Not surprisingly, Information jumped at the chance.
Now Ari was struggling to put her own notes in shape. And coming to him with: Do you think . . . and sometimes just chatter—about the hidden notes, about things as full of revelations as the books he had spent a year helping annotate with the barest explanations of the principles involved.
She had sent a copy of IN PRINCIPIOto Jordan.
"Because it has your name in it," Ari had said to him, "and Grant's."
"If it gets through," he had said. "Planys Security may not like it. Not to mention Customs."
"All right," she had said. "So I'll send it with Security. Let them argue with that."
She did thoughtful things like that. In a year and a half in her wing she had come through with every promise she had made, gotten him and Grant a secretary, taken the pressure off—
If something went wrong or something glitched, Florian was on the phone very quickly; and if Florian could not resolve it, it was—Wait, ser, sera will handle it—after which Ari would be on the line, with a technique that ranged rapidly between This has to be mistaken—to a flare that department heads learned to avoid. Maybe it was a realization Ari might remember these things in future. Maybe—Justin suspected so—it was because that voice could start so soft, go to a controlled low resonance uncommon at her age—then pick up volume in a punch that made nerves jump: that made his jump, for certain, and evoked memories. But she never raised that voice with him, never pushed him, always said please and thank you—until he found himself actually on the inside of a very safe circle and likingwhere he worked—with a small, niggling fear that he was losing his edge, becoming less worried, less defensive, relying too much on Ari's promises—
Fool, he told himself.
But he grew so tired of fighting, and the thought that he might have reached a situation where he could draw breath awhile, that he might actually have found a land of safety, even if it meant difficulties to come. . . laterwas all right.
Ari was well aware of what came in and out of her wing, was aggressively defensive of her staffs time—her attention to pennies and minutes was, God, the living echo of Jane Strassen; so that, beyond the annotations which totaled about a hundred twenty pages between himself and Grant, and three months' intensive work, she accepted only design work for her wing, only troubleshooting after others had done the brute work, and it went, thank God, immediately backto junior levels in some other wing when he or Grant had provided the fix, no returns, no would-you-mind's? and no 'but we thought you could do that, we're running behind.'
So he critiqued Ari's work, answered Ari's questions, did the few fixes her wing ran, and had the actual majority of his time to use on his own projects—as Grant did, doing study of his own on the applications of endocrine matrix theory inazi tape, which Grant was going to get a chance to talk over with Jordan—Grant was very much looking forward to it.
They were, overall, happier than he remembered since—a long time; and it was the damnedest thing, waking up in the middle of the night as he did, with nightmares he could not remember.
Or stopping sometimes in the middle of work or walking home or wherever, overwhelmed by a second's panic, of nothing he could name except fear of the ground under his feet, fear that he was being a fool, and fear because he had no choice but be where he was.
Fear, perhaps, that he had not won: that he had in fact lost by the decisions he had made, and it would only take some few years yet to come clear to him.
All of which, he told himself severely, was a neurotic, compulsive state, and he resisted it—tried to weed it out when he found it operative. But take tape for it, he would not; not even have Grant run a little tranquilizing posthyp on him—being afraid of that too.
Fool, he told himself, exasperated at the track his thoughts tended to run, and marked his place and laid the book aside.
Emory for bedtime reading.
Maybe it was the fact he could still hear that voice, the exact inflection she would use on those lines he read.
And the nerves still twitched.
He rattled around an empty apartment in the morning, toasted a biscuit for breakfast, and went to the office—not the cramped, single office he and Grant had used for years, but the triple suite that Ari had leased—physically in the Ed Wing, which was back, in a sense, to where they had begun—simply because that wing had space and no one else did: an office apiece for himself and Grant, and one for Em, the secretary the pool had sent, a plump, earnest lad quite glad to get into a permanent situation where he could, conceivably, come up in rating.
He read the general advisories, the monthly plea from catering to book major orders a week in advance; a tirade from Yanni about through-traffic in Wing One, people cutting through the lower hall. Em arrived at 0900, anxious at finding the office already open, and got to work on the filing while he started on the current design.
That went on till lunch and during—a pocket-roll and a cup of coffee in the office; and a concentration that left him stiff-shouldered and blinking when the insistent blip of an Urgent Message started flashing in the upper left corner of the screen.
He keyed to it. It flashed up:
I need to talk to you. I'm working at home today. —AE.
He picked up the phone. "Ari, Base One," he told it.
Florian answered. "Yes, ser, just a second." And immediately, Ari: "Justin. Something's come up. I need to talk to you."
"Sure, I'll meet you at your office." Is it Grant? God, has something happened?
"Meet me here. Your card's cleared. Endit."
"Ari, I don't—"
The Base had gone off. Dammit.
He did not meet Ari except with Grant; except in the offices; except sometimes with Catlin and Florian, out to lunch or an early dinner. He kept it that way.
But if something had happened, Ari would not want to argue details over the phone; if something had happened with Grant—
He keyed off the machine, and got up and went, gathering up his jacket, telling Em to shut down and go home, everything was fine.
