Текст книги "Cyteen "
Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh
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Back in the pre-Union days.
"Hell."
"I didn't say I minded, ser. We already outnumber you. Soon we'll establish farms where people can grow up like weeds and commune with their glands. There's bound to be a use for them."
"Hell with you!"
Grant laughed. He did. Half of it was an argument they had had a dozen times in different guises; half of it was Grant trying to psych him. But the day fell into perspective finally. It was only a memory tick-over. A jolt backward. Done was done. There was no way to get those damned blackmail tapes out of Archive, since they were Ari's and Ari was sacred. But he had learned to live with the prospect of all of it turning up someday on the evening news.
Or finding that no bargains held forever.
Jordan had killed a dying woman for reasons the Project was going to immortalize in the records anyway—if it worked. If it worked, every hidden detail of Ari's personal life was going to have scientific significance.
If it worked to any degree, and the Project went public, there was the chance Jordan could seek a re-hearing and release maybe to Fargone—after twenty years or so of the Project itself; which would mean all the people who had conspired to cover what Ari had done and all the Centrists who had been embarrassed by potential connections the case had had to the radical underground—were going to resist it. Reputations were going to be threatened all over again. Merino and the Abolitionists. Corain. Giraud Nye. Reseune. The Defense Bureau, with all its secrets. There might be justice in the courts, but there was none among the power brokers that had put Jordan where he was. The walls of secrecy would close absolutely, to keep silent a man they could no longer control. And his son—who had set everything in motion by a kid's mistake, a kid's bad judgment.
If the Project failed it would be a failure like the Bok clone, which had done nothing but add a tragic and sordid little footnote to a great woman's life—a very expensive failure, one Reseune would never publicize, the way to this day the outside world had heard a totally different story about the murder, heard a different story about the changes at Reseune, and knew nothing about the Project: administrative reorganization, the news-services said, in the wake of Ariane Emory's death.
And went on with some drivel about Ari's will having laid out far-reaching plans and the lab being beneficiary of her considerable investments.
If it failed—it had political consequences, particularly between Reseune Administration and the Defense department, which was insidethe wall of secrecy. Then there was no predicting what Giraud Nye would do to protect himself: Giraud hadto carry this off to prove himself, and in the meanwhile dangling the Project in front of Defense let Giraud grab power in some ways greater than Ari had had. Power to silence. Power to use the covert agencies. If Giraud was halfway clever, and if the Project did not fail conspicuously and definitively, he was going to be older than Jane Strassen before he had to admit the Project was not working. He could even re-start, and run the whole scam again, at which point Giraud was certainly going to be looking at the end of his need for any kind of power. After Giraud, the Deluge. What should Giraud care?
Justin only hoped it failed. Which meant a poor kid who only happened to have Ari's geneset ended up a psych case, mindwiped or worse. Maybe an endless succession of babies. A power as big and a man as smart as Giraud would not fail all at once. No. There would be studies of the study of the study. Unless there was a way to make sure it failed in public.
Sometimes he had thoughts that scared him, like finding some article of Ari's lying on his bed. He would never in his life be able to know if certain thoughts were his, just the natural consequence of a deep-seated anger, of himself growing older and harder and more aware how business was done in the world; or whether it was Ari still in control of him.
Wormwas an old joke between him and Grant.
He had to go on making nothing of it. Because that was all that kept it isolated.
iv
"Get down from there!" Jane snapped, startled into a snarl, and her gut tightened as the two-year-old trying for the kitchen countertop leaned and stretched, reckless of her light weight, the tile floor and the metal-capped chair legs. Ari reacted, the chair slipped a fraction, she snatched the box of crackers and turned; the chair tipped and Jane Strassen grabbed her on the way down.
Ari yelled with outrage. Or startlement.
"If you want the crackers you ask!" Jane said, tempted to give her a shake. "You want to ouch your chin again?"
Hurt-Ari was the only logic that made a dent in Ari-wants. And a universally famous genetic scientist was reduced to baby-babble and a helpless longing to smack a small hand. But Olga had never believed in corporal punishment.
And if Olga had been human Ari had picked up rage and frustration and resentment in the ambience with her the same as a genetic scientist who wanted to take her out to the river and drown her.
