Текст книги "Cyteen "
Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh
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Научная фантастика
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"You assuredly know now why I have taken extreme precautions to prevent this tape from seeing Archives. It's potentially deadly. Never mind my reputation. Your own safety is in question, and if you use that famous wit of yours, you will look to that to the exclusion of all else.
"Above all, keep power out of the hands of people you would want to protect. Out of a hundred thirty-three years of living, love, that's the highest wisdom I can come to.
"I'll keep you posted. Abban may make many of these flights. I don't trust regular communications. Don't you.
"Above all, take this for a storm-warning. I'm taking excellent care of myself. I've given up my few vices for your sake, to buy you time. Remember my offer.
Position yourself carefully, and don't be careless with your associates. Justice, guilt and innocence are irrelevant. Motivation and opportunity are the things you have to watch. Nothing else has any validity."
"Endit."
She sat still a long while.
"Log-off," she said finally.
And got up and went back to the bedroom.
Florian waked when she came in. Or had never been asleep.
She got in beneath the covers. And stared into the dark.
"Is there trouble, sera?"
"Just Giraud," she said, and rolled over and put her arm around him, burrowed down against his shoulder, smothering the anger, fighting it with all she had. "God. Florian. Do something, will you?"
ARCHIVES: RUBIN PROJECT: CLASSIFIED CLASS AA
DO NOT COPY
CONTENT: Computer Transcript File #1655646
Seq. #5
Personal Archive
Emory I/Emory II
2424:2/3:2223
B/1: Ari senior has a message.
Stand by.
Ari, this is Ari senior.
You've asked about power.
That's a magic word, sweet. Are you alone?
AE2: Yes.
B/1: You are 18 years old. You are legally adult. You have authority of: Wing Supervisor; Alpha Supervisor.
You have flagged for systems surveillance: Denys Nye; Giraud Nye; Petros Ivanov; Yanni Schwartz; Wendell Peterson; John Edwards; Justin Warrick; Jordan Warrick; Gustav Morley; Julia Carnath; Amy Carnath; Maddy Strassen; Victoria Strassen; Sam Whitely; Stef Dietrich; Yvgenia Wojkowski; Anastasia Ramirez; Eva Whitely; Julia Strassen; Gloria Strassen; Oliver AOX Strassen; and all their associations.
Additionally you have flagged for exterior surveillance and news-service monitoring: priority one: Mikhail Corain; Vladislaw Khalid; Simon Jacques; Giraud Nye; Leonid Gorodin; James Lynch; Thomas Spurlin; Ludmilla deFranco; Catherine Lao; Nasir Harad; Andrew McCabe; and all their households.
Do you wish to add or subtract?
AE2: Continue.
B/1: Ari, this is Ari senior.
You are monitoring inside and outside Reseune. You hold economic and administrative power inside Reseune with a rating of: excellent performance.
I advise against any move against Administration on the grounds of: chronological age.
NewsScan profile indicates No security anomaly within Reseune's internal surveillance. Do you disagree?
AE2: No.
B/1: You've asked about power. There are three parts to that. Taking it. Holding it. Using it. Taking it and holding it are very closely related: if you pay less attention to the second than to the first you are in trouble, because the same dynamics that put you in power will operate as well for someone else against you.
Let me tell you: physical force will only work on lower levels. Don't discount it. But the most effective way to power is through persuasion. This means psych, personally applied, and massively applied. If you have followed my work this far, you understand when I say that the press is one of the most valuable tools you will have to work with.
There are at least three possible situations with the press. A, Completely free; B, Free in some areas, controlled in others; C, Completely controlled. In the first instance, the press is vulnerable to direct manipulation; in the second, vulnerable to direct manipulation in some areas, but vulnerable to tactics which increase public distrust of official information; in the third state, rumor is potentially more powerful than the press, and with an efficient organization you can equally well turn that situation to your advantage. Which of the three do you estimate is the case?
AE2: The second.
B/1: Analysis indicates a period of unrest.
Intersection of data indicates reason for concern.
Your NewsScan profile is: low activity; predominantly favorable. Consider carefully the effects of a change in this profile at this time.
Always respect the power of public opinion. Need I say that to a Reseune-trained operator?
