Текст книги "Cyteen "
Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh
Жанр:
Научная фантастика
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 50 (всего у книги 61 страниц)
Dr. Justin Warrick, it said in the fine print in the table of contributors. Which, secretly, like a little child, he read over and over just to see it confirmed. Grant, they listed as Grant ALX Warrick, E.P., emeritus psychologiae,which meant an azi who should have a doctorate in psych, and would have, automatically, if he became CIT. It pleased Grant more than Grant would let on.
CIT silliness, Grant had said. My patients certainly don't care.
But it was there, in print. And meanwhile the general public was buying copies, long waiting lists at booksellers—the Bureau had figured on strong library interest, but neveranticipated average citizens would buy them, and certainly was bewildered that they were selling at that rate at a pre-publication price of 250 cred per volume—until an embarrassed Bureau of Information cut the price to 120 and then to 75, based on advance orders; and that brought in an absolute flood of orders. There were precious few sales in fiche or tape, except to the libraries: the actual books, printed on permasheet, thank you, were status objects: one could hardly display a microfilm to one-up one's neighbors.
Young Ari avowed herself completely bewildered by the phenomenon.
People know, Justin had said to her, that your predecessor did tremendously important things. They don't know whatshe did. They certainly can't understand the notes. But they feel like they ought to understand. What you ought to do, you know—is write a volume of your own notes: your own perspective on doing the volume. The things you've learned from your predecessor. You askthe BI if they'd be interested in the rights to that.
Not surprisingly, Information jumped at the chance.
Now Ari was struggling to put her own notes in shape. And coming to him with: Do you think . . . and sometimes just chatter—about the hidden notes, about things as full of revelations as the books he had spent a year helping annotate with the barest explanations of the principles involved.
She had sent a copy of IN PRINCIPIOto Jordan.
"Because it has your name in it," Ari had said to him, "and Grant's."
"If it gets through," he had said. "Planys Security may not like it. Not to mention Customs."
"All right," she had said. "So I'll send it with Security. Let them argue with that."
She did thoughtful things like that. In a year and a half in her wing she had come through with every promise she had made, gotten him and Grant a secretary, taken the pressure off—
If something went wrong or something glitched, Florian was on the phone very quickly; and if Florian could not resolve it, it was—Wait, ser, sera will handle it—after which Ari would be on the line, with a technique that ranged rapidly between This has to be mistaken—to a flare that department heads learned to avoid. Maybe it was a realization Ari might remember these things in future. Maybe—Justin suspected so—it was because that voice could start so soft, go to a controlled low resonance uncommon at her age—then pick up volume in a punch that made nerves jump: that made his jump, for certain, and evoked memories. But she never raised that voice with him, never pushed him, always said please and thank you—until he found himself actually on the inside of a very safe circle and likingwhere he worked—with a small, niggling fear that he was losing his edge, becoming less worried, less defensive, relying too much on Ari's promises—
Fool, he told himself.
But he grew so tired of fighting, and the thought that he might have reached a situation where he could draw breath awhile, that he might actually have found a land of safety, even if it meant difficulties to come. . . laterwas all right.
Ari was well aware of what came in and out of her wing, was aggressively defensive of her staffs time—her attention to pennies and minutes was, God, the living echo of Jane Strassen; so that, beyond the annotations which totaled about a hundred twenty pages between himself and Grant, and three months' intensive work, she accepted only design work for her wing, only troubleshooting after others had done the brute work, and it went, thank God, immediately backto junior levels in some other wing when he or Grant had provided the fix, no returns, no would-you-mind's? and no 'but we thought you could do that, we're running behind.'
So he critiqued Ari's work, answered Ari's questions, did the few fixes her wing ran, and had the actual majority of his time to use on his own projects—as Grant did, doing study of his own on the applications of endocrine matrix theory inazi tape, which Grant was going to get a chance to talk over with Jordan—Grant was very much looking forward to it.
They were, overall, happier than he remembered since—a long time; and it was the damnedest thing, waking up in the middle of the night as he did, with nightmares he could not remember.
Or stopping sometimes in the middle of work or walking home or wherever, overwhelmed by a second's panic, of nothing he could name except fear of the ground under his feet, fear that he was being a fool, and fear because he had no choice but be where he was.
