Текст книги "Cyteen "
Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh
Жанр:
Научная фантастика
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 47 (всего у книги 61 страниц)
The smell of orange juice. Of a musky perfume.
This is all there is, sweet. This is as good as it gets.
Oh, God, Ari.
He caught his breath. Felt his own panic, felt the numbing grip on his wrist
"Sera," Grant said.
"No," he said quietly. "No." Knowing more about the woman eighteen years ago than he had learned in that night or all the years that followed.
And reacting, the way she had primed him to react, the way she had fixed him on her from that time on—
"Your predecessor," he said, carefully, civilized, "had a fondness for adolescent boys. Which I was, then. She blackmailed me. And my father. She threatened Grant, to start running test programs on him—on an Alpha brought up as a CIT. Mostly, I think—to get her hands on me, though I didn't understand that then. Nothing—absolutely nothing—of your fault. Iknow that. Say that I made one mistake, when I thought I could handle a situation when I was about your age. Say that Ihave a reluctance when I'm approached by a girl younger than I was, never mind you have her face, her voice, and you wear her perfume. It's nothing to do with you. It's everything to do with what she did. I'd rather not give you the details, but I don't have to. She made a tape. It may be in your apartment for all I know. Or your uncle can give it to you. When you see it, you'll have every key you need to take me apart. But that's all right. Other people have. Nothingto do with you."
Ari sat there for a long, long time, elbows on the table. "Why did she do that?" she asked finally.
"You'd know that. Much more than I would. Maybe because she was dying. She was in rejuv failure, Ari. She had cancer; and she was a hundred twenty years old. Which was no favorable prognosis."
She had not known that. For a PR it was a dangerous kind of knowledge—the time limits in the geneset.
"There were exterior factors," he said. "Cyteen was more native when she was young. She'd gotten a breath of native air at some time in her life. That was what would have killed her."
She caught her lip between her teeth. No hostility now. No defense. "Thank you," she said, "for telling me."
"Finish your drink," he said. "I'll buy you another one."
"I knew—when she died. Not about the cancer."
"Then your notes don't tell you everything. I will. Ask me again if I'm willing to take a transfer."
"Are you?"
"Ask Grant."
"Whatever Justin says," Grant said.
vii
"We've got a contact," Wagner said, on the walk over to State from the Library, "in Planys maintenance. Money, not conscience."
"I don't want to hear that," Corain said. "I don't want you to have heard it. Let's keep this clean."
"I didn't hear it and you didn't," Wagner agreed. A stocky woman with almond eyes and black ringleted hair, Assistant Chief of Legal Affairs in the Bureau of Citizens, complete with briefcase and conservative suit. A little walk over from Library, where both of them happened to meet—by arrangement. "Say our man's working the labs area. Say he talks with Warrick. Shows him pictures of the kids—you know. So Warrick opens up."
"We're saying what happened."
"We're saying what happened. I don't think you want to know the whole string of contacts. ..."
"I don't. I want to know, dammit, is Warrick approachable?"
"He's been under stringent security for over a year. He has a son still back in Reseune. This is the pressure point."
"I remember the son. What's he like?"
"Nothing on him. A non-person as far as anything we've got, just an active PR CIT-number. Defense has a lot more on him. Doppelganger for papa, that's a given. But apparently either Warrick senior or junior has pressured Reseune enough to get a travel pass for the son. He's thirty-five years old. Reseune national. Reseune had so much security around him when he'd come into Planys you'd have thought he was the Chairman. There's an azi, too. An Alpha—you remember the Abolitionist massacre over by Big Blue?"
"The Winfield case. I remember. Tied into Emory's murder. That was one of the points of contention—between Warrick and Emory."
"He's a foster son as far as Warrick is concerned. They don't let him out of Reseune. We can't get any data at all on him, except he is alive, he is living with the son, Warrick still regards him as part of the family. I can give you the whole dossier."
"Not to me! That stays at lower levels."
"Understood then."
"But you can get to Warrick."
"I think he's reached a state of maximum frustration with his situation. It's been, what, eighteen years? His projects are Defense; but Reseune keeps a very tight wall between him and them, absolutely no leak-through. The air-systems worker—we've had him for—eighteen months, something like. What you have to understand, ser, Reseune's security is very, very tight. But also, it's no ordinary detainee they're dealing with. A psych operator. A clinician. Difficult matter, I should imagine, to find any guard immune to him. The question is whether we go now or wait-see. That's what Gruen wants me to ask you."
