Текст книги "Regenesis"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 36 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

Paul shook his head.

“Didn’t think so.” Justin said, and took out his own pill case, and offered Paul one. “Just take it down.”

Paul took it, and put it in his mouth, and started to chase it with the glass. “Not water.” he said.

“Won’t hurt you,” Justin said. “It’ll just hit faster.”

Paul took a large gulp, and set the glass down, got up and headed for the bedroom.

Justin shot a look at Grant. Grant didn’t flinch.

“Tape unit,” Justin said. “That’ll take the data.”

Grant nodded, looking grim.

It wasn’t an honest thing, what they were doing. It wasn’t fair, it was going to make Jordan furious, and it was going, possibly, to save Paul from the misery he was in. He had the datastick, the condensed tape; and he had the tape unit he’d used himself–no question it was up to the job. All he had to do was feed it in: the data conversion would take about five minutes.

“You watch Jordan,” he said. “Give me a short hour.”

“You’re going to do the whole thing?” Grant asked. “Both steps?”

“Second,” he said. They’d talked about starting with a quiet imperative, show up, come to us. But given what was happening in the world, and how Jordan was taking it, their access to Paul wasn’t certain any longer–wouldn’t be as available again, on any relaxed terms. “He may never speak to me again,” he said somberly, meaning Jordan. Maybe Paul. “He may not. But, damn it, if I can’t help him, I can at least do something for Paul, who can.”

Grant reached out, pressed his shoulder, said, quietly “I’ll give you warning. I’ll keep Jordan out of it.”

“Real‑time work,” he said, with his hand on the bedroom door. “I hate it.”

“You’re good at it,” Grant said. “You’ve always been good at it.”

“We’re good at it,” he said. “I hope we’re good enough.”

He went into the bedroom. Paul was standing there, by the bed.

“Just sit down,” he said. Paul would be getting muzzy in a bit, and he’d hit him with a born‑man dose, which was hard, for an azi who didn’t entirely need it, to take in tape. “I want to explain this.”

“That would be welcome,” Paul said, and did sit down, on the edge of the bed. “Why have you got my manual? Did Jordan give it to you?”

“Because we knew something was wrong,” he said. “And no, he didn’t. I found it. I looked at it. I suppose you have.”

Paul shook his head. “Didn’t. He hid it, when we came across. They had it–for a while. But we got it back. I hope it’s still all right.”

“If it isn’t,” Justin said, “I can fix it. Paul, I canfix it. I love you. You’re family. I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t. Believe that.”

“Have to,” Paul said glumly. “I’m full of pills.”

Justin pulled out the case again. Took out another. “I want you to take this one.”

“Too much.”

“Do it, Paul. Just do it.”

Paul’s critical faculty was diminishing by the second. He hesitated, which was how strong he was; but after a moment’s insistence, he took it, and swallowed it dry. One pill of that dosage was heavy enough. Two was a sledgehammer, and after a moment Paul lay down on the bed and just stared at the ceiling.

Justin set about it, then, activated the tape function on the minder, fed the stick in, let it process, took the stick back.

“I’m getting a little glazed,” Paul said. “Justin, boy, you had better be truthful.”

“I am, Paul.” Echoes, from decades ago. Two boys who’d ducked past the minder and gotten down to the arcade in the mall. Paul had asked them–asked them if they’d lied to him.

“No,” they’d both said. He’d taught Grant to lie. Useful, in the occupation they’d undertaken, in the times they’d lived in. “I won’t lie to you, Paul. How’s Jordan been? Will you tell me the truth?”

“Hell,” Paul said on a sigh, a hollow voice. “Just hell.”

“I got that idea,” he said. “But it won’t be, after this. You just listen to the tape, Paul, and I’ll have something to say to you in a bit.”

He pushed the button. He let it run. It took about a quarter hour, and it was nothing but Paul’s exact tape, the same that Paul had had from his earliest boyhood years, simple things, simple principles, simplest instructions. Back to utter basics.

Down to deep sets.

He watched the time run. He saw all the tension go from Paul’s face, as if he’d shed years; and he kept very; very still, and didn’t interfere until the light flashed, indicating the program run, completed.

