Текст книги "Cyteen "
Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh
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Trust Catlin. Ari paid earnest attention to her eggs, because Catlin was real good at reading her face, and she came near laughing.
Hormones were still crazy. But the brain was starting to fight back.
The brain has to win out, Ari senior had said. But the little gland at the base of the brain is the seat of a lot of the trouble. It's no accident they're so close together: God has a sense of humor.
vii
"We're giving permission," Yanni said, "for Will to assimilate the routine. Ithink—and the board thought—he'd already done it to a certain extent, from the time it started working. With its touch with deep-set values, it's not at all surprising . . . and I agree with the board: it's cause for concern."
Justin looked at the edge of Yanni's desk. Unfocused. "I agree with that," he said finally.
"What do you think about it?"
He drew a breath, hauled himself back out of the mental shadows and looked at Yanni's face–not his eyes. "I think the board's right. I didn't see it in that perspective."
"I mean—what's your view of the problem?"
"I don't know."
"For God's sake, wake up,son. Didn't think, don't know, what in hell'sthe matter with you?"
He shook his head. "Tired, Yanni. Just tired."
He waited for the explosion. Yanni leaned forward on his arms and gave a heavy sigh.
"Grant?"
Justin looked at the wall.
"I'm damn sorry," Yanni said. "Son, it's temporary. Look, you want a schedule? He'll get his permit. It's coming."
"Of course it is," he said softly. "Of course it is. Everything's always coming. I know the damn game. I've had it, Yanni. I'm through. I'm tired, Grant's tired. I know Jordan's getting tired." He was close to tears. He stopped talking and just stared, blind, at the wall and the corner where the shelves started. A Downer spirit-stick, set in a case. Yanni had some artistic sense. Or it was a gift from someone. He had wondered that before. He envied Yanni that piece.
"Son."
"Don't call me that!" He wrenched his eyes back to Yanni, breath choking him. "Don't—call me that. I don't want to hear that word."
Yanni stared at him a long time. Yanni could rip him apart. Yanni knew him well enough. And he had given Yanni all the keys, over the years. Given him a major one now, with his reaction.
Even that didn't matter.
"Morley's sent a commendation on your work with young Benjamin," Yanni said. "He says—says your arguments are very convincing. He's going to committee with it."
The Rubin baby. Not a baby now. Aged six—a thin, large-eyed and gentle boy with a lot of health problems and a profound attachment to young Ally Morley. And in some measure—his patient.
So Yanni started hitting him in the soft spots. Predictably. He was not going to come out of this office whole. He had known that when Yanni hauled him in.
He stared at the artifact in the case.
Non-human. A gentle people humans had no right to call primitive. And of course did. And threw them into protectorate.
"Son—Justin. I'm telling you it's a temporary delay. I told Grant that. Maybe six months. No more than that."
"If I—" He was cold for a moment, cold enough at least to talk without breaking down. "If I agreed to go into detention—if I agreed to cooperate with a deep probe—about everything that's ever gone on between myself and Jordan—would that be enough to get Grant his permit?"
Long silence. "I'm not going to give them that offer," Yanni said finally. "Dammit, no."
He shifted his eyes Yanni's way. "I haven't got anything to hide. There's nothing there,Yanni, not even a sinful thought—unless you're surprised I'd like to see Reseune Administration in hell. But I wouldn't move to send them there. I've got everything to lose. Too many people do."
"I've got something to lose," Yanni said. "I've got a young man who's not a Special only because Reseune wouldn't dare bring the bill up—wouldn't dare give you that protection."
"That's a piece of garbage."
"I gave you a chance. I've taken risks with you. I didn't say I thought Will's got a problem. I'm saying that testing your routines—may have to absorb Test subjects. By their very nature. Once they've run, it takes mindwipe to remove them. That doesn't mean they're not useful."
Defense Bureau.
Test programs with mindwipe between runs—
"Justin?"
"God. God. I try to help the azi—and I've created a monstrosity for Defense. My God, Yanni—"
"Calm down. Calm down. We're not talking about the Defense Bureau."
"It willbe. Let them get wind of it—"
"A long way from Applications. Calm down."
It's my work. Without me—they can't. If something happened to me—they can't—not for a long while.
Oh, damn, all the papers, all my notes—
Grant. . . .
"Reseune doesn't give away its processes," Yanni said reasonably, rationally. "It's not in question."
