Текст книги "Cyteen "
Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh
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"You're damn right the records show it." Giraud found his breath difficult. "My God, we never knew the thing was actually launched!You know what kind of a security problem we've got? This isn't the 2350s. We're not at war. Your damn little timebomb's gone off in a century when we've got aliens stirred up on Sol's far side, we've got ecological treaties—we've got our own position,for God's sake, on ecological responsibility, the genebanks, the arks, the—"
"It was, of course, the architect of the genebanks and the treaty and the arks who actually administered Reseune during the development of the Gehenna colony. Councillor Emory was signatory to all contracts with Defense."
"_the Abolitionists, my God,we've handed them the best damn issuethey could have dreamed of! It was a study project. God, Jordan Warrick's fatherworked on those Gehenna tapes."
"We trust Reseune security procedures didn't tell the project members what they were working on."
"Trust, hell! It's on the news,general. The news gets to Planys, eventually. You want to gamble Jordan Warrick won't know who in what department might have been working on those tapes, and what names and what specifics to hand to investigators if they get to him?"
"Damage his own father's reputation?"
"To protecthis father's reputation, dammit; and blast Reseune's. You spent forty thousand azi to sabotage a planet,for God's sake, you linked the research to the Science Bureau, and it couldn't have picked a worse time to surface." .
"Oh," Lu said quietly, "I can imagine worse times than this. This is a quiet time, a time when humanity—especially Alliance—has many other worries. In fact Gehenna's done exactly what it was designed to do: there is ecological calamity, Alliance is holding off development. The course of development of the Alliance has been irrevocably altered: if they absorb that population they will absorb an ethnically unique community with Union values, if you believe in the validity of your own taped instructions. In any case, we forestalled either Alliance or Earth getting a very valuable resource—and a stepping-stone to further stars. Now Alliance will either track down a scattered lot of primitives and remove them by force—a logistic nightmare—or Alliance will have to take them into account in its own settlement of the world. If they choose to settle. Intelligence informs us they're having second thoughts. They perceive a possible difficulty if they entangle themselves with this—ground-bound culture. There was always a vocal opposition to their colonization effort. The spacers who are far and away the majority in Alliance are quite doubtful about any move that puts power in the hands of the ground-bound—blue-skyers, as spacers call them, and a pre-industrial constituency—or another, much more problematical protectorate—is more than the Council of Captains wants to take on ... not mentioning of course, theirscience bureau, which bids fair to study it to death, while the construction companies scheduled to build a station there are holding off their creditors. The Alliance ambassador demands information for their Science people and an apology; cheap at the price. There'll be a little coolness—ultimately cooperation. I assure you, they're much more scared at what Sol has poked into than weare—only natural considering they're much closer to the problem. All in all, it's an excellent time for it to surface: we watched their preparations, we weren't taken by surprise—that's why Adm. Gorodin is inaccessible, as it happens. We knew this was coming."
"And kept it from us!"
Lu maintained an icy little silence. Then: "Us—meaning Science; or us, meaning Reseune?"
"Us, Reseune, dammit! Reseune has an interest in this!"
"A past interest," Lu said. "The child is far from adult. She can ride out this storm. Emory is beyond reach of any law, unless you are religious. Let them subpoena a few documents. Warrick is in quarantine, thoroughly discredited as far as testimony before the Council might go. If his father was working on the project, it can only harm the Warrick name. What is there to concern Reseune?"
Giraud shut his mouth. He was sweating. Bogdanovitch was dead four years ago, Harad of Fargone was in the seat of State and making common cause with Gorodin of Defense and deFranco of Trade, and Lao of Information. Damn them. The Expansionist coalition held firm, the Abolitionists were in retreat and Corain and the Centrists had lost ground, losing Gorodin to the Expansionist camp where he had always belonged, but Nasir Harad, damn him, snuggled close to Gorodin, the source of the fat Defense contracts for his station, and State and Defense and Information were the coalition within the Expansionist coalition—the secret bedfellows.
Reseune did not have the influence it had had. That was the bitter truth Giraud had to live with. It gave him stomach upsets and kept him awake at night. But Ari had been—so far as they understood—unique.
