Authors: Pamela Sargent
A quick glance upward had shown her an overcast dark sky; the clouds concealing the stars had made it easier for her to pretend that she was still inside a dome after last light. Mahala did not remember how she had crossed the few meters from the exit to the ramp of the floater cradle, but recalled that she had boarded the airship without giving in to panic. The floaters carried people and goods to the small towns and the more isolated communities of Earth that were not connected to the outside world by high-speed trains and shuttle ports. The floater had rows of seats much like those on the airships of Venus, but there were also private rooms in the back of the cabin for those willing to spend extra credit. Mahala and the people with her had been given rooms, even though, judging by the empty passenger seats, no one else would be traveling with them.
Mahala looked down at the identity bracelet on her wrist. She had worn such a bracelet as a child, and later during trips between the Venus settlements, but now she would be wearing one all the time; she had been told to keep it on even after arriving in Lincoln. She had left Venus a month and a half ago, and now her home world seemed impossibly far away.
Too much had happened too suddenly. The people of Sagan had elected her to the post of their delegate to Earth with a surprising near-unanimity, and she suspected that Malik had anticipated that result. There had been no time even to travel to Turing or to Oberg to say her farewells before she was on an airship bound for the Platform.
The delegation traveling with her was small but illustrious; she was clearly one of the least important people among them. The others seemed to find it appropriate that a descendant of Iris Angharads, who had herself been a native of Lincoln, was among them, but they had kept largely to themselves during the torchship journey. Administrator Masud al-Tikriti had seemed disinclined to pay much more than a distant, cordial attention to any of the representatives of the surface settlers; he usually dined with Administrator Con-stantine Matheos, who had been on the Venus Project Council for several years and was now reputed to be its most influential member. Even Malik and Te-yu, the only Habbers among the travelers, who had apparently decided that diplomacy required that they make the journey on one of Earth's ships instead of aboard a Habber craft, had kept to their rooms except for meals. Only Ah Lin, who felt that she was going to Earth largely on the strength of the support thrown her way by Risa and other respected Cytherians, had kept her company, and she was as much in the dark about the upcoming conference as was Mahala.
What were they going to discuss? Even Malik had not been very forthcoming about specifics; perhaps he and the other Habbers knew little more than she did. She and Ah Lin had come to the tentative conclusion that the meeting was largely ceremonial. Working out detailed agreements would require the efforts of legal scholars, aides to the Council of
Mukhtars, certain Administrators and Habbers, and the analysis of cyberminds; such agreements and decisions did not require the presence of delegates in a place like Lincoln. The Mukhtars were going to a lot of trouble to bring people to Earth for what seemed little more than a public exercise in good will.
She reminded herself that if they accomplished no more than maintaining and publicly underlining that good will, that might be enough of an achievement. She was also growing more conscious of the fact that her conduct here might either increase her chances of becoming a spacefarer or damage them severely. Coming to Earth was another test.
She leaned back on her bed, rested her back against the wall, and forced herself to gaze at the sky outside the floater window. A breathable outside, she said to herself in wonder, as someday Venus would have ...
Mahala had changed her clothes and repacked her duffel by the time the floater was dropping toward Lincoln. She knew what she would see as she approached her window. There were the two cradles of Lincoln's only port; once, there had been only one cradle for the small town. There was a road, a wide black ribbon, that led from the cradles to the town square; other narrow roads, which ran from the town into the surrounding fields, seemed little more than footpaths. But it was the open land around the town that made her catch her breath, the fields of growing grain dotted with silos that stretched to the horizon.
For a moment, she felt dizzy, and then she slipped the strap of her physician's bag over her shoulder, reached for her duffel, and pressed her door open.
Her fellow travelers shuffled through the narrow hallway outside their rooms toward the front of the floater. Kesse Enu-Barnes was among them; he was here as an aide to Administrator Masud al-Tikriti. Kesse glanced at her with his black eyes, and she felt how much she missed his brother Chike. Ah Lin stood behind him, looking apprehensive, perhaps thinking of the open air that awaited them outside.
“There's something odd about this business,” Dyami had told her during a call the day before she was to leave Sagan.