"Nelly!" Jane yelled at the nurse. And remembered notto shout. In her own apartment. She left the chair on the floor. No. Nit-picking Olga could never have left a chair on the floor. She stood there with her arms full of struggling two-year-old waiting on Nelly, who had damn well better have heard her. Ari struggled to get down. She set Ari down and held on to her hand when Ari wanted to sit down and throw a tantrum. "Stand up!" Holding a small hand hard. Giving an Olga-like jerk. "Stand up! What kind of behavior is that?"
Nelly showed up in the doorway, wide-eyed and worried.
"Straighten that chair up."
Ari jerked and leaned to reach after the cracker box that was lying with the chair, while adults were busy. Damned if she was going to forget what she was after.
Does she or doesn't she get the cracker? No. Bad lesson. She'd betternot get away with it, she'll break her neck.
Besides, Olga was a vengeful bitch.
"Stand still. Nelly, putthose crackers up where she can'tget them. Shut up,Ari. —You take her. I'm going to the office. And if there's a scratch on her when I come back I'll—"
Wide azi eyes stared at her, horrified and hurt.
"Dammit, youknow. What am I going to do? I can't watch her every damn minute. Shut up,Ari." Ari was trying to lie down, hanging off her hand with her full weight. "You don't understand how active she is,Nelly. She's tricking you."
"Yes, sera." Nelly was devastated. She was out-classed. She had had all the tape showing her what a two-year-old CIT could do. Or get into. Or hurt herself with. Don't stifle her, Nelly. Don't hover. Don't notwatch her. The azi was on the verge of a crisis. The azi needed a Supervisor to hug her and tell her she was doing better than the last nurse. It was not Olga's style. Jane-type shouts and Olga-type coldness were driving the more vulnerable azi to distraction. And she was spending half her time keeping the kid from killing herself, half keeping the azi from nervous collapse.
"Just get a lock installed on the damn kitchen," Jane said. Ari howled like hell if she was shut into the playroom. She hatedthe playroom. "Ari, stopit. Maman can't hold you."
"Yes, sera. Shall I—"
"Nelly, you know your job. Just take Ari and give her a bath. She's worked up a sweat."
"Yes, sera."
The azi took Ari in hand. Ari sat down and Nelly picked her up and carried her.
Jane leaned back against the counter and stared at the ceiling. At the traditional location of God, no matter what the planet.
And Phaedra came in to say that daughter Julia was in the living room.
A second time Jane looked ceilingward. And did not shout. "Dammit, I'm a hundred thirty-four and I don't deserve this."
"Sera?"
"I'll take care of it, Phaedra. Thank you." She pushed herself away from the counter. "Go help Nelly in Ari's bathroom." She wantedto go to the office. "No. Find Ollie. Tell him calm Nelly down. Tell Nelly I shout. It's all right. Get!"
Phaedra got. Phaedra was one of herstaff. Phaedra was competent. Jane walked out of the kitchen, down the hall in Phaedra's wake, and took the left turn, the glass-and-stone walk past the dining room and the library to the front living room.
Where Julia was sitting on the couch. And three-year-old Gloria was playing on the long-pile rug.
"Whatin hell are you doing here?" Jane asked.
Julia looked up. "I took Gloria to the dentist. Routine. I thought I'd drop by for a minute."
"You know better."
Julia's soft mouth hardened a little. "That's a fine welcome."
Jane took a deep breath and went over and sat down with her hands locked between her knees. Gloria sat up. Another baby. Meditating destruction of something. The apartment was safed for a two-year-old's reach. Gloria was a tall three. "Look, Julia. You know the situation. You're notsupposed to bring Gloria in here."
"It's not like the baby was going to catch something. I was just passing by. I thought we could go out for lunch."
"That's not the point,Julia. We're being taped. You know that. I don't want any question of compromise. You understand me. You're not a child. You're twenty-two years old, and it's about time—"
"I said we could go out for lunch."
With Gloria. God. Her nerves were at the breaking point. "We'll go out for lunch—" Gloria was over at the bookcase. Gloria was after a piece of pottery. "Gloria, dammit!"No platythere and no three-year-old ever turned from an objective. She got up and snatched the kid back, dragged her toward the couch and Gloria started to scream. Which could carry all the way down the damn hall where another little girl was trying to drown her nurse. Jane shifted her grip and clamped her hand over Gloria's mouth. "Shut that up! Julia, dammit, get this kid out of here!"
"She's your granddaughter!"