Corain gnawed at his lip. Two months from the end of the Defense election, with a bomb about to blow in that one—
With Jacques likely to win the Defense seat away from Khalid and very likely to appoint Gorodin as Secretary.
But Jacques was weakening. Jacques was feeling heat from the hawks within Defense—and there were persistent rumors about Gorodin's health—and countercharges that Khalid, who had been linked to previous such rumors—was once more the source of them.
But Khalid couldwin: the Centrist party had as lief be shut of Khalid's brand of conservatism—but it could not discount the possibility in any planning. The Jacques as Councillor/Gorodin as Secretary compromise Corain had hammered out with Nye, Lynch, and the Expansionists—was the situation Corain had rather have, most of all, if rumors were true and Gorodin's health was failing, because Gorodin was the Expansionists'part of the bargain.
Wait—and hope that a new hand at the helm of the military would enable them to work withDefense to get to Warrick in Planys; or go in on their own and trust to their own resources. And risk major scandal. That was the problem.
If Khalid won again—Khalid would remember that his own party had collaborated in the challenge to his seat. Then he would owe no favors.
Then he could become a very dangerous man indeed.
"I think we'd better pursue the contact now," Corain said. "Just for God's sake be careful. I don't want any trails to the Bureau, hear?"
viii
"I didn't know I was going to do that," Justin said, and tossed a bit of bread to the koi. The gold one flashed to the surface and got it this time, while the white lurked under a lotus pad. "I had no idea. It just—she was going to find out about the tape, wasn't she? Someday. Better now—while she's naive enough to be shocked. God help us—if it goes the other way."
"I feel much safer," Grant said, "when you decide these things."
"Idon't, dammit, I had no right to do that without warning—but I was in a corner, it was the moment—it was the only moment to make the other situation right. ..."
"Because of the tape?"
"You do understand it, then."
"I understand this is the most aggressive personality I've ever met. Not even Winfield and his people—impressed me to that extent. I'll tell you the truth: I've been afraid before. Winfield, for instance. Or the Security force that pulled me out of there—I thought that they might kill me, because those might be their orders. I've tried to analyze the flavor of this, and the flux was so extreme in me at that moment in the office doorway—I can't pin it down. I only know there was something so—violent in this girl—that it was very hard for me to respond without flux." Grant's voice was clinical, cool, soft and precise as it was when he was reasoning. "But then—that perception may have to do with my own adrenaline level—and the fact the girl isa Supervisor. Perhaps I misread the level of what I was receiving."
"No. You're quite right. I've tried to build a profile on her . . . quietly. Same thing her predecessor did to me. The choices she makes in her model, the things she'd do if she were in the Gehenna scenario—she's aggressive as hell, and self-protective. I've charted the behavior phases—menstrual cycles, hormone shifts—best I can guess, she's hormone-fluxed as hell right now; I alwayswatch the charts with her. But that's never all of it." He broke off another bit of bread and tossed it, right where the spotted koi could get it. "Neverall of it with her predecessor. That mind is brilliant. When it fluxes, the analog functions go wildly speculative—and the down-side of the flux integrates like hell. I've watched it. More, she originatedthe whole flux-matrix theory; you think she doesn't understand her own cycles? Anduse them? But youngAri made me understand something I should have seen—we deal with other people with such precision, and ourselves with such damnable lack of it—Ari is having difficulties with ego-definitions. A PR does, I should know; and it can only get worse for her. That's why I asked for the transfer."
"Fix her on us?"
He drew several long breaths. Blinked rapidly to clear away the elder Ari's face, the remembrance of her hands on him.
"She's vulnerable now," he said on a ragged breath. "She's looking for some sign of the human race—on whatever plane she lives on. That's the sense I got—that maybe she was as open then as I was—then. So I grabbed the moment's window. That's what I thought. That she's so damn self-protective—there might only be that chance—then—hi that two seconds." He shuddered, a little, involuntary twitch at the nape of the neck. "God, I hate real-time work."
"Just because you hated it," Grant said, "doesn't mean you weren't good at it. I'll tell you what this azi suspects—that she would regretharm to one of us. I don't think that's true with a CIT. If she ever does take me up on my proposition– No," Grant said as he took a breath to object; Grant held up a finger. "One: I don't think she will. Two: if she does—trust me to handle it. Trust me. All right?"