"Reseune's in bedwith Defense. They have been, ever since Giraud got the Council seat."
Ever since Ari died. Ever since her successors sold out—sold out everything she stood for.
God, I wish—wish she was still alive.
The kid—doesn't have a chance.
"Son, —I'm sorry, Justin. Habit. —Listen to me. I see your point. I can see it very clearly. It worries me too."
"Are we being taped, Yanni?"
Yanni bit his Up, and touched a button on his desk. "Now we're not."
"Where's the tape?"
"I'll take care of it."
"Where's the damn tape, Yanni?"
"Calmdown and listen to me. I'm willing to work with you. Blank credit slip. Let me ask you something. Your psych profile says suicide isn't likely. But answer me honestly: is it something you ever think about?"
"No." His heart jumped, painfully. It was a lie. And not. He thought about it then. And lacked whatever it took. Or had no reason sufficient, yet. God, what does it take? Do I have to see the kids walking into the fire before I feel enough guilt? It's too late then. What kind of monster am I?
"Let me remind you—you'd kill Grant. And your father. Or worse—they'd live with it."
"Go to hell, Yanni."
"You think other researchers didn't ask those questions?"
"Carnath and Emory built Reseune! You think ethics ever bothered that pair?"
"You think ethics didn't bother Ari?"
"Sure. Like Gehenna."
"The colony lived. Lived, when every single CIT died. Emory's work, damned right. The azi survived."
"In squalor. In abominable conditions—like damned primitives—"
"Throughsqualor. Through catastrophes that peeled away every advantage they came with. The culture on that planet is an azi culture. And they're unique. You forget the human brain, Justin. Human ingenuity. The will to live. You can send an azi soldier into fire—but he's more apt than his CIT counterpart to turn to his sergeant and ask what the gain is. And the sergeant had better have an answer that makes sense to him. You should take a look at the military, Justin. You have a real phobia about that, pardon the eetee psych. They do deal with extreme stress situations. The military sets will walk into fire. But an azi who's too willing to do that is a liability and an azi who likes killing is worse. You take a look at reality before you panic. Look at our military workers down there. They're damned good. Damned polite, damned competent, damned impatient with foul-ups, damned easy to Super as long as they think you're qualified, and capable of relaxing when they're off, unlike some of our assembly-line over-achievers. Look at the reality before you start worrying. Look at the specific types."
"These are survivors too," Justin said. "The ones who outlived the War."
"Survival rate among azi is higher than CITs, fifteen something percent. I have no personal compunction about the azi. They're fine. They like themselves fine. Your work may have real bearing on CIT psych, in behavioral disorders. A lot of applications, if it bears out. We deal with humanity. And tools. You can kill a man with a laser. You can save a life with it. It doesn't mean we shouldn't have lasers. Or edged blades. Or hammers. Or whatever. But I'm damned glad we have lasers, or I'd be blind in my right eye. You understand what I'm saying?"
"Old stuff, Yanni."
"I mean, do you understandwhat I'm saying? Inside?"
"Yes." True. His instincts grabbed after all the old arguments like he was a baby going for a blanket. About as mature. About as capable of sorting out the truth. Damn. Hand a man a timeworn excuse and he went after it to get the pain to stop. Even knowing the one who handed it to him was a psych operator.
"Besides," Yanni said, "you're a man of principle. And humans don't stop learning things, just because they might be risky: if this insight of yours is correct you're only a few decades ahead of someone else finding it on his own. And who knows, that researcher might not have your principles—or your leverage."
"Leverage! I can't get my brother a visit with his father!"
"You can get a hell of a lot if you work it right."
"Oh, dammit!Are we down to sell-outs, now? Are we through doing morality today?"
"Your brother. Grant's a whole lot of things with you. Isn't he?"
"Go to hell!"
"Not related to you. I merely point out you do an interesting double value set there. You're muddy in a lot of sensitive areas—including a little tendency to suspect every success you have, a tendency to see yourself perpetually as a nexus defined by other people—Jordan's son, Grant's—brother, Administration's hostage. Less as a human being than as a focus of all these demands. Youhave importance, Justin, unto yourself. You're a man thirty—thirty-one years old. Time you asked yourself what Justin is."
"We areinto eetee psych, aren't we?"
