Текст книги "Regenesis"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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So was it worth ruining a planet? A snowball, the domain of microbes? It might be.

“So let me ask you one,” Yanni said. “This new research post up‑river. It seems your own plan’s gotten beyond that…while I’ve been in Novgorod. Now we’re talking about a major lab expansion–five hundred jobs on this budget request, my office tells me. Requests for extension on use of the excavators. There’s nothing there to mineup in the hills. No industry’ likely. But now you’re requesting residences. A river port, with coffer dam and shields. Whydo you need a river port for remediation research?”

“To move supply.”

“And? It’s seeming a little beyond a bare‑bones research post all of a sudden. I’m not complaining, understand. I just want to know what we’re suddenly funding up there. What are you up to, young lady?”

She really hadn’t been ready to talk about that. But maybe it was time. Secret for secret.

“Actually–a township.”

“An adjunct to Reseune? Or a rival?”

“A real township. Like here. Shops. People. Manufacture, eventually. I’m thinking of calling it Strassenberg.”

“Strassenberg,” Yanni said, sitting back a little. That had been Maman’s name, Strassen. “Well, now there’san ambitious design for an eighteen‑year‑old. You’re building a new wing on Reseune and in the last three weeks your research lab has mutated into a town. And why, pray, do you think we needanother township in the world?”

That, like her question about Yanni’s programs, was a deeper question. Fair question, considering the funds she’d counted on weren’t going to be plentiful, if they now had to fund the remediation. “Two reasons: first the isolation, what I said at the start: a place to put the rest of my uncle’s staff where I don’t have to deal with them. But I want a lab for mydecisions. The first Ari created me to carry on herwork. I’m setting up a place where absolutely all the decisions are mine and all the mindsets are what I choose to be up there, CIT and azi. Give or take my uncle’s people, that they’ll have to encapsulate, they’re myresearch question. I saidit was a lab. And it actually is. It’s my comparison to what the first Ari did in, say, Gehenna.”

Eyebrows lifted. Clearly a city wasn’t quite the answer Yanni had expected under the title of a research lab. But it was the truth. There might be a timebomb in the Gehenna mindset, but–a more closely‑held secret, and one she wasn’t sure the first Ari had ever directly discussed with Yanni–there was possibly one in the Cyteen population itself, simply because the mindsets were what they were, exactly the same mix of psychsets Yanni had been talking about continuing at Eversnow. All but the CITs who’d come down from orbit were Reseune‑designed mindsets–the same as Yanni planned to go on using out at Eversnow. The station over their heads had its founding families, a certain aristocracy of CITs, people with citizen‑numbers from the origin of the system: the Carnaths, the Nyes, the Emorys, and the Schwartzes, plus a couple of hundred other names that had proliferated through the station–and then a number had settled at Reseune and Novgorod, on the planetary surface, once they’d begun to colonize the planet.

But it had needed a succession of population bursts to build civilization and sustain an economy independent of Earth’s economy, independent of the Merchanters Alliance, from which theyhad seceded by force of arms. A planetary economy needed hands to work, minds to devise, and people to mine resources, consume products, and fill the vacant spots in the outback, dense enough population for viable commerce. In the early days Union had boosted its numbers by birthlabs, by cycling azi into freedmen at an extraordinary rate…azi who’d been given their ethics by tape that Reseune had created in the first Ari’s mother’s time.

And the first Ari had had a very heavy hand on that process, tweaking what her mother Olga Emory had done; and then those azi had become freedmen, and married and had CIT kids, and taught them their values. More, the first Ari had operated increasingly with deep sets, in a style that scared a lot of other psych designers, and theydidn’t read what she’d been doing.

