Cyteen

  “It’s not all right.”

  “No, but you’ll stay back: do the puzzling thing, and trust me to do the same. I think you’re quite right. The puzzling thing engages the intellect—and I had far rather deal with her on a rational basis, I assure you. If you can commit us to your judgment in the one thing—trust me for mine and don’t make me worry. I wouldn’t have been in half the flux I was in, except I wasn’t sure you weren’t going to come back into the office and blow everything to hell, right there. I can’t think and watch my flank when it’s you involved. All right? Promise me that.”

  “Dammit, I can’t let a spoiled kid—”

  “Yes. You can. Because I’m capable of taking care of myself. And in some things I’m better than you. Not many. But in this, I am. Allow me my little superiority. You can have all the rest.”

  He gazed a long time at Grant, at a face which had—with the years—acquired tensions azi generally lacked. He had done that to him. Life among CITs had.

  “Deal?” Grant asked him. “Turn about: trust my judgment. I trust yours about the transfer. So we can both be perturbed about something. How much do you trust me?”

  “It’s not trusting you that’s at issue.”

  “Yes, it is. Yes. It is. Azi to Supervisor…are you hearing me?”

  He nodded finally. Because whatever Ari could do—he could hurt Grant.

  He lied, of course. Maybe Grant knew he did.

  ix

  “There’s a tape,” Ari had said to Denys, in his office, and told him which tape.

  “How did you find out about it?” he had asked.

  “My Base.”

  “Nothing to do with dinner at Changes last night.”

  “No,” she said without a flicker, “we discussed cultural librations.”

  Denys hated humor when he was serious. He always had. “All right,” he said, frowning. “I certainly won’t withhold it.”

  So he sent Seely for it. And said: “Don’t use kat when you see this, don’t expose Florian and Catlin to it, for God’s sake don’t put it where anyone can find it.”

  She had thought of asking him what was in it. But things were tense enough. So she talked about other things—about her work, about the project, about Justin—without mentioning the disagreement.

  She drank a cup and a half of coffee and exchanged pleasant gossip; and unpleasant: about the elections; about the situation in Novgorod; about Giraud’s office—and Corain—until Seely brought the tape back.

  So she walked home with it, with Catlin, because she was anxious all the time she had it in her carry-bag; she was anxious when she arrived home and contemplated putting it in the player.

  Her insecurity with the situation wanted Florian and Catlin to be beside her when she played it—

  But that, she thought, was irresponsible. Emotional situations were her department, not theirs, no matter that sera was anxious about it, no matter that sera wanted, like a baby, to have someone with her.

  I wouldn’t have advised this, Denys had said—distressed, she picked that up. But not entirely surprised. But I know you well enough to know there’s no stopping you once you start asking a question. I won’t comment on it. But if you have questions after you’ve seen it—you can send them to my Base if you find them too personal. And I’ll respond the same way. If you want it.

  Meaning Denys wasn’t putting any color on the situation.

  So she closed the door on the library and locked it; and put the tape into the player—not taking a pill. She was no fool, to deep-study any tape blind and unpreviewed, and without running a check for subliminals.

  She sat down and clenched her hands as it started—fascinated first-off by the sight of a familiar place, familiar faces—Florian and Catlin when they would have been a hundred twenty at least; and Justin—the boy was clearly Justin, even at the disadvantage of angle—he would be seventeen; and Ari herself—elegant, self-assured: she had seen newsclips of Ari this old, but none when Ari was not simply answering questions.

  She listened—caught the nervousness in Justin’s voice, the finesse of control in Ari’s. Strange to know that voice so well, and to feel inside what it was doing—and to understand what kat would do to that experience, for someone skilled at tape-learning: she felt a little prickle down her back, a sense of hazard and involvement—conditioned response, a dim, analytical part of her thoughts said: the habits of this room, the physiological response of the endocrine system to the habit of taking kat here, and the lifelong habit of responding to tape—Azi must do this, she thought. And: The emotional context is kicking it off. Thank God I didn’t trank down for this.

  As muscles felt the sympathetic stimulus of nerves that knew what it felt like to walk and sit, and speak, and a brain that understood in all that context that Ari was On, and that her pulse was up, and that the target of her intentions was a Justin very young, very vulnerable, picking up the signals Ari was sending and reacting with extreme nervousness—

  Back off, she told herself, trying to distance herself from the aggression Ari was radiating. Disinvolve.

  The switch was beside her. She only had to reach to it and push it to cut it off. But the sexual feeling was too strong, toward an object otherwise out of reach—toward a Justin not quite real, not the man she knew, but Justin all the same.

  She saw the glass fall—realized then what Ari had done to him, and that he was in terrible danger. She was afraid for him; but the muscles she felt move in response to that falling glass were Ari’s, the impulse she felt through the heat of sex was concern for the orange juice spill on the damned upholstery—Her couch—

  Oh, God, she should shut this off. Now.

  But she kept watching.

  x

  It was a simple computer-delivered See me: my office, 0900.—Denys Nye.—that brought him to the administrative wing, and to the door that he dreaded.