"Let me tell you," Giraud said, "there are things within our files which are very sensitive. We do not want them released. More, we don't want any chance of Warrick being called out of Planys to testify. You don't understand how volatile that situation is. He has to be kept quiet. His recall of small detail, things he might have heard, things he might have discussed with his father down the years—will be far better than you or I want. His memory is extremely exact. If you don't want Alliance to be able to unravel what you've done in specific detail, keep Warrick quiet,can I be more clear?"
"Are you saying present administration can be compromised?"
Dangerous question. Dangerous interest. Giraud took another breath. "I'm only asking you to listen to me. Before you discover that the threads of this lead, yes, under closed doors. You want the Rubin project blown to hell—you let Warrick get loose, and there won't bea Rubin project."
"Sometimes we're not sure there is a Rubin project," Lu said acidly, "since RESEUNESPACE has yet to do more than minor work. Tests, you say. Data collation. Isthere a director?"
"There is a director. We're about to transfer the bank. It's not a small operation. This inquiry is not going to help us. We're strained as it is. There's an enormous amount of data involved. That's the nature of the process. We are in operation. We have been in operation for six years. We do not intend to waste resources in a half-hearted effort, general." Damn. It's a tactic. Distract and divert. "The point is Warrick. The point is that the Planys facility is under your security and we have to rely on it. We hope we canrely on it."
"Absolutely. As we hope to rely on your cooperation on the Gehenna matter, Councillor Nye."
Blackmail. Plain and simple. He saw Harad's hand in this. "To what extent?"
"Agreement to cooperate with Alliance scientists. We'll swear it was a lost operation, one concealed behind the secrecies of war. Something no one knew had been done. No one in office now. That a communications screw-up saw it launched."
"Ariane Emory's name has to be kept out of it."
"I don't think that's possible. Let the dead bear the onus of responsibility. The living have far more at stake. I assure you—far more at stake. We want to keep an active channel into this situation on Gehenna. Descendants of Union citizens are still legally our citizens. If we choose to take that view. We may not. In any case—Science should be interested in the impact on the ecology; and the social system. We stand to gain nothing by withholding an apparent cooperation. Notthe actual content of the tapes, to be sure. But at least the composition of the colony, the ratio of military personnel to azi. The personal histories of some of the military. Conn, for instance. Distinguished service. They should have some recognition, after all these years,"
Sentiment. Good God.
"Reseune," Giraud said, "equally values Emory's distinguished record."
"I'm afraid that part will get out. The azi, you know. Once the public knows that, there's hardly any way you can hide it. But damage control is already in operation. State is onto it."
"Harad knewabout this operation?"
"It does fall within State's area of responsibility. Science doesn't make foreign policy. Ourobligation in that consideration is quite different. I do urge you to think—what your contracts are worth. We do notcontract primarily with Bucherlabs. We continue to work with you. We continue to support RESEUNESPACE—even at a cost disadvantage. We expect that relationship to be a mutually satisfactory one—one we hope we can continue."
"I see," Giraud said bitterly. "I see." And after a breath or two: "Ser Secretary, we need that data protected—for more than a dead woman's reputation. To keep Council from blowing this wide open—and destroying any chance of success."
"Now you want our help. You want me to throw myself and my Bureau on the grenade. Is that it? —Let me explain to you, ser, we have otherconsiderations right now, primarily among them a rampant anti-militarism that's feeding on this scandal as it is—which is a critical danger to our national defense, at a time when we're already under budget constraints, at a time when we can't get the ships we need and we can't get the problem of expanded perimeters through the heads of the public or the opposition of Finance in Council. We have a major problem, ser, your project has become a sink into which money goes and nothing emerges, and, dammit, you want us to stand and shield you from inquiry while you refuse our requests for records. I suggest you defend yourself,ser—with Reseune's well-known resources. Maybe it's time to bring this project of yours put. Make a choice. Give me a reasonI can useto maintain that data as Classified—or give me the records I need."
"She's not ready, my God, not now,in the middle of scandal that touches her predecessor. She's a six-year-old kid, she can't handle that land of attack—"
"It's your problem," Lu said, folding his hands, settling into that implacable, bland stare. "We don't know, frankly, ser, if we haveanything to protect. For all you've been willing to demonstrate to us, it is another Bok clone."
"I'll show you records."
"Bok's clone was quite good as a child. It was later the problems manifested. Wasn't it? And unless you're willing to go public with the child and give me a reason to clamp down on the records—I can't extend that protection any further than I have."
"Dammit, you leave us vulnerable and they'll find us the door that leads to your own territory."