Teaching the kids’ kids’ generation to carry on, that was what–just like Gehenna. A lab‑made ethic was threaded all through the stations in Union’s grasp–just exactly what Yanni intended continuing with another surge in azi population in the deep Beyond. The same ethic the first Ari‑generated population‑burst had installed was buried in the psyches of all those people who took the subways to work and voted in the massive Bureaus of Citizens and Technology. Educated votes counted multiple times, and there were devices in the way the vote happened to keep the decision‑making within a Bureau constantly in the hands of people expert in the fields in question, but the fact was, in Union’s system, the popular vote, moving in a unified direction, could swing a certain way no matter what the experts wanted.

Count on it: the azi‑born were never going to turn on Reseune: the sons and daughters of the azi‑born were never going to turn, no matter what the Centrists wanted, or the Expansionists wanted, or the Paxers wanted. Yanni’s maneuvers to divide and diminish the Centrists were, she suspected, all unnecessary, if the first Ari was right. There was a worm working in the programs, something that moved and reprogrammed itself to suit the times, and it was damned scary how it worked, and changed, while azi‑descended were now out‑populating CITs.

But it was not something she was going to discuss in depth with Yanni. The terrible danger of that ethics implant was what the first Ari had died knowing–she’d died haunted by the fact one human couldn’t live long enough to see what it was going to do. It was why an Ari Two had to exist–to watch out for glitches in the mindsets she’d installed, at Gehenna, on Cyteen, inside Reseune itself. It was necessarily an untried theory, in those population surges mandated by the War, decommissioned soldiers, workers, colonists in the Gehenna outback: the first Ari had had to adjust them fast, and do it wide, or see it undone and unraveling. A collective azi‑descended socio‑set could mutate under unforeseen circumstances, creating not just new attitudes, but a whole artificially‑setted human population, an integration with a capital I.

The first Ari had not just tweaked the helm of the ship of colonial ambitions, but rewritten the navigational charts. Gehenna was only a part of it.

And her predecessor had kept that secret to herself, until she passed it to her own image and set her onto a very specific course: to be sure the design didn’t blow up in the second and third generation of newly‑minted CITs…because to tell anyone was risking letting anotherworm loose in the population, one of knowing one’s fate and trying to second‑guess it.

And where wasthe end? What was going to happen to humanity as a whole, when half the human population in the universe was on a different, human‑devised program? Done was done. She had to steer it.

“All right,” she said to this man, her own caretaker. Her protector. The man likely empowered by her predecessor to remove her if she ran amok. And she forgave him his sins of secrecy and surrendered a planet to him, because this man, whose use was his independent thinking, thought it was a necessary move. “All right, Yanni, so I’ll study up on Eversnow. I should have done before now. The damage, you’re right, is already done. The military saw to that. And I’m sure there are benefits I haven’t looked at.”

“I have a paper for you on that matter,” he said. “Whalesong, on Earth.”

“Whalesong,” she said. The whim of a nostalgic preservationist: the oceans of Eversnow. “They sing.”

“I think you’ll find it interesting.”

A bite of fish.

“You give me my city, Yanni, and I’ll give you your planet.”

“Precocious child.”

“On a completely different topic–I’ve almost made up my mind this week. I’m pretty sure we’re going to clone Denys.”

“Are we? Now? Or some time in the next seven years?”

She frowned. That was a question. A big one: how close will we try to stick to program? “Giraud is the one we’re going to trust–a little. Without his brother Denys to protect–how do we make a Giraud? So we clone Denys, for him, so Giraud keeps on track. That’s my total reasoning in deciding. I was all set to tell you that this evening, when you dropped this Eversnow business in my lap. You said you were leaving the decision up to me. And I was thinking about it a lot while you were gone.”

“Denys has no essential value,” Yanni paraphrased her, “except to keep Giraud on track.”

“No. That’s what I changed my mind on. Denys helped create me. And if you have to create me again, you’d probably want a Denys to keep the new me in line, because Giraud is too soft.”

“You don’t think I could fill that position?”

“Uncle Yanni,” she said fondly, “you’re much too easy on me. You let me get away with everything.”

