Venus of Shadows (73 page)

"I don't see why you're worrying about that. There's more work to do in Turing now, and Boaz tells me that the new people there think it's best not to have too frequent an exchange of messages or conversations with people outside Turing. Some of the people in Turing have unreasonable resentments against us, even though all we're doing is showing them where their duty lies. At the moment, some of them would be tempted to spread discord here. When they come to accept their situation, they'll be free to send whatever messages they like."

"Chimene, I found out about the kind of people who were sent there," Risa said, "permanent members of the patrol and volunteer members who generally have a reputation for being a little too quick to impose their authority on others. I've called up the names, and I've asked a few people in the other settlements about those who were sent to Turing from their domes. They're the same kind of people, and I don't like the idea of their being up in Turing with little to control them."

"They're my brothers and sisters," Chimene responded calmly. "They'll do nothing of which I wouldn't approve. Unfortunately, some of the people in that settlement need a firmer hand — they were among Habbers too long and deprived of our guidance. But Boaz assures me —"

"Listen to me, daughter. I'm not the only one who's worried. This isn't like detaining someone who's committed a violent crime — it isn't even like depriving several Linkers of their Links and shutting them up somewhere. People can let that pass and tell themselves that Sigurd and his allies are only paying a price for letting Islanders leave with the Habbers, and that there's some justice in that. But the men and women in Turing have families and friends here, all of whom are going to be worrying about them. Do you really want all those people to be wondering about how their loved ones are faring? They might begin to question your judgment, even those who believe in you."

"I'm telling you that there's nothing to worry about."

Risa gazed into her daughter's face. Chimene seemed sincere; her dark eyes were filled with compassion, yet it seemed that her daughter was looking at her from the center of a complex web. "A few pilots are talking," Risa said. "They're saying that recently, whenever they deliver anything to Turing, they're asked to stay in the bay. They sleep aboard their airships before they leave, and there are always a few members of the patrol inside the bay while they're there. They never see the six pilots who are stationed there permanently, and any of the people who help them unload their cargo seem afraid to talk to them. It makes them wonder if there's something to hide."

"Foolishness," Chimene said. "The pilots were never terribly eager to mingle much with the people in Turing before, and surely there's no reason for them to do so now. As I told you, some of those people wouldn't be above spreading false tales in an effort to sow discontent. Boaz tells me that when things are more settled —"

"I'm tired of hearing what Boaz says. Maybe he doesn't tell you everything and thinks that you'd restrain him more if he did. Aren't you concerned about Dyami? Don't you care what happens to him?"

"I care very much."

"Then do something!"

"There's nothing else to do." Chimene swung her feet to the side of the long chair and sat up. "I'm afraid you simply don't understand what Turing has to be now — a place where people must be brought to remember their obligations. You have no idea what some of them have done — plotting with Habbers against us, engaging in every manner of offense against the Spirit. It pains me that Dyami is among them, but I can't put my feelings for him above my duty to others or, for that matter, above my true duty to him. He will come to repent of his actions, and then —"

"What could he possibly have done?" Risa cried.

"He has offended Ishtar," Chimene replied. "I'll be blunt — he's gone to the beds of other men. You may not be a believer, but even you must be repelled by such actions, which pervert and degrade the act of love that binds us to nature."

Risa said, "Someone's been telling you lies."

"Oh, no. There's no doubt of it — I've heard about his deeds from a witness. Dyami admitted what he was to him."

Chimene was telling the truth. Oddly enough, Risa did not feel surprised at realizing that, or as sorrowful as she might once have been; she was only more afraid for her son. He couldn't come to me, she thought; he kept his secret all this time. How fearful and lonely he must have been.

"You see why we must be firm with him and the others of his kind," Chimene continued. "We have to rid them of that evil. I'm sorry that I had to tell you this. When I first learned what my brother was, I wanted to hide it from everyone, convince myself it wasn't true. But I won't hide the truth any longer. If others happen to learn what those people in Turing really are, they won't be so concerned about them. They'll know we have to free them of what's inside them." She leaned forward. "You don't seem terribly shocked. Maybe you knew what Dyami was all along."

"No, I didn't know."

"You see why I must show my love by bringing such people to give up their offenses."

"Oh, yes." Risa took a breath; she had thought she might still be able to reach her daughter. Now she saw that no mercy remained inside Chimene. Very well, she thought; this would make her task easier. She would no longer have to be troubled by guilt while working against the Guide's ambitions. "I know why you have to force them to change. You and those creatures around you can't bear the thought that there are things you can't control, that there are parts of people over which you have no power. You won't settle for power over what we do or think — you'd control our deepest feelings as well. You're not grieving over those people because they offend your Spirit — you're angry with them because their most intimate acts defy you and the power you seek over them. They're a sign that they still claim some freedom for themselves."

Chimene's cheeks reddened. "That's how you see what your son has practiced?"

"Maybe he found some love in such deeds. Perhaps he found more than you have, with all that rutting you call a rite. What you do sickens me more than anything he might have done. What did you think — that you could destroy me by telling me this about Dyami or that the shock of hearing it would bring me to see things your way?"

Chimene got to her feet. "I've been patient with you, Risa. I believed you'd come to the truth if I waited. I can wait a bit longer, but you'll live to see Dyami accept the right way, and then you'll be brought to it by whatever means are necessary — I promise you that." She smiled. "But we mustn't part with such angry words. I'm pleased you came to visit, and perhaps you'll ponder what I've said. Do give Sef my love. I've missed his presence at our meetings here and the offerings he once made to the Spirit through me at our rite. It gave me joy to see how much he loved me. You must tell him that I long to share such moments with him again."

Risa flinched as her insides knotted; she was afraid she would not be able to get up. Chimene stared down at her, still smiling, then walked toward the house.

