“How are you able to operate this one under the noses of the barons and the Archons?” Grant asked.
“Very easily, friend Grant. As the former overseer of Cerberus, the responsibility fell to me to determine which redoubts were still operable or repairable. Having retained a certain fondness for this one, I listed it as condemned. Since it is in such an extraordinarily isolated area, not to mention buried within a mountain, no one cared to challenge my decision.
“Nor can the gateway’s energies be traced back here. I altered the modulation frequencies of the matter-stream carrier wave, so they are slightly out of phase with the other units in other places.”
Lakesh regarded Kane keenly. “You are unusually solemn. I assumed most of the inquiries would spring from you.”
Kane cleared his throat. “Maybe I’m afraid to learn more.”
Lakesh said nothing. He only smiled encouragingly.
Kane blurted, “You knew my father?”
“Yes. You might say I selected him.”
“Selected him for what? To join the Trust or join you?”
Lakesh sighed very, very heavily. He dropped into a chair in front of one of the consoles. “Haven’t you ever wondered on what basis ville society is divided? Who determines who lives in the Enclaves and who lives in the Pits? Who chooses the elite, like you, Grant and Brigid, and who chooses those relegated to live in the Outlands, likeDomi?”
“We were taught it was because of our parentage,” answered Brigid. “Our grandparents and great-grandparents were citizens of the original baronies.”
“That is part of it. A very minuscule part. The class distinctions are based primarily on eugenics, and this was determined by the Directorate. They had in their hands the findings of the Human Genome Project, you see. Everyone selected to live in the villes, to serve in the divisions, had to meet a strict set of criteria, one established generations ago. The purer the quality of individual genetic characteristics, the purer the quality of the hybrid. Purity control. Now do you begin to understand me?”
Kane, Brigid, Domi and Grant all exchanged baffled glances.
At length, Kane said, “No. You’re still talking in enigmas. It’s past time for final answers, old man. No more riddles wrapped in cryptic bullshit.”
“Dulce,” declared Lakesh firmly. “All your answers can be found in Dulce.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lakesh refused to speak any more about Dulce or what could be found there. “If you want to find your truth,” he said ominously, “you must go there. However, if you go and are discovered, a protracted, painful death is the best you may hope for. Anson sought the truth in Dulce. The day after he returned, he put his weapon to his head. So think it over carefully. Sleep on it. When you’ve made your decision, we’ll talk again.”
The remainder of the day passed, and they ate, drank and rested. Kane, Domi, Grant and Brigid were assigned individual suites. According to one of the women in white, two dozen self-contained apartments were within the redoubt, as well as a dormitory and a small dining hall.
That evening, in his quarters, Kane shaved and had another shower. When he came out of the bathroom, his armor and Sin Eater rested neatly on a chair. Rather than feeling relieved, he sat on the bed and lost himself in gloomy reflections.
Though he had known Anson only by name, he easily understood why the man had pulled the trigger on himself. Under the circumstances, most people would feel overwhelmed and hopeless, and suicide didn’t seem like such a cowardly optionbut it did seem like an incredible waste, considering all he had gone through to be able to sit on this bed and contemplate it.
He recognized the symptoms of shock and tension. His aching muscles and outraged nerve ends screamed at him to be allowed to relax, to go to sleep. But every time he closed his eyes, Balam’s black orbs crowded into his mind, pushing aside all other thoughts.
Kane felt like a boy who had lifted a rock and then, paralyzed with horror, watched as nightmarish monstrosities with pincers and stingers scuttled out in a never-ending stream.
He had a sudden yearning for ignorance, not to know what he had learned and to be back in his little flat in the Enclaves or the drab dayroom with its bad coffee sub. He longed for all the times when he walked like a tiger, muscles gliding under his black armor, all the less privileged scrambling out of his path.