"Through yours,I think. You were very active in Reseune administration in those years. Can it be—those records you defend—lay the blame to you, ser?"
"That's your guess. It may shine light where a good many people don't want it."
"So we direct the strike, don't we? It's always useful to know what you've left open for attack. I'm sorry it has to be in your territory. But I certainly won't leave it in mine."
"If you'll apply a little patience—"
"I prefer the word progress,which, quite truthfully, I find lacking in Reseune lately. We can discuss this. I am prepared to discuss it. But I think you'll understand I am inflexible on certain points. Cooperation is very essential just now. If we do not have a reason to withhold those records, we must provide those records. You must understand—we have to provide something to the inquiry. And soon."
One did. One sat and one listened while the Defense proxy,damn him to hell, laid out Gorodin's program for, as he called it, damage control.
A proposal for scientific and cultural cooperation with Alliance. Coming from Defense via the Science Bureau.
An official expression of regret from the Council in joint resolution, made possible by the release of selected documents by the present administration of Reseune, indicating Bogdanovitch, Emory, and Azov of Defense, all safely deceased, collaborated in the planning of the Gehenna operation.
Damnhim.
"We'll see to Warrick," Lu said. "Actually—allowing him conference with his son might have some benefit right now. Monitored, of course."
viii
"Justin?"The voice came from the other end, Jordan's voice, his father's voice, after eight years; and Justin, who had steeled himself not to break down, notto break down in front of Denys, on whose desk-phone the call came, bit his lip till it bled and watched the image come out of the break-up on the screen—a Jordan older, thinner. His hair was white. Justin stared in shock, in the consciousness of lost years, and mumbled: "Jordan—God, it's good to see you. We're fine, we're all fine. Grant's not here for this one, but they'll let him next time. . . ."
". . . You're looking fine,"Jordan's voice overrode him, and there was pain in his eyes. "God, you've grown a bit, haven't you? It's good to see you, son.
Where's Grant?"
Time-delay. They were fifteen seconds lagged, by security at either end.
"You're looking good yourself." O God,the banalities they had to use, when there was so little time. When there was everything in the world to say, and they could not, with security waiting to break the connection at the first hint of a breach of the rules. "How's Paul? Grant and I are living in your apartment, doing real well. I'm still in design—"
A lift from Denys' hand warned him. No work discussions. He stopped himself.
". . . A little grayer. I know. I'm not doing badly at all. Good health and all that. Paul too. Damn, it's good to see your face. . . ."
"You can do that in a mirror, can't you?" He forced a little laugh. "I hope I do look that good at the same age. Got a good chance, right? —I can't report much—" They won't let me. "—I've been keeping busy. I get your letters." Cut to hell. "I really look forward to them. So does—"
His father grinned as the joke got through. "You're my time machine. You've got a good chance. . . . I get your letters too. I keep all of them."
"So does Grant. He's grown too. Tall. You could figure. We're sort of left hand and right. We look out for each other. We're doing fine."
"You weren't going to catch him. Not the way he was growing. Paul's gone gray too. Rejuv, of course. I'm sorry. I was absolutely certain I'd told you in the letters. I forget about it. I'm too damn lazy to dye it."
Meaning the censors had cut the part it was in, damn them.
"I think it looks pretty good. Really. You know everything looks pretty much the same at home—" Not elsewhere. "Except I miss you. Both of you."
" I miss you too, son. I really do. They're signing me I've got to close down now. Damn, there's so much to say. Be good. Stay out of trouble."
"You be good. We're all right. I love you."
The image broke up and went to snow. The vid cut itself off. He bit his lips and tried to look at Denys with dignity. The way Jordan would have. "Thanks," he said.
Denys' mouth made a little tremor of its own. "That's all right. That went fine. You want a tape? I ran one."
"Yes, ser, I would like it. For Grant."
Denys ejected it from the desk recorder and gave it to him. And nodded to him. Emphatically. "I'll tell you: they're watching you very closely. It's this Gehenna thing."
"So they want a good grip on Jordan, is that it?"
"You understand very well. Yes. That's exactly what they want. That's exactly why Defense suddenly changed its mind about priorities. There's even a chance—a chance, understand—you may get an escorted trip to Planys. But they'll be watching you every time you breathe."
That shook him. Perhaps it was meant to. "Is that in the works?"
