Shontio watched her silently for a moment. “I thought the Authority ruled out consolidation as a solution.”
“They did.”
“And you never told me that you spoke out against the idea.”
“I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
Shontio, leave me alone. “Because I was afraid. Because I’m like everybody else. I don’t want to lose my way of life.” She made herself sit up and look right at him again. “I’m a shipper. For eight generations my family has lived in space. We are gypsies, birds. I did not want to advocate cutting our wings and binding ourselves to a single place.” Then she added more softly, “I was afraid to. I wanted—I still want—to believe this massive feat of genetic engineering will preserve our way of life.” She gave a small, mirthless laugh. “I’m as bad as Tam, as bad as any of the Called. I don’t really want to change my life, even when I know I’m going to have to.”
“And I thought the Authority was trying to save us all.” Shontio’s words were full of grim mockery.
“The Authority?” Beleraja shook her head. “I’ll give you the Authority. Why isn’t there a working communication network for the Called?”
Shontio stared at her, not following the leap in logic. “There is,” he said.
Beleraja waved her hand, dismissing the idea. “There’s a few hundred satellites and a couple of dozen station ships full of extremely bribable inbred crews. I mean a real network, with jump capability and message encryption. It’s technically feasible. Why doesn’t it exist?”
“Tell me.” Shontio steepled his fingers and got ready to wait.
“Because way back when, when the Called was expanding instead of collapsing, the Council of Cities worked out that it would be better for the Authority if the Called had to depend on them for communications. If the worlds only knew what we told them …” Beleraja threw up her hands. “Well! We’d just keep on being indispensable. Profits and power forever.” She let her hands fall back onto the chair arms with a thud. “The shippers might have done something, but if there was a working comm network, then the cities would be able to keep an eye on us with extreme efficiency, and my illustrious ancestors didn’t want that.”
Shontio regarded her over his fingertips for a minute. “And the Called never worked this out?”
“Oh, I’m sure they did, but they expected to one day have an infrastructure that would allow them to put up their own satellites.” She shook her head slowly. “That, however, did not happen.” Her mouth stretched into a thin, tight line. “That is the kind of forward, altruistic thinking that the current Council of Cities sprang from. If there had been a comm network, word of the Diversity Crisis would have spread so much faster. We might even have had a solution by now, because the very best minds on all the worlds, including Old Earth, could have exchanged ideas, but no.” She spread her fingers and looked down at her gem. “Save us all? We might have helped us die.”
Shontio ran his palm along the edge of his desk. “Well, Bele,” he said, “if your ancestors killed us, and the Pandorans’ cure can’t work…” He stilled his hand. “What are we doing here?”
“Whatever we can, Tio,” she answered grimly. “Whatever we can.”
In front of Tam, the screen cleared to its normal, glassy transparency. It didn’t even show him his own reflection. Now that he was no longer wrapped up in his conversation with Shontio and Beleraja, he became aware of the noise of the family’s home spreading out around him— voices, children’s running feet, the ceaseless sound of falling water. He rested his hands on his knees and waited to hear a voice speaking directly to him.
“That was a difficult conversation,” said Aleph, her voice sounding as if it came from the air right next to him. Aleph was the “city mind,” the artificial intelligence that took care of the Alpha Complex and its family. Among her other duties, she monitored all contact with Athena Station. “You will be calling a meeting of the Administrators’ Committee?”
Before Tam could answer, a new image coalesced on the screen in front of him, and another on the screen to his right. Father Mihran stood surrounded by the frantic activity of the laboratory. To his right, Liate, Athena’s officially assigned administrator, sat alone at a little conference table, her arms folded across her chest.
“Tam,” said Father Mihran gently. “I understand you have had another message from Athena Station.”