"I don't carewhat she is, get her out of here!"Gloria was struggling hysterically and kicking her shin. "Out, dammit!"
Julia got that desperate, offended, out-of-breath look; came and snatched Gloria away, and Gloria, uncorked, screamed as if she was being skinned.
"Get out!"Jane shouted. "Dammit, shut her up!"
"You don't care about your own granddaughter!"
"We'll go to lunch tomorrow! Bringher! Just shut her up!"
"She's not one of the damn azi!"
"Watch your mouth! What kind of language is that?"
"You've got a granddaughter! You've got me,for God's sake, and you don't bloody care!"
Hysterical howls from Gloria.
"I'm not going to talk about it now! Out!"
"Damn you then!"Julia started crying. Gloria was still screaming. Julia grabbed Gloria up and hauled her to the door and out it.
Jane stood in the quiet and felt her stomach profoundly upset. Julia had finally got some guts. And damn near sabotaged the Project. There was not supposedto be another little girl. They were still feeling their way. Little changes in self-perception while it was forming at incremental rates could have big effects down the line. If the start was true, Ari would handlecourse deviations at the far end just fine.
Ari did not need to be wondering, Maman, who was that?
Arihad been an only child.
So now the damn Project had Julia's nose out of joint. Because motherwas one of Julia's triggers, motherwas the root of all Julia's problems, motherwas what Julia was determined to succeed in being, because Julia knew that that was the one place where the great and famous Jane Strassen had messed up and Julia was sure she could do it right. Julia felt deprived in her childhood so she was going to the other extreme, ruining her own kid with smothering: thatlittle brat knew exactly how to get everything from mama but consistency, and she needed a firm hand and a month away from mama before it was too late. Amazing how accurate hindsight could be.
v
It was patches again. Florian felt himself a little fluttery, fluttery like when things got confused. The big building and sitting on the edge of the table always made him feel that way, but he could answer when the Super asked him where the One patch went. Right over his heart. He knew that. He had a doll he could patch. But it didn't have so many.
"That's right," the Super said, and patted him. "You're an awfully good boy, Florian. You're very smart and you're very quick to do things. Can you tell me how old you are?"
Old meant big and as he got bigger and smarter the right answer meant more fingers. Right now he got to hold up the first and the next and the next, and stop. Which was hard to do without letting them all come up. When he did it right he felt good all over. The Super gave him a hug.
When he got through there was always a sweet. And he knew all the answers to everything the Super asked. He felt fluttery but it was a good fluttery.
He just wished they would give him the sweet now and forget about the patches.
vi
Ari was tremendously excited. She had a new suit—red, with a glittery pattern on the front and on one sleeve. Nelly had brushed her hair till it crackled and flew, all black and shiny, and then Ari, all dressed, had had to dither about the living room till maman and Ollie were ready. Maman looked very tall and very beautiful, glittery with silver, and the silver in her hair was pretty. Ollie went too, handsome in the black the azi wore. Ollie was a special azi. He was always with maman, and if Ollie said something Ari had to do it. She did, or at least she did today, because maman and Ollie were going to take her to a Party.
There were going to be a lot of big people there. She would go there and then Ollie would take her to Valery's to a children's party.
Valery was a boy. He was sera Schwartz's. Azi would watch them and they would play games and there would be ices, on a table their size. And other children. But mostly she liked Valery. Valery had a spaceship that had red lights. He had a glass thing you could look through and it made patterns.
Most of all she hoped there would be presents. Sometimes there were. Since everyone was dressed up, there might be.
But it was special, to go where the big people were. To walk down the hall holding maman's hand, dressed up and acting nice, because you were supposed to, and not make trouble. Especially when there could be presents.
They rode the lift downstairs. She saw a lot of tall azi in the hall: azi wore black more than they wore other colors; and even if they didn't, she could always tell them. They were not like maman or uncle Denys, they looked like azi. Sometimes she pretended to be them. She walked very quiet and stood straight and looked very straight like Ollie and said yes, sera to maman. (Not to Nelly. To Nelly you said, yes.) Sometimes she pretended to be maman and she told Nelly, make my bed, Nelly, please. (And to Ollie, once: Ollie, dammit, I want a drink. But that had not been a good idea. Ollie had brought her the drink and told maman. And maman had said it was not nice and Ollie was not going to do things for her when she was rude. So she said dammit to Nelly instead.)
