Authors: Pamela Sargent
"It isn't exactly a secret, Andy. Have you ever thought of trading with the Islanders, too?"
He frowned. "I never thought they'd be interested. They've got better stuff when they want it, and a lot of the Administrators are Muslims. They might disapprove."
"They've got better stuff if they import it, at great cost, and you know perfectly well a lot of Muslims aren't above taking a discreet nip once in a while. I don't see what you have to lose. You'll be doing just as well in the end, and if you send more to the Islands, you'll have a reason for restricting what you trade away here. No one's going to blame you for trying to expand your market, so to speak."
"I still don't know —"
"Surely you take some pride in your product," she interrupted. "You were the one who told me some immigrants found it as fine as any they'd tasted in their Nomarchies. Just think of how nice it would be to have some visiting Project Council member sample your genuine Cytherian whiskey at Administrator Sigurd Kristens-Vitos's table."
Andrew's smile had returned. "It's an idea, Risa — I have to admit that."
"I'm willing to discuss this with Administrator Sigurd. He'll be amenable when he understands the reasons, and I'm sure he'll find someone reliable who can handle your shipments there and draw up a contract with you. I'll let you know as soon as I've talked to him. Do we have an agreement?"
"I guess so."
"And you'll limit how much you give each individual here, and you won't sell any to Kosti for now?"
Andrew nodded. "It might not matter in the long run, though. If I don't sell it, people can always trade with those who have it or even try to steal it."
Risa gestured at his screen. "Let's put the agreement into our records. We can keep it private as long as you live up to it."
"My word's good."
"Indeed it is," she said acidly, "but I've seen too many disputes caused by vague memories of agreements. It never hurts to be clear and have it recorded."
* * *
The west dome's light was just beginning to dim as Risa left Andrew's house. She nodded at his brother, John, who was carrying a crate of returned bottles up the path.
She had found a solution. Both Leilani and Andrew would be satisfied, and she could tell Kosti that Andrew was acting as a friend should, a statement he would understand in his present, although potentially precarious, sobriety. But she knew that this was only a temporary solution. Andrew would prosper as much as before, and other settlers would note that and think of providing similar products. She had to hope their greed did not overtake their sense of responsibility.
Couldn't people like Andrew see that their settlements, their very lives, depended on acting responsibly? Too often, she worried about how many others shared her feelings for this world. Sometimes she longed to rage at the ones who came to her with their petty disputes and problems; she was tired of having to tell them things they should have seen for themselves.
Perhaps she had done them no service by offering her advice in the first place. They might have been forced to settle their difficulties themselves and become the self-reliant people they aspired to be. Paradoxically, she could even wish for the authority to force them to be what they should have been.
That was not a wish to indulge in for long. Pavel had begun with wanting to serve the Project and had ended by assuming that Venus's future depended on his maintaining his own authority. She would not make his mistake.
Her neighbors greeted her as they walked toward their own houses. A cat was sharpening its claws on a tree near her house; it scurried away as she passed. Malik would be home by now. She suddenly wished that she had worn something more flattering than her plain gray shirt and pants. Maybe she should have offered to trade with Grete Soong for some new garments. Most of the settlers contented themselves with the coveralls and work clothes the Project provided, along with shifts, tunics, and pants that were easy to make from imported fabrics, but lately a few were wearing slightly dressier clothes. Grete had a talent for sewing; clothes made by Andrew's bondmate always had extra touches — embroidery on the edges of sleeves, or tailoring that flattered the owner. Risa thought of how she might look to Malik in one of Grete's silken shirts; she had never concerned herself with clothing before.
The man was a disgraced Linker; apart from his education, he had no useful skills. She suspected he was vain; his clothes, plain as they were, always seemed neat, and she had seen no stubble on his face since their first meeting. After preparing his lessons, he preferred to spend his evenings with his reading screen and library instead of offering to help around the house or trying to learn more practical skills. He did not even know how to prepare his own food, and the formal manner he adopted with visitors seemed affected.
She could find enough flaws in him. None of them, however, had any effect on her feelings. She thought of him when she was alone in her room and knew that only a narrow hallway separated them.
He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His features were so perfect that they were unnerving; she had been relieved to notice the slight hook of his slender nose, a minor defect that made him seem more human. She had glimpsed a sad, pensive look in his eyes that drew her sympathy, as well as a darker, more passionate glance that hinted at strong emotions.
She had persuaded herself that living as she did might make her better able to advise those who came to her with their problems, which she could then view with a detached objectivity unmarred by sentiment and too great an attachment to another human being. She had imagined finding a bondmate who would be a friend and companion and ask for little more.
Malik's presence had upset those plans. She wanted him to care about her even when she acted in ways that would discourage him. She sensed his need; even worse, she suspected that he knew what she felt.
She could guess at how he saw her. She was pretty enough in her own way, but he was probably used to beauties. She had some learning, but Malik was no doubt accustomed to wit and brilliance. She was a woman who had never lived anywhere except on Island Two and then in Oberg; he was familiar with several of Earth's cities. She knew none of the classical, formal Arabic Malik favored; his talk of the poetry and literature he loved made her feel even more ignorant. She could never be anything to him except a provincial settler and a passing amusement.
What kind of advice could she give herself? To take him as a lover if he were willing or else to put him out of her mind. She could find another household that might give Malik a room.
"Risa!" a voice called out as she turned toward the path leading to her door. Nikolai Burian came toward her from the tunnel; she remembered then that Malik had mentioned inviting the young man to dinner.
She smiled as he came to her side. "It's good to see you again. How are things going?"
"Better. Jed's starting to treat me like everyone else. I'm learning how to repair diggers in my spare time — can't hurt to learn another skill."
"Has anyone offered you a place to live?"
