“Why don’t you just explain what you want me to do? I’m real tired, Yanni. I give. You name it, I’ll do it.”
“Survive.”
He blinked. Bit his lip.
“Going to break down on me?” Yanni asked.
The haze was gone. The tears were gone. He was only embarrassed, and mad enough to break Yanni’s neck.
Yanni smiled at him. Smug as hell.
“I could kill you,” Justin said.
“No, you couldn’t,” Yanni said. “It’s not in your profile. You divert everything inward. You’ll never quite cure that tendency. It’s what makes you a lousy clinician and a damned good designer. Grant can survive the stress—if you don’t put it on him. Hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. So don’t do it. Go back to your office and tell him I’m putting his application through again.”
“I’m not going to. It’s getting too sensitive. He’s hurting, Yanni. I can’t take that.”
Yanni bit his lip. “All right. Don’t tell him. Do you understand why it’s a problem, Justin? They’re afraid of the military grabbing him.”
“God. Why?”
“Power move. You can tell him that. I’m not supposed to tell you. I’m breaking security. There’s a rift in Defense. There’s a certain faction that’s proposing the nationalization of Reseune. That’s the new move. Lu’s health is going. Rejuv failure. He’s got at most a couple more years. Gorodin is becoming increasingly isolated from the Secretariat in Defense. He may get a challenge to his seat. That hasn’t happened since the war. An election in the military. There’s the head of Military Research, throwing more and more weight behind the head of Intelligence. Khalid. Vladislaw Khalid. If you’re afraid of something, Justin,—be afraid of that name. That faction could use an incident. So could Gorodin’s. Fabricated, would serve just as well. You’re in danger. Grant—more so. All they have to do is arrest him at the airport, claim he was carrying documents—God knows what. Denys will have my head for telling you this. I wanted to keep you out of it, not disrupt your work with it—Grant’s not getting a travel pass right now. You couldn’t get one. That’s the truth. Tell Grant—if it helps. For God’s sake—tell him somewhere private.”
“You mean they are bugging us.”
“I don’t know. I can answer for in here. We’re off the record right now.”
“You say we are—”
“I say we are. If Gorodin survives the election we’re sure is going to be called—you’ll be safer. If not—nothing is safe. We’ll lose our majority in Council. After that I don’t lay bets what will stay safe. If we lose our A.T. status, so will Planys. You understand me?”
“I understand you.” The old feeling settled back again. Game resumed. He felt sick at his stomach. And a hell of a lot steadier with things as-they-were. “If you’re telling me the truth—”
“If I’m telling you the truth you’d better wake up and take care of yourself. Next few years are going to be hell, son. Real hell. Lu’s going to die. It’s an appointive post. Lu could resign, but that’s no good. Whoever gets in can appoint a new Secretary. Lu’s wrecking his health, holding on, trying to handle the kind of infighting he’s so damn good at. Gorodin’s in space too much. Too isolate from his command structure. Lu’s trying to help Gorodin ride out the storm—but Lu’s ability to pay off political debtors is diminishing rapidly, the closer he comes to the wall. He’s balancing factions within his own faction. Question is—how long can he stay alive—in either sense?”
viii
The Filly made the circuit of the barn arena again, flaring her nostrils and blowing, and Ari watched her, watched Florian, so sure and so graceful on the Filly’s back.
Beside her, arms folded, Catlin watched—so did Andy, and a lot of the AG staff. Not the first time any of them had seen Florian and the Filly at work, but it was the first time the AG staff and Administration was going to let her try it. Uncle Denys was there—uncle Giraud was in Novgorod, where he spent most of his time nowadays: they were having an election—a man named Khalid was running against Gorodin, of Defense, and everybody in Reseune was upset about it. She was, since what she heard about Khalid meant another court fight if he did what he was threatening to do. But an election took months and months for all the results to get in from the ends of everywhere in space, and uncle Denys took time out of his schedule to come down to the barn: he had insisted if she was going to break anything he wanted to be there to call the ambulance this time. Amy Carnath was there; and so was Sam; and ’Stasi and Maddy and Tommy. It made Ari a little nervous. She had never meant her first try with the Filly to turn into an Occasion, with so much audience.