Maman led her down the hall through the azi and through a doorway where there were a lot of people in the doorway. One woman said: "Happy new year, Ari." And bent over in her face. She had a pretty necklace and you could see way down her blouse. It was interesting. But Ollie picked her up. That was better. She could see people's faces.
The woman talked to maman, and people crowded in, all talking at once, and everything smelled like perfume and food and powder.
Someone patted her on the shoulder as Ollie held her. It was uncle Denys. Denys was fat. He made a lot of room around him. She wondered whether he was solid all the way through or sort of held his breath more than regular people to keep him so round.
"How are you, Ari?" uncle Denys yelled at her in all the racket, and all of a sudden the people stopped talking and looked at them. "Happy new year."
She was puzzled then, but interested. If it was her new year it was a birthday, and if it was a birthday party people were supposed to come to her apartment and bring her presents. She didn't see any.
"Happy new year," people said. She looked at them hopefully. But there were no presents. She sighed, and then as Ollie brought her through the crowd, she caught sight of the punch and the cake.
Ollie knew. "Do you want some punch?" he asked.
She nodded. There was a lot of noise. She was not sure she liked this many big people. The party did not make sense. But punch and cake was looking better. She clung to Ollie's strong shoulder and felt a good deal more cheerful, because Ollie could carry her right through to the table with the punch bowl and Ollie understood very well what was important. Punch, especially in a pretty bowl and with a big cake, was almost as good as presents.
"I've got to set you down," Ollie said. "All right? You stand right there and I'll get your punch."
That was not all right. Everyone was tall, the music was awfully loud, and when she was standing on the floor she could not see anything but people's legs. Somebody might step on her. But Ollie set her down, and maman was coming, with uncle Denys. And the crowd did not step on her. A lot of people looked at her. Some smiled. So she felt safe.
"Ari." Ollie gave her the cup. "Don't spill."
The punch was green. She was not altogether sure of it, but it smelled good and it tasted better.
"You're getting too big to carry," uncle Denys said. She looked up and wrinkled her nose at him. She was not sure she liked that idea. Maman said the same thing. But Ollie didn't. Ollie was big and he was very strong. He felt different than anyone. She liked him to carry her: she liked to put her arms around his neck and lean on him, because he was like a chair you could climb on, and you couldn't feel his bones, just a kind of solid. He was warm, too. And smelled good. But Ollie was getting punch for maman and uncle Denys from another bowl, and she just kept close to him and drank her punch while Denys and maman talked and loud music played.
Ollie looked down at her when maman and Denys had their punch. "Do you want some cake?" Ollie asked, talking loud. "They're going to have cake at the children's party."
That promised better. "I want some more punch," she said, and gave Ollie her cup. "And cake, please." She stood there in a little open space to wait. She put her hands behind her, and remembered maman said not to rock back and forth, it was stupid-looking. People she did not know came up and said she was pretty, and wished her happy new year, but she was ready to leave, except for the punch and cake Ollie was getting. She was going to stay for that.
Children's party sounded a lot better.
Maybe there would be presents there.
"Come on over and sit down," Ollie said, not giving her the cake or the punch. He carried it for her. There were chairs along the wall. She was relieved. If she got punch on her new suit she would look bad and maman would scold her. She climbed up onto a chair and Ollie set the dish in her lap and set the cup on the seat beside her. She had the whole row to herself.
"I'm going to get mine," Ollie said. "Stay there. I'll be back."
She nodded, with cake in her mouth. White cake. The nice kind. With good icing. She was much happier. She swung her feet and ate cake and licked her fingers while Ollie waited at the punch bowl and maman talked with Denys and Giraud.
Maybe they waited about the presents. Maybe something interesting was going to happen. They all glittered. Some of them she had seen at home. But a lot were strange. She finished her cake and licked her fingers and slid off the chair to stand, because most of the people were around the tables and the floor was mostly clear.
She walked out to see how far Ollie had got in the line. But someone had distracted Ollie. That was a chance to walk around.
So she walked. Not far. She did not want maman and Ollie to leave and lose her. She looked back to see if she could still see maman. Yes. But maman was still busy talking. Good. If maman scolded her she could say, I was right here, maman. Maman could not be too mad.
A lot of the clothes were pretty. She liked the green blouse you could see through. And the black one a man was wearing, all shimmery. But maman's jewelry was still the best.