Remember that change in social macrosystems operates rarely like earthquake, more frequently like subsoil ice, deforming the terrain in general ways, by gravity and topological constraints. The potential for cataclysmic events is comparatively easy to figure: figuring the precise moment or trigger of fracture is not; while the temporal component in slow change is relatively easy to figure, the total direction of change is complex, involving more individual action. Politicians frequently ride the earthquakes; while Reseune has always operated best in the subsoil, slowly, with frequent small adjustments.
I distrust such models. But I trust I am giving them to an adult who understands me.
I urge you consider the changes in Novgorod and in Cyteen in your own lifetime, and in mine, and in Olga's. I predict they will be extreme, and I urge you watch several areas.
a) An early problem will be the pressure of CIT population increase, particularly in Novgorod, particularly on stations such as Esperance and Pan-Paris, which do not lie on the routes of proposed expansion: eventually CITs will find that jobs are not as easy to come by, and that will lead to increased power for the Abolitionists who call for the cessation of azi production.
b) Interstellar government having its capital resident in a world-based city is increasingly fraught with problems, however much the situation has been advantageous to Reseune. It may in your lifetime produce difficulties and threaten Union: placing the capital specifically at Novgorod instead of Cyteen Station exposed Union politics to Cyteen influence and to Cyteen economics in ways which I do not think healthy. Be alert for that sentiment. It will come, though perhaps not in your lifetime.
It is possible in the future that for reasons presently unforeseen, Novgorod may diminish in power and influence within Cyteen and consequently pose less problem, but I doubt it: geography favors it and the presence of Union government fattens it. I foresee it clinging to the government by every means possible, including dirty politics and gerrymandering which could threaten Union. Particularly beware the intersection of a) and b) or b) and c).
c) The discovery that Reseune has tampered with social dynamics at Gehenna and elsewhere could create widespread panic and distrust of Reseune's influence.
d) The mere potential for Earth's further intervention in Alliance affairs or outside human space, acts as a destabilizing force in Alliance-Union relations; an actual or perceived threat from that quarter could worsen relations.
e) The opportunity for major gains by political opposition during the interregnum of your guardians, and the death and defeat of various of my own allies in the interim, will likely effect the rise of major new political forces, some of whom may well be radically Abolitionist. I predict that within a decade or so of my death Mikhail Corain will be viewed as too moderate to control his own allies, and it is foreseeable that a more radical figure will unseat him, possibly changing the Centrists considerably. Particularly look to the effects of your own emergence into public life. I had enemies. You will face opposition which may have superstitious roots, in fear of the unknown, in fear of you as a political force, and in fear of what the science which brought you into being could mean—to a society only recently adapting to rejuv. Uncertainty of any sort creates demagogues.
f) A major new discovery of non-human intelligence might destabilize the situation I left, and might come at any time. I urge you press for expansion in safe areas and for necessary precaution against hostile contact. We do not know our time limits and we are scarcely stable enough in my time to deal with that eventuality.
g) There may be major divergences from my policies inside Reseune, and there exists the chance that you have either made personal enemies on-staff or that you are perceived as standing for policies others oppose.
h) A major breakdown could occur within a designed azi population, or there may be major difficulties in CIT-azi integrations within a given population. I hope this does not come to pass, but my best estimate of a problem area would be Pan-Paris, where economic constraints and military retirees may pose hardships: next most likely: Novgorod, in the third generation . . . where the old rebel ethos of the founders of Union may well find difficulty mixing with the Constitution-venerating descendants of the wartime worker-azi, and where population pressures and Cyteen's ability to terraform new habitat on that site may run a narrow race indeed.
I hope time has proven me wrong in some of these things.
But I urge you to study these situations and to prepare responses to them, before you make any move on your own.
Avoid precipitate action: by this I mean, don't be too quick to take what you're not ready for; don't be so late that you have to move hastily and without adequate groundwork.
Power of any kind lays heavy responsibility on you; and it changes your friends as it changes the way your friends regard you. Do not be naive in this regard. Do not assume. Do not overburden your friends with too much trust.
Above all remember what I said in the beginning: respect the power of public opinion.
NewsScan shows mention of you: 3 articles in last 3 months.
Mention of Giraud Nye: 189 articles in last 3 months.
Mention of Mikhail Corain: 276 articles in last 3 months.
Mention of Reseune: 597 articles in last 3 months.
Mention of Paxers: 1058 articles in last 3 months.
Continue?
AE2: Base One, give me the nature, location, and time of Ari senior's last entry into the House system.
