Child of Venus (22 page)

“Maybe I can't.”

“You said you didn't want to upset Frani any more than necessary. We can get back to the house before anyone gets up. That might make things a little easier on her, not having to see us go off together.”

“Oh.” She was chagrined at not having thought of that herself. “I'll think about it.”

“I'll wait down by the lake.”

She slept uneasily that night, knowing she would go to him and angry with herself for that. The timepiece on her finger woke her with a slight shock; she pulled on a shift and pants, careful not to awaken Frania as she crept from the room.

Ragnar was sitting on a rock by the lake. As she hurried down to him, he got up and held out an arm. He seemed vulnerable at that moment, as trapped as she was by what he felt. She reached for his hand and followed him toward the trees.

They fell into a pattern. Every other night, Mahala slipped out before first light to meet Ragnar, then returned with him to the house before the others were up. Frania was not fooled, but Mahala had not really expected her to be, and they both avoided speaking of the matter. Dyami and Amina seemed aware of what was happening as well. Sometimes she would look up to see her uncle watching her, his brown eyes filled with concern.

When she and Ragnar made love, the pleasure he brought her and the happiness she felt at giving him joy were enough to quiet her doubts. Often they lay under the trees afterward, arms around each other as the dome slowly brightened. Sometimes Ragnar spoke of his team and his work; more often, he spoke of the tools he would need to fashion the objects he longed to make. He had greater ambitions than making small sculptures and paintings for people who might exchange credit for them; he dreamed of creating something on a larger scale, sculptures that might surpass Dyami's monument. She was in communion with him then, sympathizing with his desires even if she did not completely understand them.

Her uncertainty overtook her when they left their wooded refuge. If she won her way to an Island school, she would be apart from him, having to fear that his feelings might change when she was gone. Often, when she came home to find him at work on a painting or carving, it seemed that he had already forgotten her.

She grew more absentminded at school, slightly more careless in her work. Her teacher would let it pass for a while and assume that her application to the Island schools was distracting her, but too many such lapses would not help her chances. At home, she kept busy with any tasks she could find for herself in an effort to control her inner turbulence: weeding tiers in their greenhouse; checking the pipe of the toilet's waste dryer-compressor to make sure that it wasn't stopped up; mending her clothes; taking dishes out of the kitchen's cleaner and stacking them on shelves. It took the shock of receiving a message from Administrator Saburo Yamata to restore her to herself.

Administrator Saburo was in charge of the Island Two school, the one Solveig attended, and he wanted to interview her.

Mahala's teacher excused her from class for the interview. She spoke with Saburo Yamata in one of the school's smaller rooms. There was a moment of panic when his image appeared and she lifted her eyes to the large screen; she felt small and vulnerable, alone on a cushion in an empty room, as this Administrator prepared to judge her. He had put on his ceremonial white robe and headdress for the occasion, which was even more intimidating.

Administrator Saburo began by inquiring after her grandparents and her uncle, as if this were only a call from a friend of the family. By the time he was questioning her about her ambitions and what she hoped to gain from coming to an Island school, her unease was gone. She realized only four hours later, when she was leaving the room, that she had not thought about Ragnar at all during the interview.

The Administrator had promised a decision in seven days. It was possible that she might not be accepted now, but would be told she could apply again later. She was young; there might be a chance for her another time, when she was more mature. She wondered if she could live with that, or if Ragnar might convince her to surrender most of her dreams by then. She refused to think of what rejection might mean for her.

“Balin's coming by tonight, isn't he?” Ragnar asked as they left the trees.

“I think so,” Mahala replied.

“I may give him a couple of my things to show to other Habbers. Maybe a few of his friends will ask me to do some drawings or carvings for them.”

“I didn't think you were interested in earning credit for your pieces.”

“I'm not,” he said, “but it wouldn't hurt for some Habbers to know what I do and maybe take an interest in me. You've got relatives who joined the Habbers. Maybe someday more of us can do the same thing.”

“What?” Mahala shook her head, surprised. “How can you
possibly—”

“What would the Project be losing? A digger and crawler operator who dabbles in a few crafts—that's how most people here would look at me.”

“You want to be a Habber?”

He halted, then sat down on a rock. “No. Not really. I just don't want to have to think of myself as a component in the Project. What do you think those protests were about? If I can have what I want by staying here, I'd be content with that, but if I can't, I'd rather be somewhere else.” He turned toward her as she seated herself. “I can say that to you, Mahala. I wouldn't tell anybody else, not even Frani or my sister.”

“You'd leave Venus for good if you got the chance. That's what you're saying.”

“If that was my only choice, I would. I want my own life. You ought to understand that—you want the same thing.”

That was true, she supposed, although she would not have stated her wishes quite as baldly as Ragnar had. “If I don't get into an Island school,” she said, “I'll have to settle for what I

can have and how I can be of most use here, not necessarily what I would prefer.”

“You could teach,” he said.

“But I wouldn't be as good a teacher as someone who wants to do that more than anything.” She suddenly envied Ragnar for knowing what he wanted, for having something that might sustain him even if many of his other hopes were dashed.

“That Administrator said he'd give you an answer by today,” Ragnar
said. “He might already have left a message for you.”

Mahala's hands tightened on her knees. “I can't look at his reply with everybody else around. I'll wait.”

“Until after school? I don't know how—”

“I'm not going to school. I've never missed before—no one's going to mess up my record over one day. I'll wait here until they're all out of the house. Whatever Saburo tells me, I can handle it better if I'm alone.”

