by Sarah Zettel
“We’ve never made a whole person before,” he said. “Are we sure this is all there is to it?” He waved at the lines.
“If consciousness and personality entered into it, you might have a legitimate concern.” Dionte’s lips moved briefly, subvocalizing some command. “Fortunately,” she said aloud as the fate map vanished from around them, “in this case, they don’t. That is part of the perfection of this solution.”
“Does that perfection include helping Basante kidnap Helice Trust and her daughters?”
It turned out Dionte maintained enough of a sense of shame to look away. “The normal rules were suspended.”
“The suspension applied only to Helice Trust herself. There was no vote taken about her daughters.”
Dionte waved her hand, dismissing his words as a distraction. “So, Basante exercised initiative. He should be commended.”
“You cannot tell me this was Basante’s idea alone.”
Dionte didn’t answer. Her lips moved again, giving orders he couldn’t hear. The walls shimmered with projected images, more lines and graphs—process tracking. Dionte was seeing which of Aleph’s expert subsystems were working on whatever theories she had added into the fate map, and how they were coming along.
“You are not allowed to interfere with my prerogatives.” Tam stepped directly into her line of vision. “There are rules of precedence in place—”
Dionte swept her hand straight down, freezing her shining reports in the air around her. Their reflection left colored stripes across her dust-gold skin. “There is a sword hanging over Pandora, Brother. You would not act, even after the family voted that action was necessary.”
“We cannot break our old laws even in times of crisis. If we do, we put the world in as much danger as the threat of Authority bombs does. You’ve said it yourself, it’s only by the laws that the balance of Pandora survives!”
Dionte sat up straighter, her eyes bright with anger. “Yes, Pandora survives. Only Pandora survives. Out of all the hundreds of settlements, only Pandora lives and breathes and has a future left to it. Don’t you understand? They are all dying! And if we let them in here, we are going to die with them! All of us! And Old Earth will perhaps one day send out another wave of colonization and they will repeat the same mistakes and they will die, just like we did, because our minds are too small and our lives are too separate to understand the enormity of our own future.” Tam’s throat tightened. He had expected to see wildness in her eyes. Such words should be accompanied by some look beyond reason. But Dionte’s eyes were clear, and her voice stayed firm. “Our understanding, our bond, between each other and our world has allowed us to survive this long. If we don’t strengthen that bond, we are going to die just like the rest of them.” The veneer of calm cracked then and her voice started to shake. “No, it will be worse, because we could have done something and we didn’t. The Authority will be trying to commit murder, but we’ll be committing suicide.”
Oh, Sister. Tam wanted to feel pity, but instead he felt fear, because he heard her words and he understood them, and because for one heartbeat, he saw how she might be right.
Then her eyes skittered sideways, listening to a voice Tam could not hear, and Tam forced himself to focus on his immediate responsibilities.
The taste of Dionte’s anger alerted her Conscience to their argument. It would be working on her, reminding her what a bad thing it was to be angry at her birth brother. Now he had to force it to work hard. Nothing Dionte said had changed the present facts. The Trusts were still being coerced, and they still needed him.
Tam waved his hand dismissively. “That has nothing to do with Helice Trust.”
“Doesn’t it?” Dionte rose slowly, walking through her reports to face him without any barrier. “Without her there will be no Eden Project. Without Eden, the next wave of invasion will drown us completely.”
“You had no right.” He enunciated each word. “And you had no business interfering in how I chose to proceed. You are a Guardian, Dionte, not an experimenter, and not an administrator.”
“I had every right!” Dionte shouted. “You would have us wait until Pandora is torn apart because you care more for the villagers and the Athenians than you do for your own family!” Her hand rubbed agitatedly at her temple.
Which was his cue. Tam let his face slacken. He turned away, rubbing his own temple and hunching his shoulders.
“Are you well, Brother?” Dionte’s voice softened from anger to concern. If he had calculated correctly, her Conscience would be awakening memories from their childhood, when they played together, when they helped each other through small hurts. Better times, simpler times. She would want to help him now.
“No, no, I don’t think I am.” Tam sat down heavily in the chair she had vacated. He smelled aloe and vanilla at the sound of her concern. Soothing reassurance. He was among his family, safe and secure. Nothing could be wrong here that they could not fix together. He wanted to tell her his worries. He hated being alone. But talking openly with Dionte was too great a risk. He knew that with a certainty beyond the feelings of his Conscience and his own weariness. Dionte had picked her own path long ago, and it was not the same as his. He could never forget that. He would see this through.
Dionte laid a hand on his shoulder. “When it is done, the Trusts will be free, and we will have saved Pandora, and we’ll be able to look to our future.” She shook him gently. “If I agree with you that what we’re doing is not fair, will you feel better?”
Tam let a small smile form on his face. “A little, yes,” he said, concentrating on getting his shoulders to relax.
Dionte spread her hands. “Then I admit it. It is not fair. She was bullied into this out of our necessity. As a result, she and her children will be carefully looked after and living in a level of comfort they have never known before. They might actually be able to find productive work for themselves to do.” She brought her hands back together. “A reasonable trade, don’t you think?”
