Venus of Shadows (75 page)

He slid the crate over, slipped one arm under it, and heaved it into the cart. Helmut had tried to speak to a pilot in the bay once, but the woman had not believed his stories and had mentioned them to one of the patrol. The guard had made light of the stories; he had even looked a little hurt that Helmut could utter such accusations. Helmut had been given his beating later.

Evar wasn't any more likely to listen. He and his companion would stretch their legs, then board the dirigible to rest before they left Turing. He might have been moved to make one small gesture, but he probably thought Dyami belonged here. He would go back and tell Risa that her son was safe and that she needn't worry. Maybe that was best. She could do little for him, but she might at least have some comforting news.

The three patrol members now had their backs to him. He would not get another chance. He went to another crate, then edged a little closer to the two pilots. "We've been beaten," he whispered, keeping his lips as still as possible. "We're often deprived of food. One woman has been raped, and there may be others I don't know about. It's been getting worse. They have the power to do whatever they like to us, and they're using it. They're only teaching us to hate the Spirit." He pushed at the crate; one of the guards was turning in his direction. He could not risk saying any more. The two pilots walked slowly away. They did not believe him; he could only hope they would not speak to the patrol.

Thomas was descending the ramp. "Let's welcome our new residents," he called out. "I've told them that we've been looking forward to their arrival, and I know that having people with their expertise will benefit us all. They're quite drained after their trip from the Platform, so when they're settled, they'd probably like to rest."

Dyami looked up. Others were coming down the ramp; he gazed into the eyes of one man and nearly gasped in surprise. The man's blond hair had gone completely gray, and the skin of his face sagged; but Dyami had seen his image too many times not to know Sigurd Kristens-Vitos. No Linker's jewel gleamed on his forehead now; a thin, almost invisible white scar marked his brow and those of his fellow passengers.

"We'll walk over with them," Thomas said affably, "give them the tour." He tilted his head as he looked toward Dyami. "My, my — don't you think you'd better get those crates loaded? It isn't like you to stand around being idle." Thomas said the words gently. Dyami sighed. The mild reprimand would probably cost him his supper later.

He was about to move another crate when he saw five sashed men leaving the cabin. More patrol members, he thought bitterly, just what we need. One man suddenly halted on the ramp and looked directly at him.

Dyami felt faint. He knew this face, too, and now he realized that the man had recognized him. As he had expected, the unhappy boy he had once tried to console had become a handsome young man. His youthful chubbiness was gone; his black eyes were stony. He smiled a little as he gazed at Dyami; he did not seem like the boy tormented by guilt over his sins, the one Teo had guided home from that house three years ago.

Dyami bent toward a crate. His heart was pounding; his ears throbbed.

*  *  *

"Welcome to hell," Suleiman muttered as Sigurd and the people who had arrived with him sat down on the lavatory floor. "That's where you are, you know. I would have thought someone like you would have found a way to avoid this, but maybe you deserve it. You failed us all in the end, thinking you could keep Ishtar —"

"Steady." Dyami put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "He's one of us now."

People had crowded into this lavatory; others sat in the hallways that led to it. Sigurd and the other former Linkers had been taken here earlier, before the other prisoners were brought back after supper, and no one had yet had a chance to speak to the new arrivals. Their curiosity was now overriding their fear of punishment, should the guards enter and find them gathered here.

"Where were they keeping you all this time?" a woman asked.

"In the Habber residence on Island Two," Sigurd replied. "Some of the others they were holding with me have been released, although they've lost their Links. The ones here are those who were closest to me or people Ishtar has doubts about. No one's told me much these past months, but I did hear some talk on the Platform."

"Are people finally coming to their senses?" Orban Szekely called out. "Isn't anyone wondering what might be happening to us?"

"I can't answer that," Sigurd said. "Some people must be, but I can't tell you what's being said about you. They'll learn I'm here, of course — I was seen by many on the Platform." The former Administrator rubbed his chin. "I can tell you what I did hear, but you won't welcome the news. A delegation from Earth will be arriving on Anwara within a couple of months to meet with Administrator Alim and the Guide. The talk is that Earth is prepared to leave us with almost completely autonomy now that the Habbers are gone. It seems quite a triumph for the Guide, a Mukhtar dealing with her as an equal."