“Hell. Sounds as if you’re already making a lot of minor decisions, especially when I’m out of the house.”

“Except the Eversnow thing. I wouldn’t call that minor.”

“It’ll be your problem, young lady.”

“It’ll be your problem until it’s pretty well underway. You’re staying in office at least two more years. Maybe more.”

“Two more years in purgatory. God, I hate politics.”

“But pleasedon’t fall down the stairs, Uncle Yanni. You have to be Director. My alternative right now is Justin or Jordan.”

It was a joke. Yanni didn’t laugh. “Better to install Grant,” Yanni muttered.

Probably true. Justin Warrick would hate the job more than Yanni did.

Sacrifice was the situation Yanni was enduring. Never mind he was creating a planet–he wantedto be working with azi, which was what he really loved.

“Yanni. Could you do onething more for me?”

“What?” Yanni asked, and an eyebrow lifted. “When you take that tone, I’m on my guard.”

She thought: Ari wanted you to bring me up. She’d agree with me. But she wasn’t supposed to know that, so she said, “Giraud’s going to need a father in a few months. Would you?”

“Good God!”

“You’d be good at it.”

“Like hell. Giraud? Good loving God. He’d turn out a serial killer. I’m not good with kids. Especially that one.”

“You’re good at politics. People promise you things.”

“I’m not sure that compliments my intelligence.”

“So will you do it?”

A sigh. “I’m already loaded down with Council work and Admin. Where do I find the hours?”

“Who else am I going to get? Dr. Edwards? Giraud’s too devious for him.”

“You’re serious.”

“I’m completely serious.”

“Well, it’s myappointment to make,” Yanni said. “Unless you want to take over this week.”

“No.”

“So I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“So tell me about the rest of the session,” she said. “I’m sure you were brilliant.”

“The rest.” he said, “was absolutely, deadly dull. Well, except the bomb scare. Paxers up to their old tricks. Nobody believed they could have gotten anything into the building, but I went back to the hotel and actually got my correspondence done.”

Dinner wended happily on to dessert, a chocolate mousse, just a little of it, with a lot less tension. She found herself happy–so happy from relief that her hands shook a little; and she was fluxed. She’d just lost a planet, for God’s sake, and she found herself being grateful it wasn’t anything that personally threatened her. As for Yanni, he didn’t look at all guilty of double‑dealing: he looked very tired by then, trying to be sharp, but considering the trip home, the wine, and the rich dessert, he was probably thinking of bed and really hoping she wouldn’t try any Working at the moment.

She didn’t. She had all of her dessert and said she was tired herself, and yawned. That was no pretense and no Working. “You’re the one who’s had the long trip,” she said, “and look. I’m the one yawning.”

“I’m done,” he said. “I’ve got a detailed report for you. I wrote down all the details. Session vids. Dull stuff.” He fished in his pocket and laid a capsule down. “All there.”

“You’re so good,” she said warmly. And meant it, this time in gratitude. Even if she was relatively sure the secret meetings wouldn’t be in there. She pushed back from the table and Yanni got up and moved her chair for her, gentlemanlike. “Uncle Yanni.”

“Don’t call me uncle.”

“Grump.” She’d found that word in a book recently. It fit Yanni. She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “Good night. Go get some rest.”

He returned the kiss, casual, but it made a warm feeling. There was no other CIT who had done that, not since Maman had gone away. Uncle Denys certainly hadn’t.

And she had lately to think–did he dare try to manipulate her, sweeten his Eversnow maneuver, which he had come here knowing wouldn’t be totally to her liking?

But she didn’t want to think that. And he hadbrought her a written report, and the session tapes. She just filed the feeling away…let it go for a while. There’d be changes. There’d be her administration, after his, but it didn’t have to be, yet. He was doing all right: she didn’t likethe Eversnow thing, didn’t likethe new labs, either, but he was being careful about it.