There was a man with bright red hair.
In black. Azi. She watched him. She said hello when somebody said hello to her, but she was not interested in that. She had always thought her hair was pretty. Prettier than anybody's. But his was pretty. Hewas. It was not fair. If there was hair like that shewanted it. She was suddenly dissatisfied with her own.
He looked at her. He was not azi. No. Yes. His face went all straight and he turned his chin, so, and pretended he did not see her looking at him. He was with a dark-haired man. That man looked at her, but the azi did not want him to.
He looked at her anyway. He was handsome like Ollie. He looked at her different than grown-ups and she thought he was not supposed to do that, but she did not want to look anywhere else, because he was different than everyone. The azi with red hair was by him, but he was not the important one. The man was. The man was looking at her, and she had never even seen him. He had never come to visit. He had never brought presents.
She went closer. The azi didn't want her to be close to his friend. He had his hand on the man's shoulder. Like she was going to get him. But the man watched her like she was maman. Like he had done something bad and she was maman.
He was being her. And she was being maman. And the azi was being Ollie, when maman was yelling.
Then the azi saw something dangerous behind her. She looked.
Maman was coming. But maman stopped when she looked.
Everyone was stopped. Everyone was watching. They had stopped talking. There was just the music. Everyone was afraid.
She started toward maman.
Everyone twitched.
She stopped. And everyone twitched again. Even maman.
Shehad done that.
She looked back at maman. Twitch.
She looked back at the man.
Twitch. Everybody.
Shedidn't know she could do that.
Maman was going to be mad, later. Ollie was.
If maman was going to shout she might as well dosomething first.
The azi and the man looked at her when she walked up to them. The man looked like she was going to get him. The azi thought so too.
The man had pretty hands like Ollie. He was a lot like Ollie. People all thought he was dangerous. That was wrong. She knew it was. She could scare them good.
She came up and took his hand. Everyone was doing what she wanted. Even he was. She had maman good. The way she could do Nelly.
She likedthat.
"My name's Ari," Ari said.
"Mine's Justin," Justin said quietly. In all that quiet.
"I'm going to a party," she said. "At Valery's."
Jane Strassen came to collect the child. Firmly. Grant got between them, and put his hand on Justin's shoulder, and turned him away.
They left. That was all there was to do.
"Damn," Grant said, when they were back in the apartment, "if no one had moved it would have been nothing. Nothing at all. She picked up on it. She picked up on it like it was broadcast."
"I had to see her," Justin said.
He could not say why. Except they said she was Ari. And he had not believed it until then.
vii
"Night, sweet," maman said; and kissed her. Ari put her arms up and hugged maman and kissed her too. Smack.
Maman went out and it was dark then. Ari snuggled down in bed with Poo-thing. She was full of cake and punch. She shut her eyes and all the people were glittery. Ollie got her cake. And all the people looked at her. Valery's party was nice. They played music-chairs and had favors. Hers was a glittery star. Valery's was a ball. They were real sorry about sera Schwartz's lamp.
New year was fun.
"Is she all right?" Ollie asked in the bedroom. And Jane nodded, while he unhooked her blouse. "Sera, I am sorry—"
"Don't talk about it. Don't fret about it. It's all right." He finished; she slid the silver blouse down her arms and threw it on the chair back. Ollie was still shaken.
So, in fact, was she. Not mentioning it was Denys' and Giraud's damn idea.
Olga had had the kid up in front of visitors, hauled her around like a little mannequin—subjected her to the high-pressure social circuit in which Ari's sensitive nerves must have been raw.
They could not take the curtain of secrecy off. There was only one part of that high-tension atmosphere they could access, that inside Reseune itself.
The Family. In all its multifarious, nefarious glory.
Enough sugar inher often-tested metabolism, enough no-don't and behave-Ari and promised rewards to be sure a four-year-old was going to be hyper as hell.
She felt, somehow, sick at her stomach.
viii
Justin hugged his coat about him as he and Grant took the outside walk between Residency and the office, and jammed his hands into his pockets. Not a fast walk, despite the morning chill, on a New Year's morning where everyone was slow getting started.
He stopped at the fishpond, bent and fed the fish. The koi knew him. They expected him and came swimming up under the brown-edged lotus. They ruled their little pool between the buildings, they entertained the children of the House and begat their generations completely oblivious to the fact that they were not on the world of their origin.