"A Mukhtar?" a man said.

"Mukhtar Kaseko Wugabe will be with the delegation. You see what an event that is, having a Mukhtar visit our world for the first time. Earth will aid us in whatever ways are necessary but will leave us free — even the Project Council will have less power, or so it's claimed."

"Then we're lost," Suleiman said angrily. "The Guide will be even more powerful than she is now."

Sigurd sighed. "It seems an uncharacteristic move on the Mukhtar's part, given what little I know about Kaseko Wugabe. He's also a Guardian Commander, the type who might have welcomed an actual battle with the Habbers, costly as that would have been for Earth. But maybe he's satisfied with simply having them gone from here. It's probably wise for the Mukhtar to conduct himself this way. Earth has had some of its pride restored, and it doesn't have to worry about Habbers influencing events here. It can grant us some freedom and convince us Earth is our friend."

"Freedom," Allan said. "That's what you call it. The Guide's followers will love her all the more now. We'll be free of both Earth and the Habbers. The only one we'll all have to bow to is her. How delighted she must be. She's pulled off something even you couldn't manage, and now shell have a Mukhtar courting her. I don't believe it."

"I can hardly believe it myself," Sigurd said, "but I've been isolated for a while, and maybe circumstances have changed. Earth may simply want to lull us for a while until it can tighten its grip again."

"People would resist that," Alien said. "They couldn't passively surrender our world to Earth, no matter what it cost to resist. And Earth doesn't have the resources to give us the aid the Habbers might have provided. People would see that we were better off when the Habbers were here, helping and asking nothing in return except a little understanding."

"People might try to resist Earth now, if they felt threatened," Sigurd replied, "but they may not later, with Ishtar to dull their minds. I've failed you — I can't deny it. I wanted our world to be free of the old world's mistakes and become a bridge between our people and the Habbers. I thought I could buy enough time to make that possible. Instead, my mistakes in judgment have delivered Venus to the Guide and her friends, and to my colleague Alim, who would probably bargain with anyone to keep the power he has now."

Sigurd paused. "I haven't been allowed to see anyone for some time, except a few wretches who talked to me about their damned cult, and the Guide before she left the Island. She and Alim found it hard to resist the chance to gloat. They're intoxicated with themselves and their new power. I suspect they're going to overreach themselves sooner or later or make some mistake that may turn others against them. I have some experience with what power can do to a person and how foolishly one can act when one feels things are going one's way. Their hold on our world may be more tenuous than they realize."

"And none of that," Suleiman said, "does us any good."

"We could fight," Sigurd said. "If things are as bad here as you say, we wouldn't have much to lose."

"Fighting's no use," Luinne Mitsuo replied. "Making trouble just makes things worse for others besides the troublemaker. You'll understand that when you've been here a while."

"So you'll just give up?"

"You still think you're an Administrator," Suleiman said. "Who are you to tell us what to do? Haven't you made enough mistakes?"

Sigurd held out his hands. "I don't know much about your situation yet, but I've already seen that we outnumber them, even if they're armed. We could come up with something that might work. You wouldn't have to disable them completely, just long enough to get to a screen and tell others what's going on here. I saw how they were acting today — I saw a man punched several times for no reason at all. Many people would be appalled to know that you're being treated that way. At the very least, you could cause the Guide a lot of trouble in trying to subdue this settlement, and that might inspire some to —"

"They've all forgotten us outside," Suleiman shouted. "Either they'll believe what they're told, or they'll keep quiet so that the patrol doesn't come after them. No one cares about us anymore, and they wouldn't listen to anything we'd say even if we got a message out. Even our families will forget — some of them weren't too happy when we came here to work with Habbers in the first place."

"You may be wrong," Dyami said. "I managed to speak to a pilot today."

Heads turned toward him. The room grew quiet. Maybe some of them were recalling his earlier pleas, when he had tried to convince them not to let any airships land here until they knew who would be joining them.

