“Oh?” was all Ben could think to say. Venera was half-built, half-occupied, and some said half-baked. It was a pure-research colony, the first in decades. No one believed it could last. The science currents predicted its death year after year. But somehow, Venera never quite laid down.
“Our staff is thinning out. We need to get some fresh blood in. Someone who can dig hard into the work.” Which told him why her staff was thinning out. She didn’t have the money to pay them what the mining companies could. Which also explained why she was willing to recruit someone who only had a few, very obscure papers to his credit. Papers he’d spent the past three or so Terran years carefully salting through the stream. Helen, he would learn, always had an eye open for a good bargain. “I’ve read your credentials. Your postdoctoral work is brilliant. You’ve got an eye for the unusual, and you don’t mind hard work. Which is perfect for Venus.” She didn’t just smile; she beamed. Ben couldn’t help thinking of Ted Fuller. On a good day, when things were going well, Ted radiated the same light.
Ben drank his bitter, cooling coffee, trying to sort out his thoughts. This was definitely not what he’d been expecting to hear this morning. He’d been expecting another day of trying to convince himself he’d made the right decision, that this life really was better than the one he’d abandoned, or would be very soon.
“Venus is open territory,” said Helen, leaning on her elbows. “You can’t throw a stone without hitting something new. You’ll have complete freedom to direct the research. Anything you want to look at, it’s yours.”
Risky. It had the chance to bring him to public attention, and public attention could be the end of the line for someone hiding behind an alias.
He looked at the coffee in his cup. He looked at the vines covering the gray walls. He looked at the people around the table—miners, students, engineers, all buzzing about in their separate lives like bees and meaning about as much to him. He looked back at Helen, and in her dark eyes, he suddenly saw some hope. Hope of a real life, a better life, one with meaning and purpose to replace the purpose that had been ripped from him by the yewners and their troops.
“I’d have to hear about the base,” he said slowly. “The facilities, the package you’re offering, and so on.”
“Of course.” Helen picked up his coffee cup, sniffed its contents, and made a face. “But first you have to get some real coffee. On me. Come on.”
He’d followed her without question. Into the Lunar coffee bar, down to Earth, out to Venus. He’d followed her for twenty years through funding fights, mission fights, personnel fights, and charter fights.
Ben swiveled his chair and watched the clouds outside the window. They swirled and flowed together like his thoughts. They had predictable currents, he knew, and if you worked long enough, you could map their movements and understand how each little particle fit into the greater flow.
He’d never even tried to tell Helen about what had really happened to him all those years ago. Helen would not have understood that what they were doing on Mars was real, even more real than the research, or building Venera into a sustainable colony that would outlive both of them. What really mattered was shaking off Earth’s grip. What mattered was freedom. Right now, Mother Earth could tell them to do anything, anything, and they’d have to do it. They had no choice. Mother Earth owned them, their lives, and their homes. Helen never saw it that way. Helen thought she called the shots. Helen thought she was in control.
She wasn’t. Mother Earth was bigger, more forceful, and more determined than even Helen Failia.
Ben turned back around to face his desk again and started typing.
Helen had to be shown the truth.
“Good luck, Ambassador D’seun,” said K’est as D’seun glided through its windward gate. “Ambassador Z’eth is in the public park. She asks that you meet her there.”
“Thank you, K’est.” D’seun flew swiftly toward the park. He struggled to keep his senses open to the dying city—the bare bones, the air rich with forced nutrients, yes, but also filled with desperation. A thin veneer of life was all that lay between K’est and true death, and all the citizens knew it.
This is what I fight for, he told himself. We must prevent any more living deaths like these.
D’seun’s first impression of the public park was that it was bigger than his whole birth village had ever been. Bone, shell, ligament, vine, and tapestry outlined a roughly spherical labyrinth of arches, corridors, and pass-throughs. Flight became a dance, here. Wind became song, and the voice of the city guided him through it all.