He headed over to the wing where Ari's apartment was, showed his card to Security at the doors and got a pass-through without question.
Dammit, he thought, his heart pounding, it had better be a good reason, it had better be business—
It had better notbe because Grant was momentarily not in the picture.
"Come in," Florian said, at the door. "Sera is waiting for you."
"What does she want?" he asked, not committing himself. "Florian, —is this a good idea?"
"Yes, ser," Florian said without hesitation.
He walked in then, sweating, not only from the trip over. The room, the travertine floors, the couch—was a vivid flash of then and now. "Is it Grant?"
"Your jacket, ser? Sera urgently needs to talk with you."
"About what? —What's happened?"
"Your jacket, ser?"
He pulled the jacket off, jerked a resistant sleeve free, handed it to Florian as Ari arrived in the living room from the right-hand hall.
"What in hell's going on?" he asked.
She gestured toward the sunken living room, the couch; and came down the steps to take a seat there.
He came and sat down at the opposing corner. Not the private living room: thank God. He did not think he could have held together.
"Justin," she said, "thank you for coming. I know—I know how you feel about this place. But it's the only place—the only one I'm absolutely sure there's no monitoring but mine. I want you to tell me the truth, now, the absolute truth: Grant's safety depends on this. Is your father working with the Paxers?"
"My— God. No. No. —How in hell could he?"
"Let me tell you: I've got a report on my desk that says there are leaks out of Planys. That your father—has been talking with a suspect. Security is watching Grant very carefully. They fully expect Jordan to attempt an intervention with him—"
"He wouldn't! Not—not on som
ething like that. He wouldn't do that to Grant."
"Your father could manage something like that without tape, without anything but a keyword, with someone of Grant's ability. I know what Grant's memory is like."
"He won'tdo it. It's a damned set-up."
"It may be," she said quietly. "That's why I wanted to talk to you, fast, before Security has a chance, because I'll do this: I'll look for all the truth. I'm the one it's against. And I've been aware of this—for a while; from long before Grant got that pass. Grant's gone into the middle of a Security operation that I don't want to agree with. I don't want to think that Grant could work against me, or that you could, but I have to protect myself—which is why I took this chance."
"I don't understand." He felt the old panic—too experienced to give way to it. Keep the opposition calm, keep the voices down, go along with things. He did not think Ari was at the head of whatever was going on, not with what he knew of where authority was in the House. "Ari, tell me what's going on."
"People who protect me ... don't want me near you. That's why I waited and let Grant go—because I knew—I know very well that it's a set-up against you, which is why I called you to come here."
"Why is that? What do you want?"
"Because I have to know. That's first. And I know how you hate this place, but it's the only place, the only place I can trust." She reached into her left-hand pocket, and pulled out a little vial. Amber glass. "This is kat. It's a deep dose. You can help me or you can leave now. But this is the chance I have. You go in the tape lab and take this, and let me get you on tape—I promise, I promise,Justin, no lousy tricks. Just the truth on tape, for me to use. This is what I need. This is the kind of documentation I can use with the Bureau, if I have to go that far. This is the chance I have to believe you."
He flashed badly, totally disoriented, unable to think for a few breaths. Then he reached out for the vial and she gave it to him.
Because there was no choice. Not a thing he could do. He only thought— God, I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can stay sane.
"Where?" he said.
"Florian," she said; and he got up shakily and went after Florian as Florian indicated the hallway to the right.
An open door on the right again was the tape library, with a couch with all the built-ins for deep-study. He walked in and sat down there, set the vial down on the couch beside him and pulled off his sweater, feeling lightheaded. "I want Ari here," he said, "I want to talk to her."
"Yes, ser," Florian said. "There's no lead, ser, it's just a patch, let me help you."
" I want to talk to Ari."
"I'm here," she said at the door. "I'm right here."
"Pay attention," he said shortly. And uncapped the vial and took his pill, while the cardiac monitor flashed red with alarms. He looked at the flashes and concentrated, willing himself calmer. "Your patient tends to panic, sera, I hope to hell you remember that."
"I'll remember," Ari said, very quietly.
He worked with the monitor, staring at that, concentrating only on the rate of the flashes. A thought about his father leaked through, about Grant, a single second, and the light flickered rapidly; slow, he thought, that was all, while the numbness started and panic tried to assert itself. He felt a touch on his shoulder, heard Florian urging him: "Lie down, ser, please, just lean back. I've got you."
He blinked, thinking for a moment of the boy-Florian, spinning through the years to Florian grown strong enough to handle his weight, Florian bending over him—
"Be calm, ser," his gentle voice said. "Be calm. Are you comfortable?"
He felt an underlying panic, very diffuse. He felt the numbness growing, and his vision started going out. His heart began to speed, frighteningly, run-away.
"Calm," Ari said, a voice that jolted through his panic, absolute. "Steady down. It's all right. Everything's all right. Hear me?"
iii
"Has your father ever worked with these people?" Ari asked, sitting by the side of the couch, holding Justin's limp hand.
"No," he said. Which meant, of course, to the limit of Justin's knowledge. No, no, and no. She saw the cardiac monitor flash with a very strong rise in heart rate.
