Cyteen

  “Boy. Justin. Please. Please, sit down. Listen to me.”

  “Ari’s not dead!” he yelled at Denys. “It’s a damned lie! What are you trying to do? What is she trying to do?”

  “Oh, God, boy, sit down. Listen to me. Your father won’t have much time. Please. Damn that brother of mine! So damned afraid of putting you in hospital—Look. Sit down.”

  He sat. There was nothing else to do. They could do anything they wanted to.

  “Listen to me, Justin. Internal Affairs has been questioning Jordie; Jordie begged Giraud to keep you out of it. He didn’t want the story out, do you understand? He didn’t want them psychprobing you. Giraud just flat refused them permission. Jordie backed him on it. But my damn brother went off to the capital and kept the lid on, and they kept saying you were all right—” Denys drew a small breath, reached across and laid his hand on Justin’s on the table. “You’re not all right. Dammit, it wasn’t like Giraud’s was the first psychprobe you’d had in the last few weeks, is it?”

  He jerked his hand from under Denys’. “Let me alone!”

  “Do you want a sedative?”

  “I don’t want anything. I want out of here! I want to talk to my father!”

  “No. You don’t. Not in that tone of voice. Understand me? He’s leaving. He won’t be back.”

  He stared at Denys. Not be back—

  “Council’s drawn up a plan,” Denys said, “to allow him a facility over in Planys. He won’t be able to travel. He won’t be able to call you—for quite a while. I don’t want you to upset him, son. He’s got to meet with a Council inquiry tomorrow. He’s got to get through that in one piece. Are you understanding me? It’s very important.”

  It was real. It had happened. He stared into Denys Nye’s worried eyes with the feeling that the whole world was chaos, except it was going to sort itself out again in some terrible new shape no one he loved lived in.

  “Do you want the sedative? No tricks, Justin. I promise you. Just enough to let you rest awhile before you talk with him.”

  He shivered. And controlled it. “No,” he said. “Let me get dressed. Let me clean up.”

  “Absolutely.” Denys patted his hand. “You can use the shower down the hall. I’ve told them to bring clothes for you.”

  He nodded.

  “I’m going to have Petros have a look at you.”

  “No!”

  “When you get through this. When you’re satisfied everything’s all right. No one’s going to touch you. You’ve had enough of that. God knows. Are you getting tape-flashes?”

  The question triggered one. Or simple memory. It shamed him. Like some dark, twisted side of himself that was always—very like Ari. That—dammit—had learned what she did—felt good. He never wanted a psychtech wandering through that. He never wanted Jordan to know, he never wanted to let it show on his face what was going on in the dark inside him. And maybe everyone knew.

  Ari had said—she had pictures. If Ari was dead—the House investigators had them. Had everything.

  There was no dignity left him then, except to keep from noticing they knew, or admitting the truth to anyone.

  “Listen to me, son.” Denys’ hand closed on his again. It was soft and warm and any human contact affected him in terrible ways. “Son, I can’t excuse what Ari did. But there was more to her than—”

  He jerked back.

  He saw Denys read him. Saw the thinking going on in Denys’ eyes and tried to keep the color from his face. “—than you want to hear about,” Denys concluded. “I know. Listen. Listen to me. Make this register— All right?”

  “All right. I’m with you.”

  “Brave lad. Listen now. Jordie’s covering—for us and for you. He’s lying to the press, and the Council. He’s telling them it was Ari standing in the way of his transfer. Every reason in the world but the truth—and they can’t psychprobe him. You have to understand, Justin—you’re…him, as much as you’re his son. That puts a freight on everything that happened between you and Ari that—that pushed him beyond the limit. It was old business—between him and Ari. He understands what happened to you. Yes. You know what I’m telling you. And he loves you very much. But part of it is his own pride. Do you understand? Those of us who work inside these walls—know how tangled and complicated even a parent’s love can be…in a moment when he was pushed too far. Everything he wants is gone, except you. And you can take everything else he’s got—if you go in there with your emotions out of control. I want you to get control of yourself. Let him take a little peace of mind out of here with him. Let him see his son’s all right. For his sake.”