"It's not all right."
"No, but you'll stay back: do the puzzling thing, and trust me to do the same. I think you're quite right. The puzzling thing engages the intellect—and I had far rather deal with her on a rational basis, I assure you. If you can commit us to your judgment in the one thing—trust me for mine and don't make me worry. I wouldn't have been in half the flux I was in, except I wasn't sure you weren't going to come back into the office and blow everything to hell, right there. I can't think and watch my flank when it's you involved. All right? Promise me that."
"Dammit, I can't let a spoiled kid—"
"Yes. You can. Because I'm capable of taking care of myself. And in some things I'm better than you. Not many. But in this, I am. Allow me my little superiority. You can have all the rest."
He gazed a long time at Grant, at a face which had—with the years—acquired tensions azi generally lacked. He had done that to him. Life among CITs had.
"Deal?" Grant asked him. "Turn about: trust myjudgment. I trust yours about the transfer. So we can both be perturbed about something. How much do you trust me?"
"It's not trusting youthat's at issue."
"Yes, it is. Yes. It is. Azi to Supervisor . . . are you hearing me?"
He nodded finally. Because whatever Ari could do– hecould hurt Grant.
He lied, of course. Maybe Grant knew he did.
ix
"There's a tape," Ari had said to Denys, in his office, and told him whichtape.
"How did you find out about it?" he had asked.
"My Base."
"Nothingto do with dinner at Changeslast night."
"No," she said without a flicker, "we discussed cultural librations."
Denys hated humor when he was serious. He always had. "All right," he said, frowning. "I certainly won't withhold it."
So he sent Seely for it. And said: "Don'tuse kat when you see this, don't expose Florian and Catlin to it, for God's sake don'tput it where anyone can find it."
She had thought of asking him what was in it. But things were tense enough. So she talked about other things—about her work, about the project, about Justin—without mentioning the disagreement.
She drank a cup and a half of coffee and exchanged pleasant gossip; and unpleasant: about the elections; about the situation in Novgorod; about Giraud's office—and Corain—until Seely brought the tape back.
So she walked home with it, with Catlin, because she was anxious all the time she had it in her carry-bag; she was anxious when she arrived home and contemplated putting it in the player.
Her insecurity with the situation wanted Florian and Catlin to be beside her when she played it—
But that, she thought, was irresponsible. Emotional situations were herdepartment, not theirs, no matter that sera was anxious about it, no matter that sera wanted, like a baby, to have someone with her.
I wouldn't have advised this,Denys had said—distressed, she picked that up. But not entirely surprised. But I know you well enough to know there's no stopping you once you start asking a question. I won't comment on it. But if you have questions after you've seen it—you can send them to my Base if you find them too personal. And I'll respond the same way. If you want it.
Meaning Denys wasn't putting any color on the situation.
So she closed the door on the library and locked it; and put the tape into the player– nottaking a pill. She was no fool, to deep-study any tape blind and unpreviewed, and without running a check for subliminals.
She sat down and clenched her hands as it started—fascinated first-off by the sight of a familiar place, familiar faces—Florian and Catlin when they would have been a hundred twenty at least; and Justin—the boy was clearly Justin, even at the disadvantage of angle—he would be seventeen; and Ari herself—elegant, self-assured: she had seen newsclips of Ari this old, but none when Ari was not simply answering questions.
She listened—caught the nervousness in Justin's voice, the finesse of control in Ari's. Strange to knowthat voice so well, and to feel inside what it was doing—and to understand what kat would do to that experience, for someone skilled at tape-learning: she felt a little prickle down her back, a sense of hazard and involvement– conditioned response,a dim, analytical part of her thoughts said: the habits of this room, the physiological response of the endocrine system to the habit of taking kat here, and the lifelong habit of responding to tape– Azi must do this, she thought. And: The emotional context is kicking it off. Thank GodI didn't trank down for this.
As muscles felt the sympathetic stimulus of nerves that knewwhat it felt like to walk and sit, and speak, and a brain that understood in all that context that Ari was On, and that her pulse was up, and that the target of her intentions was a Justin very young, very vulnerable, picking up the signals Ari was sending and reacting with extreme nervousness—
Back off,she told herself, trying to distance herself from the aggression Ari was radiating. Disinvolve.
The switch was beside her. She only had to reach to it and push it to cut it off. But the sexual feeling was too strong, toward an object otherwise out of reach—toward a Justin not quite real, not the man she knew, but Justin all the same.
