Cyteen u-2

by Carolyn Janice Cherryh

  He was damned sure Giraud Nye had the inclination to keep Reseune's control over the project. The Project, meaning an embryo in a womb-tank and a kid growing up in Reseune. Twenty years.

  He suddenly added that to his own age. He was a hundred twenty-six, ground time. A hundred forty-six by then. And Nye—was not young.

  It was the first time it had ever really hit him—what Warrick had meant about the time factor in Reseune. He was used to time-dilation—in a spacer's sense: that hundred forty-six ground-time would lie far lighter on him, who lost months of ground-time in days of jump. But Reseune's kind of time meant lifetimes.

  "We'd like that second project full-scale," Nye said. "Having a comparative study could save us in a crisis, and we're beyond any tentative test of theories. Comparison is going to give us our answers. It's not a luxury."

  Part of the Rubin project at Fargone meant part of the data within easy reach. And meant a fail-safe. Gorodin always believed in fail-safes—in equipment; or in planning. Spacer's economy. Two was never too many of anything.

  "Do it," he said. "Makes cover a hell of a lot easier." There was the matter of clearing it with Lu, and the chiefs of staff. But Lu and the chiefs of staff would go with anything that promised this kind of return and put Emory's work at the disposal of Defense.

  Defense took a lot of projects under its wing. Some were conspicuous failures. Those that worked—paid for all the rest.

  ix

  Steps passed the door continually. More than usual. There were voices. Some of them Justin thought he knew; someone had stopped outside the door, a group of people talking.

  Please,he thought. Please. Somebody stop here.He hoped for a moment; and feared. He listened, sitting on the sleeping mat that was all the furniture in the room. He clenched his hands together in the hollow of his crossed legs.

  "Call Ari," he kept saying to anyone who dealt with him. "Tell her I want to talk with her."

  But they were azi. They had no authority to go above their Supervisor. And as many times as he asked, the Supervisor never came.

  It was a suicide cell he was in, padded walls and door, just a sink and the toilet and the sleeping mat. The light was always on. Food came in water-soluble wrappers little more substantial than toilet paper, without utensils. They had taken his clothes and given him only hospital pajamas, made of white paper. They had not questioned him any more. They had not spoken to him again. He did not know how much time had passed, and his sleeping was erratic with depression and lack of cues from lights or activity outside. And the tape-flashes, seductive and destructive. He refused to let the flashes take hold in the isolation. He refused it even when it would have been consolation.

  Not me, he kept thinking, keeping himself awake, away from the dreams. Not my choice. I'm not hers. I won't think her thoughts.

  Ari was holding him hostage, he thought. She was holding him and maybe Grant against some threat of Jordan's to go to the Bureau with charges. Maybe she had arrested Jordan too. Maybe Jordan could nothelp him. But in any case—the police would come. And they had not psychprobed him again; they could not psychprobe Jordan.

  It was Grant who was vulnerable. She would use Grant against Jordan—and use him too. He had no doubt of it.

  He hoped for the police to come. Internal Affairs. Science Bureau. Anyone.

  He hoped that was the small commotion outside.

  But he had hoped that—time after time.

  Grant would have been waiting for him to come back; but instead it was security that would have come in on him, hauled him off for more questions—

  He heard the electronic lock tick. The door opened.

  "Ser Nye wants to talk to you," one of two azi said; both Security. "Please come."

  He got up. His knees went to jelly. He walked out into the light, knowing it was another psychprobe session; but at least he would get a chance to say something to Giraud, at least he would have a chance for a half-dozen words before they put the drug into him.

  That they just let him walk loose was the last thing he was prepared for. He felt himself dizzy, his knees aching and shaking so it was hard to navigate.

  Tape-flash again. And Florian—

  Down the hall to the barren little interview room he had seen before. He reached the open door and stopped, dazed and disoriented by the realization it was not Giraud Nye at the table. It was a stout round-faced man that for a bewildered second his mind insisted to make into Giraud's lean form.

  Not Giraud.

  DenysNye, rising from his chair with a distressed look.

  "Where's Grant?" Justin demanded. "Where's my father? What's going on?" His voice gave way on him. His legs shook as he reached the narrow table and leaned on it in Denys' face. "I've got the right to talk to my family, dammit! I'm a minor! Remember?"

  "Sit down," Denys said, fluttering a hand. "Sit. Please. —Get him something to drink."

  "I don't want anything! I want to know—"

  "Please," Denys said in his quiet, distressed way, and made a second appeal with his hand. "Please sit down. —Get him something. —Please, sit down."

  Justin fell into the chair, feeling a crying jag coming on. He clamped his jaw and drew breaths until he had it under control; and Denys sank into his seat, folded his hands on the table in front of him and let him calm down while one of the azi brought back a soft drink and set it down on the table.

  "What's in it?"

  "Nothing. Nothing. Poor boy. Damn this all anyway. Have they told you about Ari?"

  It was a strange thing to say. It made no sense. It fluttered like a cold chill through his nerves. "What aboutAri? Where's my father?"

  "Ari's dead, Justin."

  It was like the world jolted sideways. For a moment everything went out of focus. Then where he was came crashing in on him. Where he was and what they were doing and the silence all around him.

  Dead. Like not-natural-dead. Like—

  —the plane crashed?

  —some crazy person—in Novgorod?

  "Jordan found out what she was doing to you," Denys said in the gentlest voice Justin had ever heard him use, "and he killed her. Locked her into the cold-lab and killed her."

  He just sat there a moment. It was not true. It was not true. Jordan had no idea what Ari had done. He had covered everything. And Ari was not dead.

  Ari could not be—dead.

  "Jordan admits it," Denys said in that quiet tone. "You know they can't do anything. Legally. The law can't touch him for—questioning, or anything like that. Not psychprobe. Certainly not mindwipe. Jordie's all right. He's safe. I promise you."

  He was shaking. He picked up the cup and slopped it carrying the drink to his mouth. He slopped it again setting it down. The icy liquid soaked his knee. There was no sense to things. He could not get his mind to function. "What about Grant? I told him I was going to come back. I didn't come back—"

  "Grant's still in hospital. He's safe. Jordan's been to see him. Jordan's flying to Novgorod this afternoon. They're working out an arrangement for him to leave Reseune."

  "That's a damned lie!" They were starting to work psych games with him. He saw it coming. He flung himself up and came face to face with the two azi that moved to stop him. He froze. They froze.

  "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 shetrying to do?"

  "Oh, God, boy, sit down. Listen to me. Your father won't have much time. Please. Damnthat 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'tbe 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, andthe 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 youcan 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 canget 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'tthink Jordan was in on that. Iwas. 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 lanni 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 hadto. 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 hadto 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 wantto 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 notto 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 newnews. 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.