Fear, perhaps, that he had not won: that he had in fact lost by the decisions he had made, and it would only take some few years yet to come clear to him.
All of which, he told himself severely, was a neurotic, compulsive state, and he resisted it—tried to weed it out when he found it operative. But take tape for it, he would not; not even have Grant run a little tranquilizing posthyp on him—being afraid of that too.
Fool, he told himself, exasperated at the track his thoughts tended to run, and marked his place and laid the book aside.
Emory for bedtime reading.
Maybe it was the fact he could still hear that voice, the exact inflection she would use on those lines he read.
And the nerves still twitched.
He rattled around an empty apartment in the morning, toasted a biscuit for breakfast, and went to the office—not the cramped, single office he and Grant had used for years, but the triple suite that Ari had leased—physically in the Ed Wing, which was back, in a sense, to where they had begun—simply because that wing had space and no one else did: an office apiece for himself and Grant, and one for Em, the secretary the pool had sent, a plump, earnest lad quite glad to get into a permanent situation where he could, conceivably, come up in rating.
He read the general advisories, the monthly plea from catering to book major orders a week in advance; a tirade from Yanni about through-traffic in Wing One, people cutting through the lower hall. Em arrived at 0900, anxious at finding the office already open, and got to work on the filing while he started on the current design.
That went on till lunch and during—a pocket-roll and a cup of coffee in the office; and a concentration that left him stiff-shouldered and blinking when the insistent blip of an Urgent Message started flashing in the upper left corner of the screen.
He keyed to it. It flashed up:
I need to talk to you. I'm working at home today. —AE.
He picked up the phone. "Ari, Base One," he told it.
Florian answered. "Yes, ser, just a second." And immediately, Ari: "Justin. Something's come up. I need to talk to you."
"Sure, I'll meet you at your office." Is it Grant? God, has something happened?
"Meet me here. Your card's cleared. Endit."
"Ari, I don't—"
The Base had gone off. Dammit.
He did not meet Ari except with Grant; except in the offices; except sometimes with Catlin and Florian, out to lunch or an early dinner. He kept it that way.
But if something had happened, Ari would not want to argue details over the phone; if something had happened with Grant—
He keyed off the machine, and got up and went, gathering up his jacket, telling Em to shut down and go home, everything was fine.
He headed over to the wing where Ari's apartment was, showed his card to Security at the doors and got a pass-through without question.
Dammit, he thought, his heart pounding, it had better be a good reason, it had better be business—
It had better notbe because Grant was momentarily not in the picture.
"Come in," Florian said, at the door. "Sera is waiting for you."
"What does she want?" he asked, not committing himself. "Florian, —is this a good idea?"
"Yes, ser," Florian said without hesitation.
He walked in then, sweating, not only from the trip over. The room, the travertine floors, the couch—was a vivid flash of then and now. "Is it Grant?"
"Your jacket, ser? Sera urgently needs to talk with you."
"About what? —What's happened?"
"Your jacket, ser?"
He pulled the jacket off, jerked a resistant sleeve free, handed it to Florian as Ari arrived in the living room from the right-hand hall.
"What in hell's going on?" he asked.
She gestured toward the sunken living room, the couch; and came down the steps to take a seat there.
He came and sat down at the opposing corner. Not the private living room: thank God. He did not think he could have held together.
"Justin," she said, "thank you for coming. I know—I know how you feel about this place. But it's the only place—the only one I'm absolutely sure there's no monitoring but mine. I want you to tell me the truth, now, the absolute truth: Grant's safety depends on this. Is your father working with the Paxers?"
"My– God. No. No. —How in hell could he?"
"Let me tell you: I've got a report on my desk that says there are leaks out of Planys. That your father—has been talking with a suspect. Security is watching Grant very carefully. They fully expect Jordan to attempt an intervention with him—"
"He wouldn't! Not—not on something like that. He wouldn't do that to Grant."
"Your father could manage something like that without tape, without anything but a keyword, with someone of Grant's ability. I know what Grant's memory is like."
"He won'tdo it. It's a damned set-up."
"It may be," she said quietly. "That's why I wanted to talk to you, fast, before Security has a chance, because I'll do this: I'll look for all the truth. I'm the one it's against. And I've been aware of this—for a while; from long before Grant got that pass. Grant's gone into the middle of a Security operation that I don't want to agree with. I don't want to think that Grant could work against me, or that you could, but I have to protect myself—which is why I took this chance."