"Not yet." Nikolai tilted his head. "I wouldn't ask for much — just a place to unroll a mat, and maybe a chance to get to know a woman as pretty as you."
She flushed a little. It was too bad that she was not more attracted to Nikolai. He wouldn't scorn her lack of learning; he might be grateful she wasn't overly educated. His interest in her was evident. Part of her attraction for him might lie in the fact that she was a person of some importance here, but she could not object to that. He was the kind of man who would make a good companion, even a bondmate. Encouraging him might help her put thoughts of Malik from her mind. But such dishonesty was repellent — a pretense of caring for one man so that she would not have to confront her growing feelings for another.
"You'll find a home before too long," she said.
He took a step along the path, then halted. "I wanted to ask you — how's Malik getting along?"
"He seems fine. I don't see that much of him except in the evenings, and he's usually preparing lessons or reading then. He brought quite a nice microdot library with him, with books we don't have here. Most of what we have was recorded from Island libraries and whatever Earth can send when the channels aren't taken up with essential communications. Some of his students seem quite taken with him already — especially the girls."
Nikolai chuckled. "I'd expect that. Is there any other work he can do?"
"I suggested that he offer his services as a tutor," she replied.
"Screen lessons can teach."
"True, but some people happily pay teachers to go over the lessons with them or just to discuss what they've learned — debate, ask questions, suggest other readings, and so forth. It's a little more interesting sometimes to have a real teacher to talk to instead of a screen image with programmed responses, and a few who didn't have a chance at more advanced learning can enjoy a lecture or a seminar."
Nikolai shrugged. "People have fun in different ways, I guess."
"Why were you curious about Malik?" she asked.
"I worry about him a little. That probably sounds strange." He walked toward a tree and leaned against it. "It's a good thing he came here when he did. He might not have lasted that long in the camp. A lot of people avoided him. One man tried to start a fight with him once, and I don't think it was just because Malik was sleeping with his sister."
So there had been a woman in the camp. That did not surprise her.
"It's funny," the young man continued, "but I felt kind of sorry for him, knowing he was a Linker once. That camp was hard for him, even if he tried not to show it. The rest of us could look forward to having something more, but he's never going to have what he had."
"I know," she said softly.
"He doesn't belong here, really. He'll be thinking of what he lost."
"He has more than most new settlers get right away," she said, "interesting work and a place to live."
Nikolai moved away from the tree. "I wanted to ask you something else, Risa. You don't know much about me, so you don't have to give me an answer — you can just think it over, maybe. I wouldn't mind staying here and helping in your greenhouse. I can get up earlier to go to the bay, and I'll sleep in the hallway or the kitchen if there's no other space."
Risa did not know what to say. With Nikolai's assistance, the greenhouse might earn more credit for the household; if she was elected to the Oberg Council, which seemed likely, she might need extra help here.
"It's something to consider," she responded at last. "I'll have to look at your record, of course. For that matter, you may want to examine ours."
"I've seen a little of what your people are like. Listening to a public record probably won't tell me anything new. You won't find much to hold against me. I didn't leave any kids on Earth. There was a girl I wanted for a bondmate, but she wouldn't follow me to the camp. I missed her for a while, but that's past."
"I'll think about this," she said. "It isn't just up to me — the others will have something to say about it. If they're agreeable, you could probably use Tina's examining room at night. I'll let you know as soon as possible."
"Thanks." He took her arm. "I think I'd like it here."
They walked toward the door. Perhaps if Nikolai were living here, she could ignore Malik.
* * *
Risa felt restless. She sat down on her bed and stared at the small screen in one corner of her room. She would call Sigurd Kristens-Vitos tomorrow; the Administrator did not need to be bothered with Andrew Dinel's petty affairs at this hour. It was too late to visit Leilani; she could speak to her after talking to Sigurd.
Nikolai had done his best to be friendly during dinner. He had congratulated Grazie and Paul on their pledge, asked Chen about his carvings, and entertained Bettina with a few bawdy jokes. Her household probably wouldn't mind having him live here for a while. Chen would still be awake; she could see what he thought of the idea.
She crossed the room and opened her door. Malik, with a towel draped over his bare shoulders, was about to enter his own room; he turned his head.
"I was just going to talk to my father," she said as she gestured at the door to Chen's room.
"Nothing important, I hope. I think he's with Tina — I saw him enter her room just a little while ago."
"Oh." She looked down, feeling awkward. "Well, it can wait until breakfast, then. Kolya asked me before if there might be room for him here, and I said I'd speak to everyone about it."
"That's your decision," he said.
"Yours, too, now that you're living with us."
"I'm more of a guest," Malik responded. "Anyway, I don't have any objection. Kolya looked out for me before, and he'd be of use to you, I think. How long would he stay?"
"That depends. We'd offer him an informal, private agreement stating our obligations to each other — how much credit he'd contribute to the household, things like that. Eventually, he can decide if he wants to stay on as part of the household or build his own house somewhere else. There's still plenty of room here and in the southeast dome, but if he waits until the south dome is ready to be occupied, he'd have his choice of sites."
Malik pressed his door open. "Would you like to come in?" he asked. "We haven't had much time to talk since I arrived."
She wanted to refuse. This is my house, she told herself; I ought to listen to what he has to say if he's going to be living here.
He stepped aside, allowing her to enter; the door slid shut behind him. She sat down quickly on the floor, leaving him the cushion in the corner. He smoothed down his pants before seating himself. His torso was broader than it had seemed under his shirts; his chest was covered with swirls of hair that fanned out over his upper body before narrowing into a thin dark line.
"Actually, I thought you might be able to advise me," he said, "since you say you're sometimes helpful to others. I can't help feeling I'm already a disappointment."