Текст книги "Cyteen "
Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh
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Not a touch of maliciousness in that. She had not been playing her game then. She had looked up with a face as innocent as any child's and offered a let's-be-friends opening. Them and Us. Peace-making, maybe. He was not in touch with his own four-year-old memories. Jacobs, who worked that level in citizen psych, could tell him what a four-year-old CIT was like. But he could haul up a few things out of that dark water: Jordan's face when he was in his thirties.
Himself and Grant feeding the pond-fish. Four or five or six. He was not sure. It was one of his oldest memories and he could not pin it down.
And he sweated, suddenly, shying off.
Why? Why do I do that?
What's wrong with me?
Walls.
Children—had not been an interest of his. Emphatically—not an interest of his. He had mentally shied off every chance to learn, fled his own childhood like a territory he was not going back to; and the preoccupation of Reseune with the Project had disgusted him.
Twenty-three years old and a fool, doing routine work, wasting himself, not thinking to left and right. Just straight down a track. Not checking out much tape because tape meant helplessness; because tape opened up areas he did not want opened.
Throwing down those walls to then,to Jordan, to anything that had been—brought the anger up, made his palms sweat. Getting involved—
But they had becomeinvolved.
"It's a trap, isn't it?" he said to Grant. "Your psychset won't let you see what I saw. But is it valid for her,Grant? She has that flux-dimension, and so do all us CITs."
Grant gave a humorless laugh. "You're conceding I'm right."
"It was a roomful of CITs being fools. But maybe we saw something you didn't."
"Flux. Flux. Klein bottles. True and not-true. I'm gladI know what planet I'm standing on, all the time. And I saw what I saw without supering the past orthe future."
"Damn. Sometimes I wish I could borrow your tape."
Grant shook his head. "You're right too. About seeing things I don't. I know you do. I'm worried. I'm worried because I know I can't see the situation the way a CIT does. I can logic my way through what you'll do, but damned if I can understand the flux."
"You mean your pathways are so down azi-tracks you don't see it." He could not let the Hauptmann-Emory debate pass; Grant nattered at him with it all the time, and Grant was trying him with it now. Under the other things, a little touch of clinical perspective: get out of it, Justin. Don't react. Think.
"I mean," Grant said, "if we were all azi we wouldn't havethis problem. And shewouldn't: they could install the damn psychset and she'd be exactly what they wanted. But she isn't. They aren't. Rationality isn't what they're after, it's not what they're practicing. From where I stand, you're as upside down as they are, and I wish to hell you'd listen to me and keep your head down, throw out the hallucinations, and don't react. Any possible trouble is years away. There's time to prepare for it."
"You're absolutely right: we're not dealing with azi mindset here. They're not a hell of a lot careful. If anything goes wrong with their precious project next week they'll know it was my fault. Anytime that kid crosses my path—there's no way I can be innocent. Facts have nothing to do with it. She's just damn well killed any chance of getting any give in Jordan's situation; hell, they may not even let the letters through—"
"Don't lookfor blame. Don't act as if you have it. Mark me: if you go around reacting, they'll react."
Ari's voice. Out of the past. Sweet, get control of yourself. Boy, I do appreciate your distress, but get a grip on it. Are you afraid of women, sweet? Your father is. Family is such a liability.
He rested his head in his hands and knew even when he did it that he had lost his edge, lost everything, scattered it as thoroughly as he could manage it—all the fine-edged logic, all the control, all the defensive mechanisms. He walked Reseune's corridors like a ghost, laid himself open to everyone, shielded no reactions. See, I'm harmless.
No one had to worry about him. He was all nerves and reactions. He detected everyone's vague distaste and their caution around him. Jordan's calamity and his own guilt over precipitating it had taken the fight out of him, maybe made him half crazy, that was what they had to think.
Except the handful who had seen the tapes. Who had seen those damnable tapes and knew what Ari had done, knew why he waked in cold sweats and why he shied off from people touching him or being near him. Especially Petros Ivanov knew, having probed his mind after Giraud and everyone had done with him. I'm going to do a little intervention,Petros had said, patting his shoulder while he was going under; it had taken three large Security men to get him over there to hospital and several interns to get the drug into him. Giraud's orders. I'm just going to tell you it's all right. That you're safe. You've been through trauma. I'm going to close off that time. All right? Relax. You know me, Justin. You know I'm on your side. . . .