"I don't understand." He felt the old panic—too experienced to give way to it. Keep the opposition calm, keep the voices down, go along with things. He did not think Ari was at the head of whatever was going on, not with what he knew of where authority was in the House. "Ari, tell me what's going on."
"People who protect me ... don't want me near you. That's why I waited and let Grant go—because I knew—I know very well that it's a set-up against you, which is why I called you to come here."
"Why is that? What do you want?"
"Because I have to know. That's first. And I know how you hate this place, but it's the only place, the only place I can trust." She reached into her left-hand pocket, and pulled out a little vial. Amber glass. "This is kat. It's a deep dose. You can help me or you can leave now. But this is the chance I have. You go in the tape lab and take this, and let me get you on tape—I promise, I promise,Justin, no lousy tricks. Just the truth on tape, for me to use. This is what I need. This is the kind of documentation I can use with the Bureau, if I have to go that far. This is the chance I have to believe you."
He flashed badly, totally disoriented, unable to think for a few breaths. Then he reached out for the vial and she gave it to him.
Because there was no choice. Not a thing he could do. He only thought– God, I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can stay sane.
"Where?" he said.
"Florian," she said; and he got up shakily and went after Florian as Florian indicated the hallway to the right.
An open door on the right again was the tape library, with a couch with all the built-ins for deep-study. He walked in and sat down there, set the vial down on the couch beside him and pulled off his sweater, feeling lightheaded. "I want Ari here," he said, "I want to talk to her."
"Yes, ser," Florian said. "There's no lead, ser, it's just a patch, let me help you."
" I want to talk to Ari."
"I'm here," she said at the door. "I'm right here."
"Pay attention," he said shortly. And uncapped the vial and took his pill, while the cardiac monitor flashed red with alarms. He looked at the flashes and concentrated, willing himself calmer. "Your patient tends to panic, sera, I hope to hell you remember that."
"I'll remember," Ari said, very quietly.
He worked with the monitor, staring at that, concentrating only on the rate of the flashes. A thought about his father leaked through, about Grant, a single second, and the light flickered rapidly; slow, he thought, that was all, while the numbness started and panic tried to assert itself. He felt a touch on his shoulder, heard Florian urging him: "Lie down, ser, please, just lean back. I've got you."
He blinked, thinking for a moment of the boy-Florian, spinning through the years to Florian grown strong enough to handle his weight, Florian bending over him—
"Be calm, ser," his gentle voice said. "Be calm. Are you comfortable?"
He felt an underlying panic, very diffuse. He felt the numbness growing, and his vision started going out. His heart began to speed, frighteningly, run-away.
"Calm," Ari said, a voice that jolted through his panic, absolute. "Steady down. It's all right. Everything's all right. Hear me?"
iii
"Has your father ever worked with these people?" Ari asked, sitting by the side of the couch, holding Justin's limp hand.
"No," he said. Which meant, of course, to the limit of Justin's knowledge. No, no, and no. She saw the cardiac monitor flash with a very strong rise in heart rate.
"Conspired with anyone against Reseune Administration?"
"No."
"Have you?"
"No."
Not conspiring with anyone. Against Reseune. Against Ariane Emory.
Justin, at least, was not aware of any plot.
"Don't you ever get frustrated with Security?"
"Yes."
"Do you think things will ever change?"
"I—hope."
"What do you hope?"
"Keep quiet. Live quiet. People believe me. Then things change."
"Are you afraid?"
"Always."
"Of what?"
"Mistakes. Enemies."
He hoped if he could work with her—it would prove something about himself and his father, in a calmer world—
He was afraid for Grant more than Jordan. Jordan had his Special's status to protect him. Grant—if they interrogated him—would be subject to things they might try to impose on him, ideas and attitudes they might try to shape– Grant would resist it. Grant would throw himself into null and stay there: he had before. But if they kept working at him—
If hewere arrested, here, in Reseune, if Reseune Administration was determined to make a case, then they could do that. He thought that could be the case—that politics always mattered more than truth. And more than a Warrick life—always.
"Jordan's not a killer," Justin said. "He's not like that. Whatever happened was an accident. He made his mistake in trying to cover it, that's what I know happened."
"How do you know it?"