  “Why won’t they let me go with him?”

  “Because you’re a minor. Because of the security arrangements. Because, truthfully, I couldn’t get Giraud to agree to it. Security, they keep saying.”

  “That’s a damn lie!”

  “Listen, now. I’m going to get some arrangement where you can get visiting privileges. Not right away. Maybe not even this year. But time and quiet can do a lot for this situation. They’re scared as hell there’s a conspiracy—the Winfield-Kruger mess, you know.”

  O God. My fault. My fault. “They can’t think Jordan was in on that. I was. Giraud ran the psychprobe. Run it again! I can swear he didn’t know a damn thing—”

  “Unfortunately, son, that’s exactly the kind of thing Jordie wants to prevent—getting you involved in the investigation. There is fire under that smoke. I’m afraid Jordie was meeting with a man called Merild, who had connections that are running into some very dark corners. He was also meeting in secret with a number of very high-up Centrists who are linked to Ianni Merino—the Abolitionists. And Rocher has come out with a very inflammatory statement about Ari’s death that Merino hasn’t quite repudiated. A lot of people in the government are running scared, scared of investigations, scared of guilt by association. Internal Affairs demanded to get hold of Grant. Giraud had to do a probe to satisfy them—”

  “Oh, my God—”

  “He had to. I know. I know, son. But they could have learned too much from you. Justin, the shock waves Ari’s death has generated—are enormous. You can’t imagine how enormous. The government is in crisis. Careers are in jeopardy. Lives are. There’s an almost universal conviction that this had to be political; that the reasons for what’s changed their lives has some meaning beyond a dissatisfied scientist breaking Ari’s skull. It’s human to think like that. And Jordie’s testimony—the fact that he can’t testify under probe—the fact that Florian and Catlin were put down—some posthumous order of Ari’s, they think… Yes. They’re gone too.—People sense something else going on. They want to think something else is going on. Crime of passion, from an education tape-designer, you know, gives people cold chills. We’re supposed to be too rational. Jordie’s going to have to do the best damn psych-out in front of the Council committee he’s ever done in his life. And for Jordie’s own sake, the quieter things stay for the next few years, the better. Just be patient. Jordie’s not without friends. He’s not old. Forty-six isn’t old. He can outlast the furor, if you don’t do something that blows the lid off everything we’ve arranged.”

  He found enough air to breathe finally. He tried to think that through. He tried to think—what was the safest thing for his father and what his father would want. Tried not to think—O God!—that it was his own mistakes that had caused it.

  “Can you get yourself together?” Denys pressed him.

  “I’m together. I’m all right. What about Grant?” Oh, God, they could mindwipe him. Florian dead! And Catlin—

  “Giraud is assigning Grant back to you.”

  Good things no longer happened to him. He did not believe them. He did not trust them.

  “He has,” Denys said, “because I just signed the papers. Get through this business with Jordan and you can get him out of hospital.—Do you want that sedative, son?”

  Justin shook his head. Because Jordan would know if there was any drug
involved. He had read him all along. Jordan must have. He hoped—

  He hoped he could keep from tape-flashes if Jordan hugged him. That was how bad it was. That was what Ari had done to him. He was losing his father. He was not going to see him again. And he could not even tell Jordan goodbye without feeling Ari’s hands on him.

  “I’m all right,” he said. If he could not lie to Denys and make it credible, he had no hope of lying to Jordan. Getting himself together had to start now. Or he was not going to make it.

  x

  Mikhail Corain looked anxiously at the aide who had laid the fiche-card on his desk. “Dell’s?” he asked.

  The aide nodded.

  Corain waved a hand, dismissing the aide, slid the card into the desktop viewer and tilted the screen.