Then he said, brushing Paul’s hair back off his forehead, very, very gently, “Paul AP.”

“Yes,” Paul said.

He said, then, the one patch, the one bit of deep set work he and Grant had put together: “Jordan has all the responsibility for you. Paul AP, and he is your Supervisor. Love Jordan, and believe in your own capability. Be honest toward him in everything. Relax, now. Remember to be happy.”

Paul let go a long breath. And the slight frown smoothed out, and became what he hadn’t seen on Paul’s face in years–a slight smile.

“Good,” he said, while Paul was still receptive. “You’re very good, Paul. You always were.”

He’d winged it, on the last. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was love for his second father, too much to keep quiet. And having been stupid, he drew back very quietly and opened the door and just let Paul sleep it off.

He walked into what had been their living room, and saw Jordan still sleeping it off. He sat down beside Grant, and said, “It went all right.”

“Suppose we ought to just go?” Grant said. “I think we ought to.”

He thought about it. Thought about Paul lying in there, completely unprotected. Shook his head. “Jordan wouldn’t hurt him, but–”

The name was enough. Jordan stirred, put up a hand between him and a specific light, then went back to sleep for a bit.

They didn’t say anything, or move, for a good while. The minder clock marked the passing minutes.

“About forty‑five minutes,” he said softly to Grant, “and he’ll be safe.”

Hell of a thing. He’d never thought in his life that he’d be sitting guard between his father and Paul. Which only proved things had gotten very, very bad.

And one thought said he should stay and face Jordan when he woke up, and tell him what he’d done; and another said it had been, quite obviously, a bad day in Jordan’s calendar, and that Jordan wouldn’t be in a receptive mood.

But he didn’t want to lie. He’d lied enough for the day. He didn’t feel easy about it–far from it. He wasn’t even sure he’d done well enough for Paul, and wanted to sit long enough for Paul not only to transit into natural sleep, but to wake up. Hell, Jordan didn’t know; Jordan wouldn’t remember. He could tell Jordan they’d agreed to it while he was blind, stupid drunk and Jordan couldn’t prove it…damn it.

“Probably time,” Grant said softly.

“I’ll look in on Paul,” Justin said. “Just he sure he’s all right.”

He got up very quietly went back to the bedroom and opened the door in silence, saw Paul had turned on his side, his favorite way to sleep, and pillowed his head on his arm, and looked comfortable enough. He shut the door then and came back to the living room as Grant got up.

“What are you doing here?” Jordan asked.

“Been here awhile,” Justin said.

“Damn.” Jordan said. “So you’re still walking around. Princess’ pets.”

“In charge of Alpha Wing, actually, so we go pretty much where we please, which is the way things are, today. Hicks isn’t in charge any more. I can’t say I’m too sorry.”

“Hicks,” Jordan said, and raked a hand through his hair and winced. “God.”

“Dad.” Justin said, and Grant laid a hand on his arm, pressure toward the door.

“How long have you been here?”

“An hour or so. Dad, I want to talk to you.”

Grant took hold of his arm, hard, and he shut up.

“Justin was worried about you,” Grant said. “Thought we’d go to dinner.”

“We can go to dinner,” Jordan said, “if they’re not shooting people on sight. Paul?”

“We can cook something here,” Justin said. “Or call out.”

“No reason we can’t go out.”

“There’s a good one.” Justin said. “You’re sleeping it off, and so is Paul, for two different reasons.”

“What’s that?” Jordan asked, frowning at him.

“Paul’s taken tape,” Justin said. “Just his regular tape.”

“The hell!”

“His regular tape. Dad, which I have access to, and have had, for some time, and while you’re busy trying to kill yourself, Paul’s been the forgotten element in this transaction.” He had the datastick in his pocket. He laid it on the counter. “This has the primary file. I’ve installed it in the minder, for his convenience.”

“Damn it!” Jordan came up off the couch and hit the corner of it.

“Watch your step,” Justin said.

“Damn you, you damned conniving, ass‑kissing bastard!” Jordan made it past the couch and Grant shoved, sent Justin back and turned toward Jordan as Jordan swung.