"I'm talking with them about it. I shouldn't tell you. But, God, son, don't make any mistakes. Don't do anything. You've done spectacularly well, since you—got your personal problem worked out. Your work's quite, quite fine. You're going to be taking on more responsible things—you know what I mean. More assignments. I want you and Grant to work together on some designs. Really, I want you to work into a staff position here. Both of you."
"Why? So you've got something to take away?"
"Son,—" Denys gave a deep sigh and looked worried. "No. Precisely the opposite. I want you to be necessary here. Very necessary. They're setting up the Fargone facility. And that's a hell of a long way from Planys."
A cold feeling crept about his heart, old and familiar.
"For God's sake," Denys said, "don'tgive them a chance. That's what I'm telling you. We're not totally in control of what's happening. Defense has gotten its hands on your father. It's not going to let go. You understand, it's Gehenna that got you what you've gotten this far: it's Gehenna and the fallout from that, that's made them think they have to give your father something to lose. But we haven't released you to them. We've kept you very quiet. The fact that you were a minor protected you and Grant from some things: but without their noticing—you've gotten old enough to mess with. And the RESEUNESPACE facility at Fargone has a military wing, where you'd make a hell of a hostage."
"Is that a threat?"
"Justin, —give me at least a little respite. Give me as much credit as I give you. And your father. I'm trying to warn you about a trap. Thinkabout it, if nothing else. I truly don't trust this sudden beneficence on the part of Defense. You're right not to. And I'm trying to warn you of a possible problem. If you're essential personnel we have a hold on you, and whatever you think, you're a hell of a lot safer if we have that hold, now. Draw your own conclusions. You know damn well what an advantage it would be for them if they could have you under their hand out at Fargone and Jordan in their keeping at Planys. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Use that information any way you see fit. But I'll give you what chance I can."
He took the tape. He thought about it. "Yes, ser," he said finally. Because Denys was right. Fargone was not where he wanted to be sent, not now, not any longer. No matter what Jordan might have wanted.
ix
I thought this might handle some of your objections on MR-1959,Justin typed at the top of his explanation of the attachment to the EO-6823 work, —JW.And pulled the project files up and sent them over to Yanni Schwartz's office.
With trepidations.
He was working again. Working overtime and very hard, and earnestly trying, because he saw where he had gotten to. He took the tapes. He assimilated things. He tried the kind of designs he had been working on in his spare time eight years ago and tried to explain to Yanni that they were only experimental alternates to the regular assignments.
Which for some reason made Yanni madder than hell.
But then, a lot of things did.
"Look," Justin had said when Yanni blew up about the MR-1959 alternate, "Yanni, I'm doing this on my own time. I did the other thing. I just thought maybe you could give me a little help on this."
"No damn way you can doa thing like this," Yanni had said. "That's all there is to it."
"Explain."
"You can't link a skill tape into deep-sets. You'll turn out rats on a treadmill. That's what you're doing."
"Can we talk about this? Can we do this at lunch? I really want to talk about this, Yanni. I think I've got a way to avoid that. I think it's in there."
"I don't see any reason to waste my time on it. I'm busy, son, I'm busy!Go ask Strassen if you can find her. If anybody can find her. Let her play instructor. For that matter, ask Peterson. He's got patience. I don't. Just do your job and turn in your work and don't give me problems, for God's sake, I don't need any more problems!"
Peterson handled the beginners.
That was what Yanni meant.
He did not object with the fact that Denys Nye had urged him to take up his active studies. He did not object with the fact Ariane Emory had had time to look at his prototype designs. He swallowed it and told himself that Yanni always hit below the belt when he was bothered, Yanni was a psych designer, Yanni was right up there with the best they had, and Yanni working with an azi was patience itself; but Yanni arguing with a CIT cut loose with every gun he had, including the psych-tactics. Of course it stung. That was because Yanni was damned good and he was firing away at a psychological cripple who was trapped and frustrated at every turn.
So he got out of there with a quiet Yes, ser, I understand. And ached all night before he got his mental balance again, gathered up his shattered nerves, and decided: All right, that's Yanni, isn't it? He's still the best I've got. I can wear him down. What can he do to me? What can words do?
A hell of a lot, from a psychmaster, but living in Reseune and aiming to bewhat Yanni was, meant taking it and gathering himself up and going on.