"I'm handing it out free today. You're not responsible for the universe. You're not responsible for a damn thing that flows from things you didn't have the capacity to control. Maybe you areresponsible for finding out what you couldcontrol, if you wanted to, if you'd stop looking at other people's problems and start taking a look at your own capabilities—which, as I say, probably qualify you as a Special. Which also answers a lot of questions about why you haveproblems: lack of adequate boundaries. Lackof them, son. All the Specials have the problem. It's real hard to understand humanity when you keep attributing to everyone around you the complexity of your own thinking. You have quite a few very bright minds around you—enough to keep you convinced that's ordinary. Jordan's, particularly: he's got the age advantage, doesn't he, and you've always confused him with God. You think about it. You know all this with the Rubin kid. Apply it closer to home. Do us all a favor."
"Why don't you just explain what you want me to do? I'm real tired, Yanni. I give. You name it, I'll do it."
"Survive."
He blinked. Bit his lip.
"Going to break down on me?" Yanni asked.
The haze was gone. The tears were gone. He was only embarrassed, and mad enough to break Yanni's neck.
Yanni smiled at him. Smug as hell.
"I could kill you," Justin said.
"No, you couldn't," Yanni said. "It's not in your profile. You divert everything inward. You'll never quite cure that tendency. It's what makes you a lousy clinician and a damned good designer. Grantcan survive the stress—if you don't put it on him. Hear me?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. So don't do it. Go back to your office and tell him I'm putting his application through again."
"I'm not going to. It's getting too sensitive. He'shurting, Yanni. I can't take that."
Yanni bit his lip. "All right. Don't tell him. Do you understand whyit's a problem, Justin? They're afraid of the military grabbing him."
"God. Why?"
"Power move. You can tell him that. I'm not supposed to tell you. I'm breaking security. There's a rift in Defense. There's a certain faction that's proposing the nationalization of Reseune. That's the new move. Lu's health is going. Rejuv failure. He's got at most a couple more years. Gorodin is becoming increasingly isolated from the Secretariat in Defense. He may get a challenge to his seat. That hasn't happened since the war. An election in the military. There's the head of Military Research, throwing more and more weight behind the head of Intelligence. Khalid. Vladislaw Khalid. If you're afraid of something, Justin, —be afraid of that name. That faction could usean incident. So could Gorodin's. Fabricated, would serve just as well. You're in danger. Grant—more so. All they have to do is arrest him at the airport, claim he was carrying documents—God knows what. Denys will have my head for telling you this. Iwanted to keep you out of it, not disrupt your work with it– Grant's not getting a travel pass right now. Youcouldn't get one. That's the truth. Tell Grant—if it helps. For God's sake—tell him somewhere private."
"You mean they arebugging us."
"I don't know. I can answer for in here. We're off the record right now."
"You saywe are—"
"I saywe are. If Gorodin survives the election we're sure is going to be called—you'll be safer. If not—nothing is safe. We'll lose our majority in Council. After that I don't lay bets whatwill stay safe. If we lose our A.T. status, so will Planys. You understand me?"
"I understand you." The old feeling settled back again. Game resumed. He felt sick at his stomach. And a hell of a lot steadier with things as-they-were. "If you're telling me the truth—"
"If I'm telling you the truth you'd better wake up and take care of yourself. Next few years are going to be hell, son. Real hell. Lu's going to die. It's an appointive post. Lu could resign, but that's no good. Whoever gets in can appoint a new Secretary. Lu's wrecking his health, holding on, trying to handle the kind of infighting he's so damn good at. Gorodin's in space too much. Too isolate from his command structure. Lu's trying to help Gorodin ride out the storm—but Lu's ability to pay off political debtors is diminishing rapidly, the closer he comes to the wall. He's balancing factions within his own faction. Question is—how long can he stay alive—in either sense?"
viii
The Filly made the circuit of the barn arena again, flaring her nostrils and blowing, and Ari watched her, watched Florian, so sure and so graceful on the Filly's back.
Beside her, arms folded, Catlin watched—so did Andy, and a lot of the AG staff. Not the first time any of them had seen Florian and the Filly at work, but it was the first time the AG staff and Administration was going to let hertry it. Uncle Denys was there—uncle Giraud was in Novgorod, where he spent most of his time nowadays: they were having an election—a man named Khalid was running against Gorodin, of Defense, and everybody in Reseune was upset about it. Shewas, since what she heard about Khalid meant another court fight if he did what he was threatening to do. But an election took months and months for all the results to get in from the ends of everywhere in space, and uncle Denys took time out of his schedule to come down to the barn: he had insisted if she was going to break anything he wanted to be there to call the ambulance this time. Amy Carnath was there; and so was Sam; and 'Stasi and Maddy and Tommy. It made Ari a little nervous. She had never meant her first try with the Filly to turn into an Occasion, with so much audience.