  So she had the tape, Justin thought; so Denys knew about the dinner at Changes.

  He had not expected Giraud with Denys. He froze in the doorway, with Seely at his back, then walked in and sat down.

  “Let’s dispense with what we both know,” Denys said, “and not bicker about details. What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I thought about coming to you,” he said, “but she was embarrassed as well as mad. I figured—if I did—come to you—she might blow. I thought you wanted to avoid that.”

  “So you took a wide action. On your own judgment.”

  “Yes, ser.” Denys was being reasonable—too reasonable, with Giraud sitting there staring at him with hostility in every line of his face. “And knowing you’d call me.”

  “She has the tape,” Denys said. “That surprised me, Justin, that truly surprised me.”

  Giraud’s not the Special. Denys is…

  “I’m flattered, ser. I don’t expect to surprise you. But that wasn’t why I did it. I wish you’d let me explain. Ari—”

  “I don’t need your explanation. Neither of us does.”

  “It’s a simple adolescent infatuation—”

  “She’s been sexually active since she was thirteen. At least. And this fascination is thoroughly in program. We’re not worried about that. Her predecessor had a pattern of such things. That you’re young, male, and working at close quarters with her—No question.”

  “I haven’t encouraged it!”

  “Of course not. But you’ve tried to manipulate her by that means.”

  “That’s not so. No.”

  “Sins of the heart, if not the intellect. You took her on, you’ve taught her, you’ve tried to steer her—admit it.”

  “Away from that kind of thing—”

  Denys leaned forward on folded arms.

  “That,” Giraud said, “is intervention, in itself.”

  “Not to harm her,” Justin said, “or me.” Giraud had only to speak and reactions started running through him, kat-dream, deep as bone. He could not help that flutter of nerves, could not forget the
whip-crack that voice could become…in his nightmares. He looked at Denys, feeling a tremor in his muscles. “I tried to keep it all low-key, non-flux.”

  “Until yesterday,” Denys said, “when you decided to handle a situation yourself. When you exacerbated a situation—and decided to handle it…by handing her a major key. That is an intervention, you’re an operator, you knew exactly what you were doing, and I want you to lay that out for me in plain words—consciously and subconsciously.”

  “Why should I?” His heart was slamming against his ribs. “Duplication of effort, isn’t it? Why don’t we just go over to Security and save us all time and trouble?”

  “You’re asking for a probe.”

  “No. I’m not. But that’s never stopped you.”

  “Let’s have a little calm, son.”

  Jordan. Oh, God.

  He means me to think about that.

  “Answer the question,” Giraud said.

  “I did it to save my neck. Because she’s a damned dangerous enemy. Because she could as well blow up in your direction. What in hell else was charged enough to knock her back and make her reassess?”

  “That’s a tolerably acceptable answer,” Denys said. Confusing him. He waited for the redirect and the flank attack. “The question is—what do you think you’ve induced? Where is your intervention going? What’s her state of mind right now?”

  “I hope to God,” he said, his voice out of control, “I hope to God—it’s going to make her careful.”

  “And sympathetic?”

  “Careful would do.”

  “You’re courting her, aren’t you?”

  “God, no!”

  “Yes, you are. Not sexually, though I imagine you’ll pay that if you have to—if you can gain enough stability to handle the encounter. But you’d much rather avoid it. ‘Hell hath no fury’? Something like that in your considerations? Politics may make strange bedfellows, but bedfellows make deadly politics.”

  “I just want to survive here.”

  “In her administration. Yes. Of course you do. Protect yourself—protect Grant. The consequences of enmity with us—have only a few years to run, is that what you’re thinking? A couple of old men—weighed against the lifespan of a sixteen-year-old whose power is—possibly adequate to work for you if you could maneuver your way into her considerations. A very dangerous course. A very dangerous course, even for a man willing to sell—what you were willing to sell her predecessor—”

  Temper. Temper is…only what he wants here.

  “—but then, your choices are limited.”

  “It doesn’t take a probe,” Giraud said, his deep voice quite gentle, “to know what your interests are.—And the latest business on my desk—I think you’ll find quite—amusing in one sense. Alarming, in the other. The Paxers—you know, the people who blow up Novgorod subways, have decided to invoke your father’s name—”

  “He hasn’t a thing to do with it!”

  “Of course not. Of course not. But the Novgorod police did find some interesting documents—naming your father as a political martyr in their cause, stating that the new monstrosity in Reseune is a creation of the military—that assassinating Ari and creating maximum chaos would lead to a Paxer government—”

  “That’s crazy!”

  “Of course it is. Of course your father knows nothing about it.”

  “He doesn’t! My God,—”

  “I said—of course. Don’t let it upset you. This has been going on for years. Oh, not the Paxers. They’re comparatively new. All these organizations are interlocked. That’s what makes them so difficult to track. That and the fact that the people that do the bombing are z-cases. Druggers and just general fools whose devotion to the cause involves letting themselves be partial-wiped by amateur operators. That kind of fools. I thought I should tell you—there are people in this world who don’t care anything for their own lives, let alone a sixteen-year-old focus of their hostilities. And they’re using your father’s name in their literature. I’m sorry. I suppose it doesn’t amuse you.”

