Venus of Shadows (7 page)

He shivered a little in his long coat. The air was warming rapidly, but he was still unused to the extremes of temperature here. He thought of the Plains on the other side of Earth. His grandmother's town of Lincoln, like this camp, had been a lonely outpost set against a wide and beckoning horizon, its only connection with the outside world one floater cradle where an airship arrived from time to time.

Te-yu was circling the tower. She thrust her hands into the pockets of her blue jacket as she walked toward him. "You're up early," she said.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Your Link is there to calm you, among other things."

Benzi smiled. "I don't imagine you open yours any more often than I open mine."

"You're wrong. Sometimes I need it more here. I feel very far away from our Hab when it's open but entirely cut off when it's closed."

Their Links, unlike those embedded in the foreheads of Earth's Linkers, were hidden. They wore no tiny jewels on their brows to indicate the presence of a Link, but Earth's authorities had insisted on outward signs that they were Habbers. As a result, he and Te-yu wore pins made of silver circles on their collars. They never left their rooms without pinning the circles to their coats or shirts; it was a way to be certain that others knew exactly what they were.

The people here, like those he had known on the Islands, were uncomfortable and anxious without such outward signs of status — jewels for Linkers, pins for various specialists, uniforms and insignia for Guardians, and the lack of pins for workers and ordinary citizens. One could see immediately what another was and consequently know how to behave.

Habbers needed no such signs. Before Benzi had joined them, he had believed, as did so many others, that this was because Habbers disdained such distinctions. They were all given the Links that on Earth were the privilege of an elite, and were all equals inside their own worlds. He had learned instead that other signs marked the difference between one Habitat-dweller and another — a stance, a gesture, a distant, contemplative gaze, a mind that could almost pierce his own through a channel in his Link.

"I spoke to my grandmother last night," he said. "She's aged so much. It wasn't until she spoke that I knew she hadn't really changed. I told myself she might be happy to hear from me, but maybe I only awakened memories she'd rather forget."

"I suppose I must have some relatives on Earth," she said, "but there's no point in trying to contact them. I can just imagine it. 'Greetings, I'm Hong Te-yu. You don't know me, but I'm a relative, even though I've become a Habber.' That's just what they'd need to hear. Well, I never knew them, so I'm under no feeling of obligation. It must be worse for you, being here."

"I chose to come."

"Do you ever regret it — what we did?" Te-yu asked.

She had not asked that question in a long time. "No," Benzi replied, "I don't regret it. I'm sorry I didn't know what it might cost, and sometimes I think I might have made another choice if I had known, but that's probably just a way of dealing with some of my guilt."

Te-yu was one of the pilots who had fled from Venus with him almost forty years ago. Her parents had left the Islands shortly after she became an apprentice, and her few close friends had been among other pilots. There had been nothing to keep her on the Islands, no family who might think of her act as a betrayal.

Two Guardians had left the tower; Benzi could sense them watching him. He slipped his arm around Te-yu's small waist as she glanced at the Guardians for a moment. "I wonder which bothers them more," she said, "when we seem inhuman or when they see we can be human after all."

They walked toward the camp. "A group arrived last night," she continued. "I got into the lift before they started bringing them inside." Her mouth twitched. "I don't know what they gain by humiliating the new arrivals, but it's probably the only entertainment they have. I did hear an odd piece of news later, something about one man in the group being a former Linker."

"Strange that any Linker would come here."

They halted several paces from the nearest post. He and Te-yu had been warned not to enter the camp alone. They would be either shunned or besieged with pleas from desperate people whom they were powerless to help; the Guardians wanted no incidents. "I wish the Council would make its selections," he said, "so that we could be on our way."

"Maybe they think the officer here will find out more about us if we're kept here for a while." She leaned against him. "At least we've had a chance to see a little of Earth."

"This isn't the Earth I knew." He looked down at the still youthful face under her cap of short black hair. Te-yu had come here with him only so that he would not have to face Earth alone. Even after decades with the Habbers, his closest bonds were still with those who had fled from the Islands with him.

