Venus of Dreams (71 page)

"Then sit down and strap in. If you don't have your suit on, put it on now."

"We'll be tracked," the pilot said. "The Islands'll see where we're going and track us. They'll try to warn—"

Eleanor held up a hand. "Then we can't let them know what we're doing. We have to look like we're in trouble, that something's wrong with the ship, confuse them. Can you do that?"

"I don't know. I could shut down automatic and take us down manually part of the way. I could lock the pumps, make it seem they're not working. But it's risky. I won't have as much control, and the pumps could stick later on. We could be trapped down there."

Eleanor laughed harshly. "What are we risking? Nothing we wouldn't risk on the Platform. If Earth backs down, we'll get away from the surface in another ship. If it doesn't, it won't matter anyway. You're a good pilot, aren't you? You can take us down that way."

Teofila pointed her chin. "I can take us down." She turned toward her panels as Eleanor strode up to the front of the ship.

The airship was still dropping. Chen wondered how long they would continue to fall. Teofila had taken the ship north, where the high-altitude winds were not as strong, before beginning the descent. He could hear nothing except the uneven breathing of those nearest him.

In spite of his predicament, he was beginning to feel a little respect for the pilot. It was true that, as Iris had once told him, the Venusian wind patterns had been altered by the planet's increased rotation, and that made surface landings a bit less difficult, but Teofila was piloting a deliberately crippled ship. He wondered how a pilot had become involved in this business. Perhaps she was involved with one of the plotters; maybe she was simply nursing her own hatreds and resentments and had needed an outlet for them.

He stared at the screen. The ship's outer lights still danced over black clouds; they were surrounded by a black fog. The Islanders might see through the pilot's ruse, but somehow, he doubted it. The Administrators would have guessed what Chen had grasped when he first entered the Island bay—namely, that others must have been involved in the scheme besides those on the airship. With the threat to the Platform deflected, and the airship apparently in trouble and perhaps doomed, the Islanders were probably already trying to discover who might have aided the plotters. Those in the al-Anwar dome might not be warned in time.

Chen strained at his bonds. His fate was tied to that of the plotters now.

He squinted. On the screen, through a smoggy haze, he could see the eerie reddish glow of a dome. A sliver of light appeared and then widened as the bay's roof slid open to receive the ship. The cradles, except for one holding an airship, were empty. The pilot, Chen knew, was probably inside the dome's shelter with the specialists; pilots usually made themselves useful by fetching meals from the dispenser or picking up things while the specialists worked until it was time to take passengers back to the Islands. No one had been here to notice the approaching ship and override the automatic controls.

The airship sank into the light toward a cradle. The entrance to the bay was soon sliding shut above them. Eleanor was calling out orders to her companions. People donned helmets and moved toward the exit as they waited during the few moments it would take for air to cycle into the bay.

Fei-lin lingered in the aisle, then moved closer to Chen. "I am sorry you got involved in this," he said in Chinese.

"I'm sorry you did," Chen replied in the same language.

"Tonie told you."

"Yes," Chen said. "She didn't want to betray you, she wanted to speak to me. She thought I could get you away from the others, talk you out of this. She didn't want to see you punished."

"I thought—I was afraid—"

"She's all right. You did an evil thing, Fei-lin."

"I did not mean to strike her, but then—You'll see, Chen. The Habbers will make a move now. The Guardian told Eleanor—"

"Fei-lin! Stop jabbering!" Eleanor shouted in Anglaic. "Get ready to unload some cargo."

Fei-lin pulled on his helmet. Eleanor shot a baleful glance at Chen. "What a pity," she said. "The Linkers might lose both a dome and the man who makes all those pretty carvings for them. You'd better hope that they can convince Earth to be smart." The blond woman turned toward the pilot. "Leave all channels open. We'll listen through our suit comms. You know what to say, don't you? You'll have to change it a little."

The pilot nodded. "It'll be close to what we were going to announce from the Platform. I can make changes."

"And make sure they keep the Habbers down here in mind." Eleanor put on her helmet, waited for the cabin's lock to cycle open, and stepped inside.