“Odd about what?” Mahala had asked.
“Holding this conference on Earth. Requesting the presence of Administrator Masud and of people with the status of Constantine Matheos. Going to the trouble of transporting all of the delegates to a somewhat isolated Earth community. A screen conference would have made more practical sense.”
“But the Council of Mukhtars explained why they wanted it this way. They felt that we'd make more progress if we were all in one place for a while and able to talk face-to-face.”
“They might have chosen Anwara then, as they have in the past.”
“But there is a kind of symbolism in having the conference on Earth, given that it's the home planet. It's another way of marking the new era.”
Dyami had sighed, then smiled. “You're probably right, Mahala. Even after all this time, I guess I'm just too distrustful, even when I don't have to be.” He had gone on to speak of Balin and had asked after Ragnar and then had wished her a safe journey before blanking the screen.
“Salaam,” a man's voice called out from near the exit, “and welcome to Lincoln.” The people in front of Mahala moved forward. Mahala followed them onto the ramp and felt air rush past her face. Wind, she thought, and shuddered. The sky was darker; evening was coming. She kept her eyes on the ramp, afraid that if she looked up, the sight of the expanse of sky and land would make her faint.
“Greetings.” That was the same voice she had heard before. A hand clutched her under the elbow, helping her step down to the ground. She looked up and saw a young man with reddish-brown hair in the black uniform of a Guardian.
Mahala froze and then noticed that there were other Guardians near the ramp, all at attention, all of them armed with wands that hung from their belts. But of course there would be Guardians, she reminded herself, in order to protect the people who had come here.
Five women stood a few meters from the ramp, all of them wearing long lace-trimmed tunics that fell to their ankles. Mahala recognized two of the women from images that had been sent to her with messages. One of them, a pretty dark-haired woman, was Teresa Marias, Mahala's kinswoman and the mayor of Lincoln. At her right was her daughter, Harriett Teresas; she had her mother's dark hair, but Mahala knew her by her eyes, which were even larger and more strikingly green than they had appeared to be on her screen image.
“Welcome to Lincoln,” Teresa Marias called out in a resonant alto voice. Mahala struggled to maintain her composure. I will not look up at the sky, she thought, and I won't think about the gusts of air blowing past my face. The wind had picked up; she could hear it now, moaning softly. She knew from Harriett's messages about Plains weather that her cousin would consider this wind little more than a breeze.
“I am most pleased,” the mayor continued, “andâoh!” Teresa lifted a hand to her face; a Guardian and two of the women with Teresa were suddenly rushing toward the new arrivals. Mahala turned around and saw Tonya Chang, one of the representatives from the Maxwell Mountain settlements, lying on her back, mouth open, legs folded under her.
Tonya Chang, perhaps exhausted, perhaps overcome by terror of the outdoors, had fainted.
Tonya recovered and was able to walk by the time Mahala and her companions were led to the town hall, escorted by Guardians toting their duffels and trailed by a procession of curious townsfolk. After a short speech describing how honored the people of Lincoln were to be the site of such a gathering, Teresa Marias announced that those who were to be hosts to the visitors would accompany them to their quarters. “We would have planned a more elaborate celebration,” Teresa went on, “with a banquet here in the town hall, but the Council of Mukhtars advised us to get you settled first and to let you rest, so please don't think badly of us for not making more of a fuss. If there is anything you need, do let the members of your host commune know. We want you to be as comfortable as possible.”
Harriett Teresas edged closer to Mahala. “You'll be staying with us,” the young woman whispered, flattening her vowels as most of the Plainspeople did in their speech. “After all, you are part of our line.” Those were the first words that Harriett had spoken to her since her arrival; Mahala had been eyeing her kinswoman with both curiosity and anxiety. Harriett was a teacher at the Lincoln Academy and had gone north for a year to study mathematics at the University of Winnipeg; Mahala knew that much from the messages they had exchanged with each other.
“I'm pleased to be your guest,” Mahala replied.
“Benzi's staying with us, too. He was living with Tesia and Jeffrey, the two Habbers who came here with him, but he's moved in with us for now, so you'll have somebody familiar nearby.”