She saw the glass fall—realized then what Ari had done to him, and that he was in terrible danger. She was afraidfor him; but the muscles she felt move in response to that falling glass were Ari's, the impulse she felt through the heat of sex was concern for the orange juice spill on the damned upholstery– Hercouch—
Oh, God, she should shut this off. Now.
But she kept watching.
x
It was a simple computer-delivered See me: my office, 0900. —Denys Nye. —that brought him to the administrative wing, and to the door that he dreaded.
So she had the tape, Justin thought; so Denys knew about the dinner at Changes.
He had notexpected Giraud with Denys. He froze in the doorway, with Seely at his back, then walked in and sat down.
"Let's dispense with what we both know," Denys said, "and not bicker about details. What in hell do you think you're doing?"
"I thought about coming to you," he said, "but she was embarrassed as well as mad. I figured—if I did—come to you—she might blow. I thought you wanted to avoid that."
"So you took a wide action. On your own judgment."
"Yes, ser." Denys was being reasonable—too reasonable, with Giraud sitting there staring at him with hostility in every line of his face. "And knowing you'd call me."
"She has the tape," Denys said. "That surprised me, Justin, that truly surprised me."
Giraud's not the Special. Denys is. . . .
"I'm flattered, ser. I don't expect to surprise you. But that wasn't why I did it. I wish you'd letme explain. Ari—"
"I don't need your explanation. Neither of us does."
"It's a simple adolescent infatuation—"
"She's been sexually active since she was thirteen. At least. And this fascination is thoroughly in program. We're not worried about that. Her predecessor had a pattern of such things. That you're young, male, and working at close quarters with her– No question."
"I haven't encouraged it!"
"Of course not. But you've tried to manipulate her by that means."
"That's not so. No."
"Sins of the heart, if not the intellect. You took her on, you've taught her, you've tried to steer her—admit it."
"Awayfrom that kind of thing—"
Denys leaned forward on folded arms.
"That," Giraud said, "is intervention, in itself."
"Not to harm her," Justin said, "or me." Giraud had only to speak and reactions started running through him, kat-dream, deep as bone. He could not help that flutter of nerves, could not forget the whip-crack that voice could become ... in his nightmares. He looked at Denys, feeling a tremor in his muscles. "I tried to keep it all low-key, non-flux."
"Until yesterday," Denys said, "when you decided to handle a situation yourself. When you exacerbated a situation—and decided to handle it... by handing her a major key. That is an intervention, you're an operator, you knew exactly what you were doing, and I want you to lay that out for me in plain words—consciously and subconsciously."
"Why should I?" His heart was slamming against his ribs. "Duplication of effort, isn't it? Why don't we just go over to Security and save us all time and trouble?"
"You're asking for a probe."
"No. I'm not. But that's never stopped you."
"Let's have a little calm, son."
Jordan. Oh, God.
He means me to think about that.
"Answer the question," Giraud said.
"I did it to save my neck. Because she's a damned dangerous enemy. Because she could as well blow up in your direction. What in hell elsewas charged enough to knock her back and make her reassess?"
"That's a tolerably acceptable answer," Denys said. Confusing him. He waited for the redirect and the flank attack. "The question is—what do you think you've induced? Where is your intervention going? What's her state of mind right now?"
"I hope to God," he said, his voice out of control, "I hope to God—it's going to make her careful."
"And sympathetic?"
"Carefulwould do."
"You're courting her, aren't you?"
"God, no!"
"Yes, you are. Not sexually, though I imagine you'll pay that if you have to—if you can gain enough stability to handle the encounter. But you'd much rather avoid it. 'Hell hath no fury'? Something like that in your considerations? Politics may make strange bedfellows, but bedfellows make deadly politics."
"I just want to survive here."
"In her administration. Yes. Of course you do. Protect yourself—protect Grant. The consequences of enmity with us—have only a few years to run, is that what you're thinking? A couple of old men—weighed against the lifespan of a sixteen-year-old whose power is—possibly adequate to work for you if you could maneuver your way into her considerations. A very dangerous course. A verydangerous course, even for a man willing to sell—what you were willing to sell her predecessor—"
Temper. Temper is . . . only what he wants here.
"—but then, your choices arelimited."
