Kingdom of Cages (65 page)

The constant wind carried no one else’s sounds to her. The only smells it held were damp and a bare whiff of smoke from some
late fire. A shout lifted up from somewhere, freezing Elle in her tracks, but no other noise followed and she hurried on again.

As she rounded a curve of the boardwalk, both the clouds and the dunes separated to show the expanse of the moon-silvered
lake. Stars and moon hung low and fat over the rippling black water. Despite all, Elle—whose life consisted of branches, trunks,
and shadows—found a moment to stare.

Then the moon moved closer.

Elle’s hand slammed against her mouth. In the next moment, a low buzzing reached her, and the “moon” turned, changing shape
from spherical to oval. It was a dirigible.

Old Fool.
Elle let out a long, shaky breath.
Closer to the nervous edge than you have any need to be.
She made herself walk forward again.

Never in a thousand years would she have admitted to Farin how badly news of Chena’s disappearance had shaken her. He guessed
too much already, observant boy that he was. It had bitten hard when he had no patience for the work of a Pharmakeus, but
she had learned to live with that disappointment. He was brave and he was loyal, to her and the people they protected. Those
were the important things.

The market at night was an unsettling place. The sides of the tents flapped in the wind, sending shifting shadows across the
boardwalk. Then there was the dirigible, sinking ever closer. Part of Elle’s mind imagined it as a great white eye swooping
in for a better look at her.

Ridiculous,
she sniffed at herself, but as the dirigible settled down on the black water, she did duck behind the nearest tent. The crew
would be coming up the docks soon, and she could not risk being seen.

Exactly,
she said to herself as she brought her stick down so she could lean against it.
It has nothing at all to do with fear.

Crouched behind her flimsy shelter, Elle watched two of the dirigible crew disembark to take the mooring cables and clamp
them into place. As soon as the dirigible stabilized, two more figures emerged from the gondola. They ignored the crew, as
far as Elle could tell, and started straight up the boardwalk, one shuffling its feet, and the other striding ahead, then
stopping impatiently to wait.

Elle frowned. She couldn’t tell from here whether either of the two wore the hothousers’ black and white. There was no immigrant
shipment due. Her sources would have told her days ago, but the figures wouldn’t have ignored the crew if they were pilots
or handlers. That left hothousers.

She watched the one figure shuffle, and the other try to slow itself down to match the shuffler’s pace.

They had to be hothousers, but they didn’t act like it.

What is going on?
Elle held herself still and low. The breeze dropped, giving her a solid wall of shadow for cover. The two came closer, their
footsteps padding softly against the boardwalk. The impatient strider was a woman, tall, hunched, and relatively slender;
the shuffler was a man, also hunched over. Elle peered hard, trying to see through the darkness. The tall woman looked familiar
somehow. The man shuffled, swayed, took a few decisive steps closer, and straightened his shoulders, and Elle recognized him.

Tam Bhavasar.

She wanted to step straight into his path and demand to know what had happened to him and what he knew about Chena, but she
held herself still. The woman with him could still be anyone at all.

Tam and his companion passed her without even looking around themselves.
Careless,
she thought. Then they paused at the juncture of two walkways, full in the moonlight. The woman wore the ubiquitous Pandoran
tunic and trousers. She straightened up, looked left and right down the available paths, murmured something, and Elle knew.
The woman looked like poor lost Helice Trust.

One of her daughters, at least, had come home.

“Hello, Teal,” said Elle, emerging from the shadows. “Hello, Tam.” Teal jumped and turned, grabbing Tam’s arm as she did,
ready to run and drag him along with her.

“God’s own,” she gasped as her eyes focused on Elle. “Nan Elle.” She laughed once without real humor. “I guess I shouldn’t
be surprised.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Elle agreed, leaning toward Tam. “Thank you for bringing back my granddaughter, Tam.”

Tam cringed and shrank away, and Elle pulled back. Even allowing for the moonlight, Tam looked pale. She had seen him in darkness
many times, and the planes of his face were too sharp, his eyes too dark.

“Elle,” he croaked. “Elle. Good. You can help.” He reached for her, but his hand fell away before he actually touched her.
“I should turn to my family. I know that. I know. But Elle, you can help.”

Elle felt the blood drain from her face. “God’s garden. They finally caught him, didn’t they?”

Teal, aged to the point where she had become her mother’s twin, nodded. “And whatever they did… it was better for a minute
there, but he went to sleep, and now… I don’t know, maybe that gave everything a chance to integrate better, ’cause I think
it’s getting worse.”

Elle hobbled forward and laid her hand on Tam’s cheek. It was cold, but slick with sweat. His eyes widened until she could
see the whites flash in the moonlight, but he submitted to her touch.

“Oh, Tam,” she breathed. “I am sorry.”

She lowered her hand to her stick. That would have to be enough for now. If Teal was right—and the girl had never been a fool—they
had a limited time left for Tam to be of any use whatsoever.

“Bring him, Teal, and tell me what’s happened.”

“Thank you for attending us, Dionte,” said Father Mihran from the far end of the conference table. His was a familiar face—solid,
lean, and well lined from years of serious thought. Dionte had seen him at least in passing every day of her life. He knew
her. He knew her work. Despite that, he looked at her like a stranger today.

“What can I do for you, Father, my Aunts and Uncles?” She bowed to Father Mihran and the committee arrayed down the sides
of the low table.

“I am sorry to have to say such a thing, especially under such conditions.” Father Mihran nodded to the committee. Strangers,
all of them, with blank eyes. She looked at their faces and felt nothing. Nothing at all.

“What is it, Father?” Dionte folded her hands in front of her, not letting her fingertips touch. She had to concentrate on
the room in front of her right now, but she felt as if she had been placed behind a thick glass wall and every impression
from them came to her muted and distorted.

“Your birth brother, Tam, is missing.”

“What?” Dionte clamped her hands together. No, no. Aleph would have told her. Aleph stood with her. She and Hagin had almost
eliminated the unexpected distractions the most recent events had caused. She and Aleph were bound together, and Aleph would
not leave her ignorant. She had just checked on Tam yesterday. His expanded filaments were almost complete. Another night’s
sleep to integrate the final adjustments, and…

But the reports had all frozen with yesterday’s time signature, and no new data poured into her.

“How…” The world spun around her, and she had to sit down hard on the stool behind her.

“That is the question,” said Father Mihran, and the words sounded too harsh. “It comes in conjunction with accusations that
Aleph has made.”

Aleph… Tam gone, no report of him, no action, no meeting, no sighting. Where was Tam? Where had he gone without her? They
were bound together now. They must see the same future, but where was he?

Dionte forced her hands apart. The committee watched her. She had to answer them. “Aleph is…” She stopped herself. She was
not supposed to know too much about that. She was a Guardian, not a tender. They could not know of her connection with Hagin,
not yet. “Aleph has said something about me?”

“Father Mihran, Seniors all, Dionte.” Aleph’s quiet voice cut through the assembly, and Dionte’s heart thudded in her chest.
What had she missed? What would Aleph say? “I am sorry to intrude, but we are in receipt of a transmission from Director Shontio
of Athena.”

Dionte’s spine stiffened instantly. From Athena? What was happening now?

Father Mihran frowned. “Tell him we are in a meeting. I will speak to him as soon as we are finished.”

“He says it is an emergency, Father,” said Aleph.

Senior Jahn stirred uneasily. “The situation there has not been stable.”

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.”