She saw him to the door, his companion Frank joining him there, and Catlin showed up, too.

Yanni left. The door closed. Systems went up again.

“I think he’s all right,” she announced to Catlin when that door shut.

There was no surprise there, just a nod of agreement. Her security had likely monitored the whole conversation. On the whole, the business with Yanni had gone amazingly well.

Tonight–maybe it was the sheer relief of getting Yanni back, even if she had to bargain a bit of her soul for him–she finally felt as if she could get some sleep.

BOOK ONE Section 1 Chapter x

APRIL 25, 2424

1901H

Fancy restaurant. Columns of light and coherent fog with a rhythmic sea sound in the background, and a holographic beach shimmering in mirrors that reflected, by some optical trick, the diners but not the columns.

It was a place called Jamaica, Justin hadn’t been here before. And whatever stipend his father was on, it didn’t, he was relatively sure, provide for a place like this. Jordan had called up, after a silence of several days–had asked him and Grant to dinner in the apartment; he’d balked, not wanting a renewal of the argument.

He’d suggested a quiet dinner out. Jordan had said he’d call back. And did, with a reservation.

Here.

Jamaica lay on the main level of Admin–that should have warned Jordan about the cost. It lay a short walk from both Education and Wing One, an outdoor walk across the quadrangle or a protected one through the tunnels. Probably his father had seen the convenience–hadn’t likely seen the menu.

And the late hour? Because, Jordan had said, it was booked to the hilt at prime hours, which must mean the food was good.

It meant other things, too: that it was one of those Admin watering holes and Jordan was two decades out of touch with the changes in Admin. It had gotten pricier, to say the least. Jordan likely had no idea what he’d booked them into.

“Nice place,” Grant observed. “Are you sure he said Jamaica?”

“He’s not going to pay for this,” Justin said. “Make sure the bill comes to us, will you? I’ll keep on the lookout.”

Grant immediately took charge and inquired with the maitre d’ near the desk. There was quiet conversation, a nod, a credit chit passed, a little bow. The maitre d’ moved a little closer to where Justin stood and offered them immediate seating–Jordan hadn’t arrived yet–or a seat at the bar if they wanted to wait for their party; but in that same moment Jordan showed up with Paul, and claimed both them and the reservation.

Jordan looked quite professorial tonight in a tweed coat, quiet brown, a little academic for the milieu. Justin wore green, mild sheen, fashionable among the youngish set–which did fit in here. The maitre d’ escorted them to their table, saw them seated, and promised them a waiter named Edward.

“Well, and how are you?” Jordan asked, as they settled in at their table, two and two, serving assistants deftly maneuvering china, filling water glasses.

“Oh, fine,” Justin said, and the drink waiter showed up extraordinarily quickly for a place like this, crammed as it was with diners. It might be that someone had recognized Grant, whose red hair and vid star looks made him easy to ID. In Grant’s company, people he had never met knew him, in every corridor in Reseune.

But it was Jordan Warrick’s name on the reservation. So it was very possible it wasn’t Grant that had gotten the fast attention. Very possibly it was Reseune Security that had picked their table for them, and bugged it. Thatmight get the maitre d’s quick attention, too, not to have a foul‑up with security reach the ears of the other patrons.

Menus were set in their hands, bound in leather, quite the extravagance, while they eyed each other intermittently’ like fencers and didn’t quite succeed at small talk. There were no prices on the menu. Not one. And Jordan by now knew what they were into, but he hadn’t said a thing.

“Did you come across the quadrangle?” Paul asked.

Grant nodded. “Nice evening.”

“So did we.”

Jordan played the host, scanned the menu, inquired about appetizers, signaling they were going to go the whole route–they settled on the pвtй–and didn’t say a thing about his line of credit. He was animated, pleasant, cheerful, Jordan’s public face, the face Justin had wanted to engage for this first phase of peacemaking. Jordan’s card was going to bounce if the maitre d’ failed them. And that wouldn’thelp the peace. Justin could foresee the moment, the embarrassment. God, the bill had better come to him. Quietly. Tactfully.

