Venus of Dreams (38 page)

At last she stood up. "You should go to sleep," she said gently. Benzi ignored her. "Tell you what—if you go to bed now, we'll get up early tomorrow and go out on the hill and have a picnic. Would you like that?"

Benzi shrugged, but kept his eyes on the screen.

"Then we can go to Winnie's afterward and have a treat."

"All right," he muttered. He stood up and moved reluctantly toward the bed. She drew the sheet over him as he lay down. "I don't want to go," he said as he yawned.

"On the picnic? Well, we'll do something else, then."

"I don't want to go away."

"I know you feel that way now, but you'll be glad when we're there." She perched on the edge of the bed. "It's a wonderful place, Benzi. You'll be on one of the Islands, with a whole new world below. You'll have new friends and a school to go to. You wouldn't have a school here. Every child there has a chance to learn in a school."

"What if I don't like it?"

"Well, no one will force you to go to school. You could be an apprentice and learn a skill instead. The Project needs all kinds of workers, but you'll want to do something useful, or they won't let you stay on the Islands when you're grown. You ought to give school a chance, at least. I would have been happy to have such a chance at your age." She paused. "You'll be able to do something you like, and be part of a new world besides. You'll be part of something special."

Benzi closed his eyes. Iris rose, recalling how certain Angharad had been about what was best for her.

She walked down the hall to the room she had been given. As the door opened, she saw that Angharad was waiting for her. A bottle of whiskey and two glasses were on the table next to Angharad; clearly, her mother was in the mood for talk. Iris entered and sat on the bed.

"You were awfully quiet while Laiza was here," Angharad said. "You could have been a little friendlier. She was your best friend. Now, she'll think you're too good for her."

Her mother was already chiding her. "You're wrong," Iris said as she leaned back on one elbow. "I don't even think she noticed." She had endured dinner, and had even managed to laugh at various choice pieces of gossip; Laiza and the others had been happy to have a new listener for the often-repeated tales. "I'll go over to her house tomorrow, bring her a present. I bought a nice silver bracelet in Yucatán." She had bought it for herself, on impulse; she could easily part with it.

"I think you should." Angharad lifted her bottle. Iris got up, accepted the glass her mother had poured, then sat down on the bed again. The room, always ready for any visitor, was small and bare; she suddenly felt confined, closed in by the yellow walls. "I hope you brought something suitable to wear to mass tomorrow." Angharad sipped from her own glass.

"Tomorrow isn't Sunday."

"I know, but the priest's in town, and I'd like to go with you, say a prayer to thank God for what's been done for you. Mass is nicer when the priest's here, better than having to put up the church screen and watch it."

Iris folded her legs. "I never thought you'd get so religious at your age. I thought mass was just a way for you to see some friends and get a little town business taken care of afterward."

"Don't get snippy with me," Angharad said. "I suppose that's the kind of talk you learned at that school. I'll bet you didn't even attend mass the whole time you were away."

"As a matter of fact, I did once, the first month I was there. There's a place in the Institute set aside for worship, which students of all faiths can use, but not very many ever did. You learn pretty quickly that God isn't going to get you through the work."

"I don't want to hear that kind of talk from you, Iris."

"A few became Muslims. They probably thought it would look good on their records."

"Hush your mouth. Don't insult the faith of other people—that sin isn't easily forgiven. Counselors know as much as you do, and they respect our beliefs."

"Of course they do," Iris said. "It keeps people content."

"I've had my doubts. I won't say I haven't. But I've had some comfort too." Angharad took another sip of whiskey. "Mary's helped me. My burden would have been greater without Her. She knows what it's like to lose a child."

Iris leaned forward. "But you aren't losing me. I'll be on the Project. Your descendants will do great things there."

"I've lost you already. You think I'm just a foolish old woman. And now I'll lose Benzi too."

"Mother." Iris gestured with her glass helplessly. "You're not old. You haven't changed at all. You could still have another child. Talk to the Counselor."

