Child of Venus (32 page)

That would be the safest course, staying on Island Two. Counselors might be manipulative, but they did not lie; Aime'e would not be telling her that her future as a student here was assured unless that was the case. But the Counselor had said nothing about what she might be risking if her course work suffered during her time on Anwara.

Things had to change. The Cytherians of the surface settlements would grow increasingly impatient and more resentful of the fact that some of the Habbers aiding them were much more likely to see a radically transformed Venus than were the settlers. If things got bad enough, Earth might find itself confronted with some extremely unpleasant choices. Demoralized and discouraged settlers could threaten the Project; that had happened before. Earth might have to admit that building surface settlements was premature and possibly a mistake. The Habbers might have to take on a greater role in terraforming her world.

Given all of those possibilities, for her to draw back from an unanticipated course seemed foolish. Had her ancestor Iris Angharads refused the opportunity offered to her, her line might have come to an end on the North American Plains. If Benzi had not fled to the Habitats, about which he had known almost nothing, he would by now be no more than a remembered face on a memorial pillar.

“I'll go to Anwara,” Mahala said and knew as soon as she spoke that this was the choice she had to make, whatever it brought her.

During the four days after her session with Aimee Lon, Mahala saw little of her fellow students. Some returned to their quarters after meeting with their Counselors and then disappeared into their rooms, emerging only for meals or short walks around the Island; she could guess that they had been advised to continue their studies and were getting in some extra preparation. Others simply vanished, without saying farewells even to their closest friends, and Mahala assumed that they had been advised to leave school. Sean Sellars-O'Dowd held a party to announce that he was leaving school, inviting anyone among the students who wanted to come, but then Sean had grown up on Island Two; except for having to apprentice himself instead of remaining a student, little would change in his life. The three other Islanders who were dropping out with him did not seem all that disappointed with the advice they had received; it was the students from the surface settlements who abruptly disappeared, as if too embarrassed or ashamed to linger to say farewell to friends.

Solveig said nothing about what Counselor Aimee had told her, but she was clearly content with the Linker's advice. She smiled more easily, slept a bit later instead of pushing herself to wake early in order to seize every available moment for study, and made no move to pack her belongings.

Mahala supposed that she should sort through her own things and decide what to give away; there would be a limit on what she could take to Anwara. But there would be time enough for that later, and she did not own that much anyway.

Five days after Mahala's meeting with her Counselor, the names of the ten students who would be going to Anwara were made public. Mahala scrolled them up on her screen while Solveig was still sleeping and saw that Solveig's name was on the list; so was Chike Enu-Barnes's. She studied the other names, trying to discern some sort of pattern. All of the students chosen to go to the satellite had different interests; two, including Chike, had grown up on the Islands, while the others had come from the settlements.

Mahala heard Solveig yawn behind her. She turned to see her friend sit up in her bed. “I just found out,” Mahala said, “that you're going to Anwara.”

Solveig grinned. “I've been wanting to tell you, but I couldn't. I
will miss you, but—”

“You won't miss me. I was advised to go to Anwara, too. Naturally, I said I would.”

Solveig's smile broadened. “But that's wonderful.”

“I am happy about that,” Mahala said. “I'll see a different place. I just wish I knew what it meant.”

Her screen chimed at her. She turned back to it to see the face of Jamilah al-Hussaini. The Administrator and Liaison to the Project Council wore a white scarf over her dark hair and had a grim look on her face.

“In the name of God,” Jamilah began, “the Compassionate and Merciful, Whose hand guides us all.”

Solveig got up, came to Mahala's side, and sat down next to her. “It doesn't sound as though she has good news,” the blond girl whispered.

“I wish to announce,” Jamilah continued, “that I am resigning my position as Liaison to the Project Council, effective immediately. I am giving up my post solely of my own volition and willingly, so that I may devote my time to my specialty of geology and to my family on Earth.”

Her family on Earth? Mahala shook her head. Any family Jamilah had on Earth would most likely be strangers to her. The Linker had been born here; she had been to Earth only during her years of study at the Cytherian Institute.

“Much as I will miss my Island home,” the Administrator said, “I am looking forward to what lies ahead. I am also pleased to tell you that Masud al-Tikriti has been appointed as Liaison in my place. Since he is already on his way to Anwara, he should, God willing, be here and ready to assume his new position within the month. I trust that he will be treated with the courtesy and kindness all Cytherians have shown to me. My thoughts and prayers will be with you always.”

The image of Jamilah vanished, to be replaced by the image of another Administrator, a brown-bearded man who was one of Jamilah's aides. “That concludes the official statement of our departing Administrator and Liaison, Jamilah al-Hussaini,” the man said. “We wish her well as she prepares to journey to Earth to become a member of the geology department at the University of Tashkent. The Administrator's statement will be repeated at one-hour intervals for the next eight hours.”

The screen went blank. Jamilah had been the most powerful Linker and Administrator here ever since Mahala's childhood, the Administrator who dealt with the members of the Project Council on Anwara and with the Council of Mukhtars on Earth.

“The University of Tashkent,” Solveig said. “If they're sending her there, she can't be in disgrace.” The university was one of the most selective schools on Earth.

“It doesn't make sense,” Mahala said. “She's kept everything going, new settlements are being built on schedule, and there haven't been any real disputes between the settlement Councilors and the Island Administrators. Why wouldn't they keep her here?”

“Obviously because they want her on Earth,” Solveig said, “and since she's being given a position at such a prestigious university, they must want her there so that they can consult with her. It must mean they're planning for changes involving the Project.”