"It doesn't take a probe," Giraud said, his deep voice quite gentle, "to know what your interests are. —And the latest business on my desk—I think you'll find quite—amusing in one sense. Alarming, in the other. The Paxers—you know, the people who blow up Novgorod subways, have decided to invoke your father's name—"
"He hasn't a thing to do with it!"
"Of course not. Of course not. But the Novgorod police did find some interesting documents—naming your father as a political martyr in their cause, stating that the new monstrosity in Reseuneis a creation of the military—that assassinating Ari and creating maximum chaos would lead to a Paxer government—"
"That's crazy!"
"Of course it is. Of course your father knows nothing about it."
"He doesn't! My God, —"
"I said—of course. Don't let it upset you. This has been going on for years. Oh, not the Paxers. They're comparatively new. All these organizations are interlocked. That's what makes them so difficult to track. That and the fact that the people that do the bombing are z-cases. Druggers and just general fools whose devotion to the cause involves letting themselves be partial-wiped by amateur operators. Thatkind of fools. I thought I should tell you—there are people in this world who don't care anything for their own lives, let alone a sixteen-year-old focus of their hostilities. And they're using your father's name in their literature. I'm sorry. I suppose it doesn'tamuse you."
"No, ser." He was close to shivering. Giraud did that to him. Without drugs. Because in not very long, there would be, he knew that; and not all the skill in the world could prevent it. "I'm not amused. I know Jordan wouldn't be, if he heard about it, which he hasn't, unless you've told him."
"We've mentioned it to him. He asked us to say he's well. Looking forward, I imagine, to a change of regime in Defense. —As we all are. Certainly. I just wanted to let you know the current state of things, since there are ramifications to the case that you might want to be aware of. That your father murdered Ari—is not quite old news. It's entered into threats against her successor's life. And Ari will be aware of these things. We have to make her aware—for her own protection. Perhaps you and she can work it out in a civilized way. I hope so."
What is he doing? What is he trying to do?
What does he want from me?
Is he threatening Jordan?
"How does your father feel about Ari? Do you have any idea?"
"No, ser. I don't know. Not hostility. I don't think he would feel that."
"Perhaps you can findout. If this election goes right."
"If it does, ser. Maybe I can make a difference—in howhe feels."
"That's what we hope," Giraud said.
"I wouldn't, however," Denys said, "bring the matter up with Ari."
"No, ser."
"You're a valuable piece in this," Giraud said. "I'm sorry—you probably have very strong feelings about me. I'm used to them, of course, but I regret them all the same. I'm not your enemy; and you probably won't believe that. I don't even ask for comment—not taxing your politeness. This time I'm on your side, to the extent I wish you a very long life. And the committee is agreed: thirty-five is a little young for rejuv—but then, it seems to have no adverse effects—"
"Thank you, no."
"It's not up for discussion. You have an appointment in hospital. You and Grant both."
"No!"
"The usual offer. Report on schedule or Security will see you do."
"There's no damn sense in my going on rejuv—it's my decision, dammit!"
"That's the committee's decision. It's final. Certainly nothing you ought to be anxious about. Medical studies don't show any diminution of lifespan for early users—"
"In the study they've got. There's no damn sense in this. Ari's on the shots, damn well sure she is—"
"Absolutely."
"Then why in hell are you doing this?"
"Because you have value. And we care about you. You can go on over there. Or you can go the hard way and distress Grant—which I'd rather not."
He drew a careful breath. "Do you mind—if I go tell Grant myself? Half an hour. That's all."
"Perfectly reasonable. Go right ahead. Half an hour, forty-five minutes. They'll be expecting you."
xi
Another damned wait. Justin lay full-length on the table and stared at the ceiling, trying to put his mind in null, observing the pattern in the ceiling tiles, working out the repetitions.
Full body scan and hematology work-up, tracer doses shot into his bloodstream, more blood drawn. Dental checks. Respiration. Cardiac stress . . . you have a little hypertension,Wojkowski had said, and he had retorted: God, I wonder why.
Which Wojkowski did not think was amusing.
More things shot into his veins, more scans, more probings at private places and more sitting about—lying down for long periods, while they tried to get him calm enough to get accurate readings.
I'm trying,he had said, the last time they had checked on him. I'm honestly trying. Do you think I like waiting around freezing to death?
Complaining got him a robe. That was all. They finally put him on biofeedback until he could get the heart rate down, and got the tests they wanted.