O God, what did they do to me? Ari, Giraud, Petros—He wept. Grant put a hand on his arm. Grant was the only one, the only one who could. The child had touched his hand. And he had flashed-back. It was like touching a corpse.
He sat like that for a long time. Until he heard voices, and knew other people were on the walk, far across the quadrangle. There was a hedge to hide them. But he made the effort to pull himself together. "Justin?" Grant said. "I'm all right. Dammit." And, which he had never said to Grant: "Petros did something to me. Or Giraud did. Or Ari. Don't you see it? Don't you see a difference?"
"No."
"Tell me the truth, dammit!"
Grant flinched. A strange, distant kind of flinching. And pain, after that. Profound pain.
"Grant? Do youthink they did something to me?"
"I don't understand born-men," Grant said.
"Don't give me that shit!"
"—I was about to say—" Grant's face was white, his lips all but trembling. "Justin, you people—I don't understand."
"Don't lie to me. What were you going to say?"
"I don't know the answer. God, you'd been shocked over and over; if you were azi you'd have gone like I did. Better if you could have. I don't know what's going on inside you. I see—I see you—"
"Spit it out, Grant!"
"—You're not—not like you would have been if it hadn't happened. Who could be? You learn. You adjust."
"That's not what I'm asking. Did they do anything?"
"I don't know," Grant said. All but stammered. "I don't know. I can't judge CIT psychsets."
"You can judge mine."
"Don't back me into a corner, Justin. I don't know.I don't know and I don't know how to know."
"I'm psyched. Is that what you see? Come on. Give me some help,Grant."
"I think you've got scars. I don't know whether Petros helped or hurt."
"Or knocked me the rest of the way down and did it to me like Ari did. The kid—" It had been a jolt. A severe jolt. Time-trip. I'm afraid of the tape-flashes. I shut them out. I warp myself away from that time. That in itself is a decision, isn't it?
Petros: "I'm going to close it down."
Wall it off.
God. It's a psychblock. Itcould be.
They weren't my friends. Or Jordan's. I know that.
He drew a deep, sudden gulp of air. I'm blocking off everything I learned from her. I'm scared stiff of it.
"Justin?"
The kid's shaken it loose. The kid's thrown me back before Petros. Before Giraud. Back when there was just Ari.
Back when I didn't believe anything could get to me. I walked in her door that night thinking I was in control.
Two seconds later I knew I wasn't.
Family is a liability, sweet.
What was she telling me?
"Justin?"
Would shewant what Reseune is becoming? Would shewant that kid in Giraud's hands? Damn, he was in Ari's pocket while she was alive. But after she died—
"Justin!"
He became aware of Grant shaking at him. Of real fear. "I'm all right," he mumbled. "I'm all right." .
He felt Grant's hand close on his. Grant's hand was warm. The wind had gone through him. What he was looking at, he did not know. The garden. The pond. "Grant, —whether or not that kid's Ari reincarnate, she's smart. She's figured out how to psych them.Isn't that what it's all about? She's figured out what they want, isn't that what you say about Hauptmann's subjects? She's got them believing all of it. Denys and Jane and Giraud and all of them. Idon't have to believe in it to believe what can happen to us if Giraud thinks we're a threat."
"Justin. Let it alone. Let's go. It's cold out here.
"Doyou think they ran a psychblock on me?" He dragged himself back from out-there; looked at Grant's pale, cold-stung face. "Give me the truth, Grant."
A long silence. Grant was breathing hard. Holding back. It took no skill to see that.
"I think they could have," Grant said finally. The grip on his hand hurt. There was a tremor in Grant's voice. "I've done whatever I could. I've tried. Ever since. Don't slip on me. Don't let them get their hands on you again. And they can—if you give them any excuse. You know they can.
"I'm not going under. I'm not. I knowwhat they did." He took a deep breath and drew Grant closer, hugged him, leaned against him, exhausted. "I'm doing all right. Maybe I'm doing better than I have been in the last six years."
Grant looked at him, pale and panicked.
"I swear," Justin said. He was beyond cold. Frozen through. Numb. "Damn," he said. "We've got time, don't we?"
"We've got time," Grant said. And pulled at him. Come on. You re freezing. So am I. Let's get inside."
He got up. He threw the rest of the food to the fish, stuffed the napkin into his pocket with numb fingers, and walked. He was not thoroughly conscious of the route, of all the automatic things. Grant had no more to say until they got to the office in Wing Two.
Then Grant lingered at the door of his office. Just looked at him, as if to ask if he was all right. "I've got to run to library."