Chen was alone with the pilot. On the screen, he could see the dome's entrance at the far end of the bay; the wall separating the cradles from the rest of the bay had already lifted itself. In a few moments, three carts carrying helmeted people and the boxes holding their deadly cargo were rolling toward the entrance.

"It won't work," Chen said. "They might not get inside."

The pilot turned toward him. "Who's going to stop them?" she said. "No one in there has weapons. They'll let them in, and if they don't, we can take care of the dome from out here. Eleanor will make it very clear that they'll be in less danger if they cooperate."

The carts were approaching the entrance; the wide door began to open. Teofila had been right. The carts rolled inside.

Teofila turned toward her panels. "Time to send a message." She turned on the comm. "People of the Islands!"

Chen shuddered at her hard, forceful voice.

"People of the Islands," Teofila repeated. "Turn on your screens, open all your channels. I have a message for you." The pilot was slouching in her seat again, and had removed her band. Chen suspected that she was not transmitting her image; her disembodied voice emerging from a blank screen would be more intimidating.

"I see that you're receiving me now. Listen well, Islanders." The pilot sounded exultant. She seemed to be enjoying this, knowing that thousands of people were waiting to hear her. Maybe that was why she had joined the group; perhaps she had only wanted attention.

"My name is Teofila Marquez," the woman continued, "and by now, you will know where I am and who has accompanied me here. You should have realized how determined we were. You should understand that we're now prepared to die if necessary. Earth wants to save this Project. Earth had better understand that, if it does not give in to our demands, the Project will be lost to them." This part of Teofila's speech seemed rehearsed; her voice had a practiced tone.

"It is time for you to send a message to Earth," Teofila said. "Tell Earth that if it doesn't call off its ships, this dome will be destroyed—this dome, and the people inside it. Now let me outline exacty what that means. If even one dome here is destroyed, the Project will be set back. And let me remind you that some of the people inside al-Anwar are Habbers. If they die, the Habbers won't be likely to aid the Project further, and Earth, as we all know, does not have the resources to complete construction in a reasonable length of time. On the other hand, the Habs may finally act to save the people here—they may force Earth to come to an agreement now. You see what that could mean. The Project may be saved, but Earth will suffer a great humiliation and will lose control of this Project, for the Habbers will expose the weakness of the Mukhtars."

Teofila appeared to be improvising here. She was, Chen thought, clearly rising to the occasion and the altered circumstances.

"And let me make another point." Teofila sat up. "If Earth does not come to an understanding with us now, there will be others who will take actions similar to ours. We'll only be the first. Be certain that there are others who will sympathize with us. Earth will be taking a great risk if it ignores our demands." She took a breath. "Here is what we want. We must have a public agreement from Earth, transmitted on all public channels so that the Mukhtars are bound by the promise. Earth must call off its ships. It must leave control of the Project in the hands of all the Islanders here now. It must allow us to call on the Habs for help, and must come to an agreement with the Habs to allow this. It must pardon all of us, and punish no one now on the Islands, or the Bats. In return, we will honor the Mukhtars and give them their due. Our allegiance will remain with Earth, and we shall issue a statement praising them for their wisdom and forbearance, for strong ones can afford to be merciful."

Teofila was silent for a moment. It might work, Chen thought. It might very well have worked if they had planted their charges on the Platform. He shook off the thought, which seemed to corrupt everything the Project had been meant to be.

"I warn you," Teofila went on. "Do not move any machines down here with your bands or Links. If you do, the consequences will be severe. Tell Earth that it had better not trick us with its agreement, for there are five among us, including myself, who can read and understand such contracts and ferret out any loopholes. You must leave the channel to Earth open, so that we can listen to negotiations. You have two twenty-four-hour periods to settle this. If you do not, the dome goes, and so does everyone inside." Teofila slapped a panel. "Well, that's it," she said. "They'd better listen."

Chen tugged at his bonds, feeling helpless. "Are you really prepared to die?" he asked.

