Dionte swallowed her impatience. “This is not about Eden,” she told him firmly. “This is about what Tam is doing.”
“No,” said Basante with uncharacteristic firmness. “Everything is about Eden. Everything that you and I do, and everything that Tam does. He knows, Dionte. He knows.”
Calm, calm. Dionte repeated the order. Basante’s shoulders drooped again under the strength of the neurochemical surges flowing through his system.
“Of course he knows,” said Dionte softly, leading Basante to one of the workstation chairs. “He has always known. Up until now we have been able to hold each other’s secrets as insurance that we would all remain free and active.”
“And now?” said Basante a little dully.
“Now…” Dionte let his hand go and sank onto one of the other chairs. “Now I think Tam has gotten far away from us.” She kept her voice carefully neutral. She did not want to reawaken Basante’s natural tension. He had become more volatile of late. Possibly he was becoming habituated to the increased endorphin levels. She would need to examine him soon. Over the long term, she realized that inner understanding could not be purchased at the price of outer understanding. Tam, surprisingly, had been right about that much. But the balance was proving elusive.
And until you find it, Basante is wholly your responsibility, she reminded herself. And he needs direction. “I think you should transfer your report about Chena Trust’s activities to a secure file in case we need it later. I will see about bringing my brother back closer to home.”
“Yes, Dionte,” said Basante complacently. He rose and left the workstation, crossing the line on the floor that marked the boundaries of the privacy screens and then heading for the stairs.
Dionte stayed where she was, her hands resting on her thighs, her eyes staring at her monitors as if lost in thought. She did not want to give anyone anything new to wonder about. Basante had already provided a gracious plenty.
He was so concerned about the Eden Project, he quite failed to see what Tam’s actions really meant. They meant Tam had almost found Eden. They meant that he would soon be able to go to Father Mihran and the rest of the family to tell them who had stolen the Eden Project and what they had done with it, and this time he would be able to prove his accusation.
Her first feeling was anger. How could he do this? How could he help the Authority kill them all? Without the family, without the potential of the implants and the city-minds and the intuition and creativity of the human mind all tied together, there was no future. There was only a repetition of the long, sad, brutal, stupid past.
But anger quickly gave way to a wash of sorrow. Tam had never understood. Five years, and he had not relented. Five long years of persistent blindness. In his heart he knew she’d spoken the truth to him, but he denied it because he was afraid. Tears prickled at the backs of her eyes.
Brother, I don’t want to force this change on you. She bowed her head. But I can’t let you leave us vulnerable to the Authority and the Called. I can’t.
There was no time for regret. Tam was lost. His fear of the enormity of their responsibilities as the custodians of the only future in which any part of humanity could survive had swallowed him up. All she could do was ensure that he did not make things worse.
She would have to be quick, which meant she would have to be crude. With luck, however, Tam’s recent history would provide her with most of what she needed.
“Aleph.” Dionte leaned down and laid a hand on the screen’s command board. “See me. Hear me.”
“Dionte?” answered the city-mind. “How can I help you?”
“I need to review Tam’s files,” she said. “His Conscience seems to be troubling him of late and I wish to make sure we have not overlooked any anomalies in his implant.”
“Of course,” Aleph responded instantly, as expected. Dionte was Tam’s assigned Guardian. It was perfectly proper for her to review his Conscience records at any time.
The screen nearest to Dionte flickered to life. Even as it did, Dionte spread her hands across her keyboard. The board contained sensors, just as her palms did. The sensors were designed to transmit information to Aleph’s subsystems. Aleph could tell whose hands touched which keyboard, and whether they were nervous or excited. It was chemical analysis technology similar to that used in the mote cameras.
What seemed to have gone unrealized when the sensors were embedded was that with sufficient knowledge, one could use them as a direct connection to Aleph’s nondeclarative memory, just as the Conscience implants were a direct connection to the minds of the family members.