“Administrator Masud al-Tikriti, public record, written form, in Anglaic,” Mahala said. Rows of Anglaic letters appeared on the screen; Solveig moved closer to read the record. Masud al-Tikriti had been born in the New Islamic Nomarchy, in a town not for from Baghdad, had been educated at the University of Damascus, and had been a professor of physics at the Cytherian Institute before being promoted to an administrative post in his native Nomarchy. He came from a family of Linkers and numbered a few Mukhtars among his ancestors. He had been given his own Link while in his early twenties and was considered brilliant and accomplished. There appeared to be no black marks on his record. He and his bondmate, Aisha Alzubra, had one child, a son who was now a student at the University of Amman.

“Quite a record,” Solveig said. “Looks as though the Mukhtars have decided that we deserve one of their best.”

Mahala called up an image of the man. Masud al-Tikriti was a lean-faced man with black hair and dark penetrating eyes. “I don't know,” Mahala murmured. “It could mean that the Council of Mukhtars wants tighter control over everything here.” She stood up, forcing herself to ignore her apprehensions. “We'd better start thinking about what we're going to take with us to Anwara and what we're going to give away.”

Mahala had meant to visit Malik after sorting through her belongings and attending a party several students had hastily organized for those who would be leaving for Anwara. She left the student quarters with Solveig at last light only to find her grandfather waiting outside for her.

Solveig greeted Malik while Mahala hung back, resenting him just a little for showing up now. “We've both been chosen to go to Anwara,” Solveig said.

“You look most pleased about that,” Malik said.

“Of course we are,” Solveig replied. “I was there before and always hoped I could go back.”

“We were just on our way to a party,” Mahala said pointedly.

“I will not take up much of your time, Mahala,” her grandfather said, “but I must speak to you.”

“Go on,” Mahala murmured to Solveig. “Tell the others I'll be there soon.” The other girl nodded her head in Malik's direction, then walked away. “What is it, Malik?”

“Not here,” he said. “Please come with me.”

She followed him, keeping at his side. “That party is being given for us,” she said. “I should at least be polite enough to be there when it starts.”

“This is something you should know.”

He stopped abruptly, looked around, then led her toward a small grove of trees. “I'll tell you here, Mahala,” he continued. There was no one near them; she could barely see his face in the shadows under the trees. “This new Liaison, this Masud al-Tikriti—he is a kinsman of mine and of yours. One of my uncles lived in the town of Tikrit. His son attached the name of the town to his own. Masud is the grandson of my uncle.”

She took a breath. “Are you certain?”

“Yes. It was easy enough to find out. Had you sorted through the records, you could have discovered it for yourself, but there was no need for you to think you had any connection to him. I was curious because I knew that I once had an uncle in Tikrit, and I thought Masud might be related to people he knew.”

“The Council of Mukhtars would have to know he's a relative of yours,” Mahala said.

“Of course. Perhaps we should simply assume that enough time has gone by that members of my family are no longer disgraced by their connection to me, a man who left Venus for the Habitats, and that they are now free to rise again to positions of some influence. Perhaps we should not be too quick to suspect that this might mark a change in how the Project is to be conducted.”

She was already wondering if this new Liaison had anything to do with sending her to Anwara. That could not be; other students would be going with her. She was too insignificant for anyone close to the Mukhtars, even a kinsman, to take an interest in her. But Earth's rulers had the power, and maybe the inclination, to manipulate people as if they were pieces in a larger game, to move them around simply to see what might come of that. Her great-grandmother was the martyred Iris Angharads, her grandmother was the respected Risa Liangharads, and her mother, Chimene Liang-Haddad, had threatened the survival of her world before acting finally to save it.

And, she thought, there was Malik. Maybe the Mukhtars did not think of her as unimportant.

“This may mean little,” Malik continued, “but now I wonder if this means I should leave the Islands. The Administrators might have canceled my lectures so as not to risk offending my relative when he arrives.”

“I'd miss you,” she said, almost as an automatic courtesy, then realized that she meant it. Knowing that Malik was here, that he had come back at least in part to see what had become of his grandchild, had been a kind of comfort.

He smiled. “You would miss me anyway,” he said, “since you'll be going to Anwara.”

“But if I knew you were still nearby, I wouldn't miss you as much.”

“We'll see.” He rested his back against a tree. “I'll ask if there's a place for me on the Habber ship orbiting Venus. I wouldn't be so far away then.”

Yes, you would be, she thought. The only time her people had any contact with those aboard that vessel was during the rare times the ship docked at Anwara. Malik would be almost as distant from her as he would be if he returned to one of the Habs.

“I should have spent more time with you when I had the chance,” Mahala said.

“I understand, child. You needn't sound so apologetic. I came into your life abruptly—I am not surprised that you needed time to get used to that.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Go to your party and look forward to your time on Anwara, and I will wait to see what the future may hold for us.”

 

High Orbit

 

15

To travel to Anwara, the large space station orbiting Venus, required going to the port of the Island Platform by airship and then taking a shuttle from the Platform to the satellite. Mahala and Solveig were traveling with Chike Enu-Barnes and Stephan AnnasLeonards; the six students from the other Islands would be going to Anwara on later shuttle flights.

She and Solveig boarded their airship, stored their duffels under their seats, and were about to strap themselves in when she heard a few passengers behind her whispering to one another. “Salaam, Linker Jamilah,” a man said. Mahala peered around the back of her seat and saw Jamilah al-Hussaini making her way down the aisle.

Other passengers greeted the Administrator—the former Administrator and past Liaison to the Council, Mahala reminded herself—touching their foreheads with their fingers as she passed them. Jamilah wore a plain brown tunic and pants instead of her usual formal white robe and had covered her hair with a plain white scarf; she nodded at each passenger in turn as she walked by.

“I didn't know she was leaving this soon,” Solveig whispered, then touched her forehead as Jamilah came to the front of the airship. Mahala did the same, wondering if she should also get to her feet. Jamilah nodded absently at both of them.