They could not keep him here too much longer. His ship was waiting for him up in the Wheel, one of the space stations where freighters, torchships, and other craft were docked. The two Habber pilots who had accompanied him and Te-yu that far would be getting impatient while trying to prevent the Wheel's personnel from examining the ship too extensively. Benzi's ship, with its passengers, would later dock at Anwara, and perhaps there he would be able to get a message to his father and the sister he had never seen.

He had sent a message before, just after Iris's death, through a Habber on the Islands who had known her. "Tell him," his father Chen had replied, "that his mother will always be alive in me." He had said nothing more, and Benzi had wondered if Chen was blaming him in part for her death or trying to console him.

Tents had been pitched near the yurts at this end of the camp. A dark-haired man was standing outside one tent, gazing in Benzi's direction. Benzi turned and led Te-yu back to the tower.

Three

The camp's mosque was a rambling structure of wood, where Muslims could gather for their prayers. Malik was kneeling, his hands on his knees; he raised his head. It had been much easier to recall an appropriate
sura
from the Koran with his Link to prompt him.

"God hears those who praise Him," Malik recited as he glanced at his fellow worshippers. Several of them seemed as unpracticed in such observances as he was. The men rose, knelt once more, then went into a prostration, pressing their foreheads and noses to their prayer rugs. "God is most great!"

The call to prayer issued forth from a speaker in the roof of the mosque five times a day. Except for the dawn prayer, which he performed quickly outside his tent before lining up for the morning meal, and the night prayer, which he raced through before going to sleep, Malik came to the mosque for the others. It was a way to pass the time, which was probably why most of the Muslim emigrants came here to pray even on days other than Friday; he had seen few signs of true devotion. Perhaps that was just as well. On Venus, these people would have to be tolerant of others who held various beliefs, people they might otherwise have rarely encountered; diverse groups from many different Nomarchies had to live together there.

The men near him were speaking now. "Peace be upon thee, O Prophet," Malik murmured with them, "and the mercy of God and His blessings! Peace be upon us all, and all righteous servants of God. I witness that there is no God but God, I witness that Muhammad is His servant and messenger. God is great!"

When they were finished, they rose, rolled up their rugs, and filed out from the mosque. The camp also held a church, a ramshackle building used at different times by both Old Catholics and Marian Catholics. Sharing a church would hardly have been possible for those two groups anywhere else. Old Catholics regarded the Marians, who had elevated Mary to a status equal to Jesus, as trapped in theological error; in the camp, however, their status as fellow emigrants clearly overrode such differences. Malik supposed many of the Catholics were as casual in their practices as he was in his.

Those who followed other beliefs usually gathered in small groups for prayers and other rites in the dining halls between meals. As Malik walked toward his tent, he saw that Nikolai Burian was sitting outside, waiting for him. Nikolai, along with many of the Russians, did not bother with religious observances, since he came from a community that held to older atheistic beliefs.

The young man had attached himself to Malik. He usually showed up at Malik's side when it was time to line up for food or to use the showers; he was often squatting outside Malik's tent, alone or with other young men, when Malik came out to pray at dawn. They had already dispensed with such formal terms of address as "Nikolai Andreievich" and "Linker Malik"; Malik's old title was inappropriate now anyway. Lately, Nikolai had insisted that Malik address him by the nickname of "Kolya."

Nikolai and the men living in his yurt apparently controlled this end of the camp. They roamed along the paths, asked questions, offered advice, and settled a few disputes best kept from the attention of Guardians.

Nikolai had given Malik advice on which people to avoid, the times when toilets were usually free, and the few amusements the camp offered. Occasionally, he listened while Malik told him a little about his former life. Rumors that Malik was once a Linker had spread through the camp, and at last he guessed why Nikolai sought his company. People were still suspicious of Malik, but he had once held a place among the powerful. Nikolai was undoubtedly curious but also might want to see if some advantage could be gained from getting closer to the scholar.