Florian had been working the Filly and teaching her for months—had even gone so far as to make a skill tape, patched himself up with sensors from head to foot while he put the Filly through every move she could make, and kept a pocket-cam focused right past her ears—all to teach herhow to keep her balance and how to react to the Filly's moves. It was as close to riding as she had come until today. It felt wonderful.
Uncle Giraud said, being uncle Giraud, that tape had real commercial possibilities.
Florian brought the Filly back quite nicely, to a little oh and a little applause from the kids—which upset the Filly and made her throw her head. But she calmed down, and Florian climbed down very sedately and held the reins out to her.
"Sera?" he said. Ari took a breath and walked up to him and the Filly.
She had warnedeverybody to be quiet. It was a deathly hush now. Everyone was watching; and she so wanted to do things right and not embarrass herself or scare anyone.
"Left foot," Florian whispered, in case she forgot. "I'll lead her just a little till you get the feel of it, sera."
She had to stretch to reach the stirrup. She got it and got the saddle and got on without disgracing herself. The Filly moved then with Florian leading, and all of a sudden she felt the tape, felt the motion settle right where muscle and bone knew it should, just an easy give.
She felt like crying, and clamped her jaw tight, because she was not going to do that. Or look like a fool, with Florian leading her around. "I've got it," she said. "Give me the reins, Florian."
He stopped the Filly and passed them over the Filly's head for her. He looked terribly anxious.
"Please,sera, don't let her get away from you. She's nervous with all these people."
"I've got her," she said. "It's all right."
And she was very prudent, starting the Filly off at a sedate walk, letting the Filly get used to her being up instead of Florian, when for months and months she had had to stand at the rail and watch Florian get to ride—and watch Florian take a few falls too, figuring out what nobody this side of old Earth knew how to do. Once the Filly had fallen, a terrible spill, and Florian had been out for a few seconds, just absolutely limp; but he had gotten up swearing it was not the Filly, she had lost her footing, he had felt it—and he had staggered over and hugged the Filly and gotten back on while she and Catlin stood there with their hands clenched.
Now she took the Filly away from him, for the Filly's really public coming-out, and she knew Florian was sweating and suffering every step she took—knowing sera could be a fool; the way Catlin was probably doing the same, knowing if anything went wrong it was only Florian stood a chance of doing anything.
She was fourteen today; and she had too much audience to be a fool. She was amazingly sensible, she rode the Filly at a walk and kept her at a walk, anxious as the Filly started trying to move—no, Florian had said: if she tries to break and pick her own pace, don't let her do that, she's not supposed to, and she's bad about that.
Florian had told her every tiny move the Filly tended to make, and where she could lose her footing, and where she tried to get her own way.
So she just stopped that move the instant the Filly tried it, noteasy, no, the Filly had a trick of stretching her neck against the rein and going like she was suddenly half-G for a few paces: she was glad she had not let the Filly run the first time she was up on her; but the Filly minded well enough when she made her.
It was not, of course, the show she wanted to make. She wanted to come racing up at a dead run and give everyone a real scare; but that was Florian's part, Florian got to do that: shegot to be responsible.
She passed her audience, so self-conscious she could hardly stand it—she hatedbeing responsible; and uncle Denys was probably still nervous. She came around to where Florian was standing by the rail, and stopped the Filly there, because he was walking out to talk to her.
"How am I?" she asked.
"Fine," he said. "Tap her once with your heels when she's walking, just a little. Keep the reins firm. That's the next pace. Don't let her get above it yet. Don't ever let her do it if you don't tell her."
"Right," she said; and started the Filly up, one tap, then a second.
The Filly liked that. Her ears came up, and she hit a brisk pace that was harder to stay with, but Ari found it. Her body suddenly began to tape-remember what to do with faster moves, found its balance, found everything Florian had given her.
She wanted to cut free, O God, she wanted to go through the rest of it and so did the Filly, but she kept that pace which the Filly found satisfactory enough and pulled up to a very impressive stop right in front of Andy and Catlin. The Filly was sweating—excitement, that was all; and stamped and shifted after she had gotten down and Andy was holding her.
Everyone was impressed. Uncle Denys was positively pale, but he was doing awfully well, all the same.