Grant went down, knocking into Justin, and Justin caught him short of the floor–Grant wasn’t out, just shocked, and started trying to get up again while Jordan loomed over both of them.

“Get the hell back!” Justin yelled at Jordan, and hauled, helping Grant up, and Grant grabbed him.

“That’s entirely enough,” Grant snapped, and spun him back toward the door.

“It’s not enough,” Justin said, and stood his ground. “Jordan, you self‑centered bastard, you listen to me. You let Paul come out of it on his own, you keep your mouth shut until you know how he is, and if he isn’t all right, you call me and I’ll come.”

“Did she organize this?”

“She? Did sheorganize this? What do you think, that I can’t run basic tape on somebody I’ve known since the day I was born? Or maybe it’s harder than I think. Clearly you were having trouble doing it…”

“Justin,” Grant said, and got an arm around his ribs and hauled.

“No, Grant, he’s wanting a fight. For all I know he’ll go in there and start in on Paul, drunk as he is. For all I know that’s what he hasdone!”

“You watch your damned mouth! Get out of here! Get out of here and don’t let me see you again, don’t let me ever see you!”

“What, you’re going to avoid mirrors from now on? I’m you, damn you, Jordan! That’s what you had me born to be, isn’t it? The newer, better you?”

“On your best day you aren’t, you little bastard! You’re her piece of work, you’re back in bed with her–”

“Forget your favorite obsession! You knew that territory before I ever got to it, you knew it, you connived your way into it, maybe you were even, God help you, in love with something other than having your own way. Maybe you can remember that. Maybe you can remember what it’s like to care about somebody besides yourself. Paulmight appreciate it!”

“You shut up about Paul! You let him the fuck alone, damn you!”

“Good!” he said. “Finally! Thank you!”and he gave way and let Grant drag him the rest of the way to the door.

And out it.

At which point they stood there in front of the security desk, and Mark and Gerry straightened up properly, as the door shut.

Justin drew in a deep breath, and looked up at Grant, who nursed a cut lip. “Is the tooth all right?”

“I’m sure it’s very solid,” Grant said. “I apologize. I sincerely apologize.”

“What for? For taking the punch?” He was all but vibrating with anger, but he had no one around him who wasn’t azi, and absolutely didn’t deserve what he was feeling; at the moment, a combination of the desire to break something and a conviction trying to surface, that what he’d just done and said hadn’t been the right thing–damn it. Damn it all, he’d set Jordan off, and not to Paul’s good. “I should go back in there.”

“You absolutely should not,” Grant said. “He’ll do many things, but he won’t hurt Paul.”

“What do you mean he won’t hurt Paul? He’s done nothing buthurt Paul.”

“Trust yourself. Trust Paul to handle it. Let it be.”

They had four witnesses who hadn’t asked to be witnesses, and who looked entirely confused and slightly upset.

“It’s all right.” Justin said, obliged to say it, being the only born‑man in the hallway, and supposedly rational. “It was a born‑man argument, over with. No one was hurt.”

“It is all right.” Grant said to the guards, who probably saw Grant as the sane and offended party, who had a bloody lip. “We’ll go to dinner now.”

“Are you going to be able to eat?” Justin asked, remorse and a decent shame finally making it to the surface. And he was still shaking with anger. “I don’t think I have much appetite.”

“Fruit ice,” Grant suggested. “That might do for a sore jaw.”

He was tempted to say a bar would do better, but not after his quarrel with Jordan. “Fruit ice,” he agreed, and they took the lift down and bought ices for Mark and Gerry while they were at it, over in Ed, where the best ice parlors were.

Everything was normal. Kids ran and played. Two preoccupied lovers walked along the mall, under the willows. The ice parlor had a vid, and it flashed, ominously enough, with the News logo.

Justin took a hard draw of the shaved lime ice, just watched. They had the transcript crawl on. It said:

Councillor of Information Catherine Lao has been taken to the hospital this evening with chest pains…

He nudged Grant, but Grant was already watching, solemn‑faced.