  Dell Hewitt was a member of Internal Affairs. She happened to be a Centrist who was a friend of Ginny Green, who had been the Centrist candidate in Internal Affairs in the last election. And in this nervous time of investigations and committees rummaging into every dark corner in Novgorod, she had laid more than her own career on the line with what she had leaked to Yvonne Hahner, who she knew would leak it to Dellarosa in his staff. As good as wrap it up and mail it.

  Regarding the azi Catlin and Florian: no conclusion. Perhaps the termination was ordered outside the system. Perhaps inside, by persons unknown. Perhaps Ariane Emory did order the termination, not wanting them interviewed. Perhaps she felt it was humane. Perhaps it was some kind of death pact the azi themselves had asked for: Reseune says they would have been very profoundly affected by the thought of losing her. Also, Reseune says, they were Security, but with a fix on Emory. They were therefore capable of harm to Reseune, and retraining would be difficult if not impossible without mindwipe, which their age precluded. Giraud Nye refuses to open the books on their psychsets. The order did come under Emory’s personal code. Giraud Nye cites security considerations in refusing to allow Internal Affairs technicians to examine the computers.

  Corain sipped the coffee warmed by the desk-plate. Two hundred fifty cred the half-kilo. They were damned small sips. But, a man was due a little luxury, who had been a scratch-and-patch outback farmer most of his life.

  No new news. That was disappointing. He traced down the long list of things Reseune had refused to allow Internal Affairs to do, and read the legal justifications. Reseune’s legal staff was winning every round. And Internal Affairs, at the uppermost administrative level, was not hitting back.

  Then:

  Internal Affairs is investigating the rumor at Reseune that certain genesets were checked out and not logged. This means someone could have duplicated genesets that ought not to exist…

  Azi-running? God, you can get a geneset from a blood sample. From anything. Why would anyone steal one from Reseune?

  …such as Experimental and Special material which cannot otherwise be obtained.

  Smuggling actual genesets prepared for use by Reseune requires cryogenics which would be detected in shipment unless simply omitted from manifests. However—the digitalized readout of a geneset is another story. Reseune in the person of administrator Nye denies that there is any such activity, or that documentation could have been released without record.

  Also there is some rumor on staff that there have been unwarranted terminations. Reseune is blocking this inquiry.

  Corain gnawed his lip. And thought: I don’t want to know this. Not right now. Things are too delicate. My God, if this hits the streets—all the arrangements can come unglued.

  A side note from Dellarosa: What about the chance Emory was running the genesets herself? Or ordered it? What’s a Special worth, to someone who has access to a birth-lab?

  Votes. A Council seat. Support from the very, very rich. Corain took a swallow of coffee. And sweated.

  Physical evidence suffered from inexpert handling from the Moreyville police. Certain surfaces in the outer lab and the cold-lab have Jordan Warrick’s fingerprints, Emory’s fingerprints, the prints of the azi attendants, of certain of the other regular users of the lab, and a number of students who have come forward to be printed. The door bears a similar number of prints. No presence-tracers were available to the Moreyville police who did the preliminary investigation. Subsequent readings would have been meaningless due to the traffic in and out of the lab by police and residents. The security door records were released and corroborate the comings and goings given in verbal testimony. Again, Reseune will not allow Internal Affairs technicians access to the computers.

  The autopsy results say that Emory froze to death, that the skull fracture was contributory, in that she was probably unconscious at the time of the pipe rupture. She was suffering from extremely minor rejuv failure and had arthritis of the right knee and mild asthma, all of which were known to her doctors. The only unexpected finding was a small cancer in the left lung, localized, and unknown to her physician at the time: it is a rare type, but less rare among early pioneers on Cyteen. The treatment would have been immediate surgery, with drug therapy. This type of cancer does respond to treatment but frequently recurs, and the prognosis combined with other immune-system problems due to the rejuv difficulty would have been less than favorable.

  God.