Amy and the rest wanted to try too, but Andy said it was best not to have too many new riders all at once: the Filly would get out of sorts. Florian said they could come when he was exercising the Filly and they could do it one at a time, if they wanted to.
Besides, Florian said, the best way to learn about horses was to work with them. The Mare was going to birth again and they were doing two completely different genotypes in the tanks; which would be seven horses in all—no longer Experimentals, but officially Working Animals.
Of which the Filly was the first. Ari patted her—good and solid: the Filly liked to know you were touching her; and got horse smell all over her, but she loved it; she loved everything; she even gave uncle Denys a hug.
"You were very brave," she said to uncle Denys when she did it, and on impulse, kissed him on the cheek and gave him a wicked smile, getting horse smell on him too. "Your favorite guinea pig didn'tbreak her neck."
Uncle Denys looked thoroughly off his balance. But she had whispered it.
"Even her inflections," he said, putting her off hers. "God. Sometimes you're uncanny, young woman."
ix
"That's it," Justin said as the Cyteen election results flashed up on the screen, and: "Vid off," to the Minder. "Khalid."
Grant shook his head, and said nothing for a long while. Then: "Well, it's a crazy way to do business."
"Defense contractors in the Trade bureau, in Finance."
"Reseune has ties there too."
"It's still going to be interesting."
Grant bowed his head and passed a hand over his neck, just resting there a moment. Thinking, surely—that it was going to be a long while, a longwhile before either of them traveled again.
Or thinking worse thoughts. Like Jordan's safety.
"It's not like—" Justin said, "they could just ram things through and get that nationalization. The other Territories will come down on Reseune's side in this one. And watch Giraud change footing. He's damned good at it. He isDefense, for all practical purposes. I never saw a use for the man. But, God, we may have one."
x
It was one of the private, privateparties, weekend, the gang off from school and homework, and the Rule was, no punch and no cake off the terrazzo areas, and if anybody wanted to do sex they went to the guest room or the sauna, and if they started getting silly-drunk they went to the sauna room and took cold showers until they sobered up.
So far the threat of showers had been enough.
They had Maddy, 'Stasi, Amy, Tommy, Sam, and a handful of new kids, 'Stasi's cousins Dan and Mischa Peterson, only Dan was Peterson-Nye and Mischa was Peterson—which was one brother set, whose maman would have killedthem if she smelled alcohol on them, but that just made them careful; and two sets of cousins, which was Amy and Tommy Carnath; and 'Stasi and Dan and Mischa. Dan and Mischa were fifteen and fourteen, but that was all right, they got along, and they did everything else but drink.
In any case they were even, boys and girls, and Amy and Sam were a set, and Dan and Mischa both got off with Maddy, and 'Stasi and Tommy Carnath were a set; which worked out all right.
Mostly they were real polite, very quiet parties. They had a little punch or a little wine, the rowdiest they ever got was watching E-tapes, mostly the ones the kids' mothers would kill them for, and when they got a little drunk they sat around in the half-dark while the tapes were running and did whatever came to mind until they had to make a choice between the Rule and finishing the tape.
"Oh, hell," Ari said finally, this time when Maddy asked, "do it on the landing, who cares?"
She was a little drunk herself. A lot tranked. She had her blouse open, she felt the draft and finally she settled against Florian to watch the tape. Sam and Amy came back, very prim and sober, and gawked at what was going on next to the bar. While 'Stasi and Tommy were still in the sauna room.
Mostly she just watched—the tapes or what the other kids were doing; which kept Florian and Catlin out of it.
"You have a message,"the Minder said over the tape soundtrack and the music.
"Oh, hell." She got up again, shrugged the blouse back together and walked up the steps barefooted, down the hall rug and into her office as steadily as she could.
"Base One," she said, when she had the door shut and proof against the noise outside in the den. "Message."
"Message from Denys Nye: Khalid won election. Meet with me tomorrow first thing in my office."
Oh, shit.
She leaned against the back of the chair.
"Message for Denys Nye," she said. "I'll be there."
The Minder took it. "Log-off," she said, and walked back outside and into her party.
"What was it?" Catlin asked.
"Tell you later," she said, and settled down again, leaning back in Florian's lap.
She showed up in Denys' office, 0900 sharp, no frills and no nonsense, took a cup of Denys' coffee, with cream, no sugar, and listened to Denys tell her what she had already figured out, with the Silencer jarring the roots of her teeth.
