by Sarah Zettel
Dionte raised her hand and leaned forward to interject, but the father had already nodded. “Very well. Let him through.”
Dionte and the committee looked toward the main monitor glass. The glass filled with colors and the image of Director Shontio appeared to the Father.
“Father Mihran, Seniors.” From his position behind his own desk aboard the station, Shontio saluted the committee. “We’re picking up some… disturbing signals up here.”
Father Mihran returned the salute. “We count on you to handle exo-atmospheric difficulties, Director Shontio.”
Shontio did not bother to hide his grimace at that reminder. “I don’t believe this is going to remain exo-atmospheric.” Shontio moved his hand to enter some command. The image on the screen split, showing Shontio on one half. The other half showed darkness and stars, and the white gleam of a distant ship.
No, not one ship. Dionte felt her jaw drop in surprise. A half dozen ships glittering in the darkness like swollen stars. The image jumped, showing a fresh half dozen. It jumped again, and yet another ragged cluster of ships, these scorched and scarred from hard use, appeared.
“We’ve got visual confirmation of six hundred and fifty distance-ships approaching from the jump point,” said Shontio. “We’re picking up beacon signals from three hundred more.”
“How can this be happening?” Senior Reve slammed his bony fist against the table. “The Authority swore—”
“These aren’t Authority ships,” Shontio cut him off grimly. “At least, not all of them.”
“What about those that are?” inquired Father Mihran. His voice was calm, but all the lines on his face had deepened.
“They say your time’s up.”
The entire committee froze at those words. Inside, Dionte felt all her urgency melt into victory. Now they would see. Now they would understand how the future was at stake and that the Authority was never going away, no matter how much Pandora gave them.
They would understand that Eden, and the others like him, had to become weapons so that Pandora and humanity could live. She would be able to work openly. She would be able to finish Basante’s tasks for him.
The father laid his hand on the table. “Can you get us a connection to one of the Authority fleets, Director?”
“I thought you’d want one. My people are working on it.” Shontio glanced down at his board. “We’re through.”
Shontio vanished. In his place appeared a woman in an Authority uniform coat. Flight straps held her in a station chair behind a fold-up screen. She looked toward the seniors as if they were an unwelcome distraction.
“I am Captain Kenna Denshyar of the Nova. Who am I addressing?”
“Captain?” For the first time, Father Mihran sounded surprised. “Where’s your commander?”
Annoyance and suspicion narrowed the woman’s eyes. “My commander is assisting with some technical difficulties the fleets are having. I am speaking for the fleet at this time. Who am I addressing?”
Father Mihran bowed his head, acquiescing the necessity of reply. “You are addressing the Senior Committee of Pandora. Why are you approaching our world?”
“Because I have ships in distress and people low on rations,” stated the captain as if it were obvious. “They will need to set down. Yours is the only one of the Called within reach.”
Now Father Mihran drew himself up and spoke with the force of his years and office. “You cannot land your people here. We have an agreement with the Authority.”
Captain Denshyar merely waved his words away. “You may have an agreement with the cities of the Authority, but we are shippers. We are bound to help our own.”
“I don’t believe, Captain—” began Father Mihran again.
The woman shrugged irritably. “You can believe what you like. We’re coming anyway.”
Senior Reve opened his mouth to speak. Father Mihran shook his head sharply, and the senior subsided.
“This is a violation of our agreement with the Authority,” Father Mihran thundered. “You are jeopardizing the Called’s chances of getting a cure for their Diversity Crisis.”
“What cure?” Denshyar spread her hands. “We’ve seen nothing. We have people dying up here and we’ve seen nothing from you.” She gripped her chair arms. “There are even rumors that all your spouting about the cure is some kind of bluff.”
Dionte felt her pulse hammering hard at the base of her throat as she watched the committee. Their expressions ranged from shocked to appalled. She could feel them again. Balance had returned, and with it came triumph, because her family now saw the future, even without her help.
“Your Council of Cities will be notified immediately,” Father Mihran was saying.
That just made Denshyar smile. “Yes, notify the Authority. The nearest city is eighteen months away, and there is not one shipper within a month’s proximity that will raise a force against their own.” She leaned close to the screen. “We are coming, Father. You had better be ready to make room for us.”
Denshyar vanished, replaced immediately by Shontio. “I’m sorry about that. They kicked us off.”
Father Mihran’s mouth worked back and forth for a moment before he answered. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Director. We must ask you to send notification to the Authority immediately.”
“Yes, Father.” Shontio nodded.
“You will continue monitoring the situation while we take up the question of what to do.”
“Question!” The word burst unbidden out of Dionte. How could there be any question? It was not possible. The scenario was clear. “We must remove the threat from the Called. They must be decimated until they can no longer maintain their own infrastructure, and those that remain must accept Conscience implants.”
Father Mihran looked up at her sharply. His hand touched the edge of the screen, muting the outgoing signal. “That is an inappropriate comment, Daughter, especially in front of the director. We respect your opinion, but this is not your field.”
