Child of Venus (6 page)

“Sef?” She paused, then asked, “Was Einar Gunnarsson beaten and almost killed, before the Revolt?”

“That's an odd question,” Sef said. “What made you think of that?” She did not answer. “A lot of people suffered then,” her grandfather continued. “Einar could have been one of them. I don't know him that well—he and Thorunn moved here from Tsou Yen when their daughter Solveig was still an infant, and he isn't a talkative man.” Sef sighed. “Better not to think about those days, Mahala. Anyway, I have some good news. Dyami's going to be here in three days.”

“Really?” The last time her uncle had visited, he had brought her a doll he had carved himself. He might bring her another present this time, and Risa was always in high spirits when he was in the house.

“He's only staying for five days, but luckily I have some time off. Maybe I can even talk your grandmother into postponing some of her Council business while he's here.”

“Maybe I can miss school, too.”

“No, you mustn't fall behind.”

“I can do the work at home. The screen can teach me as much as—”

“You will go, Mahala. When you're older, you won't be able to take time off from work whenever you like. You're very lucky to be in a school, to have that chance. I sometimes wish I'd had a chance at more schooling myself, but very few kids on Earth get chosen for a school or have parents powerful enough to get them into one.”

She would not be able to avoid Ragnar, who seemed to hate her because of things that had happened long ago. Mahala was beginning to see why her grandparents did not want to talk about the past. They would definitely not want her asking questions around her uncle Dyami, who had suffered more than most during the time before the Revolt.

“I wish—” Mahala began.

“What?” Sef asked.

Mahala glanced up at the slowly darkening dome. “I wish I already knew everything I had to know.”

“No, you don't,” Sef said.

“Why?”

“Because then there'd be nothing left for you to find out.”

Her grandfather made it sound as if there would always be secrets. No, Mahala thought; every secret grasped and understood meant one less unknown that might rise up and hurt her, as Ragnar had tried to do. Maybe when all of the secrets were gone, she would no longer have to fear anything.

 

3

Mahala managed to evade Ragnar for two days. She got up early, before first light, gulped down bread and fruit for breakfast, and was on her way to school by the time the rest of the household was awake. After school, she ran as fast as she could to the community greenhouses to meet Sef. So far, Ragnar had not come after her, but she wondered how much longer she could keep avoiding him.

“Mahala.”

She started, then looked up from her schoolwork. Karin had come over to her table and was leaning over her, a worried look on her face. “Are you feeling all right?” the teacher asked.

“I'm fine,” Mahala replied.

“You looked as though you were about to faint.”

Mahala tried to stifle a yawn, but failed. “It's nothing.”

Karin frowned, then walked away. Ragnar was staring at Mahala from across the classroom. She gazed at her screen, trying to concentrate on the arithmetic lesson.

“Wrong,” a gentle voice said from the screen. “Please add these numbers again.” Mahala obeyed, then traced another set of numerals on the screen with her stylus. Ragnar would be waiting for her after school. She could take the usual way home, but Sef, with time off that he had earned coming to him, would not be working any shifts at the greenhouse during Dyami's visit.

“That is correct,” the screen voice said. “Very good, Mahala.” A new column of numbers appeared. Even after her uncle Dyami left, Sef would return to the west dome's bay and his usual job of repairing and maintaining the diggers and crawlers used for surface operations. He would not be able to walk home with her after school anymore.

She yawned again; the numbers seemed to float on the screen. Before she could trace out her answer, the soft chime marking the end of the school day sounded.

Mahala jumped up from her cushion, ready to run for the door. “Farewell, children,” Karin called out. “Mahala, please stay—I'd like to speak to you.”

The others scrambled around cushions and tables toward the door. Ragnar shot her a look of triumph as he left the room. Her only chance had been to leave the school ahead of him, and then to run home as fast as she could.

Mahala sidled around a table. “Is something wrong?” Karin asked. “You look tired. Have you had a checkup lately?”