"Actually," he continued, "the pilot spoke to me first. He was careful, and the patrol didn't notice. He said my family was wondering about me. I told him a little of what's going on here. He didn't say anything, but he didn't give me away to the patrol either."

"Probably didn't believe you," Luinne murmured.

"Maybe, maybe not. But I've been thinking about that encounter all day. He was very cautious. Why would he act that way unless he was already worried about what things are really like here? And if he didn't believe me and thought I was trying to spread lies, why didn't he do something about that? Why didn't the other pilot speak to the patrol? Don't you see? If someone trusted enough to bring an airship here is worried, a lot of other people may be, too."

"That's a slender thread to hang hopes on," Allan muttered.

"Maybe. But it's more than we've had so far." Dyami looked down. Perhaps he was hoping for too much; recent events had disoriented him. He wondered if he could still trust his perceptions. Too many emotions had jarred him in too short a time — rage over the assault on Amina, hope at hearing Evar's words, shock at the sight of Sigurd, and fear when he saw the young blond man. Maybe he would grasp at anything now.

"I have something to say." He raised his head; Amina was getting to her feet. "It's going to get worse here — all of you must know that," she continued. "We can't count on any help from anyone else, and that means we have to act. But we can't throw ourselves away doing something that has no chance at succeeding, or the patrol will have more excuses for treating us badly. We have to plan, and while we're waiting, we have to lull our guards by behaving ourselves and doing what they want. They have to believe they have nothing to fear from us, that we're already beaten. I can endure that if I know we'll get a chance to fight."

"And what if we do succeed?" Fadil Fedorson called out. "We'd be entirely dependent on our installations, even if we keep other ships from landing, and if we lack the equipment to repair the life-support —"

"Then we'll just have to ensure that nothing fails for a long time," Amina interrupted. "Anyone working in external operations will simply have to be even more alert to problems that might develop and tend to them immediately while we're making our plans. We have no other choice." She paused.
"Or would you rather go on living the way we are now?"

"Bad as it is," Fadil said, "it could get a lot worse if we try to fight them."

"It'll get worse if you don't," Sigurd said. "Take a good look at me. What do you see now?"

Dyami knew the answer just before Tasida responded to the question. "An old man," the physician replied, "someone older than your years, Administrator. Someone in need of rejuvenation therapy."

"Which I haven't been getting since my Link was removed." Sigurd looked around the room. "Somehow I doubt that Ishtar intends to waste many medical resources on people who are troublesome to them. Most of you look fairly young, but you won't always be. Maybe you should think about how quickly one's youth can vanish if life gets hard enough."

Dyami glanced at the people closest to him; their faces were grim. "We have to discuss some possibilities," Sigurd continued. "I'll want to know everything about the patrol here that might help us — their lapses, their individual weaknesses, their procedures, and where they might be vulnerable. Once we've decided on a course of action, we're all going to have to work together. We'd better go to our rooms now, in case the guards decide to check up on us."

Dyami could not free himself of his fear. During his week-long shift at the greenhouse, the young blond guard often seemed to be nearby, watching him at his work. His presence was unnerving; Dyami had to force himself to concentrate on the tiers of crops and had nearly flooded one level with too many nutrients. The guard occasionally spoke to others in the greenhouse but not to Dyami, yet the blond man was always watching him as a smile played about his lips.

The young man's name, Dyami had learned, was Maxim Paz. Had he told the other guards about his first encounter with Dyami? So far, Jonah and his colleagues had only suspicions about Dyami's inclinations. Would Maxim try to use what he knew against him? It was pointless to speculate, and the worries only kept him from trying to come up with ways to fight his captors.

Dyami had helped in building the new addition to his living quarters; no eavesdropping devices had been added to the walls, and all of the prisoners had searched their rooms thoroughly. The guards, he supposed, had too much contempt for them to believe they were capable of any plotting. They could, however, still be betrayed. A prisoner, in a moment of weakness, might reveal their hopes to a guard in an effort to gain better treatment for himself. Maybe they would never get further than discussing plans to which someone could always find an objection.