Florian had been working the Filly and teaching her for months—had even gone so far as to make a skill tape, patched himself up with sensors from head to foot while he put the Filly through every move she could make, and kept a pocket-cam focused right past her ears—all to teach her how to keep her balance and how to react to the Filly’s moves. It was as close to riding as she had come until today. It felt wonderful.
Uncle Giraud said, being uncle Giraud, that tape had real commercial possibilities.
Florian brought the Filly back quite nicely, to a little oh and a little applause from the kids—which upset the Filly and made her throw her head. But she calmed down, and Florian climbed down very sedately and held the reins out to her.
“Sera?” he said. Ari took a breath and walked up to him and the Filly.
She had warned everybody to be quiet. It was a deathly hush now. Everyone was watching; and she so wanted to do things right and not embarrass herself or scare anyone.
“Left foot,” Florian whispered, in case she forgot. “I’ll lead her just a little till you get the feel of it, sera.”
She had to stretch to reach the stirrup. She got it and got the saddle and got on without disgracing herself. The Filly moved then with Florian leading, and all of a sudden she felt the tape, felt the motion settle right where muscle and bone knew it should, just an easy give.
She felt like crying, and clamped her jaw tight, because she was not going to do that. Or look like a fool, with Florian leading her around. “I’ve got it,” she said. “Give me the reins, Florian.”
He stopped the Filly and passed them over the Filly’s head for her. He looked terribly anxious.
“Please, sera, don’t let her get away from you. She’s nervous with all these people.”
“I’ve got her,” she said. “It’s all right.”
And she was very prudent, starting the Filly off at a sedate walk, letting the Filly get used to her being up instead of Florian, when for months and months she had had to stand at the rail and watch Florian get to ride—and watch Florian take a few falls too, figuring out what nobody this side of old Earth knew how to do. Once the Filly had fallen, a terrible spill, and Florian had been out for a few seconds, just absolutely limp; but he had gotten up swearing it was not the Filly, she had lost her footing, he had felt it—and he had staggered over and hugged the Filly and gotten back on while she and Catlin stood there with their hands clenched.
Now she took the Filly away from him, for the Filly’s really public coming-out, and she knew Florian was sweating and suffering every step she took—knowing sera could be a fool; the way Catlin was probably doing the same, knowing if anything went wrong it was only Florian stood a chance of doing anything.
She was fourteen today; and she had too much audience to be a fool. She was amazingly sensible, she rode the Filly at a walk and kept her at a walk, anxious as the Filly started trying to move—no, Florian had said: if she tries to break and pick her own pace, don’t let her do that, she’s not supposed to, and she’s bad about that.
Florian had told her every tiny move the Filly tended to make, and where she could lose her footing, and where she tried to get her own way.
So she just stopped that move the instant the Filly tried it, not easy, no, the Filly had a trick of stretching her neck ag
ainst the rein and going like she was suddenly half-G for a few paces: she was glad she had not let the Filly run the first time she was up on her; but the Filly minded well enough when she made her.
It was not, of course, the show she wanted to make. She wanted to come racing up at a dead run and give everyone a real scare; but that was Florian’s part, Florian got to do that: she got to be responsible.
She passed her audience, so self-conscious she could hardly stand it—she hated being responsible; and uncle Denys was probably still nervous. She came around to where Florian was standing by the rail, and stopped the Filly there, because he was walking out to talk to her.
“How am I?” she asked.
“Fine,” he said. “Tap her once with your heels when she’s walking, just a little. Keep the reins firm. That’s the next pace. Don’t let her get above it yet. Don’t ever let her do it if you don’t tell her.”
“Right,” she said; and started the Filly up, one tap, then a second.