"I know my father."
"Even after twenty years?"
"Yes."
He was close to the upturn, when the drug would fade. And she was all but hoarse from questions and from strain.
She thought: I almost know enough to take on what Ari did. Almost. But he's not the boy she worked with.
I could Work him to make him want me. So easily. So easily.
She remembered the tape, remembered it with sexual flashes that troubled her.
And thought, thinking of the possible intersections with so many, many knot-ups in his sets: Damn, no.Damn, damn,Ari, not so fast, not so reckless.
I could make him happy. I could take all of that away—
Politics is real and everything else takes second place,he knows that—There's that on top of everything that's wrong in him.
I could make him worry less. I can make him trust me more.
Is even that—fair? Or safe—in the world the way it is, or inside Reseune?
She got up, cut the recorder off and sat down on the edge of the couch beside him. She touched his face very gently, saw the monitor blips increase. "Hush, it's all right, it's all right—" she said, until she could get the monitor blips down again.
"Justin," she said when it was running even, "I believe you. You'd never hurt me. You'd never let me be hurt. I know all those things. I don't think they're going to make a move on Grant—not now that I've got you on record. I can tell my uncle what I have, and at the same time I'll tell him Grant's in my wing, and he'd better not move against him. That's what I'm prepared to do, because I believe you. Do you understand me?"
"Yes." A little flutter from the monitor.
"Don't be anxious about this place. This is my home. My predecessor isn't here anymore. That's all gone. That's all gone. You're safe here. I want you to remember these things. I can't get what I'd like out of hospital, without them knowing I'm doing this—but I want you to do the deep-fix for me, the way Grant could do it. Can you do that? Bear down hard, feel good, and remember this."
"Yes. . . ."
"I want you to think: I'm going to believe this forever. I promise you, if you trust me, if you come to me and if Grant comes to me when you need help, I'll do the best I can. You can rest now. You'll wake up feeling fine, and you'll be all right. Do you hear me?"
"Yes."
No flutter now, just a strong, steady beat. She got up, signaled Florian and Catlin to be very quiet, patted Justin gently on the shoulder. You stay with him, she signaled Florian.
And to Catlin, in the hall, she said: "What's the news?"
"Nothing more than we had," Catlin said.
"Stand by in case Florian needs you." She went to her own office and phoned Denys directly.
"Seely," she said, "I need Denys, right now." And when Denys came on: "Uncle Denys, how are you?"
"I'm quite well, Ari, how are you?"
"I wanted to tell you something. I've gotten very nervous about the situation, you know, with Grant being out and all, and Grant isvulnerable, so I asked Justin to talk with me about it—"
"Ari, this involves exterior Security. I strongly suggest you let this alone."
"I've done it already. I want an order, uncle Denys, for Grant to be immune to Security, I don't care if something should go on at Planys with Jordan, I have an agreement with Justin—"
"I'm sorry, Ari, this isn't at all wise. Youdon't tie down your Security people. You have no business making promises to Justin, especially to Justin. I've talked to you about this."
"This is the agreement, uncle Denys. Justin's agreed to take a probe with mysecurity."
"Ari, you're interfering in a matter you have no expertise in whatsoever, that involves your safety. I won't have that."
"Uncle Denys, I've been thinking a lot. It runs like this: I'm getting a lot more grown-up. People couldn't ever make a campaign out of killing a cute kid. Paxers and all these groups haven't come out into the open all at once just by coincidence. They see me getting older, they know that I'm real, they know I'm going to be a lot of trouble to them someday, and they're going to throw everything they've got at me in the next few years. But you know what occurs to me, uncle Denys? That could be true on this staff too, inside Reseune. And I'm not going to have my staff tampered with by anybody except me."
"Ari, that's halfway prudent, but you're meddling with a kind of situation you're not equipped to deal with."
"I perfectly well am, uncle Denys. I'm not going to be reasonable on this. I want Grant back without any problems. Florian's going to meet the plane and bring him up here, and I'm going to talk to him, myself, withtrank. If I find out anyone else has, I'm going to be real upset. I don't care if it's Jordan, or if it's Reseune Security, either one, I'm going to be real upset."