He and Jordan could patch things up. They’d not fought, since he’d grown. They didn’t know each other, that was the sad truth. Twenty years of separation from Jordan was a significant time, even in rejuved lives. Jordan had dealt with him in the interim, corresponded with him–not lived in reach of him, that was the problem, and they had to learn about each other all over again. They’d been through the tentative, polite period. A few days ago they’d finally gotten down to honest opinions and somehow, expert as he was in psych, it had just slid inexorably downward.

Which it wouldn’t do here. Jordan knew how to play to a crowd. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself, even if he was likely to try another tag‑you’re‑it attack. It would be subtle, if it came, reserved…unless something really, really jolted him; and they weren’t going to mention the name Ari tonight–if Jordan did, he’d stop it cold. He’d stayed away from the past with Jordan these last weeks. He’d broken the rule, pulled the scab off old wounds in their last alcohol‑fueled debate, and maybe he had to go on avoiding the topic until Jordan did get his license and his security clearance back and had a few months of behaving himself.

Or maybe they never would be able to discuss that particular subject–Ari, and the night that had changed him. Terrible as the experience had been, long before the argument with Jordan, he’d come to wonder if the first Ari’s action hadn’t been a rescue. Jordan’s path wasn’t really what he wanted. He’d been set on being Jordan until that night. That night he’d become somebody else. He wasn’t sure who. But he’d become different.

Thank God. Or he’d have agreed with Jordan four nights ago and they’d all lose their licenses. This way–

“Ever eaten here?” Jordan asked him, over the menu.

“No,” Justin said. “Never have.” And the real question: “You haven’t?”

“Random choice. A yen for something different.” And still, typical Jordan, not a mention of the absent prices. He’d heard the night’s specials and not asked. He maintained a pleasant expression on his face–also pure Jordan. “Planys was a lot of the same thing.”

Play along: change the subject: keep it light. “Not many choices there, I’ll imagine.”

“Five. It got boring in the first month. There were actually six choices when I got there. Two of the restaurants consolidated. One changed the menu, oh, about five years on. The other one never did. One Greek, one Italian, one French, one Colonial, and one you couldn’t depend on. That was the excitement. That was our suspense, that fifth restaurant.”

It might be humor. Every piece of humor he’d heard from Jordan lately‑had had a bitter edge. But he dutifully laughed, trying to take it lighter. “Remember Illusions? It’s been through most of those choices. Now it’s New Era.”

“I’m afraid I’ve missed that delight, so far.”

“A lot of expensive spices. The real thing, I understand, imported. Some of them are pretty good. Some of them I’m not so sure about. But the steaks are consistently good.”

“We’ll have to try it. Anything new.”

“We can do that.” Justin meanwhile looked through the menu. “Angry Shrimp and Pell Bordeaux,” he said. Pell Bordeaux wasn’t going to be cheap. “Sounds interesting. I think I’ll do that.”

“Adventurous.” Jordan said, and added, darkly. “You must be rich.”

“Well, I secretly thought I’d treat my father.”

“I didn’t ask you here to soak my son for the tab.”

“Let me do it. It’s my pleasure.”

“They pay you pretty well for what you do.”

“I’ve been where you are. It ends. You’ll get back. All the way back. You’ll be treating me.” Fast change of subject. A cheerier one. “How’s it coming with the sets you did? Your own ones, that you were looking at–how they’ve developed over two, three decades? That’s got to be interesting.”

“Getting back into it, at least. I need an office.”

“Yanni might be agreeable.”

“You’re rattling around in our old one.”

“We have staff,” Justin said. His guard was instantly up… God, he hated to be so paranoid. And he didn’t want to show it in his expression. But talking to Jordan lately was like walking through broken glass barefoot.

“Nice location. Convenient. And there’s room enough.”