He gave Grant a silent lift of the chin. I'm all right. Go on, then.
Grant bit his lip. "See you at lunch."
"Right."
Grant left. He sat down in the disordered little office, logged on to the House system, and prepared to get to work. But a message-dot was blinking on the corner of his screen. He windowed it up.
See me first thing, my office,it said. Giraud Nye.
He sat there staring at the thing. He found his hand shaking when he reached to punch the off switch.
He was not ready for this. Psychprobe flashed into his mind; all the old nightmares. He needed all his self-control.
All the old reflexes were gone. Everything. Hewas vulnerable. Grant was.
He had whatever time it took to walk over there to pull himself together. He did not know what to do, whether to route himself past the library and try to warn Grant—but that looked guilty. Every move he could make could damn him.
No, he thought then, and bit his lip till it bled. It flashed back to another meeting. A taste of blood in his mouth. Hysteria jammed behind his teeth.
It's started,he thought. It's happened.
He turned the machine on, sent a message over to Grant's office: Giraud wants to see me. I may be held up on the lunch. —J.It was warning enough. What Grant could do about it, he had no idea.
Worry. That was what.
He shut down again, got up, locked the office, and walked down the corridor, still tasting the blood. He kept looking at things and people with the thought that he might not be back. That the next thing he and Grant might see might be an interview room in the hospital.
ix
Giraud's office was the same he had always had, in the Administrative Wing, the same paneled and unobtrusive entry with the outside lock—more security than Ari had ever used. Giraud was no longer official head of Security. He was CouncillorNye these days—for outsiders' information. But everyone in the House knew who was running Security—still.
Justin slid his card into the lock, heard it click, set for his CIT-number. He walked into the short paneled hall and opened the inside door, on the office where Giraud's azi Abban was at his accustomed desk.
That was the first thing he saw. In the next split-second he saw the two Security officers and Abban was rising casually from his chair.
He stopped cold. And looked at the nearer of the azi officers, eye to eye, calmly: Let's be civilized.He took the next quiet step inside and let the door shut at his back.
They had a body-scanner. "Arms out, ser," the one on the left said. He obliged them, let them pass the wand over him. It found something in his coat pocket. The officer pulled out the paper napkin. Justin gave him a disparaging look in spite of the fact that his heart was going like a hammer and the air in the room seemed too thin.
They satisfied themselves he was not armed. Abban opened the door and they took him through it.
Giraud was not the only one there. Denys was. And Petros Ivanov. He felt his heart trying to come up his throat. One of the officers held him lightly by the arm and guided him to the remaining chair, in front of Giraud's desk. Denys sat in a chair to the left of the desk, Petros to the right.
Like a tribunal.
And the Security men stayed, one with his hand on the back of Justin's chair, until Giraud lifted a hand and told them to leave. But Justin's ears told him someone had stayed when the door had shut.
Abban, he thought.
"You understand why you're here," Giraud said. "I don't have to tell you."
Giraud wanted an answer. "Yes, ser," he said in a muted voice.
They'll do what they damned well please.
Why have they got Petros here? Unless they're going to run a probe.
"Have you got anything to say?" Giraud asked.
"I don't think I should have to." He found a tenuous control of his voice. Dammit, get a grip on things.
And like a wind out of the dark: Steady, sweet.Don't give everything away.
"I didn't provoke that. God knowsI didn't want it."
"You could have damn well left."
"I left."
"After."Giraud's face was thin-lipped with anger. He picked up a stylus and posed it between his fingers. "What's your intention? To sabotage the project?"
"No. I was there like everyone else. No different. I was minding my own business. What did you do, prime her for that show? Is thatit? A little show? Impress the Family? Con the press? I'll betyou've got tape."
Giraud had not expected that. He gave away very little. Denys and Petros looked distressed.
"The child wasn't prompted," Denys said quietly. "You have my word, Justin, it wasn't prompted."
"The hell it wasn't. It's a damn good show for the news, isn't it—just the sort of thing that makes great fodder for the eetees out there. The kid singles out the killer's replicate. God! what a piece of science!"
"Don't bother to play for a camera," Giraud said. "We're not being taped."
"I didn't expect." He was shaking. He shifted his foot to relax his leg, to keep it from trembling. But, God, the brain was working. They were going to haul him off for another session, that was what they were working up to; and somehow that shook the fog out of his mind. "I imagine you'll work me over good before I get to the cameras. But it'd be sloppy as hell to have me on the tape in that party and dropping right out again. Or turning up dead. Makes a problem for you, doesn't it?"
