused for a moment. “Terraforming Venus was Earth’s dream, but the Mukhtars knew from the start that they would need the help of the Habitat-dwellers, the aid of their technology, to make that dream a reality. The Habitat-dwellers could test their tools and learn much by aiding the Project, and yet the Project seemed to contradict the basis of their society—that human beings should not be bound by the limits of a planet, that humankind should find a home in space. Still, they set that aside and gained by helping us, as we have gained from them. We have drawn closer, all of us, and by doing so have achieved what none of us could have won alone. Now it is time for us to draw closer still, in pursuit of a new dream and a new promise.”
Mahala heard Solveig let out her breath. Here it comes, Mahala thought, unable to guess at what Masud al-Tikriti would say.
“Our first announcement,” the Administrator said, “is to assure you that the Habitat-dwellers will assist us in the construction of four new domed settlements in the Akna Mountains to the west of the Maxwell Mountains and the Lakshmi Plateau. Even though our engineers no longer consider it necessary, given the slow but steady decrease in the atmospheric pressure of Venus, these domes and their installations will be built to the same specifications as those already on the surface.”
That was no surprise, Mahala thought. An announcement of that sort had been expected before much longer, and making it clear that the new domes would be exactly like the others was a concession to those who might otherwise assume that the Project was skimping on safety measures.
“Our next announcement,” Administrator Masud went on, “is that the Habbers have agreed to assist us in a new procedure that promises to speed up the rate at which the Cyther-ian atmosphere will precipitate into surface solids—in other words, will provide the means to turn more of the carbon dioxide present in the atmosphere into surface minerals.”
“That’s a simplified way of putting it,” Solveig whispered.
“The Habbers propose to attempt this,” Masud said, “by setting up a mining operation on Mercury, since that planet has the minerals required for the production of the needed quantities of calcium and magnesium.” Mahala tensed, thinking of her last days on Island Two, when she and other students had discussed such a process. “They will do this with the aid of their cyberminds and machine replicating systems—no human miners or workers will be needed on the surface of Mercury or even near that planet. The magnesium and calcium ingots produced on Mercury will be hurled toward Venus from electromagnetic mass drivers. Even with all of the resources of the Project Council and Earth, it is unlikely that we could have undertaken an operation on that scale in the near futu
re by ourselves.”
Mahala glanced at Solveig and Dyami. Masud al-Tikriti had been unusually frank about their dependence on assistance from the Habbers, but had still not said anything that should cause any unrest among Cytherians, as her uncle had feared. There had to be more to his announcement.
“This new stage of the Project,” the Administrator said, “impressive as it is, will be only one effort to mark a new era of cooperation among the peoples of Earth, Venus, and the Habitats.” He was silent for a few moments, as if to be certain that he had the full attention of all of those listening to him. “Another venture lies ahead, perhaps the most important task our species has yet had to undertake, one in which all of us will have a part to play, however small, a venture that a few of you, God willing, may live to see through to its hoped-for end.”
Mahala held her breath, unable to imagine what he might say now.
“For some time now, the Habbers have not only ventured into the more distant reaches of our solar system but have also turned their sights to what lies beyond its bounds. In their Habitats, they have traveled only as far as Saturn’s orbital path, but their probes have traveled to the Oort Cloud of comets that lies in the outermost regions of our system.” Masud leaned forward and an expression crossed his face that might have been either hope or fear. “We have known that much for some time. What we did not know is that we are not alone in the universe. Another civilization has raised a beacon, another race has called out to us across the light-years.”
The Administrator went on to speak of the signal that had come from six hundred light-years away, to be picked up by a Habber observatory. When the Habbers had concluded that it was indeed a signal from another intelligence, they had debated among themselves about what to do, but had decided that they would have to share this news with the rest of humankind as soon as possible.
Mahala listened, feeling the dilemmas and difficulties of her life suddenly contracting into an insignificant point as her mind raced toward something much greater.
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