The Filly liked that. Her ears came up, and she hit a brisk pace that was harder to stay with, but Ari found it. Her body suddenly began to tape-remember what to do with faster moves, found its balance, found everything Florian had given her.
She wanted to cut free, O God, she wanted to go through the rest of it and so did the Filly, but she kept that pace which the Filly found satisfactory enough and pulled up to a very impressive stop right in front of Andy and Catlin. The Filly was sweating—excitement, that was all; and stamped and shifted after she had gotten down and Andy was holding her.
Everyone was impressed. Uncle Denys was positively pale, but he was doing awfully well, all the same.
Amy and the rest wanted to try too, but Andy said it was best not to have too many new riders all at once: the Filly would get out of sorts. Florian said they could come when he was exercising the Filly and they could do it one at a time, if they wanted to.
Besides, Florian said, the best way to learn about horses was to work with them. The Mare was going to birth again and they were doing two completely different genotypes in the tanks; which would be seven horses in all—no longer Experimentals, but officially Working Animals.
Of which the Filly was the first. Ari patted her—good and solid: the Filly liked to know you were touching her; and got horse smell all over her, but she loved it; she loved everything; she even gave uncle Denys a hug.
“You were very brave,” she said to uncle Denys when she did it, and on impulse, kissed him on the cheek and gave him a wicked smile, getting horse smell on him too. “Your favorite guinea pig didn’t break her neck.”
Uncle Denys looked thoroughly off his balance. But she had whispered it.
“Even her inflections,” he said, putting her off hers. “God. Sometimes you’re uncanny, young woman.”
ix
“That’s it,” Justin said as the Cyteen election results flashed up on the screen, and: “Vid off,” to the Minder. “Khalid.”
Grant shook his head, and said nothing for a long while. Then: “Well, it’s a crazy way to do business.”
“Defense contractors in the Trade bureau, in Finance.”
“Reseune has ties there too.”
“It’s still going to be interesting.”
Grant bowed his head and passed a hand over his neck, just resting there a moment. Thinking, surely—that it was going to be a long while, a long while before either of them traveled again.
Or thinking worse thoughts. Like Jordan’s safety.
“It’s not like—” Justin said, “they could just ram things through and get that nationalization. The other Territories will come down on Reseune’s side in this one. And watch Giraud change footing. He’s damned good at it. He is Defense, for all practical purposes. I never saw a use for the man. But, God, we may have one.”
x
It was one of the private, private parties, weekend, the gang off from school and homework, and the Rule was, no punch and no cake off the terrazzo areas, and if anybody wanted to do sex they went to the guest room or the sauna, and if they started getting silly-drunk they went to the sauna room and took cold showers until they sobered up.
So far the threat of showers had been enough.
They had Maddy, ’Stasi, Amy, Tommy, Sam, and a handful of new kids, ’Stasi’s cousins Dan and Mischa Peterson, only Dan was Peterson-Nye and Mischa was Peterson—which was one brother set, whose maman would have killed them if she smelled alcohol on them, but that just made them careful; and two sets of cousins, which was Amy and Tommy Carnath; and ’Stasi and Dan and Mischa. Dan and Mischa were fifteen and fourteen, but that was all right, they got along, and they did everything else but drink.
In any case they were even, boys and girls, and Amy and Sam were a set, and Dan and Mischa both got off with Maddy, and ’Stasi and Tommy Carnath were a set; which worked out all right.
Mostly they were real polite, very quiet parties. They had a little punch or a little wine, the rowdiest they ever got was watching E-tapes, mostly the ones the kids’ mothers would kill them for, and when they got a little drunk they sat around in the half-dark while the tapes were running and did whatever came to mind until they had to make a choice between the Rule and finishing the tape.
“Oh, hell,” Ari said finally, this time when Maddy asked, “do it on the landing, who cares?”
She was a little drunk herself. A lot tranked. She had her blouse open, she felt the draft and finally she settled against Florian to watch the tape. Sam and Amy came back, very prim and sober, and gawked at what was going on next to the bar. While ’Stasi and Tommy were still in the sauna room.