"Justin," Petros said, a tone of appeal. "No one's going to 'work you over.' That's not what we're about here."
"Sure."
"What we're about," Giraud said in a hard, clipped voice, "is one clear question. Did youcue her?"
"You find your own answers. Write down whatever you want. Look at the damn tape."
"We have," Giraud said. "Grant had eye contact with her. So did you, right before she moved."
Attack on a new target. Of course they got around to Grant. "What else were people looking at? What else were we thereto look at? I looked at her. Did you think I'd come there and not?You saw me there. You could have told me to leave. But of course you didn't. You set me up. You set up the whole thing. How many people in there knew it? Just you?"
"You maintain you didn't cue her."
"Dammit, no. Neither of us did. I asked Grant. He wouldn't lie to me. He admits the eye contact. He was looking at her. 'I got caught at it,' was the way he put it. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't mine."
Petros stirred in his chair. Leaned toward Giraud. "Gerry, I think you have to take into account what I said."
Giraud touched the desk control. The screen tilted up out of the surface; he typed something with his right hand, likely a file-scan. Dataflow reflected off the metal on his collar, a flicker of green.
Manipulation of more than data. Orchestrated, Justin told himself. The whole play. A little moment of suspense now. Secrets.
And he still could not keep himself from reacting.
Giraud read or mimed reading. His breathing grew larger. His face was no friendlier when he looked up. "You don't like tapestudy. Odd, in a designer."
"I don't damn well trust it. Can you blame me?"
"You don't even do entertainment tapes."
"I work hard."
"Let's not have that kind of answer. You skipped out on your follow-ups with Petros. You don't take tape more than once every month or so. That's a damned strange attitude in a designer."
He said nothing. He had used all the glib answers.
"Even Grant," Giraud said, "doesn't go into the lab for his. He uses a home unit. Not at all regulation."
"There's no rule about that. If that satisfies him, it satisfies him. Grant's bright, he's got good absorption—"
"It's not your instruction to do that."
"No, it's not my instruction."
"You know," Petros said, "Grant's self-sufficient, completely social. He doesn't need that kind of reinforcement as often as some. But considering what he's been through, it would be better if he took it deep. Just as a checkup."
"Considering what you put him through? No!"
"So it is your instruction," Giraud said.
"No. It's his choice. It's his choice, he's entitled, the same as I am, the last I heard."
"I'm not sure we needa designer-team that's phobic about tape.
"Go to hell."
"Easy," Denys said. "Take it easy. Giraud, there's nothing wrong with his output. Or Grant's. That's not at issue."
"There was more than one victim in Ari's murder," Petros said. "Justin was. Grant was. I don't think you can ignore that fact. You're dealing with someone who was a boy when the incident happened, who was, in fact, the victim of Ari's own criminal act, among others. I haven't wanted to press the issue. I've been keeping an eye on him. I've sent him requests to come in to talk. Is that true, Justin?"
"It's true."
"You haven't answered, have you?"
"No." Panic pressed on him. He felt sick inside.
"The whole situation with the Project," Petros said, "has bothered you quite a bit, hasn't it?"
"Live and let live. I'm sorry for the kid. I'm sure you've got all the benefit of Security's eavesdropping in my apartment. I hope you get a lot of entertainment out of the intimate bits."
"Justin."
"You can go to hell too, Petros."
"Justin. Tell me the truth. Areyou still getting tape-flashes?"
"No."
"You're sure."
"Yes, I'm sure."
"You felt a lot of stress when you walked into the party, didn't you?
"Hell, no. Why should I?"
"I think that's your answer," Petros said to Giraud. "He came in there stressed. Both of them did. Ari had no trouble picking up on it. That's all there is to it. I don't think it was intended. I'm more disturbed about Justin's state of mind. I think it's just best he go back to his wing, and show up at family functions, and carry on as normally as he can. I don't think anything useful is served by a probe. He's carrying enough stress as it is. I do want him to come in for counseling."
"Giraud," Denys said, "if you believeyoung Ari's sensitivities, bear in mind she wasn't afraid of Justin. Stressed as he was, she wasn't afraid of him. Quite the opposite."
"I don't like that either." Giraud drew a breath and leaned back, looking at Justin from under his brows. "You'll take Petros' prescription. If he tells me you're not cooperating, you'll be tending a precip station before sundown. Hear me?"