"I told you long ago why I wouldn't."

"And I can't go to mass tomorrow. I promised Benzi I'd take him on a picnic."

"You can take him afterward. I know you need the time with him, but you can do this one thing for me."

"Very well."

"I've done my best for him, Iris. Don't think I haven't. He's always known that his place would be with you, that you would return for him someday. But it's hard for a child to grasp those things. This is still the only home he knows."

"I know." Iris swallowed some whiskey. "I wish there could have been some other way. Linkers sometimes take an embryo of a child and store it until they have time to give birth and raise it. If we'd been richer or more powerful, we could have done that with Benzi. I could have taken him to the Islands and had him implanted and given birth to him there. It certainly would have been more practical."

"I don't want to hear about such practices. If Linkers cared so much for children, they wouldn't have taken a mother from her baby."

"It was an honor. I chose to leave."

"And went to a place where people forget their ties to their homes. Dreams of Venus and symbols on a screen have more meaning to you than I do," Iris winced at her mother's words, which were so close to the truth. "At least Benzi had some time with us. Perhaps he'll have happier memories of our home than you seem to have. Maybe that Project won't seem so fine to him, and he'll come back."

"He'll have a future there," Iris said in a loud voice. "He wouldn't here. Even you know that."

"Go on, raise your voice. Let everyone know that we can't spend one night under the same roof without a battle."

"Angharad, I don't want to argue. You've been a better mother to my son than I would have been, and I know it hurts to lose him. I don't want our time together to be like this. I won't see you again for a long time."

"You won't ever see me again. That new world will swallow you up. My daughter will be a voice and a face on the screen." Angharad wiped her eyes with one sleeve, then refilled her glass.

The two women were silent for a while as Angharad composed herself. "I promised myself," Angharad continued, "that I wouldn't say such things to you, that I'd accept you as you are and be grateful that you've risen in the world."

"Then we both broke our promises, Mother. I swore that I would be kinder while I was here. I was afraid to come home, you know. That's why I took so long to get here."

"I guessed that." Angharad's mouth twisted. "Are we so strange to you now?"

Iris shook her head. "It wasn't just that. I have to tell you something else. I could choose to stay here, you know. A climatologist can work for the Plains. I could still give up this journey."

"Earth's made an investment in you. You'll be expected to keep your part of the bargain."

"But they already know that some students will ask to stay here, that when the time comes, some may not want to leave their Nomarchies. They allowed for that in their calculations. It's why they sent us all home for these visits now—they want those who are sure of their choice afterward."

"Do you tell me this now so I'll weep and beg you to stay?" Angharad sighed. "Could I possibly change your mind now? You've made your choice. I fought you once, but you won. I won't have you give up your victory and grow to hate me because I dragged you back here." Angharad smiled. "I'll still have your accomplishments to brag about in town." Her smile faded. "And you forget Benzi. Chen would send for him. His bond is with the boy too. He wouldn't leave him here. He dreams of having the boy live on that other world."

Iris set her glass on the floor. "I've been silent about my bond with Chen, but some people from the Plains will be on the Islands, and I can't hide my bond from them there. Sooner or later, someone will speak of it in a message, and the word may travel here."

"That can't shame me now, Iris. Everyone here knows he's not like other fathers and that we were like a family to him. They'll think only that you have to practice the customs of that other place, and will remember how different you always were. We don't have to say that you made that pledge here." She finished her whiskey in one gulp. "He must be a very strange man if he still clings to that bond."

"He's never forgotten it."

"And you? Have you lived all that time at the school without a man?"

"No. There was one in particular this past year that I cared for, but he made a promise to a woman in his village."

Angharad stood up. "Just as well. That must have kept him from asking you for a promise. You seem drawn to such men. I don't understand it. You should take love as it comes, without such ties." She moved toward the door, then paused. "But it's too late for me to give you advice." Angharad's face was still unlined, her body only slightly rounder than it had been when she was younger, but for a moment, her brown eyes seemed as weary and old as Wenda's. "Good night, daughter."