Mostly she just watched—the tapes or what the other kids were doing; which kept Florian and Catlin out of it.
“You have a message,” the Minder said over the tape soundtrack and the music.
“Oh, hell.” She got up again, shrugged the blouse back together and walked up the steps barefooted, down the hall rug and into her office as steadily as she could.
“Base One,” she said, when she had the door shut and proof against the noise outside in the den. “Message.”
“Message from Denys Nye: Khalid won election. Meet with me tomorrow first thing in my office.”
Oh, shit.
She leaned against the back of the chair.
“Message for Denys Nye,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
The Minder took it. “Log-off,” she said, and walked back outside and into her party.
“What was it?” Catlin asked.
“Tell you later,” she said, and settled down again, leaning back in Florian’s lap.
She showed up in Denys’ office, 0900 sharp, no frills and no nonsense, took a cup of Denys’ coffee, with cream, no sugar, and listened to Denys tell her what she had already figured out, with the Silencer jarring the roots of her teeth.
“Khalid is assuming office this afternoon,” Denys said. “Naturally—since he’s Cyteen based, there’s no such thing as a grace period. He moves in with all his baggage. And his secret files.”
Uncle Denys had already explained to her—what Khalid was. What the situation could be.
“Don’t you think I’d better have vid access?” she asked. “Uncle Denys, I don’t care what you think I’m not ready to find out. Ignorant is no help at all, is it?”
Uncle Denys rested his chins on his hand and looked at her a long time as if he was considering that. “Eventually. Eventually you’ll have to. You’re going to get a current events condensation, daily, the same as I get. You’d better keep up with it. It looks very much as if we’re going to get a challenge before this session is out. They’ll probably release some things on your predecessor—as damaging as they can find. This is going to be dirty politics, Ari. Real dirty. I want you to start studying up on things. Additionally—I want you to be damned careful. I know you’ve been doing a lot of—” He gave a little cough. “—entertaining. Of kids none of whom is over fifteen, at hours that tell me you’re not playing Starchase. Housekeep
ing says my suspicions are—” Another clearing of the throat. “—probably well-founded.”
“God. You’re stooping, uncle Denys.”
“Security investigates all sources. And my clearance still outranks yours. But let’s not quibble. That’s not my point. My point is—ordinary fourteen-and fifteen-year-olds don’t have your—independence, your maturity, or your budget; and Novgorod in particular isn’t going to understand your—mmmn, parties, your language—in short, we’re all being very circumspect. You know that word?”
“I’m up on circumspect, uncle Denys, right along with security risk. I don’t have any. If their mothers know, they’re not going to object, because they want their offspring to have careers when I’m running Reseune. There are probably a lot of mothers who’d like to shove their kids right into my apartment. And my bed.”
“God. Don’t say that in Novgorod.”
“Am I going?”
“Not right now. Not anytime soon. Khalid is just in. Let him make a move.”
“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea.”
“Don’t get smart, sera. Let him draw the line, I say. While you, young sera, do some catch-up studying. You’d better learn what an average fourteen-year-old is like.”
“I know. I know real well. I might know better, if my friends hadn’t Disappeared to Fargone, mightn’t I?”
“Don’t do this for the cameras. You think you’re playing a game. I’m telling you you can really lose everything. I’ve explained nationalization—”
“I do fine with big words.”
“Let’s see how you do with little ones. You’re not sweet little Ari for the cameras anymore, you’re more and more like the Ari certain people remember—enough to make it a lot more likely you’ll get harder and harder questions, and you don’t know where the mines are, young sera. We’re going to stall this as long as we can, and if we can get you another year, it’s very likely you’ll have to apply for your majority status. That’s the point at which some interest will get an injunction to stop the Science Bureau granting it; and you’ll be in court again…with a good chance of winning it: the first Ari did at sixteen. But that won’t solve the problem, it’ll only put the opposition in a bad light, taking on a fifteen-year-old who has to handle herself with more finesse than you presently have, young sera.”