Guard went way up.

“Not with staff. Sorry, Jordan, that won’t work.”

“Paul and I haven’t gotten all our Planys notes pried out of Security,” Jordan said glumly. “Our wardrobe’s barely made it through. You can see our splendor this evening. Pretty shabby stuff.”

“You’re fine.”

“Don’t suppose you can use your influence with the little darling to speed our stuff along.”

“I’ll ask, if you like.” He was glad the little darlingwas as far as the sarcasm about young Ari went in this venue. The walls had ears and even if they didn’t, he didn’t like Jordan dragging him into a proxy quarrel with Admin while half the Wing Directors and Agency heads in Reseune sat at the other tables. “Be genteel. Trust me. This time, trust me, and take my word for it. She’s not her genemother.”

“No?” Jordan feigned surprise. “After all they’ve done to be sure she is?”

The waiter arrived. Mercifully. The dinner wasn’t going well and they hadn’t even ordered yet.

Justin gave his order. Grant ordered smoked salmon, a likely match for cost, Paul ordered boeuf a la maison and Jordan ordered a modest, all‑local caesar salad with blackened chicken.

“Saving room for dessert,” Jordan said when Justin frowned at his economy. “I noticed a cheesecake.”

“Sounds good,” Justin said–not tempted to believe Jordan was through with gestures this evening, no. Not once he’d started. And the waiter departed.

“So I’m going to impose on you,” Jordan said. “We need desk space. I’m sure they watch me. I’m sure they watch you. We can consolidate their job. Make them happy.”

“I’m telling you we have staff. Five staffers and us in that office. And security won’t let you in there.”

“So who’s important? Your clericals or your father?”

“I’m saying we need the staff. They have work to do.”

“Fine. Ask the little dear for space for them. I’m sure she’d find it. After all, she’s not stingy like her predecessor.”

“Jordan, give it up. You haven’t got your clearance. You’ll get it. But it’s still no, on the office.”

“I’m saying I’m going eetee locked into that living room. I can’t work in there. Put your spare clericals into our living room if you have to. You’re not even there five days a week. Who’s using the desks?”

It wasn’t an outrageous request–except it was his convenient Integrations computer access, which his staff used, which heused, dammit, for Ari’s lessons, and his father didn’thave clearance, or a license. His safe was there. His manuals were there. His projects were there–he didn’t keep those in their cubbyhole of a Wing One office.

“You’re not happy,” Jordan said. “ Sorry.”

“Look, if you want your office back…” Yanni wasn’t likely to approve Jordan’s moving into general office space in the first place, there was that. But he could easier get another office in the Education wing, for them and their staff.

“I would like that. Yes. I mean when I get the license back, for God’s sake. We can share. What happened to us working together?”

And his and Grant’s work with the G‑27, while not under security seal, had some bits in it he felt fairly proprietary about, and, no, dammit, he didn’t want another round of security investigations going through his notebooks, or Grant’s because Jordan was in there. More to the point, he didn’t want his fathergoing through his notes and appropriating anything he was working on.

No way in hell.

“I just don’t see why it’s an issue,” Jordan said with a wistful little frown. “Apply to move your staff out. I’m sure they’ll find a space somewhere.”

“It’s a little matter of convenience.”

“You know there arevirtual connections–same as being there. Unless, of course, there’s some reason you’d rather not.”

“You know the reasons I’m a little reluctant. Last Sunday night was a case in point.”

“Many fewer drinks in the office.”

“Listen, Jordan. My life is going perfectly fine. So could yours be, if you’d just put the brakes on a bit and get along with Yanni. You’re home, for God’s sake. He knows you didn’t–whatever.”

“Yanni’s a prick.”

“Dad. Don’t.”

“Have you caved in that far?”

He lowered his voice way down and leaned across the table. “And do you have to agitate Admin just to get a reaction? I don’t particularly want a reaction, thank you.”