B/1: Working.
Entry by TransSlate; 1004A, 2404: 10/22: 1808.
AE2: Give me the location and time of Ari senior's death.
B/1: Working.
1004A.
Autopsy ruling: 2404: 10/22: 1800 to 1830 approximate.
AE2: 1004A is the cold lab in Wing One basement. Correct?
B/1: Correct.
AE2: Who else has accessed this information?
B/1: No prior access.
AE2: Replay entry.
B/1: Working.
Order: Security 10: Com interrupt: Jordan Warrick, all outgoing calls. Claim malfunction. Order good until canceled.
AE2: Base One, is that the last entry from Ari from any source?
B/1: Working.
Affirmative.
AE2: Base One, at what time did Jordan Warrick enter Wing One basement security door on 10/22, 2404?
B/1: Working.
Wing One basement security door coded 14. Jordan Warrick's key accessed D14 at 1743 hours, that date.
AE2: Departure, same visit?
B/1: 1808 hours, that date: duration of visit: 25 minutes. . . .
AE2: Record current session to Personal Archive. Give me the full transcript, Autopsy, Ariane Emory; all records, Jordan Warrick, keyword: Emory, keyword: trial; keyword: murder; keyword, hearings; keyword: Council; keyword: investigation.
CHAPTER 14
i
"The first bill on the agenda is number 6789, for the Bureau of Trade," Nasir Harad said, "Ludmilla deFranco, Simon Jacques co-sponsors, proposing restructuring of the Pan-Paris credit system. Call for debate."
"Citizens," Mikhail Corain said, lifting his hand. "For the bill."
"Finance," Chavez said. "For the bill."
"Move to forgo debate," Harogo said, "in the absence of opposition."
Corain cast a look down the table, toward Nye, who had reached for his water glass.
It was a bargain, the time-saving sort. The acquiescence of the Expansionists in the move designed to take pressure off the ailing Pan-Paris central bank, the promise of military contracts, the private assurance that Reseune would grant more time on the considerable sum Pan-Paris owed—of course it would: Pan-Paris was Lao's central constituency and the bill was the first step in a long-proposed settlement on the Wyatt's Paradise-Pan-Paris loop that called for a fusion-powered station at Maronne Point, where there was only dark mass, but enough to pull a ship in.
There were four bills lined up, Expansionists falling all over themselves after decades of opposition, finally diverting funds from the slow construction of Hope to the more immediate difficulties of home space and a trade loop that had gotten, since the War, damnably short of exportable commodities.
Major construction, finally, beyond the rebuilding of stations damaged in Azov's desperate push in the last stages of the War; beyond the endless restructurings of debt and adjustments necessary when the merchanters associated into Alliance and left Union banks holding enormous debt.
Seventy years later, a policy shift to save that trade loop became possible only because the special interests that had blocked it suddenly discovered there was nothing left to do.
"Move to suspend debate," Harad said in his usual mutter. "Second?"
"Second," Corain said.
"Call for the vote."
A clatter from down the table. Nye had knocked the water glass over his papers, and sat there—sat there, with the water running across his notes, in a frozen pose that at first seemed incongruous, as if he were listening for something.
Then Corain's heart ticked over a beat, a moment of alarm as he saw the imminent collapse, as Lao, next to Nye, rose in an attempt to hold him, as of a sudden everyone was moving, including the aides.
But Giraud Nye was slumping down onto the papers, sliding from his chair, completely limp as the azi Abban shoved Lao aside and caught Nye in his fall between the seats.
The Council, the aides, everyone broke into tumult, and Corain's heart was hammering. "Get Medical," he ordered Dellarosa, ordered whoever would go, while Abban had Nye on the floor, his collar open, applying CPR with methodical precision.
It was quiet then, except the aides slipping from the chamber—strange that no one moved, everyone seemed in a state of shock, except a junior aide offering to spell the azi.
Medical arrived, running steps, a clattering and banging of hand-carried equipment, Councillors and aides clearing back in haste to let the professionals through, then waiting while more medics got a portable gurney through and the working team and Abban, clustered about Nye, lifted him and lifted the gurney up.
Alive, Corain thought, shaken: he could not understand his own reaction, or why he was trembling when Nasir Harad, still standing, brought the gavel down on Chairman's discretion for an emergency recess.
