Kingdom of Cages(32)

“They mean to turn your station into the sword of Damocles,” she said, rubbing her blue thumbnail gem against the seam of her trousers. “They think if the Pandorans know that there’s a whole load of displaced, desperate people up here, and that some of them have access to ships that could theoretically make it down to the surface, it will speed up work on the cure.”

“Oh, is that what they think?” Shontio glared at the walls as if he could see through them and the vacuum beyond, all the way to El Dorado. His angry, tired gaze turned back to Beleraja. “You know what the station management board is going to do? They are going to seal those people into their ships and make them sit there. If they haven’t got money to pay for air and water, they are going to be set adrift.” His voice shook as he spoke. “I’m losing my credit with the committees, Bele. There’s too many people out there refusing to leave with the Authority convoys.”

“I know,” she said softly. “But I think that’s what the council is counting on.” She looked at her thumbnail gem, blue for the rank of commander. It no longer sparkled as it once had. It just glinted dully in the station’s full-spectrum light. “In fact, I really think they’re hoping someone will make a break for it and try to establish a settlement down in the Pandorans’ beloved wilderness.”

“Which would allow them to make their point while still denying they had anything to do with such a flagrant violation of their agreement.” His shoulders slumped and Beleraja felt for him. Everybody had too much to deal with these days. More than one of them was crumbling under the load. She didn’t want to see Shontio go down like that, especially when she could feel herself going down with him. “They can blame you and I for allowing the refugees to stay here,” he went on, “as can the management board.”

“We could call down to Administrator Tam,” suggested Beleraja. “Tell him the situation.”

Shontio snorted. “Tam doesn’t understand. He never has. He hates the Crisis because it’s disrupted his life, not because of what it’s done to the people. I’m not sure how eager he’ll be to help work out a bigger disruption.”

“Then we ask him to get his committee and Father Mihran—”

“And Father Mihran will say what he’s said every other time!” Shontio slammed his fist against the desk. Beleraja jumped, even though she knew his anger was not for her. “He’ll say they can’t absorb any more refugees. He’ll say they’ll have to wait until there’s a new draft, or a population shift in the villages. He’ll say that our decision to let them stay makes them our problem.” Shontio stared at his own fist, clenched so tightly the knuckles had turned white, but Beleraja knew that was not what he was seeing. “Maybe we should give the Authority what they want. Maybe we should just look the other way and—”

“No, Shontio.” Beleraja reached across the desk and grasped his knotted hand. “You know what will happen to them. The hothousers have had ten years to get ready to deal with that kind of invasion. If we look away while anybody tries to make a run to the surface, we are going to watch them die.”

“You don’t know that,” said Shontio without lifting his gaze.

“Yes, I do.” Beleraja let his hand go and straightened up. “And so do you.”

“So”—Shontio uncurled his fist and laid his hand flat on the desk— “we do nothing.”

“No.” Beleraja shook her head. “We call Father Mihran and Administrator Tam, and we try again. We call the council, and we try again with them too. You talk to the committees and the management board. I talk to Mena and the headman for the new refugees and try to inject a little reality into their veins. Maybe they’ll like the idea of living in their ships or dying on Pandora less than the possibility of helping a struggling colony survive.”

“Yes.” A little determination crept back into Shontio’s voice, and he was able to look at her again. “Of course. Maybe this time we can make it work.” He paused, his expression suddenly wistful. “Do you think this cure, this business of redesigning the human immune system, is going to save us?”

Now it was Beleraja’s turn to look away. “No.”

“Why not?”

Beleraja watched her hands. She remembered the pride she had felt when her command gem had been set. She had plans to lead her family to glory, not trap them into patrolling one tiny area of space searching for the desperate.

“Because I believe that the only thing that can really work is for there to be a whole lot of human beings on a single planet where there can be all the give and take that we had back when we were growing up on Old Earth.” She ran her fingertips over her gem. “We are too isolated out here. The nearest band of humans might be two years apart. Those are not conditions we were evolved to stand. We need exchange—genetic exchange, intellectual exchange, even violent exchange, maybe—with our neighbors, or we die. We are proving that right now.”