Mahala smiled; she had not seen or heard from Benzi for so long that he seemed as much a stranger to her as was Harriett. She looked around for Ah Lin and saw her leaving the town hall with three women who hovered around her protectively.
“Teresa will probably stay here for a bit,” Harriett said, “but you may come home with me now. My grandmother's cooked up a fine supper for you, and the rest of our household is looking forward to meeting you.”
Mahala gazed into her cousin's eyes. There was something of Risa in Harriett's strong-boned attractive face. Harriett motioned to the Guardian who was carrying Mahala's duffel; he was the same Guardian who had greeted them at the floater cradle. “Jeremy,” Harriett called out, “are you going to tote that thing to my house for our guest, or do I have to drag it there by myself?”
“I'll carry it,” Mahala murmured, thinking that was hardly the way to speak to a Guardian, but the young man seemed unperturbed.
“I'll bring it,” the Guardian said, “as long as I can stay for supper.”
“You're asking me for a bribe,” Harriett said, “and Guardians aren't supposed to take bribes,” but she smiled as she spoke.
Mahala managed to descend the steps outside the town hall and cross the square without betraying any uneasiness, concentrating on the people who had come there to gawk at the delegates. It was late spring in Lincoln, and she knew from Harriett's messages that this was a better season to be here than in winter, when the winds howled and the Plains were assaulted by snow and ice.
She kept near Harriett, both of them trailed by the Guardian, whose full name was Jeremy Courtneys. The houses along the road stood dose to one another, and the light wands and lamps she glimpsed through the windows cast a warm welcoming glow. There was a large greenhouse on the street, used by several of the nearby households; Harriett pointed it out to Mahala, then stopped in front of one house.
“This is it,” Harriett said, gesturing at the steps that led up to the front door. “It's our house, where my mother's commune lives.”
Mahala approached the steps of the large square structure. Her great-grandmother Iris had lived in this house; Benzi had been born here over a century ago. Harriett led her inside, followed by Jeremy. Two women stood in the hallway in front of a staircase; they smiled at Mahala, then batted their eyes at Jeremy.
“This is Gisella,” Harriett said, gesturing toward the tall blond woman, “and Zofie.” Gisella nodded at them; a smile crossed Zofie's round, pretty face. “They're part of our household and they're also two of my mother's oldest friends. This is my cousin, Mahala Liangharad.”
“Welcome to Lincoln,” Zofie said. “Have a seat in the common
roomâMaria's cooking up quite a feed for you.”
“Amaris is helping her out in the kitchen,” Gisella said. The two women continued to stare at Mahala, as if uncertain of what else to say, and then Zofie came toward her and embraced her. “Welcome home, Mahala.”
In the common room, Mahala saw several chairs and a couch covered in a bright red fabric; end tables with lamps nestled in the corners, a long low wooden table was near the couch, and the wall screen showed a holo of pine-covered hills, making the room seem even larger than it was. She sank into one of the chairs; the room seemed cluttered, the amount of furniture almost wasteful. The women of the household sat with Mahala in the common room, speaking of Linkers and Administrators and other illustrious personages who had been coming in and out of Lincoln to make arrangements for the conference, until it was time to gather at the large wooden table in the kitchen for dinner.
There were two children in this commune, Amaris's son, Graham, and Gisella's daughter, Mara, who told Mahala a little of what they had learned about the Venus Project in school. Maria Sylvies, Harrietts grandmother, fussed over Mahala and kept passing her platters of meat, bread, and vegetables, while Amaris, the youngest woman in the household except for Harriett, flirted with Jeremy.
The Guardian, it turned out, came from Oxbow, another Plains town. According to him, the detachment of fifty Guardians stationed here were mostly men, most of them natives of the Plains. This diplomatic arrangement appealed to the respectable women of Lincoln, since it provided them with a variety of potential bed-partners who were familiar with Plains customs and would not be offended by invitations to spend the night. Although Jeremy had clearly attached himself to Harriett, this did not keep the other women at the table, even gray-haired old Nona, the oldest woman in the household, from flirting with the young man.