“Well.” Ragnar stood up. “I'll tell them you just need some time to yourself—they'll understand.” His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment. “Hope you get what you want.”

Dyami was the last to leave the house. Mahala saw him look back from the bottom of the hill and lift his hand, as if acknowledging that he understood.

She waited until he was across the bridge, then got to her feet and climbed toward the house. Ragnar was asleep on his futon in the common room. Mahala hurried to her room and let the door slide shut behind her, then moved toward her bed. A pocket screen lay on the small table between her bed and Frania's; she picked it up and saw that there were two private messages for her.

The first was from Frania. “Good luck,” the girl's image said as Mahala sat down with the screen. “I don't know what else to say, but just wanted you to know I'm hoping for you. If they don't take you, they're idiots.”

Frania's image disappeared as Mahala rested the screen on her lap. The other message was from Administrator Saburo. She took a deep breath as his face appeared.

“Congratulations, Mahala Liangharad,” the Administrator said, allowing himself a brief smile. “I'm pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Island Two's preparatory school, with a chance to advance to the university level if your preparatory work is satisfactory. Our next term will begin just after the New Year, and we look forward to having you among us.”

She was very still, unable to move. Saburo's image was replaced by that of an older man, who went on to tell her that she would soon get a list of her courses and teachers and that living quarters would be found for her if she had any problem making her own arrangements. The names of people willing to have a student live with their families, and a list of other available quarters for individuals and small groups, were appended to this message. She was to let the school know her plans within two weeks and should feel free to ask any questions she might have at that time.

She turned off the screen. This message would be the same one sent to all those who were accepted; she would listen to it again later.

She went into the common room. Ragnar stirred under his coverlet as she walked toward him.

She said, “I got in.”

Ragnar sat up and rubbed at his face. “What?”

“They accepted me.”

“That's great,” he said without hesitation, then reached for her and pulled her down to him. “I'm glad, I really am.” She looked into his eyes and saw that he truly was happy for her. She had thought that he might secretly be hoping that she would not be admitted.

“Oh, Ragnar.” She ran her fingers through his long, thick hair. “It's going to be hard, leaving you.”

“You'll come back for visits, and maybe I can think of some way of getting
up to the Islands myself.” He pressed her hand between his palms. “Mahala, I've
been meaning to ask you something. I didn't want to ask until this was settled, and now it is,
and—” His throat moved as he swallowed. “You know how I feel. I want you to be my
bondmate.”

She looked away, deeply touched but also uncertain. “You mean that—”
She slipped her hand from him. “You want me to promise that I'll make a pledge to become
your bondmate later?”

“No, that you'll make a pledge now, before you go to Island Two. I need a bond with you, Mahala. You said you loved me, so why wait?”

“But I—” She swallowed. “We're too young, Ragnar. We
can't make a promise like that.”

“Why not? I'm sixteen now, and you will be soon. Some people who aren't much older than we are have bondmates. Your great-grandmother had a bond when she was your age. I know what I want. Does it matter if we make a pledge now instead of later?” He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “By the time you're finished with your schooling, I'll have a house ready for us. Maybe by then some of the things I was talking to you about can happen.”

She suddenly knew why he wanted this bond. His life would be in order then, his personal desires met, his dreams still a possibility. He could do his work and then lose himself in his art; he would not have to worry about or be distracted by anything else. He must love her, she told herself, or he would not have offered her a pledge. Yet she wondered if he would actually miss her that much once they were bond-mates and she left for Island Two.

He said, “I need this bond with you, Mahala.”

That was the problem, she thought; he needed it too much, and yet not enough. Everything would be settled for him as soon as she accepted his promise, and with that uncertainty gone, he could give himself fully to the art he truly loved.

“I can't,” she whispered. “I'm just not ready.”

“If you think about it too much, you'll never be ready.”

“I'm not ready now. Maybe I will be later. If we still feel the same way, we can become bondmates when we're older, can't we? And if we've changed our minds by then, that'll only prove we would have been making a big mistake now.”

“Good reasoning, Mahala.” There was bitterness in his voice. “Must be one of the things that got you into that Island school, being so logical. You haven't thought this through, though. Having a bond would be something we could hang on to, that could get us past any problems we have later. But without one, maybe our feelings will change. I'd always remember that you weren't sure enough of your feelings to make a pledge, and maybe that all by itself will change how I feel. Don't you know that a bond is something to build on? It's not something to wait for.”

“Ragnar—”

“I asked you. Just say yes or no now—don't go on about how maybe we can be bondmates when we're older, because I'm not promising you anything if you do say no. Maybe I'll still want to make a pledge years from now, and maybe I won't. You'll just have to take your chances.”

“That isn't fair,” she said.

“It is fair. At least I'm not lying to you about what might happen.”

“I can't,” she said softly. “I can't make a promise when
I don't know—”

“You told me no. You don't have to go on explaining.” He stretched out and pulled the coverlet over himself. “If you get going now, you won't be that late for school. You can tell everybody there your good news.”

“Ragnar.” She wanted to tell him that she would make a pledge after all, but she could not say the words.

“I am happy for you, Mahala. You deserved to get in. You ought to call Solveig—she'd rather hear it from you first than from me.”

“I'll call her from school.” A lump rose in her throat. She was suddenly angry at Ragnar for making his proposal, for blighting this time with his entreaty.

Mahala's friends congratulated her. The teachers seemed pleased, but not overly excited; they had known that she had a good chance, and Turing had already sent a number of its children on to Island schools.

During a break, she called Solveig and left a message. Perhaps the other girl would give her some advice on where she might live. Only after that did she think of sending a message to her grandmother.