“Paul checked me,” Mahala mumbled as she approached the teacher's console. “Paul Bettinas, one of my grandmother's housemates—he's a paramedic.”

“Yes, I know.”

“He gave me a scan before I started school. I just haven't been sleeping enough. I'll try to go to bed early.” She waited to be dismissed, but the teacher motioned to her. Mahala sighed as she sat down on a cushion near the console. Ragnar might already be waiting for her outside.

“I don't think it's just lack of sleep,” Karin murmured. “You've been nervous, too—looking around as if you expected somebody to bite you. Is there some sort of problem?”

“It's nothing.” She couldn't tell Karin about Ragnar. If the teacher reprimanded the boy, Ragnar would hold it against Mahala and blame her for any black marks Karin added to his record.

“Does it have anything to do with that assignment I gave you, that report on your family? Did Ragnar upset you with his questions?”

Mahala was afraid to look up; Karin was getting too close.

“It's the kind of project we always assign our new students,” Karin went on, “but I should have seen that it might present a few problems for you. Your immediate ancestors were—well, much more interesting than most people.”

“My grandmother told me about my mother,” Mahala said, “that she killed herself. Risa said she did it because she was sorry about a lot of things.”

“A lot of people besides your poor mother had reason to be sorry,” the
teacher said softly. “Some didn't think about anything back then except protecting
themselves. It was hard to know whom to trust then or who might betray you. Your grandmother Risa
was one of the courageous ones who stood up for what was right. You can take pride in that.”

“I have to go,” Mahala said. “My grandfather'll wonder where I am—I'm supposed to meet him.” She tried to think of something more compelling to add to that lie. “My uncle's coming to visit—my uncle Dyami.”

Karin smiled. “Then you must greet him for me. I was one of his schoolmates—he's welcome to visit at my house any time.”

“I'll tell him.”

“Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine.”

“Then you'd better go meet your grandfather,” Karin said, still looking concerned. “Maybe I'll call your household later and speak to Dyami myself.”

“Peace, Karin,” Mahala said absently, then got up and wandered from the room.

Down the hallway, three doors to classrooms had been left open. Some of the older students often stayed after hours to do extra work or tutor younger students. In one classroom, Eugenio Tokugawa sat with three children. Mahala could not see the point of asking another student for help when a teaching image on the screen could offer guidance, but some students preferred a tutor. Eugenio, according to rumor, planned to become a teacher. In a way, his mother, Lena Kerein, was a kind of teacher herself.

Lena was Ishtar's Guide. The story was that Mahala's mother, her close friend, had chosen her for that position, even though Lena had turned against much of what the Ishtar cult had tried to do during Chimene's time. The Guide occasionally put one of her speeches to her followers on the public channels. The speeches were about sharing possessions with others, being honest and truthful, and the dangers of being secretive or of lusting for power. Ishtar's followers were encouraged, through good deeds, to work toward making their world the perfect world it could be and also to seek to know the will of the Spirit that was slowly coming to life on Venus. Mahala had sometimes wondered what the appeal of the cult was; Lena was a kind, easygoing woman, but not much of a speaker. Those in Ishtar had once hoped to bring everyone in the settlements to their beliefs, but many had fallen away from the cult, and few people were members of the group now. Those who wanted spiritual solace were Muslims, Buddhists, Christians of various sects, or followers of other faiths imported from Earth. Some, like her grandmother, did not look beyond the world they knew for meaning.

She came to the side doorway, then halted. Ragnar knew that she used this exit. Mahala steadied herself. If he was outside when the door opened, she could duck back inside; he wouldn't chase her down the hallway with teachers and students still in the building.

She pressed her hand against the door; it slid open. Outside, a tall girl with white-blond hair was sitting near the path. Mahala tensed, wondering what Solveig Einarsdottir was doing there. She was about to retreat inside when Solveig lifted a hand.

“Hey,” the blond girl called out. “Hey, Mahala. If you're looking for my brother, he isn't here.”