No one moved to leave for a moment. Centrists and Expansionists looked at each other in a land of vague, human shock, for about a half a hundred heartbeats.
Then Simon Jacques gathered up his papers, and others did, and Corain signaled to his own remaining aides.
After that it was a withdrawal, increasingly precipitate, to reassess, to find out in decent discretion how serious it was, whether Nye was expected to recover from this one. Or not. In which case—in which case nothing was the same.
ii
". . . collapsed in the Council chamber,"the public address said, throughout Reseune, and people stopped where they were, at their desks, in the halls, waiting; and Justin stood, with his arms full of printout from the latest run on Sociology, with that vague cold feeling about his heart that said that, whatever Giraud was to him personally—
–there was far worse.
"He stabilized in the emergency care unit in the Hall of State and is presently in transit via air ambulance to the intensive care unit in Mary Stamford Hospital in Novgorod. There was early consideration of transfer to Reseune's medical facilities, but the available aircraft did not have necessary equipment.
"His companion Abban was with him at the time of the collapse, and remains with him in transit.
"Secretary Lynch has been informed and has taken the oath as interim proxy, for emergency business.
"Administrator Nye requests that expressions of concern and inquiries regarding his brother's condition be directed to the desk at Reseune hospital, which is in current contact with Stamford in Novgorod, and that no inquiries be made directly to Novgorod.
"Reseune staff is urged to continue with ordinary schedules. Bulletins will be issued as information becomes available."
"Damn," someone said, on the other side of the room, "here it goes, doesn't it?"
Justin took his printout and left, out into the hall beyond the glass partitions, where people lingered to talk in small groups.
He felt stares at his back, felt himself the object of attention he did not want.
Felt—as if the ground had shifted underfoot, even if they had known this was coming.
"It's the slow preparation," a tech said in his hearing. "He may already be dead. They won't admit it—till the Bureau has the proxy settled. They can't admit anything till then."
It was a dreadful thing—to go to Denys now. But a call on the Minder was too cold and too remote; and Ari faced the apartment door and identified herself to the Minder, with Florian and Catlin at her back, and nothing—nothing to protect her from the insecurity in front of her—an old man's impending bereavement, an old man facing a solitude he had never—Giraud himself had said it—never been able to come to grips with.
If Denys cried, she thought, if Denys broke down in front of her he would be terribly ashamed; and angry with her; but she was all the close family he had left, who did not want to be here, who did not want, today, to be adult and responsible, in the face of the mistake this visit could turn out to be.
But she had, she thought, to try.
"Uncle Denys," she said, "it's Ari. Do you want company?"
A small delay. The door opened suddenly, and she was facing Seely.
"Sera," Seely murmured, "come in."
The apartment was so small, so simple next her own. Denys could always have had a larger one, could have had, in his long tenure, any luxury he wanted. But it felt like home, in a nostalgic wrench that saw her suddenly a too-old stranger, and Florian and Catlin entering with her . . . grown-up and strange to the scale of this place: the little living room, the dining area, the suite off to the right that had been hers and theirs and Nelly's; the hall to the left that held Denys' office and bedroom, and Seely's spartan quarters.
She looked that direction as Denys came out of his office, pale and drawn, looking bewildered as he saw her. "Uncle Denys," she said gently.
"You got the news," Denys said.
She nodded. And felt her way through it—herself, whom Union credited for genius in dealing with emotional contexts, in setting up and tearing down and reshaping human reactions—but it was so damned different, when the emotional context went all the way to one's own roots. Redirect, that was the only thing she could logic her way to. Redirect and refocus: grief is a self-focused function and the flux holds so damn much guilt about taking care of ourselves. . . ."Are youall right, uncle Denys?"
Denys drew a breath, and several others, and looked desperate for a moment. Then he firmed up his chin and said: "He's dying, Ari."
She came and put her arms around Denys, self-conscious—God, guilty: of calculation, of too much expertise; of being cold inside when she patted him on the shoulder and freed herself from him and said: "Seely, has uncle Denys still got that brandy?"
"Yes," Seely said.
"I have work to do," Denys said.
"The brandy won't hurt," she said. "Seely."
Seely went; and she hooked her arm in Denys' and took him as far as the dining table where he usually did his work.