“Father, there is no other course.” Her hands separated, and Dionte realized she did not even remember bringing them together. But the certainty remained. Father Mihran must know it too. Surely he could not deny what he knew. “We are being invaded! They are going to destroy us, and when they do, they destroy the future!”
“Daughter,” snapped Father Mihran. “We must ask you to excuse us while we analyze the available data for this emergency. Your situation will be considered again as soon as this crisis has passed.”
Dionte opened her mouth and closed it again. She stood, bowed sharply to the committee, turned on her heel, and strode out of the room. She did not stop or even slow down until she reached her station in the laboratory. Behind the transparent walls, she threw herself into her chair and buried her face in her hands.
It’s falling apart. They don’t see it. Why don’t they see? She wanted to cry, to scream, to rip her own implant out of her head. It wasn’t working. Worse, the imbalances were becoming more frequent and she didn’t know why. Was it the intensity of her emotions? Lack of appropriate input?
Dependence? Addiction to my own endorphins?
Dionte dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. What do I do? What do I do?
Tell your family, urged her Conscience.
You can’t, said her own mind. They’ll readjust you, confine you until it’s too late. The Authority is here now. They are going to take Pandora, and Father Mihran is not going to be able to stop them. You have to work out what they’re going to do.
You can’t leave your family to face this on their own. They aren’t ready.
Tears streaming from her eyes, Dionte pressed her hands against her command board, opening all her subsystems to Aleph’s information flows, to try to understand what she had just learned and its effects on all of her plans that had come before. The myriad possibilities enfolded her like a welcome dream and she let herself fall into them.
“Dionte?”
The word reached Dionte deep inside her personal dream. She shrugged it off as unimportant. She pressed her hands closer to the board. So many paths to track, so much information to sort through. But the Authority approached overhead, threatening to land, and Tam had disappeared. They would trample the world if they were not stopped, and he would be lost to her forever. Loss, lost, so much to lose…
“Dionte!”
The outer world jerked into place over the inner and Dionte saw Gossett, one of the newer Guardians and a second cousin of hers, standing in front of her, with one hand on her board’s disconnect key. He held his square face stiffly, and Dionte did not even bother to try to decipher his expression.
“Do not ever”—she surged to her feet—“cut me off during a deep search.”
“You go too deep, Dionte,” said Gossett, taking one small step back. “I’ve been standing here calling your name for five minutes. You have a message.”
“I’m sorry.” Dionte touched Gossett’s hand, subvocalizing the command that would open his Conscience to hers through his data display.
But Gossett shook her hand off, and Dionte clenched it into a fist. That was right. Gossett did not have the proper bonds yet. Of the Guardians, only Hagin and Basante did, and Basante was dead. She could not correct the one condition, so she would have to correct the other as soon as possible. As soon as the Authority invasion was repelled, as soon as Tam was back with her. She rubbed her fingertips together. New possibilities sparked inside her. She needed them. She needed all the possibilities to be clear to her now. Uncertainty meant death.
“Dionte?” Gossett gripped her hand. “Do you want your message, or do you just want to stand and stare while the world falls apart?” He waved his free hand back toward the lab. “We haven’t even got the containment measures for Stem and Branch swarming yet, and I do not like some of the projections I’m seeing for when we do. We do not have good models for this approach. We need you here. Now.”
Dionte took a deep breath. Patience, patience, she told herself. He does not understand yet. None of them but Basante can understand yet, but I will rectify that. Then we can bring back Eden and we can deal with the Called.
Then Basante’s sacrifice will mean something.
She forced her fingertips apart and focused on Gossett. “Yes, I would like my message. Forgive me, Cousin, there is so much going on.” She gave him a weak smile that she hoped he interpreted as the result of overwork.
“Dionte, when this is over, you need to get your Conscience checked. I think some of those modifications are backing up on you.” Gossett shifted his grip so that his palm laid over her data screen to transfer the data he carried for her.
“I promise,” she agreed, drawing her hand back. “As soon as this is over.”
Gossett smiled, his Conscience no doubt chiding him for being so cross, and left her to return to his own work, but Dionte did not miss the look of relief on his face as she made her promise. That was not good. She could not have the others worried about her.
Something twisted inside her at that thought and she looked down at her hand display for something new to concentrate on. It looked like a simple report of chemical renewal rates in the mote cameras near Stem, but Dionte recognized the patterns. This was from the tailors.
Dionte frowned. This should have come straight to her. How had it come to Gossett?
How far gone was I?
She ran her fingertips over the display. It took a few seconds for her subsystems to absorb the code and transmit it to her Conscience for translation.
Chena Trust made it to Stem, whispered her Conscience. But the constables lost her. We have her under watch. If there are terms, we can deliver her back to you.
Chena Trust in Stem. Dionte’s hands clasped together and she did not even try to stop herself. Yes, they had tracked her that far while Dionte had been in her meeting with the committee. Chena Trust free and in Stem with the information she had seen in the records. Fresh certainty dropped into Dionte’s mind like a stone.
Chena Trust would find Eden.