“Reasonable enough.” He rubbed his temple again. “If it stays that way.”
“What are you afraid will change, Brother?”
“I hardly know.” He shook his head, trying to clear away the illusions of scent and emotion. “Maybe I just fear our troubles and what they will make us do.”
Dionte crouched down in front of him, looking up into his eyes with an expression that was all open concern. “And what would you have me do, Brother, to ease your worries?”
“Talk to Basante for me. Help me gain a supervisory assignment on the Trusts.”
Dionte started to pull away, but she was too far into it. Tam searched her face, watching the emotions flicker across it, but the bond had been tightened, by his Conscience and hers. The Consciences existed to strengthen the ties between family members. Whatever she was doing to herself, even Dionte was not good enough to completely subvert her implant’s primary function.
“That assignment has already been given to Basante,” she tried.
Tam said nothing.
Dionte hung her head. “Perhaps a cosupervisor? Basante would surely agree to that.”
That would give him access to all the records and require Aleph to alert him when any change in their status or welfare was made. It would do—for now, at any rate. He would at least be able to make sure that Dionte kept her promise about them being well looked after inside the complex.
She was giving him a contemplative look now, as if he were something she’d like to study later at her leisure. “Do you ever wonder if our parents did right?” she asked suddenly.
Tam’s smile was tight. “How could they do wrong?” he asked mildly. “They were family.”
Before she could answer that, Tam rose. “Thank you for what you have done, Sister. I’m sorry to have been trouble to you.”
She straightened up and pressed his hand again. “We know, you and I, how things are. I’m impressed with you, Brother. I think I’ve underestimated you before this.”
You have, but you won’t again, he thought as he turned away, leaving her there with her own thoughts and connections. I’ve shot my bolt. From now on I will have to be more careful.
But then, so will you.
CHAPTER NINE
Hothouse Flowers
Chena had assumed the hothousers would stash her family in a place like the village dormitories, but she was wrong. After the boat ride, and the dirigible ride, the supervisors, Basante and Tam, took them through an environment lock and from there into a series of labyrinthine corridors lined with video images of sunny meadows and marshes. The living space was nooks and crannies tucked into the crooks of the corridors, labeled neatly with their names and ID numbers. No doors stood between the various “rooms” and the curving hallways, just green curtains that rippled slightly in the air from the ventilators.
In fact, the only door in the whole place was the one leading from the central atrium to their wing, and that had a touch pad to activate the lock. Chena couldn’t help noticing that nobody took their prints or a chip reading to ID them to that door either.
They’re going to lock us in here, thought Chena as they walked down the hall behind Tam and Basante in their matching white shirts and black vests. Their feet made no noise on the padded floor. We’re prisoners.
Despite the fact that she felt like a baby doing it, Chena pressed closer to Mom. Mom squeezed her shoulder and kept her own eyes straight ahead.
Teal didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. She was too busy squealing and exclaiming over everything she saw—the game rigs, the library terminals, the classrooms, the walls of planters and terrariums, as if they hadn’t spent a month living in a forest. She went all google-eyed over the playroom full of little kids making enough noise to wake the dead.
The show delighted Supervisor Basante. He began to speak more and more to Teal, casting pleased glances at Mom as if to say, See, your charming little girl loves it here already.
Chena trailed along, feeling her face harden into a scowl. It was an act. Teal was acting. Couldn’t they see that?
It was hard to say what Supervisor Tam saw. He didn’t open his mouth once during the entire tour. Chena remembered him from Madra’s office, of course, and remembered how he’d watched Mom so carefully. Now he was watching her again, but this time it was an expression torn between fear and anger. Chena couldn’t work out whether it was for something the Trusts had done or for something he was afraid they would do.
She also couldn’t help noticing how many of the women they saw in the brightly lit alcoves and the little artificial parks were pregnant, like Mom would soon be.
The idea made Chena go cold and her feet lagged behind, as if they thought there was some way to turn back. But Mom just patted her shoulder. “Keep up, Supernova. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.” And she went back to listening to the supervisor and watching Teal bounce up and down like a complete baby.
Once, Teal did catch Chena’s eye. She gave Chena a smug grin and stopped just short of sticking her tongue out. Chena’s fist tightened with the sudden, vicious urge to smack her sister. Didn’t she realize this wasn’t a game? These people were the enemy! They had forced Mom in here, forced them all in here. How could she even pretend to like this… this… hole, this…
“Chena, pay attention,” said Mom.
Chena jerked out of her brooding to see Supervisor Basante smiling condescendingly at her. “It’s a lot of information to absorb,” he said cheerfully. “But that’s all right. Your tutors will help you find your way around.”
“Tutors?” blurted out Chena. She’d missed more than she thought.
“Tutors,” repeated Mom, with just a hint of annoyance in her voice. “You and Teal start school tomorrow.”
