Kingdom of Cages (66 page)

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.

I
t’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.

“I won’t tell.” Chena strained her wrists, even though she knew it wasn’t going to do any good. The straps felt like leather.
They were certainly too wide and thin to be rope.

Silence from the kid, then a scrambling sound, followed by a hiss and a pop. Flickering light shone from a lamp clamped to
the wall and touched Chena’s eyes, making her wince.