Benzi was trying to teach a game to Geri Laizas. He set his metal board on the grass, then put his carved pieces on the surface. "This moves like this," he said, picking up one of the pieces. "You have to try to get it over here before mine gets there, or blocks yours." The little girl let out her breath, pushed several pieces across the board, then giggled as Benzi rearranged them.

Laiza and Iris were stretched out near the children on the hill. A breeze ruffled Laiza's dark hair as she toyed absently with the silver bracelet Iris had given her a few days earlier.

"Guess you don't want to play," Benzi said to Geri, who giggled again. "You're stupid, Geri." The little girl shook her head. "Yes, you are. You have to stay here. I'm going away. I'll get to go to a school, and see my father, and do things." Geri pouted.

"Don't be nasty, Benzi," Iris said. She had dwelled on the new life that awaited her son, had seen the boy begin to give up his fear and look forward to the journey. Now, she wondered if she had been too persuasive. She had made the Islands seem so wonderful that Benzi might be disappointed when he actually got there.

Geri picked up two of the carved pieces and made them dance on the board; she hummed to herself as they rattled against the surface. Benzi watched her; his mouth twisted in exasperation.

"So you're sending him to a school," Laiza said.

"Any child can be schooled there," Iris replied. She had talked with her friend about her life at the Institute, telling Laiza of the friends she had made and the stories they had told about their homes, but she had never discussed the Project itself, for fear that Laiza would be bored.

"I guess your Project is only for people with learning," Laiza said.

"That isn't so. There are lots of workers there, and some of them will be the first settlers. They're the ones who'll make that world bloom."

"Really?"

"They'll need more workers there, maybe some farmers too. People like you."

"Like me?" Laiza laughed. "I couldn't leave Lincoln for long, I found that out when I was in Denver. Oh, I wish everything could stay the way it is, but it won't. We'll be using two of the new hybrids next year—I don't know if Angharad told you. That may cut our growing season by a third and give us a bigger yield besides, and we all know what that means. We won't need as many farmers. A couple of households are already thinking of merging in a few years, and that would mean having fewer children to take over." Laiza tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I worry about Geri," she said in a lower voice. "I sometimes wonder what'll happen to her. If only she could be trained for something else."

"But she can," Iris responded. "I could spend some more time with her, see what she might learn, get her started on some lessons, if you like." She had spoken too quickly; she was remembering Eric, and his failed business. She had thought that she was helping him when she had encouraged him, yet Constance still believed that the strain and the loss of that business had killed her son. Maybe it wasn't right to encourage Geri.

"Would you really do that?" Laiza bit her lip. "But she's still so young."

"Learning should begin early. There are skills she can master now. And you can help her more than you realize." Iris spoke in a whisper, so that the children could not hear her. "Just let her set her own pace, give her time for it, show an interest in what she's doing, but make her feel that you'll care for her whatever happens."

"It'd be hard to see her leave Lincoln," Laiza said, "but it might be even harder to see her stay. She'd probably never be more than a farmer in another's commune if more farms begin to merge. There'd be no chance of her ever having a farm of her own."

Iris sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs. Benzi had given up on his game, his bored eyes watching Geri as she moved the pieces aimlessly about. He glanced at his mother, then crawled to her side. Iris's hand touched his shoulder. He stared at her steadily, accepting the gesture without reacting.

I don't love you enough, Iris thought. I left you too soon. I only pretend I'm a mother, and you sense that.

The sea of wheat stretched to the horizon; tractors crawled among the shafts. Angharad was below, striding toward the field; she stopped, put her hands on her hips, and gazed out at her domain. Angharad had seen good harvests and bad; she had seen years when the silos nearly overflowed and others during which the wheat was parched and dry. She had accepted advice about new strains and untried methods of pest control, and she had learned from her failures that she could expect only an intermittent control over the outcome.