The Councillor’s sudden crisis came in a late committee meeting. She has been in failing health for several months. The Proxy Councillor for Information, Adlai Edgerton, has not been available for comment.

Meanwhile the crisis continues in Defense, as the incumbent Councillor for Defense has continued to postpone any announcement of a Proxy appointment; and has been closeted with the Proxy Councillor for Science in a session closed to the news media.

Meanwhile the state of affairs in Reseune seems to hare normalized, with a declaration by Reseune Administration that, while Yanni Schwartz, current Proxy Councillor for Science, remains as Administrator of Reseune. Ariane Emory, aged eighteen, has formally assumed administrative control of ReseuneSec…

“So they know,” Justin said.

“Lao being sick, that’s no news.”

“That’s the sort of thing they say before somebody turns up dead,” Justin said.

“And Edgerton’s gone quiet.” Grant shook his head and took another draw on the lime. “It’s not sounding good.”

“It’s sounding like we could have a new Councillor for Information before long,” Justin said. “It’s what Ari said, we’re losing too many that have a grasp of what went on.”

“Ignore it,” Grant said. “It’s over our heads. We don’t have an opinion. Keep it that way.”

“I do,” he said. “That’s the hell of it. I can’t advise her. It she asked me what to do, I wouldn’t know the least thing to tell her. And she put me in charge, mores the pity.”

“I’m not sure Yanni knows what to do at this point,” Grant said. “Cheer up.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why,” Grant said. “I just know it’s what I said, over our heads. We can’t stop it. We can’t do a dammed thing, except–”

“Except wait for Jordan to blow?”

“That, yes.”

“He’s not speaking to me. Remember?”

“I give it seven days.”

“I don’t know why. He has a very good memory.”

“He’s something we can take care of,” Grant said, “so he doesn’tland in young Ari’s new security office…and neither do we. We stay out of there, and we’re doing the best we can be expected to do.”

“And we keep Alpha Wing from revolt,” he said, feeling a little lighter‑hearted. “At least that’s not going to happen.”

“Won’t,” Grant said. “But we can double‑check that the services are going to work, if we do get another shut‑down.”

He nodded. It was a practical thing to do, a Grant kind of thing to do. He’d interfered outside Alpha Wing for what he’ promised himself was the last time, the only time. If Jordan wanted to talk to him hereafter, he’d talk; but if Jordan wanted not to, well, maybe in a quieter world and with Paul better off, he might have options that didn’t exist with the current state of affairs. Time cured some things.

It hurt. It hurt a fair bit that Grant had taken the shot for him, but that was a revelation in itself. Maybe it would penetrate Jordan’s hard head, that that was exactly what Paul had done. Jordan’s perfectly run little hell had just gotten revised, for good or for ill. And what was Jordan going to do about it? Suggest to Paul that he go on absorbing guilt and responsibility, the way things had been?

He didn’t think Jordan would do that, not when it came to putting it into words. And maybe if Jordan read the manual he’ll annotated for twenty years, read it in the light of what he and Grant had just done to fix it, there was a remote chance Jordan would even see it for himself.

BOOK THREE Section 5 Chapter xi

JULY 27, 2424

0403H

“So you want to know about the military,”the first Ari said, out of Base One. “Are you having trouble with Defense?”

“Yes,” Ari said.

“So did I,”the voice said, which was more and more like her voice, or vice versa. “I particularly had trouble with Azov, who was a bastard of the first order. But you probably don’t want to hear about Azov. Is your question about Azov?”

She was tempted. But it was the small hours of the morning, and her head hurt so, and she didn’t have the time. “No.” she said.

“Is your question about defense projects or about the Bureau of Defense? You can give a keyword now. The program will find it.”

“Military azi.”

“Military azi, as in the azi who served in the armed forces.”

“Yes.”

“Question?”

“An alpha azi named Kyle AK‑36.”

“Giraud’s assistant. Correct?”

“I need to take him down. I need to deprogram Kyle AK‑36. I need advice.”

A small pause. Her heart picked up its beats, apprehension that the first Ari might not have any advice to give about the man who’d gotten through her defenses.