"Don't take him so seriously," was Grant's word on the fracas—Grant, who went totally business and very shielded when he was within ten feet of Yanni Schwartz, because Yanni scared him out of good sense.
"I don't," Justin said. "I won't. He's the only one who canteach me anything, except Jane Strassen and Giraud and Denys, and hell if I'll go to the Nyes. Let's don't even think about hanging around Strassen."
"No," Grant said fervently. "I don't think you'd better do that."
Considering what else hung around Strassen's office, to be sure.
He did not consciously set up war with Yanni. Only he hurt inside, he was unsure of himself, he tried to do his best work and Yanni wanted him to design with tabs so a surgeon could pull it out again, because, as Yanni had said on a quieter day, when pressed a second time to be specific on the MR-1959 problem: "You're not that good, dammit, and a skill tape isn't a master-tape. Quit putting feathers on a pig. Stay out of the deep-sets, or haven't you got brains enough to see where that link's going? I haven't got time for this damn messing around. You're wasting your time and you're wasting mine. You might be a damn fine designer if you got a handle on your own problems and quit fucking around with things they learned eighty years ago wouldn't fucking work!You haven't invented the wheel, son, you've just gone down an old dead end."
"Ari never said that," he offered finally, which was like pulling his guts up. It came out in a half-breath and much too emotional.
"What did she say about it?"
"She just critiqued the design and said there were sociological ramifications I didn't have—"
"Damn right."
"She said she was going to think about it. Ari—was going to thinkabout it. She didn't say she could answer me right then. She didn't say Ishould think about it. So I don't think you can toss me off like that. I can show you the one I was working on, if that makes a difference."
"Son, you'd better wake up to it, Ari was after one thing with you, and you damn well know what that was. Don't go off on some damn mental tangent and fuck yourself up six, eight years later because you're so damn sure you were better at seventeen than you are now. That's crap. Recognize it. You got fucked up in several senses, it's natural you want to try to pick up where you left off, but you'd do yourself a better service if you picked up where you are,son, and realized that it wasn't your ideasthat made Ari invite you into her office and spend all that time with you. All right?"
For a moment he could hardly get his breath. They were private, in Yanni's office. No one could hear but them. But no one, no one,in all these years, had ever said to him as bluntly what Yanni said, not even Denys, not even Petros, and he got a fight-flight flash that shoved enough adrenaline into his system that he reacted, he knew he was reacting: he wanted to be anywhere else but trapped in this, with a man he dared not hit—God, they would have him on the table inside the hour, then—
"Fuck you,Yanni, what are you trying to do to me?"
"I'm trying to help you."
"Is that your best? Is that the way you deal with your patients? God help them."
He was close to breaking down. He clenched his jaw and held it. You know I've been in therapy, you unprincipled bastard. Get off me.
And Yanni took a long time about answering him, much more quietly. "I'm trying to tell you the truth, son. No one else is. Don't corner him, Petros says. What do you want? Petros to put a fresh coat of plaster on it? He can't lay a hand on you. Denyswon't let him do an intervention. And that's what you fucking need,son, you need somebody to cut deep and grab hold of what's eating at you and show it to you in the daylight, I don't care how you hate it. I'm not your enemy. They're all so damn scared how it'll look if they bring you in for major psych. They don'twant that for fear it'll leak and Jordan will blow. But I care about you,son, I care so damn much I'll rip your guts out and give them to you on a plate, and trust the old adage doesn't hold and that you canput yourself back together. Ari's in the news right now and it's not good; and there's too damn much media attention hovering around the edges of our security. We can'tarrest you and haul you in for the treatment you need. You listen to me. You listen. Everybody else is saving their ass. And you're bleeding, while Petros does half-hearted patches on a situation all of us can see: Denys tried to talk to you. You won't cooperate. Thank God you aretrying to wake up and get to work. If I did what I wanted, son, I'd have shot you full of juice before I had this little talk with you and maybe it'd sink in. But I want you to look real hard at what you're doing. You're trying to go back to where you were. You're wasting time. I want you to accept what happened, figure the past is the past, and turn me in the kind of work you're capable of. Fastwork. You're slow. You're damned slow. You muddle along with checks and rechecks like you're scared shitless you're going to fuck up, and you don't need to do that. You're not the final checker, you don't have to work like you are, because I'm sure as hell not going to let you do that for a long while yet. So just relax, put the work out,and do the best you can on your own level. Not—" He made a careless flip at the pages. "Not this stuff."