"There's nothing you can do by worrying," she said. "There's nothing anyone can do by worrying. Giraud knew this was coming. Listen, you know what he's done, you know the way he's arranged things. What he'll want you to do—"
"I damned well can'tdo!" Denys snapped, and slammed his hand down on the table. "I don't intend to discuss it. Lynch will sit proxy. Giraud may recover from this. Let's not hold the funeral yet, do you mind?"
"Certainly I hope not." He's not facing this. He's not accepting it.
Seely, thank God, arrived with the brandy, while Florian and Catlin hovered near the door, gone invisible as they could.
She took her own glass, drank a little, and Denys drank, more than a little; and gave a long shudder.
"I can't go to Novgorod," Denys said. There was a marked fragility about the set of his mouth, a sweating pallor about his skin despite the cool air in the room. "You know that."
"You can do what you put your mind to, uncle Denys. But it's not time to talk about that kind of thing."
"I can't,"Denys said, cradling the glass in his hands. "I've told Giraud that. He knows it. Take tape, he says. He knows damned well I'm not suited to holding office."
"It's not a question of that right now."
"He's dying,dammit. You know it and I know it. And his notions about my going to Novgorod—dammit, he knows better."
"You'd be very good."
"Don't be ridiculous. A public speaker? An orator? Someone to handle press conferences? There's no one less suited than I am to holding public office. Behind the scenes, yes, I'm quite good. But I'm much too old to make major changes. I'm not a public man, Ari. I'm not going to be. There's no tape fix for age, there's no damned tape fix to make me a speechmaker . . ."
"Giraud isn't exactly skilled at it, but he's a fine Councillor."
"Do you know," Denys said, "when I came down to the AG unit that time—that was the first time since I was nine, that I'd ever left these walls?"
"My God, uncle Denys."
"Didn't add that up? Shame on you. I came down to see my foster-niece risk her lovely neck, the way I watched from the airport remotes when your predecessor would come screaming in, in that damned jet. I hate disasters. I've always expected them. It's my one act of courage, you understand. Don'task me to handle press conferences." Denys shook his head and leaned on his elbows on the table. "Young people. They risk their lives so damned lightly, and they know so little what they're worth."
He wept then, a little convulsion of shoulders and face, and Ari picked up the decanter and poured him more, that being the only effective kindness she could think of.
She said nothing for perhaps a quarter, perhaps half an hour, only sat there while Denys emptied another glass.
Then the Minder said: "Message, Abban AA to Base Two, special communications."
Denys did not answer at once. Then he said: "Report."
"Ser Denys,"Abban's voice said, cold with distance and the Minder's reproduction, "Giraud has just died. I'll see to his transport home, by his orders. He requested you merge his Base."Denys lowered his head onto his hand.
"Abban," Seely said, "this is Seely SA. Ser thanks you. Direct details to be; I'll assist."
Ari sat there a very long time, waiting, until Denys wiped his eyes and drew a shaken breath.
"Lynch," Denys said. "Someone has to notify Lynch. Tell Abban see to that. He's to stand proxy. He's to file for election. Immediately."
iii
The Family filed into the East Garden, by twos and threes, wearing coats and cloaks in the sharpness of an autumn noon. With conspicuous absences, absences which made Ari doubly conscious of her position in the forefront of the Family—eighteen, immaculate in mourning, and correct as she knew how to be—wearing the topaz pin on her collar, the pin Giraud had given her . . . something that's only yours. . . .
The funeral was another of those duties she would have avoided if she could have found a way.
Because Denys had made a damnable mess of things. Denys had fallen to pieces, refused the appointment as proxy Councillor of Science, and refused to attend the funeral. Denyswas over at the old Wing One lab, supervising the retrieval and implantation of CIT geneset 684-044-5567 . . . precisely at this hour—at which Ari, even with compassion for his reasons, felt a vague shudder of disgust.
It left her, foster-niece, as nearest kin—not even directly related to Giraud, but ranking as immediate family, over Emil Carnath-Nye, and Julia Carnath-Nye, and Amy. She felt uncomfortable in that role, even knowing Julia's attachment to Giraud was more ambition than accident of blood. Hell with Julia: there was prestige involved, and she hated to move Amy out of her proper place, that was the uncomfortable part. The Carnath-Nyes stood, an ill-assorted little association of blood-ties far from cordial these days—Amy bringing Quentin as she had brought Florian and Catlin, for personal security in troubled times, not to flaunt him in front of the Family and her mother's disapproval; but that was certainly not the way Julia Carnath took it.