The pilot turned her seat toward him. Her face might have been pretty in repose; now, her fine features were contorted, and her dark eyes were slits. "Do you doubt it?"

"You could get away. You ought to check the ship, see if the systems are still working. You might have damaged them coming down."

She seemed unmoved by the suggestion. "If we succeed," she said coldly, "then we can leave in that other airship, or have one sent here. If we don't, no one's leaving anyway." She leaned back in her chair, showing her profile to him. Her face was hard; she had already embraced the darkness.

Thirty-Two

Tonie Wong lay on Amir's bed. A physician had been summoned to treat her; a drug had been given to Tonie to make her sleep. She had come to Amir just after the Linker had alerted Pavel and the Platform crews; Iris had listened as the small woman gasped out what she knew of the plot.

Iris could forgive Tonie for trying to protect her bondmate. It would be harder to forgive her for having put Chen in danger. She would never forgive her if Chen died.

Iris swallowed. The pilot Teofila Marquez had said nothing about Chen during her fearsome speech. The names of those who had been aboard the plotters' airship were in the bay's records; Chen had entered the bay before their departure and had vanished. She had to assume Chen was still alive, that the plotters would not have killed a possible hostage, that Fei-lin might have found a way to protect his old friend.

The people inside the domes on the surface had been warned that the airship might attempt a landing there, but too late for any of them to have attempted to escape before then. The plotters' ruse, if it had been a ruse, was successful; the Administrators had been too busy worrying about who might have aided the plotters to think of the domes or the threat the apparently troubled airship might pose to them. There had been time only to tell the people inside the domes not to offer a futile resistance that would put them in more danger.

"We have to go," Amir said. "Pavel wants us with him now." He opened a drawer, took out a white robe, and pulled it on over his shirt and pants, as if he were going to a formal meeting.

Iris got up and followed him out of the room. They hurried along the corridor until they were in front of Pavel's door. Several people had gathered in the hallway; the Guardians in front of Pavel's door allowed Iris and Amir to pass.

They entered the room. Pavel, also clothed in a white robe, was seated on one cushion. Two Administrators sat in one comer; three Habbers were near them, and Iris recognized Erena, the Habber whom she had begged for help. Fawzia Habeeb sat next to Pavel, one hand on the ceremonial wand at her waist; her eyes narrowed as she looked up at Iris.

"What's this woman doing here?" the Guardian commander said without preliminaries.

"Let her stay," Pavel replied. "She's played her part in recent events." Iris looked away guiltily as Pavel motioned toward the cushions in front of him. "Please sit down."

I've failed, Pavel thought. There would be no forgiveness this time. He steadied himself; he would have to look as though he were still in control of events.

The plotters could not have acted alone. Without aid, they could never have laid their hands on the charges and weapons they needed without raising questions. Of all the people on the Islands, Guardians were most likely to provoke a possibly violent confrontation in order to settle matters. He suspected a Guardian's hand in all of this, perhaps even Fawzia's, though she would have been careful to distance herself from the plot through a trusted intermediary; even the plotters might not have known who was manipulating them.

If the dome and the people inside it were destroyed, the Habbers, who hated bloodshed, might withdraw their aid from the Project, while Earth, seeing the damage done to the enterprise, would have no reason not to attack the Islands directly in retribution. Earth could, of course, give in, but that would depend on how many enemies the Mukhtar Abdullah Heikal and his circle had, how many in the Council of Mukhtars would be prepared to let Abdullah be a scapegoat. Pavel did not want to count on that.

If he could find some way, however, to save the dome and make the plotters give up without forcing Earth into a humiliating agreement, both Earth and the Habbers would be grateful to him. He could then point out to Earth that other Islanders might be moved to make similar threats in the future, but that Earth and the Islands could settle their differences before that happened. Earth would retain its pride, and the Project could proceed. The plotters could be punished, if the Mukhtars demanded it, when the time was right. And, most important to Pavel himself, he would make it clear to Earth that it was he who could control the Islanders and deflect such threats. It was a slim chance, but his only one.