Mahala walked slowly toward Solveig, ready to escape back to the school if necessary. “I know he's mad at you,” Solveig went on. “I saw him head into the woods.” The tall girl gestured toward the trees near the school. “He's waiting somewhere along the path between here and the greenhouses. That's the way you always go, isn't it?”

Mahala was suddenly suspicious. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“It isn't a trick—honest.”

“Ragnar tried to beat me up a couple of days ago.”

“I know.” Solveig got to her feet. “It couldn't have been much of a fight. You're so much smaller.”

“This woman came along and scared him off. I didn't tell my grandparents about it. My teacher asked me what was wrong with me today, and I didn't say anything. I won't tell on him, but if he keeps it up, somebody'll find out, and it won't be my fault if he gets a black mark and a bad name.”

“If anybody's going to get black marks and a Council hearing, it's
Ragnar,” Solveig said; her husky voice made her sound like an adult. “He is an awful
bastard sometimes, isn't he?”

Mahala gaped at her, not knowing what to say.

“Oh, I care about him.” Solveig took a step toward her. “He is my brother, but he does act like a shit sometimes. Anyway, he's getting tired of being mad at you. He'll give up soon, and if he bothers you any more after that, I'll fix him.”

“Maybe that'll just get him madder at me,” Mahala said.

“I told you—he'll get tired of this.” Solveig brushed some grass and dirt from the back of her pale green tunic. “I'll walk with you, if you want. If Ragnar sees us together, he'll leave you alone. We don't have to go through the park—we can take another way.”

“I'll go this way.”

They strolled toward the trees. “Why is he after you, anyway?” Solveig asked.

“We had to give those reports, the ones about our people and where they're from. Ragnar said I should have put Habbers in mine, because of my uncle and grandfather joining them, and then our teacher scolded him for saying mean things about them. He tried to beat me up afterward. He said his report was better than mine and that I made him look bad. He said my parents and some other people in Ishtar had your father beaten and almost killed.”

“It wasn't right of him to say that.”

“His report was better than mine, though. I told him that, but it didn't help.”

“He's smart,” Solveig said. “He could have started school sooner than he did, but our mother thought he needed more time in the nursery learning how to get along. He likes to be alone a lot, with his screen and any wood or clay he can get his hands on.”

“Why?” Mahala asked.

“So he can draw and whittle and make things out of clay. He made a model of our cat once, but he smashed it later. He gets angry.”

“I know,” Mahala said.

“But you don't know why he's angry.” Solveig was walking more slowly. “It's because Ragnar already knows what he wants to do, and he knows he can't ever do it here.”

“What does he want?”

“To do that—to make things. To draw and carve things out of wood and make clay models.”

“But he can do stuff like that.” Mahala turned her head and looked up at the taller girl. “My grandmother has some of the carvings her father made, and my uncle Dyami makes all kinds of things.”

“I know,” Solveig said. “I've seen images of that monument in Turing he made.” Mahala knew that Solveig meant the monument honoring all of those held as prisoners in Turing before the Revolt. “My mother says it's the only thing on Venus she'd call real art.” The blond girl sighed. “But it's still something your uncle does on the side, when he isn't doing his real work. Ragnar doesn't want to do any other kind of work except his carvings and models, and he knows that's impossible.”

“We all have to do things we don't want to do.” That was something Risa would say, and Mahala suddenly did not like the way it sounded.

Solveig stopped and leaned against a tree. “Maybe it'd be easier if the Habbers weren't around. They help us, but they're here mostly because they want to be, doing what they want to do when they're here and then leaving when they feel like it. Ragnar won't say so, but I think he'd rather be one of them.”

“But he hates them.”

“That's just what he says.”

Mahala thought about Ragnar's report. She was beginning to see why it was about the best one any of her schoolmates had given, and it wasn't just because he had only one part of Earth to show. Every scene had been visually striking in some way; the report had not really needed his words. The images alone would have told the story of his people.