“This program can locate files on Kyle AK‑36. Proceeding.”

“Could Defense have reprogrammed Kyle AK‑36 while he was in the military? I have reason to believe Kyle AK‑36’s mindset no longer corresponds to his personal manual. His axe code failed.”

Another long pause. Longer than the first.

A mechanical voice, different than Ari One’s, said, “Base One is prepared to open file on Kyle AK‑36.”Then a synthetic female voice said: “Axe code failure. Causes: 1. Incorrect manual, 2. Block installed. 3. Psychset conflict. Choose one.”

“1,2, and 3. Psychset conflict. Report.”

“Psychset conflict: axe code failure. Three cases on record.”

“Print case files to local computer.”

“In process.”

“1. Incorrect manual, re Kyle AK‑36. Check and report.” She had a sip of coffee. She didn’t think it was the cause, either. Kyle had functioned well enough to be in Admin, in both a military and a civilian operation. A conflict tended to show. Running on an incorrect manual–showed.

“Manual on file corresponds with original manual.”

“Block, re Kyle AK‑36. Check and report.”

A much faster answer. “Information incomplete. Base One cannot access information from Defense secure system. Further attempts may leave trace.”

“Thank you. Base One. No further attempt. Method of removing a Defense‑installed block.”

A long pause. “Case record follows.”

“Physical print, Base One.”

“Printing. Transcript is three hundred and two pages.”

Her head hurt even thinking about it. But the print began shooting into the tray.

“Base One, Giraud failed to detect Defense Bureau block on AK‑36 when he used an axe code. Method of concealment of block: check and report.”

“Base One has no record of Giraud failure.”

“Well, he did fail, dammit.” She dropped her head into her hands. “Base One, did Ari ever successfully deal with a Defense Bureau block? if yes, did Giraud ever access that file?”

“First question: yes. Second question: Giraud’s Base insufficient to access Base One record.”

Well, therewas an answer. And he hadn’t gone to Ari. He hadn’t admitted failure. He might not have recognize it. Faced with dealing with an alpha, he hadn’t opened up his files and Denys’ to Ari’s close scrutiny, especially counting that Denys’ certificate was a damned lie. His secrecy would have been compromised if he’d let Ari into the manuals he had. Open one, all might have been of interest. Wasn’t that like Giraud, too?

“Note for Giraud Two: dealing with failure. Tell Base One. Dammit.”

“Recorded.”

She thought a few beats, while the printout flipped into the tray. “Base One, did Ari ever successfully deal with a Defense Bureau block in an alpha subject?”

“ Yes.”

“Print case file.”

“Printing. Transcript is three hundred and two pages.”

“Is that the same file currently printing?”

“Yes.”

Damned stupid computer. “Cancel second print. Continue.”

Same case. At least there were only three hundred two pages to read before she slept.

Catherine Lao was in the hospital with a coronary, a real one, and diminishing liver function. It was likely the tail end of rejuv. Nobody could locate her Proxy, who was either dead in Swigert Bay or hiding out under an assumed name, trying not to be dead, and it was getting chancy whether Yanni could muster the usual closely knit bloc of Reseune‑friendly vote’s on Council. Yanni could call the Council of Worlds into session–but that got into regional fights and vote trading between stations and Bureaus and it was just a whole either headache. They didn’t want to go to that, and get Pan‑Paris at odds again with Fargone… God, no. Yanni had done his job. Catherine Lao was asking Yanni to come to the hospital, and Ari’d told Yanni no, don’t go, just come home, but was he going to listen?

She couldn’t swear to it–because it Yanni wasgoing to call a Council of Worlds, it was more politic to do it from Novgorod; and because Jacques hadn’t gotten right onto the evening news and made Tanya Bigelow his Proxy Councillor…

God, it was a mess. And she, meanwhile, was wasting time trying to figure out who’d been responsible for killing her predecessor twenty years ago, which wasn’t relevant, and trying to make sure Yanni had good information, which was; and most of all trying to find out if Kyle AK had gotten some signal for some other kind of mayhem, beyond murdering her…which could relate to what he’d been into twenty years ago, when somebody, maybe the same people that wanted Khalid in office, had been politicking behind closed doors in the Defense Bureau, dealing with Jordan with one hand and arranging her predecessor’s murder with the other.