"Yes, ser."
"You'll go on working. If something takes you across Ari's path, you speak to her or not according to your judgment, whichever will provoke the least curiosity. You'll show up at Family functions. If she speaks to you, be pleasant. No more than that. You stray off that line, you'll be in here again and I won't be in a good mood. And that goes for Grant, just the same. You make it clear to him. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, ser." Like any azi. Quiet. Respectful. It's a trap. It'll still close. There's something more to this.
"You can go. Open the door, Abban."
The door did open. He shoved himself out of his chair. Denys did the same. He made it as far as the door and Denys went out it with him, caught his arm, steered him past Security out into the small box of the entry hall and out again into the main corridor.
Then Denys tugged him to a stop. "Justin."
He stayed stopped. He was shaking, still. But defiance did not serve anything.
"Justin, you're under a lot of pressure. But you know and I know—there's no memory transfer. It's notthe old Ari. We don't want, frankly, another case of animosity with the Warricks. We don't wantyou taking Jordan's part in this. You know what's at stake."
He nodded.
"Justin, listen to me. Giraud did the probe on you. He knows damned well you're honest. He's just—"
"A bastard."
"Justin. Don't make things hard. Do what Giraud says. Don't make a mistake. You don't want to hurt the little girl. I know you don't. What Ari did to you—has nothing to do with her. And you wouldn't hurt her."
"No. I never did anything to Ari,for God's sake. You think I'd hurt a kid?"
"I know. I know that's true. Just think about that. Think about it the next time you have to deal with her. Ari tore you up. You can do the same thing to that child. You can hurt her. I want you to think seriously about that."
"I didn't do anything to her!"
"You didn't do anything. Calm down. Calm down and take a breath. Listen to me. If you can handle this right, it could help you."
"Sure."
Denys took his arm again, faced him closer to the wall as Security left the office. Held on to him. "Justin. I wanted to tell you—the request that's on my desk, the phone link: I'm going to give it a few weeks and then allow it. You'll be on some kind of delay—Jordan's clever, and Security has to have time to think. That's the best I can do. Does that make you feel better?"
"What's it cost me?"
"Nothing. Nothing. Just don't foul it up. Stay out of trouble. All right?"
He stared at the wall, at travertine patterns that blurred in front of his eyes. He felt Denys pat his shoulder.
"I'm damn sorry. I'm damn sorry. I know. You haven't had a day of peace. But I want you onthe Project. That's why I fought Giraud to keep you here. Ari liked you—no. Listen to me. Ari likedyou. Never mind what she did. I know her—posthumously—as well as I know myself. Ari's feud with Jordan was old and it was bitter. But she got your test scores and made up her mind she wanted you."
"They were faked!"
"No, they weren't. Not outstandingly high, you know that. But scattered through half a dozen fields. You had the qualities shehad. Not her match, but then, you hadn't had Olga Emory pushing you. She told me—personally—and this is no lie, son, that she wantedyou in her wing, that you were better than the tests showed, a damned lot better, she said, than Jordan. Her words, not mine."
"Science wasn't what she had in mind, you know that."
"You're wrong. It's not what you want to hear, God knows. But if you want to understand why she did what she did—that's something you shouldknow. I have one interest in this. Ari. Understand—she had cancer. Rejuv breakdown. The doctors argue whether the cancer kicked the rejuv or whether the rejuv was failing naturally and let the cancer develop. Whatever was going on, she knewshe was in trouble and the timing couldn't have been worse. Surgery would have delayed the project, so she put Petros and Irina under orders and covered it up. She set the whole project up, so that when she had to go for surgery—I'm sure she didn't rule that out: she wasn't a fool; but so when she did, it wouldn't leave the subject without support, you understand, and it could run a few months with a light hand. Understand: I knew, because I was her friend, Justin. I was the one she allowed access to her notes. Giraud's damn good at the money end of this. But my concern is her concern: the Project. I think you have your sincere doubts about it. No controls, no duplicatable result– But it's founded on two centuries of duplicatable results with the azi. And of course it's not the kind of thing that we can quantify: we're dealing with a human life, an emotional dimension, a subjective dimension. We may disagree like hell, Justin, in there, in private, and I respect you for your professional honesty. But if you try to sabotage us, you'll have me for an enemy. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, ser."