"Ari, —"
"I'm just telling you, uncle Denys. I know you don't like it. And I don'twant to fight with you. Look at it from my point of view. You're getting up there in years, you could have a stroke or something—where would that leave me, if I don't have control of my own wing? I'd haveto trust a lot of people all of a sudden, without knowing what's going on. And I don't ever want to be in that situation, uncle Denys."
"We've got to talk about this."
"We can. Only I want your promise that you're not going to let Security touch Grant even if you think Jordan did something to him: I'll tell you how Justin feels about it—if Jordan did something like that, Justin would be real mad. And that would mean Justin would be on my side about it. But if youdid, then Justin would be mad at me. There's an old proverb about muddying up the water, do you know it? I'm getting old enough I don't want other people's notions of what's good for me muddying up the waters I have to swim in for the rest of my life, uncle Denys. That's exactly what it comes down to."
"I appreciate your feelings, Ari, but you'd better gather your data before you interfere with an operation, not after."
"We can talk about this as much as you like and you give me advice I know is going to be worth listening to. But then's then. Now is, I'm not going to have them messed with by anybody. They're in my wing and I've made promises I'm going to keep. If you do anything else, you cut me down with my own staff, and I'm not going to have that, uncle Denys. That's a promise."
There was a long silence on the other end. "Have you discussed with Justin the chance that Grant might have been tampered with?"
"He'safraid of it. He's the one brought it up with me. He's willing to trust mein this, uncle Denys, not Reseune Security, strange as that may seem—but then, by what he tells me Reseune Security isn't very polite. I've gothis deposition that Grant went out of here clean, uncle Denys. I've got it under deep probe, and I'm quite sure of it. So we'll find out when Grant gets back, won't we? I'll be happy to lend you a transcript of the interview."
Another long silence. "That's very kind of you. Dammit, Ari, Justin's got medical cautions, he's got major problems, I don't care if he thought this would be better, you're a seventeen-year-old kid—"
"Eighteen in two months, which is going on twenty in the way Base One reckons. And damned good, uncle, damnedgood ... or what's all your work good for, you want to answer me that one, uncle Denys? I've been running interventions on Florian and Catlin for more than five years, so I'm not really likely to slip up, am I?"
"I'm telling you, Ari, dammit, you've seen the tape Ari made, you know you're dealing with a man with a damn tenuous hold on sanity where you're concerned, and you want to go running interventions on him? We're talking about a thirty-six-year-old man who's lived half his life with a problem, and you want to meddle with it, alone, without any protection for yourself or him if he has a heart attack or slides over the mental edge. You want to know what you're meddling with, young sera, you could be working in your office, minding your own business someday, and have that young man come through the door with a knife, that's what you're playing with. We're dealing with a grown man a long time and a whole lot of business past that incident when he was your age—he's changed, what Ari planted in him has had time to mutate unwatched, hewon't go in for therapy, and like a fool, because I agreed with him, he had to become self-guiding, Ilet him decline therapy. Now it's turned out to be a major mistake. I had no idea my niece was going to let her glands interfere with her common sense, my dear, I certainly had no idea she was going to take this unstable young man to her bosom and make an adolescent fool of herself, no indeed, I didn't. And, my God! the kind of pressure you can put on this young man with your well-intentioned meddling– Don't you understand, child, Reseune hasnever intended any harm to Justin Warrick? We know his value, we've worked with him, we've done the best we could to secure his future and to prevent him from precisely the kind of blow-up you're courting with your meddling. And whose fault will it be then?"
"All that's very fine, uncle Denys, but I know what I'm doing, and my reasons stand."
A long silence.
"We'll talk about this,"Denys said then.
"Yes. We will. But in the meantime you call Planys and call Security there and tell them be damned careful they don't lay a hand on Grant."
"All right, Ari. You get your way on this. We'll talk about it. But I don't just get that transcript. I get the tape of the session. You know what a transcript is worth. If you want my support in this let's try a little cooperation, shall we?"
"That's all I want, uncle Denys. You're still a dear."
"Ari, dammit, we're not talking about a little thing here."
"My birthday's coming up, uncle Denys. You know I'd like a party this year. I really would."
" I don't think this is the time to discuss it."
"Lunch, the 18th?"
Back, then, to Base One to be sure that call went the way uncle Denys said.
Be careful, Ari senior had said, using the information in the expanded base, because it was so easy to slip up and reveal what one should not have known—like exactly what Security was doing half a world away.