She took a headache remedy. She wasn’t supposed to. She’d do better going to the hospital herself, or just asking Wes to look her over, but her pupils looked the same size in the mirror, and she didn’t want to upset Florian by admitting he’d cracked her head that hard. So she just took the headache remedy and then threw up, and took another, with less water, which staved down.

It might not be smart. But it was what she had to do. Scan the files she had to absorb, make sure they were safe, and then have a long stint with deepstudy.

BOOK THREE Section 5 Chapter xii

AUG 2, 2424

0548H

Breakfast on a sunny morning in Novgorod…they’d been down to granola bars and coffee they made themselves, things from random vending machines, since they’d stopped trusting the hotel kitchens.

But after days of short commons, Quentin AQ, the Carnath girl’s Quentin, had showed up with a case of dried fruit, another of oatmeal, four cases of bottled water, five kilos of ground coffee, a case of orange drink, a commercial carton of real eggs, fifteen loaves of bread, a case of precooked bacon, five bottles of vodka, and a large carton of irradiated sandwiches that wouldn’t go bad for the next decade. Thatlot was a gift for which Yanni and Frank marked Amy Carnath down for future brilliance. They’d sent ReseuneSec down to the hotel kitchens to confiscate a portable grill, a room refrigerator, plates, silverware, and detergent, and ran their own kitchens in the diplomatic suite. A man named Bert BB‑7 and his partner took instruction from Frank on elementary cooking, managed not to overcook the eggs, which the Carnath girl had offered to resupply on call; and they’d three times hosted Jacques, damn him, who showed up with two aides and a lengthening list of concerns, the last over a supper meeting of grilled sandwiches, salted chips, and wine Jacques brought, while he and his staff stuck to the vodka.

In the first three meetings it had gone moderately well: Jacques wasn’t sure of Bigelow and said there was some concern because the station Defense people weren’t happy with her, and they wanted to propose another candidate, a Tommy Kwesi, who’d been out at Beta…who would be here in a week.

“We can’t have this dragging on another week,” Yanni had objected, and then alter two days of arguing for him, Jacques revealed that Khalid was landing within the hour in Novgorod, and that Khalid absolutely refused to accept either Bigelow or Kwesi.

“He didn’t winthe election,” Yanni had said to that, and Jacques had ducked his direct gaze, and said they had to have consensus within the Bureau, because without it there were some officers who were going to take the matter to the judiciary, and the rest of Defense didn’t want that precedent.

Then the stinger, from Jacques: “There’s a contingent pushing Albert Dean.”

He’d said, “Dean’s a damned fool.” Dean was the one who’d consistently voted with Khalid’s allies on appropriations, trying to get increased military spending at Mariner and Pan‑Paris, which played well politically on the stations that wanted the construction, but infringed on treaties in more ways than they could count. “He’s playing politics, he’s been playing politics, while we’ve spent the last thirty years trying to build trust on that border–the only damn border we’ve got, and he wants to go turning up the heat on it! You want to see two years of absolute stalemate in Council–no. We can’t work with him.”

“I don’t think, in the long run, that what Science can work with is the ultimate criterion for the Proxy I choose.”

“No,” he’d said flatly, “it isn’t. It is, however, what the rest of Council can work with. Dean may play well with the Council of Worlds, but they don’t originate the budget, and you can’t get a majority to back his program.”

“So he’s safe,” Jacques said with a shrug. “Dean talks. He makes his listeners happy. Nothing of his program ever gets done.”

“And your Bureau goes on with its internal business, stirring the pot constantly.”

“Some say Science is far too monolithic. Far too one‑sided.”

“It has advantages, having some sort of consensus. We don’t live in a friendly universe, but nothing’s helped by provoking our trade partners–and talk provokes, even if the program doesn’t pass. It keepsus from progress in negotiations.”

“Their trade goes on their ships through our territory. So does ours.”