The young man smirked a little as Malik sat down. "I hope your prayers were a comfort," he said. "The Mukhtars probably just use all that talk of God to impress the likes of us, keep us in line, make us think God tells them what to do."

"That's an oversimplification," Malik replied. "They all have a respect for the
ulemas
and the law. There are many devout ones among the Mukhtars, even though they realize, in their position, that some tolerance of others is required." It was useless to explain too many subtleties to Nikolai. What the man probably enjoyed most was the reversal in their stations.

Two of Nikolai's friends were wrestling on the open ground beyond the tents. Several in the camp filled the long hours with such pursuits — footraces, wrestling, acrobatic feats, or violent games with tattered balls and sticks. The efforts kept them fit, and a serious injury, which could always be passed off as an accident, might eliminate at least one competitor for a place aboard a ship. Malik was careful to avoid such contests, as well as the betting of food or personal possessions that often accompanied them.

A female Guardian stood near the post, watching the wrestlers. Nikolai gestured at her. "I'll tell you what I heard about that bitch. She got tired of waiting for passage, so she joined the Guardians instead."

Malik frowned. "Was she in this camp?"

"Of course not. They wouldn't keep somebody like that in the same camp — there'd be more chance of trouble. A couple of people joined from here, and they got sent somewhere else afterward. They'll take ones they can use, and she'll probably be more grateful to them than most. Just as well we won't have that sort on Venus — someone who'd join the Guardians instead of patiently waiting."

Malik rubbed at his chin; the skin of his face felt slightly raw. He had removed his stubble, but the harsh depilatory cream the lavatory provided irritated him.

One of the wrestlers pinned the other, then released him. The two men rose and began to wander toward the yurts. "The officer in charge now, Keir Renin, got here a few months ago," Nikolai continued. "The one before him was harder in some ways. She'd use any reason to throw someone out, and always kept to the rules, but at least the women were a little safer. It's better for them if the officer's a woman and keeps the male Guardians in line. Keir Renin will just look the other way. It's why I told Yekaterina Osipova to be careful — there wouldn't be much she could do if a Guardian or two caught her alone."

Malik felt his own helplessness. "Her brother would go after anybody who hurt her."

"He'd be a fool if he did. They're armed and we're not. He'd just ruin things for himself, and he wouldn't help her."

The Guardian was gazing at Malik now. She seemed vaguely familiar; she might have been in the room where he had been scanned.

"You'd better look out for her," Nikolai muttered. "You're probably used to women eying you like that, but if you let her get you alone and don't give her what she wants —" He shrugged. "She could make it look bad for you. There are some here who don't mind trading themselves for food or favors, but they usually learn better and they aren't well liked. We'll remember who they are when we're on Venus."

Malik thought of all the times he had dismissed Guardians with no more than a gesture. Nikolai was grinning; he wondered what the young man was thinking. He remembered how easily he had once called up the records of any person who interested him and how rarely he had concerned himself with how vulnerable that person might feel. He knew nothing of what had brought Nikolai to this camp; he was a stranger, his record now inaccessible.

"Yekaterina likes you, too," Nikolai went on, "and she's a pretty enough woman. You probably wouldn't mind getting her inside your tent when Alexei's off somewhere. But you were a Linker — maybe it won't be the same for you now. I heard a Linker can look through someone else's eyes and see what they're seeing or hear what they hear."

"You've been misinformed," Malik said. "We can't read minds, you know. We can communicate, of course, and the cyberminds can show us images of what another Linker's seeing if his Link is open and he's willing to —"

"Must come in handy during sex," Nikolai interrupted. "You could let others look on or watch them yourself if they let you."

"No. You've got some odd ideas about Linkers." In spite of his denial, Malik had heard of Linkers who occasionally shared images of their sexual encounters with others through their Links. The practice was not all that common and had never held much appeal for Malik, who preferred privacy.