  She was dying anyway.

  xi

  Justin composed himself with several deep breaths as he walked down the hall beside Denys Nye. He had showered, shaved, was dressed in his ordinary work-clothes, blue sweater, brown pants. He was not shaking. He had asked for three aspirin and made sure that that was all he had gotten before he swallowed them. As a tranquilizer it was at least enough, with his exhaustion, to dull the nerves.

  Jordan looked all right. He would. Jordan was like that.

  God, he couldn’t have killed her. He couldn’t. They’re making him say these things. Someone is lying.

  “Hello, son.”

  It was not one of the cold little interview rooms. It was an administrative office. Denys was not going to leave. He had explained that. Neither were the azi guards going to leave. And a recorder was running, because no one trusted anything, and they wanted to be able to prove to investigators that nothing had gone on in the meeting.

  “Hello,” he said back. And thought he ought to go and put his arms around his father at a time like this, in front of all the people who would see the tape, but, dammit, Jordan was not inviting it, Jordan was being reserved and quiet and had things to say to him Jordan needed to get in order. All he had to say was goodbye. All he could say was goodbye. Anything else—anything else—and he could make a mistake that would go on that tape and ruin everyone’s life worse than he had already done.

  Things like: I’m sorry I tried to deal with Ari. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry you had to find it out yourself. It’s all my doing. All of it.

  Don’t bring up Grant, Denys had warned him. Don’t bring it up at all. The committees could want to talk to him if you do. Let them forget about him.

  “Are you all right?” Jordan asked him.

  “I’m fine. Are you?”

  “Son, I—” Jordan’s mouth trembled.

  O God, he’s going to lose it. In front of all of them.

  “They told me everything. You don’t have to tell me. Please.”

  Jordan drew a deep breath and eased it out again. “Justin, I want you to know why I did it. Because Ari was an influence this world didn’t need. I did it the same way I’d try to fix a bad tape. I don’t have any remorse for it. I won’t ever have. It was a perfectly logical decision. Now someone else is running Reseune and I’m transferred, which is exactly what I wanted, where I won’t have Ari changing my designs and using her name on my work she’s done over. I’m free. I’m just sorry—sorry it blew up like this. I’m a better scientist than I am a plumber. That’s what the investigators said. I backed up the pressure and they caught it in the monitor records.”

  The anger had been there at the start, real anger, profound, shattering anger. It cooled at the last. It becam
e a recitation, a learned part, an act meant to look like an act. He was grateful for that last coolness, when Jordan threw the ball to him.

  I know why you did it, he almost said, then thought that that could come out wrong. Instead he said: “I love you.”

  And nearly lost control. He bit his lip till it bled. Saw Jordan with his own jaw clenched.

  “I don’t know if they’ll let me write to you,” Jordan said.

  “I’ll write.”

  “I don’t know if they’ll give me the letters.” Jordan managed a small laugh. “They imagine we can pass messages in hello, how’s the weather?”

  “I’ll write anyway.”

  “They think—they think there’s some damn conspiracy. There isn’t. I promise you that, son. There isn’t anyone who knew and there wasn’t supposed to be anyone who knew. But they’re afraid out there. People think of Ari as political. That’s how she was important to them. They don’t think of her first as a scientist. They don’t understand what it means when someone takes your work and turns it inside out. They don’t understand the ethics that were violated.”

  Ethics that were violated. God. He’s playing for the cameras. The first was a speech to the committee but the last was a code to me. If he goes on any longer they’re going to catch him at it.

  “I love you,” Jordan said then. “More than anything.”

  And held out his arms. It was over. The play was over. The actors had to embrace. It was all right to cry now.

  He would not see Jordan after this. Not hear from him.

  Maybe forever.

  He crossed the little space like an automaton. He hugged Jordan and Jordan hugged him hard, a long time. A long time. He bit his lip through, because the pain was all that helped keep him focused. Jordan was crying. He felt the sobs, quiet as they were. But maybe that would help Jordan’s case. Maybe they had done all right, in front of the cameras. He wished he could cry. But for some reason he was numb, except the pain, and the taste of blood.