So one lied. One tried to get very good at it.
She went back to the library, because Catlin reported that Justin was coming out of it, quietly, still a little fuzzed—which was not a bad time to explain something.
So she sat down on the couch where Justin lay drowsing with the lights dimmed, with a light blanket over him and Florian keeping watch near him.
"How are you?" she asked.
"Not uncomfortable," he said, and a little line appeared between his brows as he tried to move. He gave that up. "I'm a bit gone yet. Let me rest.
Don't talk to me."
On the defensive. Not the time with him, then. She laid her hand on his shoulder. "You can try to wake up a bit," she said. That was an intervention too, but a benign one. "Everything's fine. I knew you were all right. And I've talked to uncle Denys and told him keep hands off Grant, so Grant's going to be safe, but I do need to talk to you. Meanwhile you're going to stay in the guest room tonight. I don't think you ought to go back to your apartment till you're really awake."
"I can leave," he said.
"Of course you can, when you're able to argue, but not tonight. If you like, I'll have Florian guard your door all night, so it'll be very proper. It's completely in the other wing from my room. All right? As soon as you can walk all right, Florian will put you to bed."
"Home," he said.
"Sorry," she said. "I need to talk to you in the morning. You shouldn't leave before then. Go to sleep now."
That was, in his state, a very strong suggestion. His eyelids drifted lower, jerked, lowered completely.
"Guest bedroom," she told Florian. "Soon as he can. I do want you to stay with him, just to be sure he's safe."
iv
It was a strange bed, a moment of panic. Justin turned his head and saw Florian lying on his stomach on the second bed, fully dressed, boyish face innocent in the glow from the single wall-light. Eyes open.
He thought that he remembered walking to this room, that it was down a hallway he could remember, but he was still disoriented and he still felt a touch of panic at the remembrance of the drugs. He thought that he ought to be distraught to be where he was, flat-tranked as he was. He lay half-asleep, thinking that as the numbness let up he would suffer reactions. He was still dressed, except his sweater and his shoes. Someone had put a blanket over him, put a pillow under his head. It was, thank God, not Ari's bedroom.
"You're awake, ser?"
"Yes," he said, and Florian gathered himself up to sit on the edge of the other bed.
"Minder," Florian said aloud, "wake Ari. Tell her Justin is awake."
Justin shoved himself up on his hands, caught his balance, rubbed at his stubbled face.
"What time—?"
"Time?" Florian asked the Minder.
"0436,"it said.
"We should start breakfast," Florian said. "It's near enough to the time sera usually gets up. There's a guest kit in the bath, ser. A robe if you like, but sera will probably dress. Will you be all right while I check on my partner?"
"Sera is almost ready," Catlin said, and poured him coffee, Catlin—whose blonde hair was for once unbraided, a pale rippled sheet past black-uniformed shoulders. "Cream, ser?"
"No," he said, "thank you."
Kids, he thought. The whole situation should be funny as hell, himself—at his age—virtually kidnapped, tripped, and finally solicitously fed breakfast by a pack of damned kids . . .
Not feeling too badly, he thought. Not as rough as one of Giraud's trips, in any sense. But he was wrung out, his lungs felt too open, and his limbs felt watery and altogether undependable.
Which they would, considering what a physiological shock that much cataphoric was; which was the reason for the mineral and vitamin pill Catlin put on a dish and gave to him, and which he took with his coffee without arguing.
It was a cure for the post-kat shakes, at least.
Ari arrived, in a simple blue sweater and blue pants, her black hair loose as she almost never wore it nowadays. Like Ari-the-child. Ari pulled back the chair at his right and sat down. "Good morning. —Thanks, Catlin." As Catlin poured coffee and added cream. And to him: "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"
"You said you had something important to say," Justin said. "About Grant," Ari said, straightway. Then: "—We can make anything you want for breakfast."
"No. Thanks. Dammit, Ari, let's not do games, shall we?"
"I'm not. I just want to make sure you get something to eat. Have some toast at least. There's real honey."
He reached for it, smothering temper, patiently buttered it and put on a bit of the honey. An entire apiary set-up over in Moreyville, along with several other burgeoning commercializations. Fish. Exotics. Frogs. Moreyville was talking about expanding upriver, blasting out space on the Volga and creating new flats for agricultural use.