Why?had been Grant's first and only question—a worried frown, a shrug, and a: Well, at least wedo get it, don't we?
Which, for an azi, could be a question. He had never thought that it was, never thought that Reseune could go so far as to deny him and Grant rejuv when it was time for them to have it or vengefully postpone it beyond the point when they should have it, to avoid diminished function.
Thinking of that, he could be calmer about it. But he had sent a call through to Base One: Ari, this is Justin.
Grant and I have been told to report to hospital. We've been told we re to go on rejuv, over our protests. I want you to know where we are and what's happened....
Which got them nothing. Base One took the message. No one was reading it. They could try for admission to Ari's floor, but open confrontation with Administration was more than Ari could handle. No one answering,he had said to Grant.
Its only one treatment,Grant had said.
Meaning that one could still change one's mind. It took about three to eight weeks of treatments for the body to adjust—and become dependent.
Nothing permanent, yet.
"You're going to be coming here for your treatments, Wojkowski had said.
"For what?"he had said. "To have you watch me take a damned pill? Or what are you giving me?" .
"Because this was not elective. You understand—going off the drug has severe consequences. Immune system collapse."
"I'm a certified paramedic," he had snapped back. "Clinical psych. I assure you I know the cautions. What I want to know, doctor, is what else they're putting into the doses."
"Nothing," Wojkowski had said, unflappable. "You can read the order, if you like. And see the prescriptions . . . whatever you like. Neantol. It's a new combination drug: Novachem is the manufacturer, I'll give you all the literature on it. Hottest thing going, just out on the market. Avoids a lot of the side-effects."
"Fine, I'm a test subject."
"It's safe. It's safer, in fact. Avoids the thin-skin problem, the excessive bleeding and bruising; the calcium depletion and the graying effect. You'll keep your hair color, you won't lose any major amount of muscle mass, or have brittle bones or premature fatigue. Sterility—unfortunately—is still a problem."
"I can live with that." He felt calmer. Damn, he wanted to believe what Wojkowski was saying. "What are itsside-effects?"
"Dry mouth and a solitary complaint of hyperactivity. Possibly some deleterious effect on the kidneys. Mostly remember to drink plenty of water. Especially if you've been drinking. You'll tend to dehydrate and you'll get a hell of a hangover. We don'tknow what the effects would be of switching off the regular drug and onto this. Or vice versa. We suspect there could be some serious problems about that. It's also expensive, over ten thou a dose and it's not going to get cheaper anytime soon. But especially in the case of a younger patient—definitely worth it."
"Does Grant—get the same?"
"Yes. Absolutely."
He felt better, overall, with that reassurance. He trusted Wojkowski's ethics most of the way. But it did not help get his pulse rate down.
Ten thousand a dose. Reseune was spending a lot on them, on a drug Reseune could afford—and he could not.
Not something you could find on the black market.
Substitutions contraindicated.
A dependency Reseune provided, that Reseune could withhold—with devastating effect; that nothing like—say, the Paxers or the Abolitionists—could possibly provide.
An invisible chain. Damn their insecurities. As if they needed it. But it took something away, all the same: left him with a claustrophobic sense that hereafter—options were fewer; and a nagging dread that the drug might turn up with side-effects, no matter that lab rats thrived on it.
Damn, in one day, from a young man's self-concept and a trim, fit body he had taken pains to keep that way—to the surety of sterility, of some bodily changes; not as many as he had feared, if they were right; but still—a diminishing of functions. Preservation for—as long as the drug held. A list of cautions to live with.
A favor, in some regards, if it did what they claimed.
But a psychological jolt all the same—to take it at someone else's decision, because a damned committee decided—
What? To keep a string on him and Grant? In the case they tried to escape and join the Paxers and bomb subways and kill children?
God. They were all lunatics.
The door opened. The tech came in and asked him to undress again.
Tissue sample. Sperm sample. "What in hell for?" he snapped at the tech. "I'm a PR,for God's sake!"
The tech looked at his list. "It's here," the tech said. Azi. And doggedly following his instructions.
So the tech got both. And left him with a sore spot on his leg and one inside his mouth, where the tech had taken his tissue samples.
Likely his pulse rate was through the ceiling again. He tried to calm it down, figuring they would take it again before they let him out, and if they disliked the result they got, they could put him into hospital where he was subject to any damn thing anyonewanted to run, without Grant to witness it, where neither of them could look out for the other or lodge protests.