  “No, ser.” He was close to shivering. Giraud did that to him. Without drugs. Because in not very long, there would be, he knew that; and not all the skill in the world could prevent it. “I’m not amused. I know Jordan wouldn’t be, if he heard about it, which he hasn’t, unless you’ve told him.”

  “We’ve mentioned it to him. He asked us to say he’s well. Looking forward, I imagine, to a change of regime in Defense.—As we all are. Certainly. I just wanted to let you know the current state of things, since there are ramifications to the case that you might want to be aware of. That your father murdered Ari—is not quite old news. It’s entered into threats against her successor’s life. And Ari will be aware of these things. We have to make her aware—for her own protection. Perhaps you and she can work it out in a civilized way. I hope so.”

  What is he doing? What is he trying to do?

  What does he want from me?

  Is he threatening Jordan?

  “How does your father feel about Ari? Do you have any idea?”

  “No, ser. I don’t know. Not hostility. I don’t think he would feel that.”

  “Perhaps you can find out. If this election goes right.”

  “If it does, ser. Maybe I can make a difference—in how he feels.”

  “That’s what we hope,” Giraud said.

  “I wouldn’t, however,” Denys said, “bring the matter up with Ari.”

  “No, ser.”

  “You’re a valuable piece in this,” Giraud said. “I’m sorry—you probably have very strong feelings about me. I’m used to them, of course, but I regret them all the same. I’m not your enemy; and you probably won’t believe that. I don’t even ask for comment—not taxing your politeness. This time I’m on your side, to the extent I wish you a very long life. And the committee is agreed: thirty-five is a little young for rejuv—but then, it seems to have no adverse effects—”

  “Thank you, no.”

  “It’s not up for discussion. You have an appointment in hospital. You and Grant both.”

  “No!”

  “The usual offer. Report on schedule or Security will see you do.”

  “There’s no damn sense in my going on rejuv—it’s my decision, dammit!”

  “That’s the committee’s decision. It’s final. Certainly nothing you ought to be anxious about. Medical studies don’t show any diminution of lifespan for early users—”

  “In the study they’ve got. There’s no damn sense in this. Ari’s on the shots, damn well sure she is—”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then why in hell are you doing this?”

  “Because you have value. And we care about you. You can go on over there. Or you can go the hard way and distress Grant—which I’d rather not.”

  He drew a careful breath. “Do you mind—if I go tell Grant myself? Half an hour. That’s all.”

  “Perfectly reasonable. Go right ahead. Half an hour, forty-five minutes. They’ll be expecting you.”

  xi

  Another damned wait. Justin lay full-length on the table and stared at the ceiling, trying to put his mind in null, observing the pattern in the ceiling tiles, working out the repetitions.

  Full body scan and hematology work-up, tracer doses shot into his bloodstream, more blood drawn. Dental checks. Respiration. Cardiac stress…you have a little hypertension, Wojkowski had said, and he had retorted: God, I wonder why.

  Which Wojkowski did not think was amusing.

  More things shot into his veins, more scans, more probings at private places and more sitting about—lying down for long periods, while they tried to get him calm enough to get accurate readings.

  I’m trying, he had said, the last time they had checked on him. I’m honestly trying. Do you think I like waiting around freezing to death?

  Complaining got him a robe. That was all. They finally put him on biofeedback until he could get the heart rate down, and got the tests th
ey wanted.

  Why? had been Grant’s first and only question—a worried frown, a shrug, and a: Well, at least we do get it, don’t we?

  Which, for an azi, could be a question. He had never thought that it was, never thought that Reseune could go so far as to deny him and Grant rejuv when it was time for them to have it or vengefully postpone it beyond the point when they should have it, to avoid diminished function.

  Thinking of that, he could be calmer about it. But he had sent a call through to Base One: Ari, this is Justin.

  Grant and I have been told to report to hospital. We’ve been told we re to go on rejuv, over our protests. I want you to know where we are and what’s happened…

  Which got them nothing. Base One took the message. No one was reading it. They could try for admission to Ari’s floor, but open confrontation with Administration was more than Ari could handle. No one answering, he had said to Grant.

  Its only one treatment, Grant had said.

  Meaning that one could still change one’s mind. It took about three to eight weeks of treatments for the body to adjust—and become dependent.

  Nothing permanent, yet.

  “You’re going to be coming here for your treatments,” Wojkowski had said.

  “For what?” he had said. “To have you watch me take a damned pill? Or what are you giving me?”

  “Because this was not elective. You understand—going off the drug has severe consequences. Immune system collapse.”

  “I’m a certified paramedic,” he had snapped back. “Clinical psych. I assure you I know the cautions. What I want to know, doctor, is what else they’re putting into the doses.”

  “Nothing,” Wojkowski had said, unflappable. “You can read the order, if you like. And see the prescriptions…whatever you like. Neantol. It’s a new combination drug: Novachem is the manufacturer, I’ll give you all the literature on it. Hottest thing going, just out on the market. Avoids a lot of the side-effects.”