Risa waited until the pain began to ease, then slowly stood up. Chimene's revelation could be a lie, designed only to poison her love for Sef. It might be the truth; in that case, Sef had probably regretted his weakness some time ago. Chimene had as much as admitted that he had given her up. Her confession had only been another weapon to use against her mother, and Risa did not have to let the blow strike at her heart. What her bondmate had done was past; she would not risk driving him back to her daughter with pointless accusations.

Even in her numbed state, she felt a sense of relief. She now had another just reason to hate Chimene.

*  *  *

Dyami was keeping track of the days. He marked them off with a stylus on the wall of the tiny room he shared with Alien Sirit, Suleiman Khan, and Helmut Renas-Korbs. The patrol had been in Turing for exactly one hundred and twenty days now. He made his mark, then dimmed the globe of light next to him before stretching out on his mat.

He had grown used to sleeping with his long legs slightly bent so that they did not touch Suleiman's feet in the tiny crowded room. He had grown accustomed to Allen's soft snore and Helmut's occasional nocturnal murmurs. Sometimes he was startled by how quickly he had habituated himself to his new life; he would never have guessed that being a prisoner was, for the most part, boring. Tedium was, however, easier to endure than hope, which only led to despair. He could not allow himself to think about how much of his life might slip away here. He could not dwell on those outside and whether or not they had resigned themselves to his fate.

The first month and a half had been more eventful. They had dismantled all the shacks under the supervision of their guards. They had been ordered to tear out all the partitions in the lavatories of the former Habber dorms, since their guards seemed to think offenses against Ishtar might otherwise be practiced there.

A neat row of simple houses, with plumbing and light but no screens, now stood in the hollow near the dining hall and the two dormitories where the patrol lived. The guards took turns living in the houses; even with the more than ample space of their dorms and their belief that no barriers should exist between members of Ishtar, they apparently felt an intermittent need for more privacy.

Now, for over two months, the days had passed in normal routines; at times Dyami could almost imagine that things were much as they had been. He had his two weeks on duty at the refinery, his week on an external operations shift, and a week spent working in the greenhouse and preparing meals with others in the dining hall's kitchen before the cycle began again. He no longer took a turn on darktime duty; members of the patrol monitored essential operations then. He and his companions were given no days off, but in a way that was a relief, since it meant less time to brood on his situation.

During the past month a new custom had been added. Once a week the prisoners were required to remain in the dining hall after dinner for a meeting. Usually, one of the guards gave a dull speech about the cult's teachings, but sometimes the proceedings were enlivened by a recorded lecture of the Guide's. A large screen would be set up; the room would be filled with his sister's dulcet tones as she pleaded with them to accept the right way. At the meeting's conclusion, the screen was taken outside and carried back in a cart to the south dome; since the tunnel was always patrolled, this ensured that the prisoners would have no way of communicating with the outside.

The guards always waited at the end of meetings to see if anyone was willing to don the sash. Jonah had made it clear that new adherents would have not only the benefits of the truth but also a little extra food, perhaps new clothes, and a chance to view more messages from home. So far, the captives had resisted such temptations, some out of pride, others out of fear that they might lose the respect of their fellow prisoners.

Dyami had his own private names for the guards; it did not matter to him what their actual names were. The black-bearded man who seemed to serve as Jonah's aide was the Puncher because he was so quick to deliver such blows whenever a prisoner did not reply to his questions immediately. A skinny red-haired man was the Peeper, since he was always entering the prisoners' dorms unannounced with other guards in the hope of catching some unwary souls committing offenses against the Spirit — not that this was likely, since their doors had to be left open and the lavatories were now in full view at the end of the halls. A plain mousy-haired woman was the Ogler, since she often found excuses to be inside the dorms when a few of the men were showering. There were others — the Conductor, who wielded his wand like a baton, and the Hawk, a beady-eyed man with a prominent nose, who swooped down without warning on anyone caught lingering near any of the refinery's screens.

The prisoners had learned how to obey. Dyami had cursed at one particularly obnoxious guard during the first month; the man had answered with a beam from his wand. The weapons only stunned, but Dyami had come to with the worst headache of his life; he had also been told that because of his recalcitrance, his roommates would have no food for a day. A few similar displays on the part of his companions had brought other such punishments — beatings given to others besides the offender or no food for any of the prisoners. Being obedient was wiser than having others suffer for one's misdeeds.

They had learned that their guards were capricious. The Puncher might deliver a blow for no reason at all; the Peeper would browbeat a couple of women or men for doing no more than exchanging what he saw as an unusually affectionate glance. Perhaps the guards were as bored as their prisoners and sought ways to enliven the passing weeks. Maybe they had come to realize that they could do as they liked, with no one to restrain them. They had to lead their prisoners to the truth and could probably justify any of their somewhat primitive techniques.

Dyami had heard no news from outside Turing; no one had yet deemed him worthy of receiving a message. He wondered if any had been sent or if his household and friends had been given a story to explain his silence. Of his roommates, only Suleiman had been allowed to view a message from his father, but the dark-haired young man believed it had been edited. In the presence of two guards, Suleiman had been limited to replying that he appreciated the news of his family and that he would send a longer message when he had more time.

Their guards, of course, could have saved themselves this extra trouble by using holographic images of the prisoners. A specialist, working with a cybermind to construct such an image, could produce one almost indistinguishable from the person himself. But Dyami could guess why the guards had not bothered with such a deception, even though they could probably have found someone capable of the work. Those outside to whom the images would have replied had been too close to the prisoners, and they already had reason to be concerned about them. An image might lack certain subtleties — a particular facial expression, a peculiarity of speech, certain gestures or private jokes.