"Khalid is assuming office this afternoon," Denys said. "Naturally—since he's Cyteen based, there's no such thing as a grace period. He moves in with all his baggage. And his secret files."
Uncle Denys had already explained to her—what Khalid was. What the situation could be.
"Don't you think I'd better have vid access?" she asked. "Uncle Denys, I don't care whatyou think I'm not ready to find out. Ignorant is no help at all, is it?"
Uncle Denys rested his chins on his hand and looked at her a long time as if he was considering that. "Eventually. Eventually you'll have to. You're going to get a current events condensation, daily, the same as I get. You'd better keep up with it. It looks very much as if we're going to get a challenge before this session is out. They'll probably release some things on your predecessor—as damaging as they can find. This is going to be dirty politics, Ari. Real dirty. I want you to start studying up on things. Additionally—I want you to be damned careful. I know you've been doing a lot of—" He gave a little cough. "—entertaining. Of kids none of whom is over fifteen, at hours that tell me you're notplaying Starchase. Housekeeping says my suspicions are—" Another clearing of the throat. "—probably well-founded."
"God. You're stooping, uncle Denys."
"Security investigates all sources. And my clearance still outranks yours. But let's not quibble. That's not my point. My point is– ordinaryfourteen-and fifteen-year-olds don't have your—independence, your maturity, or your budget; and Novgorod in particular isn't going to understand your—mmmn, parties, your language—in short, we're all being very circumspect. You know that word?"
"I'm up on circumspect,uncle Denys, right along with security risk.I don't have any. If their mothers know, they're not going to object, because they want their offspring to have careers when I'mrunning Reseune. There are probably a lot of mothers who'd like to shove their kids right intomy apartment. And my bed."
"God. Don'tsay that in Novgorod."
"Am I going?"
"Not right now. Not anytime soon. Khalid is just in. Let him make a move."
"Oh, that's a wonderfulidea."
"Don't get smart, sera. Let him draw the line, I say. While you, young sera, do some catch-up studying. You'd better learn what an average fourteen-year-old is like."
"I know. I know real well. I might know better, if my friends hadn't Disappeared to Fargone, mightn't I?"
"Don't do this for the cameras. You think you're playing a game. I'm telling you you can really lose everything. I've explained nationalization—"
"I do fine with big words."
"Let's see how you do with little ones. You're not sweet little Ari for the cameras anymore, you're more and more like the Ari certain people remember—enough to make it a lot more likely you'll get harder and harder questions, and you don't know where the mines are, young sera. We're going to stall this as long as we can, and if we can get you another year, it's very likely you'll have to apply for your majority status. That's the point at which some interest will get an injunction to stop the Science Bureau granting it; and you'll be in court again . . . with a good chance of winning it: the first Ari did at sixteen. But that won'tsolve the problem, it'll only put the opposition in a bad light, taking on a fifteen-year-old who hasto handle herself with more finesse than you presently have, young sera."
"I learn."
"You'd better. Age is catching up with us. Your predecessor's friend Catherine Lao, who's helped you more than you know—is a hundred thirty-eight. Giraud is pushing a hundred thirty. Your presence—your resemblanceto your predecessor—is like a shot of adrenaline where certain Councillors are concerned, but you have to have more than presence this time. If you make a mistake—you can see Reseune sucked up by the national government, and Defense declaring it a military zone, right fast. They'll have a pretext before the ink is dry. You'll spend your days working on whatever they tell you to do. Or you'll find yourself in some little enclave with no access to Novgorod, no access to Council or the Science Bureau."
She looked at Denys straight on, thinking: You haven't done that well. Or how else are we in this mess?
But she didn't say it. She said: "Base One only lets me go so fast, uncle Denys."
"Let me try you on another big word," Denys said. "Psychogenesis." That wasa new one. "Mind-originate," she said, remembering her Greek roots.
"Mind-origination. Mind-cloning. Now do you understand me?"
She felt cold inside. "What has that got to do with anything?"
"The resemblance between you and Ari. Let me give you a few more words to try on your Base. Bok. Endocrinology. Gehenna. Worm."
"What are you talking about? What do you mean, the resemblance—"
The sound-shielding hurt her teeth.
"Don't shout," Denys said. "You'll deafen us. I mean just what I've always told you. You areAri. Let me tell you something else. Ari didn't die of natural causes. She was murdered."