“Already? But… we just got here.…”
“And neither one of you has seen the inside of a classroom for—” Mom cut herself off, suddenly remembering the hothousers were listening. “Too long,” she finished. “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
Chena stopped herself from saying, But… She just tried to think at Mom. But I don’t know what this place is like yet. I don’t know what they’ve done with Sadia and Shond. I don’t know what they’re trying to do to us yet, and I know they’re trying to do something. Please, Mom…
But Mom just gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “It’ll be fine, Supernova, you’ll see. Not nearly as hard as shoveling compost.” Her voice was earnest, but not full of belief. All at once, Chena thought she knew what Mom was asking. Go along with it, she was saying underneath her words. Don’t give them a reason to do anything else to us.
Chena forced a smile. “Sure. Anything’s easier than shoveling.”
Teal actually took hold of her hand. “We’ll have fun here, Chena. I know we will.”
Chena wanted to gag, but Mom and Basante just smiled as if nothing in the world were wrong with this new, sugary Teal. Tam looked down at her from under hooded eyes. His hands twitched, as if he wanted to reach out to touch her and… what? Chena didn’t even want to think about it, so she just swallowed her thoughts and pasted a smile on her face for Basante.
“You said there’s a climbing gym?”
That night, Chena lay in the soft alcove bed set into the back wall of her private chamber and listened. She heard nothing. The night-lights that kept it from getting truly dark didn’t hum. Neither did the vents, although she could feel a constant draft across her face. She couldn’t hear Teal, or Mom, or anybody, for that matter. It was as if the world had been wrapped in foam rubber. There were no smells either. No scent of metal, minerals, or earth. It was… weird. She felt cut off from reality.
Time stretched out. She watched the minutes click over on the glowing clock set into the wall by the curtained threshold. Sleep did not come. Instead she thought about how she would never see Sadia again, how she would never see Farin again. Tears stung her eyes. She’d never know now what he really thought about her. Never see him smile at her again, never have him touch her. She was completely alone in the sterile silence, with who knew what going on, on the other side of all the twisting walls.
She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and looked at the curtain.
Don’t, she told herself. You’ll get in trouble, and who knows what they can do to you now that you’re all in here.
Too late, though. She couldn’t just lie there. She had to get out. She had to see what was really going on out there. She had to know. After all, when she’d snuck out that first morning in the dorm, she’d met Nan Elle, and Nan Elle had helped her, and promised she’d help more. Which was more than anybody else had done.
Chena threw back the covers and planted her bare feet on the warm, soft floor. She slid past the privacy curtain and out into the winding corridors.
The green curtains, turned gray by the dim light, billowed gently around her, blown by the silent soft ventilator breeze. The video images covering the walls had been shut off for the night, and Chena saw the faint ghosts of her own reflections keeping pace with her on either side. She bit her lip nervously. It made her feel watched.
But it was either put up with it or go back to her alcove (she couldn’t really call the thing a room) and hide under the covers. So Chena made the piss-off sign at the reflections, which made it right back at her, and she kept on going.
After about the fifth turn, Chena suddenly realized she had no idea where she was. Not only were the wall videos switched off, the signs that had directed them on the day’s tour were gone too. The corridor walls were completely featureless except for the curtains and her reflections. She didn’t know where she was, and she had no idea how to get back. Chena leaned her hand against the smooth hard wall and cursed herself, using every hard word she knew.
You just can’t stop being stupid, can you? No matter how much trouble you’re going to get in, you just can’t stop.
After a while, she decided she couldn’t just be found huddled in the corridor in the morning when the l
ights and signs came back on. She had to do something. She looked at the three branches of corridor that opened out around her. They all looked the same.
Keep bearing right, she advised herself. You’ll have to get to the outside wall sooner or later. You can follow that back to the start. She checked her wrist automatically, before remembering they had taken her comptroller away. She couldn’t even tell how long she’d been here.
Long meters of corridors and curtains passed her by. Chena had to work to keep herself from running. She shouldn’t be afraid. This place should be more familiar than the forest had been. She’d grown up in closed hallways, hadn’t she?
But these are nothing like the station corridors. Those weren’t creeps-breeders, ones that didn’t mean anything, that didn’t give you anything to do.…
She took the right-hand fork at every branching, more branches than she could keep count of.
How many people live here? There weren’t that many kids in the playrooms, but there’s got to be space here for thousands.…
An idea struck her. Chena stopped outside one of the curtains and listened hard, for anything—breathing, sighing, a rustle of cloth. This place might be silent, but there was no way the people in it could be.
Nothing. Chena pulled together her courage and reached out for the curtain. She touched the edge. Nothing happened. She hooked her fingers around the heavy cloth. Nothing happened then either. Taking a deep breath and holding it, she leaned close to the curtain’s edge and peeked past it.
On the other side waited an alcove identical to the one she’d snuck out of. The thin strip of night-lighting around the floorboards showed her it was completely empty, with a neatly made-up bed waiting for… whomever.
Maybe I can sleep here and sneak back when the lights come back on. I can’t really have gotten that far. It just feels that way.