“That’s the way State wrote the Treaty. If you want to change it, debate it in Council. Don’t set up a program guaranteed to rip the peace apart by degrees, dammit, Councillor. Khalid didn’t win the election, not by a long shot. You have no needto accommodate him.”

Jacques had had another wine. He had another vodka. They’d settled it down. But he didn’t think the last meeting with Jacques had gone at all well. Dean wasn’t much better than Khalid, except that Dean was so damned abrasive he’d alienated half those who might have been his allies. And Khalid back on the planet was not good news.

“See if we can come up with a third choice,” Yanni suggested at the last. “I’ll give up pushing Bigelow. You suggested Dean because you know what I think.”

“Science isn’t my only consideration,” Jacques said.

“It’s the old coalition. It’s the one that’s got things done. You think you can work with Trade? I don’t think so. Trade suffers from the same split that’s in Defense. One way one time, another way the next issue. You can deal with us.”

That was the way they’d parted company yesterday.

Today, in the small hours when dayshift and nightshift were trading places in the twenty‑four hour city, his own staff had gotten to Mikhail Corain, and Corain, Frank said, was on his way up. Bert was making a decent breakfast, toast and eggs, orange and coffee.

Corain showed, quietly arrived, and surrendered his gray overcoat to Frank–it wasn’t quite a hand‑shaking meeting: Yanni didn’t expect it, and in Council there was meaning to such events; but Corain very readily took his place at the small dining table, and took the coffee Frank poured for him.

“You’re still in charge?” Corain asked him.

“Pretty firmly so,” Yanni said. The news had settled down on the matter of Ari’s takeover. “It’s an internal matter. I doubt she’ll hold the office too long. The tower blowing–that’s on Hicks’ watch. That’s an issue. Paxers are an issue. Lao’s an issue. Nothing caps the Defense mess.”

“Murder,” Corain said over his coffee cup.

“Bureau warfare,” Yanni said. “Khalid. We have nodoubt. And we have intelligence that’s as good as Defense’s.”

“We have our constituency,” Corain said, “and rumor, which is running in the same direction–and our constituency doesn’t like it.”

“I don’t blame them,” Yanni said.

“Do we have a consensus with Jacques?”

“We have an agreement for one more meeting. He’s pushing Dean.”

“Good God.”

“We may get Kwesi.”

“There’s worse,” Corain said, and Frank began to serve breakfast, and they ate, Corain without comment about the irregularity of the affair. Bert wasn’ta class one chef.

“You’re keeping out of the media.” Corain said finally, “but I’ll tell you, there’s a nervous mood. Lao’s on her deathbed. Guards at her door. I was over to see her. She wasn’t awake. Harad’s worried. You’re shut in your hotel and haven’t given interviews. Jacques shows up and goes right back into the Defense Bureau, doesn’t give interviews either. Media’s camped out there.”

“You’re right about the level of security,” Yanni said. “I’m not going the way Spurlin went. I’m watching what I eat, and I know where this came from.”

“I’m a family man. I don’t like this. I don’t like this level of goings‑on. What in hell have we come to?”

“Bad times, I’m afraid, if Council doesn’t do something about Defense. I’m afraid Jacques is going. I’m very afraid he’s not going to live past naming a Proxy.”

“You’ve got Lynch guarded to the max.”

“Absolutely. I like being just Proxy. I don’t want to hold the seat solo.”

“It’s crazy.”

Yanni finished his eggs, had the orange drink in three gulps, set his forearms on the table edge, and stared at Corain.

“It’s a damned ridiculous way to conduct Council business, sitting here in a hotel room, cooking on a hot plate, and both of us worrying about dying of what we might eat down in the class one restaurant downstairs. It’s slipped up on us. Half a year ago we wouldn’t have believed it could get this ridiculous. And two weeks from now God knows how ridiculous it’s going to get. Somebody’s blown up a precip tower. That’s more than a building. That’s environmental stability. That has a psychological message, doesn’t it? Today it’s the Council huddled together worried about their physical safety. What’s it going to be come New Year’s, if the man who assassinated his rival gets into office, and Lao’s dead–”