He smiled, and for the first time Chena saw a hothouser look modest. “We worked long and hard on it.”
Chena folded her hands across her stomach and gazed across the table at Basante. Whatever he wanted, she was not going to give it to him easily.
“You do look a lot like your mother.”
Chena’s whole body jerked backward. “What do you know?”
“I was her case supervisor, as well you know.” Basante pressed his palms against the tabletop as if he were trying to hold something down. “I oversaw her pregnancy, and her living conditions. She was always very concerned about your comfort and education—and safety,” he added.
Chena’s throat tightened. She couldn’t even begin to think of what to say to that.
“I’m not sure what she’d think about what you’ve become.” He shook his head slowly. “A poisoner? A fugitive?”
“Oh, no, Basante,” said Chena, settling herself back down. “That’s the obvious play. Use my mother’s memory to shame me and get me angry.” She folded her arms. “You didn’t know her, you just used her. Try again.”
“But I did know her,” said Basante calmly. “Your mother was a volunteer. That made her a resident, and a valued one. She also was the key we’d been looking for. Her work was going to help end the Diversity Crisis. She was going to save millions of lives, and she knew it. She worked very closely with her whole team.”
“Funny definition of work,” muttered Chena to the table. “I think you mean ‘was experimented on.’ ”
“No.” His voice was calm, firm, and a little sad. He sounded way too much like Aleph. She wondered if he knew that.
Was Aleph really off? Or was he just saying that to get her to relax? No way to know. It made for a strange lie, though. Most hothousers took Aleph for granted, like the filtered air around them. On the other hand, he was a “case supervisor”; who knew how much of her behavior he’d analyzed?
No way to know.
“We’re evil, right?” Basante was saying.
Chena smiled and spread her hands. You said it, I didn’t.
“We kidnap people and reduce them to lab animals. We care more about Pandora than we do any of the people on it. The villages are living laboratories. Who knows what we did to your friend Sadia—”
“I do,” snapped Chena, and she was instantly sorry. She couldn’t let this get to her.
He’s just talking lies. Let it roll off. Let it roll off. Just buzzing. Just a bug buzzing, that’s all.
“Sadia served her time, Chena,” he said quietly. “She did her part, and now she’s living in Taproot, with a paying job and her own home. I made sure of that.”
“You?” Chena’s eyebrows lifted.
Basante nodded. “I did, and my friends did.” He leaned forward. “There are some of us who believe that the families inside the complexes are taking the wrong road.”
Slowly, Chena lifted her gaze. Basante’s face was earnest, open.
What is going on with you? “Sounds like that’s your problem.” One corner of Basante’s mouth turned up. “Yes, that is my problem. As are you.”
Chena shrugged. She did not like this. How could he even be talking like this? Wasn’t that chip in his head supposed to keep him united with his family? She did not like this at all. Some new secret was being woven. She could feel it in every pore of her skin.
“It took a lot of doing so that we could get to you before they did.”
“They?”
Basante nodded solemnly. “The ones who killed your mother.”
Slowly, Chena stood. With measured steps, she walked around the table. Basante swiveled his chair so he could look straight at her. “I am so sick of hints and games I could spit,” she said. “You tell me what you have to tell me, or I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” said Basante. “You’ll poison me? Or you’ll just stab me?” He smiled at her. “Yes, we left you all your weapons. Now, why would we do such a stupid thing?”
Chena said nothing, she just clenched her hands into fists.
The gesture did not escape Basante. “Very well.” He pushed the chair back a little and stood up. He was just eye level with her, and she could see the lines age and stress were beginning to etch on his face.
“If we in the hothouses do not change or grow, we are going to die. Maybe the Authority will destroy us. Maybe the Diversity Crisis will finally find us. Either way, we are in danger.” He took a breath. “My friends and I have tried and tried to get the families to hear reason, but they will not listen. They continue to squabble and debate. Those debates are what killed your mother. I have tried for years to find out who wielded the knife and silenced Aleph, but I can’t.” He looked down at his own hands as if they were symbols of his inadequacy. “I was hoping that you might be able to find out for me.”