He sat there in silence a while. Bleeding, like Yanni said. And because he was stubborn, because there was only one thing he wanted, he said: "Prove to me I'm wrong. Do me a critique. Run it past Sociology. Show me what the second and third generation would do. Show me how it integrates. Or doesn't."
"Have you looked around you? Have you seen the kind of schedules we've been running? Where do you think I've got the time to mess with this? Where do you think I'm going to budget Sociology to solve a problem that's been solved for eighty years?"
"I'm saying it's solved here. I'm saying I've got it. Youcritique my designs, then. You want to tell me I'm crazy, showme where I'm wrong."
"Dammit,I won't help you wallow in the very thing that's the matter with you!"
"I'm Jordan's son. I was good enough—"
"Was, was, was,dammit! Stop looking at the past! Six years ago wasn't worth shit, son!"
"Prove it to me. Proveit, Yanni, or admit you can't."
"Go to Peterson!"
"Peterson can't prove anything to me. I'm better than he is. I started that way."
"You arrogant little bastard! You're notbetter than Peterson. Peterson pays his way around here. If you weren't Jordan's son, you'd be living in a one-bedroom efficiency with an allotment your work entitles you to, which won't pay for your fancy tastes, son. Grant and you together don't earn that place you're living in."
"What does my father's work pay for, and what does he get? Send my designs to him. He'd find the time."
Yanni took in a breath. Let it out again. "Damn. What do I do with you?"
"Whatever you want. Everyone else does. Fire me. You're going to get these designs about once a week. And if you don't answer me I'll ask. Once a week. I want my education, Yanni. I'm due that. And you're the instructor I want. Do whatever you like. Say whatever you like. I won't give up."
"Dammit—"
He stared at Yanni, not even putting it beyond Yanni to get up, come around the desk and hit him. "I'd ask Strassen," he said, "but I don't think they want me near her. And I don't think she's got the time. So that leaves you, Yanni. You can fire me or you can prove I'm wrong and teach me why. But do it with logic. Psyching me doesn't do it."
"I haven't got the time!"
"No one does. So make it. It doesn't take much, if you can see so clearly where I'm wrong. Two sentences are all I need. Tell me where it'll impact the next generation."
"Get the hell out of here."
"Am I fired?"
"No," Yanni snarled. Which was the friendliest thing staff had said to him in years.
So he did two tapes. One for Yanni. One the one he wished they would let him use. Because it taught him things. Because it let him see the whole set. Because, as Grant said, a skill was damned important to an azi. And he still could not work out the ethics of it—whether it was right to make a Theta get real pleasure out of the work instead of the approval. There was something moral involved. And there were basic structural problems in linking that way into an azi psychset, that was the trouble with it, and Yanni was right. An artificial psychset needed simple foundations, not complicated ones, or it got into very dangerous complexities. Deep-set linkages could become neuroses and obsessive behavior that could destroy an azi and be far more cruel than any simple boredom.
But he kept turning in the study designs for Yanni to see, when Yanni was in a mellow mood; and Yanni had been, now and again.
"You're a fool," was the best he got. And sometimes a paragraph on paper, outlining repercussions. Suggesting a study-tape out of Sociology.
He cherished those notes. He got the tapes. He ran them. He found mistakes. He built around them.
"You're still a fool," Yanni said. "What you're doing, son, is making your damage slower and probably deeper. But keep working. If you've got all this spare time I can suggest some useful things to do with it. We've got a glitch-up in a Beta set. We've got everything we can handle. The set is ten years old and it's glitching off one of three manual skills tapes. We think. The instructor thinks. You've got the case histories in this fiche. Apply your talents to that and see if you and Grant can come up with some answers." He went away with the fiche and the folder, with a trouble-shoot to run, which was hell and away more real work than Yanni had yet trusted him with. Which was, when he got it on the screen, a real bitch. The three azi had had enough tape run on them over the years to fill a page, and each one had been in a different application. But the glitch was a bad one. The azi were all under patch-tape, a generic calm-down-it's-not-your-fault, meaning three azi were waiting real-time in some anguish for some designer to come up with something to take their nameless distress and deal with it in a sensible way. God, it was months old. They were not on Cyteen. Local Master Supervisors had all had a hand in the analysis, run two fixes on one, and they had gone badly sour.