Julia and her father Emil resented having Abban standing beside them; and took petty exception to the man– man,dammit, who had been closer to Giraud in many ways than any next-of-kin, even Denys; who had held Giraud's hand while he died and taken care of notifications with quiet efficiency when no Family were there to do anything.
That attitude was damned well going to go: she had served notice of it and scandalized the old hands before now. Let them know what she would do when she held power in the House: hell with their offended feelings.
Amy was there; Maddy Strassen was in the front row, with aunt Victoria—maman's sister, and at a hundred fifty-four one of the oldest people alive anywhere who was not a spacer. Rejuv did not seem near failing Victoria Strassen: she was wearing away instead like ice in sunlight, just thinner and more fragile with every passing year, until she began to seem more force than flesh. Using a cane now: the sight afflicted Ari to the heart. Maman would be that old now. Maman would be that frail.She avoided Victoria, not alone because Victoria hated her and blamed her for Julia Strassen's exile to Fargone. The Whitely clan was there: Sam and his mother; and the Ivanovs, the Edwardses; Yanni Schwartz and Suli; and the Dietrichs.
Justin and Grant were not. Justin had sent, all things considered, a very gracious refusal, and let her off one very difficult position. It was the only mercy she had gotten from Family or outsiders. Reporters clustered down at the airport press area, a half hour down there this morning, an appointment for an interview this afternoon, a half a hundred frustrated requests for an interview with Denys—
I'm sorry.,she had said, privately and on camera. Even those of us who work lifelong with psych, seri, do feel personal grief.Coldly, precisely, letting her own distress far enough to the surface to put what Giraud would call the human face on Reseune. My uncle Denys was extremely close to his brother, and he's not young himself. He's resigning the proxy to Secretary Lynch out of health considerations– No. Absolutely not. Reseune has never considered it has a monopoly on the Science seat. As the oldest scientific institution on Cyteen we have contributions to make, and I'm sure there will be other candidates from Reseune, but no one in Reseune, so far as I know, intends to run. After all—Dr. Nye wasn't bound to appoint Secretary Lynch: he might have appointed anyone in Science, Secretary Lynch is a very respected, very qualified head of the Bureau in his own right.
And to a series of insistent questions: Seri, Dr. Yanni Schwartz, the head of Wing One in Reseune, will be answering any specific questions about that. . ..
. . . No, sera, that would be in the future. Of course my predecessor held the seat. Presently I'm a wing supervisor in Research, I do have a staff, I have projects under my administration—
Every reporter in the room had focused in on that, sharp and hard—scenting a story that was far off their present, urgent assignment: she had thrown out the deliberate lure and they burned to go for it despite the fact they were going out live-feed, with solemn and specific lead-ins and funeral music. She handed them the hint of a story they could not, with propriety, go for; and kept any hint of deliberate signal off her face when she did it.
But they had gone for it the moment they were off live-feed: to what extent was she actually in Administration, what were the projects, how were the decisions being made inside Reseune and was she in fact involved in that level?
Dangerous questions. Exceedingly dangerous. She had flashed then on bleeding bodies, on subway wreckage, on news-service stills of a child's toy in the debris.
Seri,she had said then, direct, not demure: with Ari senior's straight stare and deliberate pause in answering: any wing administrator is in the process.
Read me, seri: I'm not a fool. I won't declare myself over my uncle's ashes.
But don't discount me in future.
I came here,she had reminded them in that context, as a delegated spokesman for the family. That's my immediate concern. I have to go, seri. I have to be up the hill for the services in thirty minutes. Please excuse me. . . .
It was the first funeral she had attended where there was actually burial, a small canister of ash to place in the ground, and two strong gardeners to raise the basalt cenotaph up from the ground and settle it with a final thump over the grave.
She flinched at that sound, inside. So damned little a canister, for tall uncle Giraud.
And burial in earth instead of being shot for the sun. She knew which she would pick for herself—same as her predecessor, same as maman. But it was right for Giraud, maybe.
Emil Carnath called for speeches from associates and colleagues.
"I have a word," Victoria Strassen said right off.
O God, Ari thought.
And braced herself.
"Giraud threw me out of my sister's funeral," Victoria began in a voice sharper and stronger than one ever looked for from that thin body. "I never forgave him for it."
Maddy cast Ari an anguished look across the front of the gathering. Sorry for this.