"Conspired with anyone against Reseune Administration?"
"No."
"Have you?"
"No."
Not conspiring with anyone. Against Reseune. Against Ariane Emory.
Justin, at least, was not aware of any plot.
"Don't you ever get frustrated with Security?"
"Yes."
"Do you think things will ever change?"
"I—hope."
"What do you hope?"
"Keep quiet. Live quiet. People believe me. Then things change."
"Are you afraid?"
"Always."
"Of what?"
"Mistakes. Enemies."
He hoped if he could work with her—it would prove something about himself and his father, in a calmer world—
He was afraid for Grant more than Jordan. Jordan had his Special's status to protect him. Grant—if they interrogated him—would be subject to things they might try to impose on him, ideas and attitudes they might try to shape— Grant would resist it. Grant would throw himself into null and stay there: he had before. But if they kept working at him—
If hewere arrested, here, in Reseune, if Reseune Administration was determined to make a case, then they could do that. He thought that could be the case—that politics always mattered more than truth. And more than a Warrick life—always.
"Jordan's not a killer," Justin said. "He's not like that. Whatever happened was an accident. He made his mistake in trying to cover it, that's what I know happened."
"How do you know it?"
"I know my father."
"Even after twenty years?"
"Yes."
He was close to the upturn, when the drug would fade. And she was all but hoarse from questions and from strain.
She thought: I almost know enough to take on what Ari did. Almost. But he's not the boy she worked with.
I could Work him to make him want me. So easily. So easily.
She remembered the tape, remembered it with sexual flashes that troubled her.
And thought, thinking of the possible intersections with so many, many knot-ups in his sets: Damn, no.Damn, damn,Ari, not so fast, not so reckless.
I could make him happy. I could take all of that away—
Politics is real and everything else takes second place,he knows that—There's that on top of everything that's wrong in him.
I could make him worry less. I can make him trust me more.
Is even that—fair? Or safe—in the world the way it is, or inside Reseune?
She got up, cut the recorder off and sat down on the edge of the couch beside him. She touched his face very gently, saw the monitor blips increase. "Hush, it's all right, it's all right—" she said, until she could get the monitor blips down again.
"Justin," she said when it was running even, "I believe you. You'd never hurt me. You'd never let me be hurt. I know all those things. I don't think they're going to make a move on Grant—not now that I've got you on record. I can tell my uncle what I have, and at the same time I'll tell him Grant's in my wing, and he'd better not move against him. That's what I'm prepared to do, because I believe you. Do you understand me?"
"Yes." A little flutter from the monitor.
"Don't be anxious about this place. This is my home. My predecessor isn't here anymore. That's all gone. That's all gone. You're safe here. I want you to remember these things. I can't get what I'd like out of hospital, without them knowing I'm doing this—but I want you to do the deep-fix for me, the way Grant could do it. Can you do that? Bear down hard, feel good, and remember this."
"Yes. . . ."
"I want you to think: I'm going to believe this forever. I promise you, if you trust me, if you come to me and if Grant comes to me when you need help, I'll do the best I ca
n. You can rest now. You'll wake up feeling fine, and you'll be all right. Do you hear me?"
"Yes."
No flutter now, just a strong, steady beat. She got up, signaled Florian and Catlin to be very quiet, patted Justin gently on the shoulder. You stay with him, she signaled Florian.
And to Catlin, in the hall, she said: "What's the news?"
"Nothing more than we had," Catlin said.
"Stand by in case Florian needs you." She went to her own office and phoned Denys directly.
"Seely," she said, "I need Denys, right now." And when Denys came on: "Uncle Denys, how are you?"
"I'm quite well, Ari, how are you?"
"I wanted to tell you something. I've gotten very nervous about the situation, you know, with Grant being out and all, and Grant isvulnerable, so I asked Justin to talk with me about it—"
"Ari, this involves exterior Security. I strongly suggest you let this alone."
"I've done it already. I want an order, uncle Denys, for Grant to be immune to Security, I don't care if something should go on at Planys with Jordan, I have an agreement with Justin—"
"I'm sorry, Ari, this isn't at all wise. Youdon't tie down your Security people. You have no business making promises to Justin, especially to Justin. I've talked to you about this."
"This is the agreement, uncle Denys. Justin's agreed to take a probe with mysecurity."
"Ari, you're interfering in a matter you have no expertise in whatsoever, that involves your safety. I won't have that."
"Uncle Denys, I've been thinking a lot. It runs like this: I'm getting a lot more grown-up. People couldn't ever make a campaign out of killing a cute kid. Paxers and all these groups haven't come out into the open all at once just by coincidence. They see me getting older, they know that I'm real, they know I'm going to be a lot of trouble to them someday, and they're going to throw everything they've got at me in the next few years. But you know what occurs to me, uncle Denys? That could be true on this staff too, inside Reseune. And I'm not going to have my staff tampered with by anybody except me."
"Ari, that's halfway prudent, but you're meddling with a kind of situation you're not equipped to deal with."
Cyteen u-2 Page 82