Here was here. The white old fellow with the orange patches had been taking food from his hand since he was a young boy, and daily, now, since Jordan had gone and he and Grant had sought the outside whenever they could. Every morning.
Spy-dishes could pick up their voices from the House, could pick them up anywhere. But surely, surely, Security just did the easy thing, and caught the temperature of things from time to time by flipping a monitor switch on the apartment, not wasting overmuch time on a quiet pair of tape-designers who had not made the House trouble in years. Security could bring them in for psychprobe anytime it wanted. That they had not—meant Security was not interested. Yet.
Still, they were careful.
"He's hungry," Justin said of the white koi. "Winter; and children don't remember."
"One of the differences," Grant said, sitting on the rock near him. "Azi children would."
Justin laughed in spite of the distress that hovered over them. "You're so damn superior."
Grant shrugged cheerfully. "Born-men are so blind to other norms. We aren't." Another piece of wafer hit the water, and a koi took it, sending out ripples that disturbed the lotus. "I tell you, all the trouble with alien contacts is preconceptions. They should send us."
"This is the man who says Novgorod would be too foreign."
"Us. You and me. I wouldn't worry then."
A long pause. Justin held the napkin of wafers still in his hands. "I wish to hell there was a place."
"Don't worry about it." It was not Novgorod Grant meant. Of a sudden the shadow was back. The cold was back in the wind. "Don't. It's all right."
Justin nodded, mute. They were so close. He had had letters from Jordan. They looked like lace, with sentences physically cut from the paper. But they said, in one salutation: Hello, son. I hear you and Grant are well. I read and re-read all your letters. The old ones are wearing out. Please send more.
His sense of humor is intact, he had commented to Grant. And he and Grant had read and re-read that letter too, for all the little cues it had given him about Jordan's state of mind. Read and re-read the others that got through. Page after page of how the weather was. Talk about Paul—constantly, Paul and I.That had reassured him too.
Things are moving, Denys had said, when he brought up the subject of sending voice tapes. Or making phone calls, carefully monitored.
And they had been so close to getting that permission.
"I can't help but worry," Justin said. "Grant, we've got to be so damn clean for the next little while. And it won't finish it. It won't be the last time. You or I don't have to have done anything."
"They brought the girl there. They didn't stop us from coming. Maybe they didn't expect what happened, but it wasn't our doing. A roomful of psychologists—and they froze. They cued the girl. She was reading them,not us. It's that flux-thinking again. Born-men. They didn't want what happened; and they didwant it, they set up the whole thing to show Ari off, and she was doingit—she was proving what they've worked to prove. And proving nothing. Maybe we cued her. We were watching her. I got caught at it. Maybe that made her curious. She's four years old, Justin. And the whole room jumped. What's any four-year-old going to do?"
"Run to her mother, dammit. She started to. Then everybody relaxed and she picked that up too. And got this look—" He twitched his shoulders as a sudden chill got down his neck. Then shoved his imagination back down again and tried to think. The way no one had, last night.
"Does it occur to you," Grant said, "the fallibility of CIT memory? Flux-thinking. You have prophetic dreams, remember? Youcan dream about a man drinking a glass of milk. A week later you can see Yanni drinking tea at lunch and if seeing him do that has a high shock-value, you'll super the dream-state right over him, you'll swear you dreamed about him doing that, exactly at that table, and even psychprobe can't sort it out after that. It's happened to me twice in my life. And when it does, I take my tape out of the vault and betake myself to the couch for a session until I feel better. Listen to me: I'll concede the child's behavior may have been significant. I'll wait to see how it integrates with other behavior. But if you want my analysis of the situation, every CIT in that room went dream-state. Including you. Mass hallucination. The only sane people in that room for thirty seconds were the azi and that kid, and most of us were keyed on our CITs and bewildered as hell."
"Except you?"
"I was watching you andher."
Justin gave a heavy sigh and some of the tension went out of him. It was nothing, God knew, he did not know.It was what Grant said, a roomful of psychologists forgot their science. Flux-thinking. Shades of values. "Hell with Hauptmann," he muttered. "I'm becoming an Emoryite." Two more quiet breaths. He could remember it with less emotional charge now and see the child—instead of the woman. I'm going to a party at Valery's.