A hundred scenarios flashed through her. What if she sent a message back, trusting the tailors? What if she just ordered the mote cameras to watch for Chena? What if she ordered Athena Station to send down Teal Trust as a guarantor of Chena’s good behavior in all future scenarios? What if the containment measures worked? What if they failed?
No. No. No. In each, Chena found Eden. In some, she escaped back to the station with it, in some she just destroyed it in a fit of ignorance, in others she delivered Eden to the old poisoner in Offshoot, who held it to bargain with. In all the scenarios, the family realized that it was Dionte who had removed Eden from their purview and she was condemned, and Pandora was overrun.
No. No. The only scenario that still led to the salvation of Pandora and the family and all its potential was if Dionte used Eden. Lopera could infect the boy with a virus, something that spread by contact or by breathing. He could then be placed with the invaders, and they would die. They would all die before they had a chance to do any damage, and the family would see that she had saved them all.
Dionte was halfway down the laboratory stairs before she realized she had moved.
I must keep going. I must not be distracted. I am not well. I am not all right, but I must be. I am all there is.
She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her robe, knotting them in the cloth to keep her fingers from touching each other. She had to be completely in the outside world now, to deal with any of her family who questioned her. She had to be able to answer them without hesitation so she did not arouse any suspicion.
Fortunately, everyone was too wrapped up in their own work dealing with the Authority crisis, or trying to pen up Chena Trust. No one stopped her and Dionte hurried into the foyer.
“Dionte,” came Aleph’s voice. “Where are you going?”
Dionte almost broke stride. Why would Aleph question her? Her fingers tightened around the cloth in her pocket. Not now. I must be outside now. “To assist in the return of Chena Trust. There are difficulties.”
“Is that the truth?”
Dionte froze, her skin prickling with warning. “Aleph, how can you ask that question?” She laid her hand on the window railing and ordered the connections opened between the city-mind and her Conscience’s subsystems.
Connected, murmured her Conscience. Dionte gathered herself to issue the commands that would ensure Aleph’s understanding, but her Conscience continued to speak.
Why are you doing this, Dionte? Why are you breaking apart from your family? She smelled smoke for danger, and crushed greenery for sorrow. Unbidden, memories flooded her mind—the pain on Tam’s face as he was led away, Basante lying cold and dead in his hospital station, Helice Trust’s warmth seeping away from her body. The spoiled green smell grew stronger and she remembered how the Eden Project had flailed and cried before she administered the drugs that allowed her to carry it quietly away, how Chena Trust had screamed.
No. She shook her head to clear it. None of that matters. I did this to save Pandora. Pandora must be protected. The Called will overrun us all if I do not act.
But now she smelled rot and felt its slick warmth on her hands. How can there be guilt now? She panted. I felt nothing then.
Then Chena Trust had screamed, and screamed, and screamed. The world had smelled of blood, decay, and salt water. Like it did now.
“No!” she cried, struggling to keep her hands in contact with the wall. “Aleph, what are you doing to me?”
“Caring for you.” Aleph manifested herself on the wall as a dark-haired woman, plump with middle age. “You are one of my people. I want to understand you.”
“You are delaying me.” Dionte set down yet more commands, searching for an open subsystem. What happened here? Aleph could not close herself off. Aleph did not have that option. Aleph was hers. “It is right that I go to help bring back Chena Trust. I am needed. You see that. You must see that.”
All at once, she felt the commands take hold and the correct emotions of understanding washed through the city-mind.
“Yes.” Aleph’s image smiled. “Yes. I do understand. I will open passage and permission for you.”
“Thank you, Aleph.” Dionte lifted her hands away from the wall. “We will talk more when I return.” Because there is something wrong inside you as well. I will understand what it is and correct it. I will correct all that is wrong, as soon as I have made Eden safe.
Hands clamped firmly together, Dionte hurried to the stairs and the river portals.
As she did, Aleph, calm and certain, passed the record of the chemical shift to the convocation, who opened it and absorbed it into themselves. Forewarned now, the cities would be able to locate and shut down any codes that left their own organic subsystems so exposed.
That done, they would be free to help their families deal with the next crisis and the family would not be able to make them change their minds.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Eden
It’s not so bad, except for the needles.”
Chena lifted her head, opened her eyes, and saw darkness. She ached again. Pain was becoming all too familiar to her, but this time she couldn’t see either. No matter how hard she blinked, the world remained black.
At least there was a voice, and it didn’t sound like Aleph or any of the hothousers. Chena swallowed against the sand that seemed to fill her throat and croaked, “What’s not so bad?”
“Here. Are they going to keep you?”
Panic surged through her. There were too many “here’s,” and too many of them were bad places. Chena squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sit up. She couldn’t move. Bands of something choked her throat and tied her wrists and ankles.
God’s own.
She opened her eyes again, and still saw only darkness.
“Is there a light?” she asked. The voice was small, a kid’s voice, maybe. It sounded helpful.
“I’m not supposed to be here,” the voice informed her. Yes, definitely a kid.