“So the little dear issomething like her predecessor.”

Not sotto voce. Just normal conversation level, and not cooperating worth a damn. Justin found his pulse rate had gotten up, old familiar sensation. And he didn’t like it. “Well, there you have it, don’t you? We’re arguing again and I don’t think it would work, sharing an office. Look, I’ve had enough of investigations. I don’t want to be in the middle of another one. And get off the notion it’s Ari. It’s Yanni, and you know you don’t want to be in his bad book, but you persist in picking fights.”

“Ah. So it’s fear for your reputation. But you should be golden. You were quite the hero, overthrowing the Nyes, saving her highness…”

“Neither.” Jordan was stalking some point, he saw that, and he didn’t know why or what. For a top‑flight psychset designer, it was downright embarrassing, not to know what was behind his own identical’s actions, and thathinted at a Working, either verbal or otherwise. Jordan knew him from way back, ownedmost of the buttons, knew his body from inside out, and that was a fact. Sitting here, across the table from Jordan, mirror into mirror with that damned infuriating smile on Jordan’s face that his own body knew gut‑deep was no smile at all, because it never reached the eyes– damn, he knew it. And there was nobody more dangerous to him, if Jordan decided to pull old strings.

Set psych‑switches in his own baby boy? Damned right Jordan would have done that, from the cradle up. Ari One had flipped them the other way. Jordan had had twenty years to figure how to get at him past Ari’s Working, or worse–and then those questions Sunday night. Had he been alone with Ari? Had Ari done anything further? It very much assumed the character not of an outraged father, but of a psych operator wanting a case history.

And much worse–

Jordan knew how to get at Grant. Grant hadbeen under Jordan’s supervision, too, in their collective childhood, and if Jordan could get his hands on Grant’s updated manual, which was in the computer system in that office, once Jordan got his license back…

That thought sent cold chills through him. The very thought, that Grant could be put into that situation–that sent his hand questing after the lately‑arrived drink.

Share an office with Jordan? No. Absolutely not. License or no license. And subtlety only wound his own gut in knots, it gave Jordan chance after chance to get to him.

“It’s just not going to work,” he said. “I’ll go to Yanni, if you can’t do it without flaring off. I’ll talk to him and see if I can get your stuff out of customs and your license hurried along.”

“I don’t want any damn charity.”

“But you damn sure want my office. And I don’t want you in there.”

“ Youroffice?”

“Let’s try honesty,” he said abruptly. “You want to start the war with Admin up again. I don’t. I don’t want to subject Grant to it, either. So make your own choices, but–”

“Are you making yourchoices these days?”

“My choice right now is to have my office to myself, to do my work, outside politics–”

“Oh, come now!”

“–to have Grant do his. To enjoy my life…”

“Will you? Enjoy it? And areyou outside politics?”

That did it. He smiled with his father’s own false warmth, right back at him, and something ticked over deep in his makeup that could be cold as ice–something he didn’t damn well trust, but right now it felt like an asset, not to have himself out of control with this man who had all the buttons. “I don’t know, Dad. I haven’t a clue who’s had a go at me or who’s reshaped my psyche during Denys Nye’s tenure–there are things I don’t actually remember. But I’m actually pretty happy these days, and I lately find I haven’t any stake in your game, whatever it is.”

“You think you haven’t.”

“I know I haven’t. I don’t give a damn for what happened twenty years ago and if you plan to live here in Reseune, I really hope you’ll just let it all go. So enjoy your dinner. I plan to.”

“Justin, Justin, Justin, you really believeyou’re not in it.”

“Won’t work, Pop. Really won’t work.” He took a sip of wine. The rich tastes were sharp, solid, complex. Where Jordan wanted to lead him was complicated, too, the wrong end of Jordan’s ambitions, whatever they currently were, and he discovered, since the last fight, he truly failed to give a damn, tonight, and decided not to subscribe to Jordan’s list of problems.