"I'll tell you another thing: Ari did some very wrong things. But she was a great woman. She wasReseune. And she was my friend. I've protected you; and I've protected her reputation by the same stroke; and damnedif I'll see some sordid little incident destroy that reputation. I'll keep you from that. You understand me?"
"You've got the tapes in the archives! If this poor kid halfway follows in Ari's track, researchers are going to want every last detail—and that's no small one."
"No. That won't matter. That's from the endof her life, beyond the scope of their legitimate interest. And even so, that's why we're working with Rubin. Rubin's the one the military can paw over. Ari is ourproject. Wekeep title on the techniques. Did Reseune ever release anything—it has a financial interest in?"
"My God, you can run that scam on the military for years. Admit it. It's Giraud's damn fund-raiser. His bottomless source of military projects."
Denys smiled and shook his head. "It's going to work,Justin. We didn't prompt her."
"Then tell me this: are you sure Girauddidn't?"
Denys' eyes reacted minutely. The face did not. It went on smiling. "Time will prove it, won't it? In your position, rather than be made a public fool, I'd keep my mouth shut, Justin Warrick. I've helped you. I've spoken for you and Jordan and Grant when no one else did. I've been your patron. But remember I was Ari's friend. And I won'tsee this project sabotaged."
The threat was there. It was real. He had no doubt of it. "Yes, ser," he said in half a voice.
Denys patted his shoulder again. "That's the only time I'm going to say that. I don't want ever to say it again. I want you to take the favor I'm doing you and remember what I told you. All right?"
"Yes ser."
"Are youall right?"
He drew a breath. "That depends on what Petros is going to do, doesn't it?"
"He's just going to talk to you. That's all." Denys shook at him gently. "Justin, —are you getting tape-flashes?"
"No," he said. "No." His mouth trembled. He let it. It made the point with Denys. "I've just had enough hell. The hospital panics me, all right? Do you blame me? I don't trust Petros. Or anyone on his staff. I'll answer his questions. If you want my cooperation, keep him away from me and Grant."
"Is that blackmail?"
"God, I couldn't have learned anything about that, could I? No. I'm asking you. I'll do anything you want me to. I've got no percentage in hurting the kid. I don't want that. I just want my job, I want the phone-link, I want to—"
He lost his composure, turned and leaned against the wall until he had gotten his breath.
Hand them all the keys, sweet, that's right.
Damn stupid.
"You've got all that," Denys said. "Look. You answer Petros' questions. You try to work this thing out. You were a scared kid yourself. You're still scared, and I'm terribly afraid all this did you more damage than you're willing to have known—"
"I can do my job. You said that."
"That's not in question. I assure you it's not. You don't know who to trust. You think you're all alone. You're not. Petros does care. I do. I know, that's not what you want to hear. But you can come to me if you feel you need help. I've told you my conditions. I want your help. I don'twant any accusations against Ari, the project, or the staff."
"Then keep Petros' hands off me and Grant. Tell Security to take their damn equipment out. Let me live my life and do my work, that's all."
"I want to help you."
"Then help me! Do what I asked. You'll get my cooperation. I'm not carrying on a feud. I just want a little peace, Denys. I just want a little peace, after all these years. Have I—ever—done anyone any harm?"
"No." A pat on his shoulder, on his back. "No. You haven't. Never anything. The harm was all against you."
He turned, leaning against the wall. "Then leave me alone,for God's sake, let me talk to my father, let me do my work, I'll be all right, just let me alone and get Security out of my bedroom!"
Denys looked at him a long time. "All right," he said. "We'll try that awhile. We'll try it, at least on the home front. I don't say we won't notice who comes and goes through your door. If something looks suspicious they'll be on you. Not otherwise. I'll give that order. Just don't give me any cause to regret it."
"No, ser," he said, because it was all he could get out.
Denys left him then.
When he got back to the office Grant met him in the doorway—Grant, scared and silent, asking questions just by being there.
"It's all right," he said. "They asked if we meant to do it. I said no. I said some other things. Denys said they were going to get Security off our tails."
Grant gave him a look that wondered who was listening and who he was playing for.
"No, it's what he said," he answered Grant. And shut the door for what privacy they had. He remembered the other thing, the important thing, then, the back and forth of promises and threats like so many hammer-blows, and he leaned on the back of the work-station chair, rinding himself short of breath. "He said they were going to let us talk to Jordan."
"Is that true?" Grant wondered.
That was the thing that threw him off his balance, that they suddenly promised him favors when they had least reason. When they could haul him off to hospital by force and they had just demonstrated that.
