Cherryh, C J - Alliance-Union 08 (83 page)

"It's frustration," he said. "That they won't take Will's word on it. That they know so damn much because they're CITs."

"They have to be careful. For Will's sake, if nothing else. For the sake of the other programs he tests, —"

"CITs are a necessary evil," Grant said placidly, evenly, against the distant thunder. "What would we azi possibly do without them? Teach ourselves, of course."

Grant made jokes. This was not one of them. Justin sensed that. "You think they're not going to listen to him."

"I don't know what they're going to do. You want to know what's the greatest irritation in being azi, Supervisor mine? Knowing what's right and sane and knowing they won't listen to you."

"That's not exactly an exclusive problem."

"Different." Grant tapped his chest with a finger. "There's listening and listening. They'll always
listen
to me, when they won't, you. But they won't
listen
to me the way they do you. No more than they do Will."

"They're interested in his safety.
Listening
has nothing to do with it."

"It has everything to do with it. They won't take his word—"

"—because he's in the middle of the problem."

"Because an azi is always in the middle of the problem, and damn well outside the decision loop.
Yanni's
in the middle of the problem, he's biased as hell with CIT opinions and CIT designs, does that disqualify him? No. It makes him an
expert."

"I
listen."

"Hell, you wouldn't let me touch that routine."

"For your own damn—good, —Grant." Somehow that came out badly, about halfway. "Well, sorry, but I care. That's not a CIT pulling rank. That's a friend who needs you stable. How's that?"

"Damn underhanded."

"Hey." He took Grant by the shoulder. "Hit me on something else, all right? Let's don't take the work I'd test my own sanity on and tell me you're put out because I won't trust my judgment on it either. I'd give you anything.

I'd let you—"

"There's the trouble."

"What?"

"Let me."

"Friend,
Grant. Damn, you're flux-thinking like hell, aren't you?"

"Ought to qualify me for a directorship, don't you think? Soon as we prove we're crazy as CITs we get our papers and then we're qualified not to listen to azi Testers either."

"What happened? What happened, Grant? You want to level with me?"

Grant looked off into the dark awhile. "Frustration, that's all. I—got turned down—for permission to go to Planys."

"Oh, damn."

"I'm not his son. Not—" Grant drew several slow breaths. "Not qualified in the same way. Damn, I wasn't going to drop this on you. Not tonight."

"God." Justin grabbed him and held on to him a moment. Felt him fighting for breath and control.

"I'm tempted to say I want tape," Grant said. "But damned if I will.
Damned
if I will. It's politics they're playing. It's—just what they can do, that's all. We just last it through, the way you did. Your project worked, dammit. Let's celebrate. Get me drunk, friend. Good and drunk. I'll be fine. That's the benefit of flux, isn't it? Everything's relative. You've worked so damn long for this, we've both worked for it. No surprise to me. I knew it would run. But I'm glad you proved it to them."

"I'll go to Denys again. He
said—"

Grant shoved back from him, gently. "He said maybe. Eventually. When things died down. Eventually isn't now, evidently."

"Damn
that kid."

Grant's hands bit into his arms. "Don't say that. Don't—even think it."

"She just has lousy timing.
Lousy
timing.
That's
why they're so damn nervous. . . ."

"Hey. Not her timing. None of it's—her timing. Is it?"

Thunder cracked. Flashes lit the west, above the cliffs. Of a sudden the perimeter alarm went, a wailing into the night. Wind was coming, enough to break the envelope.

They grabbed each other by the sleeve and the arm and ran for shelter and safety, where the yellow warning lights flashed a steady beacon above the entrance.

"Dessert?" uncle Denys asked. At
Changes,
at lunch, which was where she had agreed to meet him; and Ari shook her head.

"You can, though. I don't mind."

"I can skip it. Just the coffee." Denys coughed, and stirred a little sugar in. "I'm trying to cut down. I'm putting on weight. You used to set a good example."

Fifth and sixth try at sympathy. Ari stared at him quite steadily.

Denys took a paper from his pocket and laid it down on the table. "This is yours. It did pass. Probably better without you—this year."

"I'm a Special?"

"Of course. Did I say not? That's one reason I wanted to talk with you. This is just a fax. There was—a certain amount of debate on it. You should know about that. Catherine Lao may be your friend, but she can't stifle the press, not—on the creation of a Special. The ultimate argument was your potential. The chance that you might
need
the protection—before your majority. We used up a good many political favors getting this through. Not that we had any other choice—or wanted any."

Seventh.

She reached out and took the fax and unfolded it. Ariane Emory, it said, and a lot of fine and elaborate print with the whole Council's signatures.

"Thank you," she said. "Maybe I'd like to see it on the news."

"Not—possible."

"You were lying when you said you hated the vid. Weren't you? You just wanted to keep me away from the newsservices. You still do."

"You've requested a link. I know. You
won't
get it. You know why you won't get it." Uncle Denys clasped his cup between two large hands. "For your own health. For your well-being. There are things you don't want to know yet. Be a child awhile. Even under the circumstances."

She took the paper and carefully, deliberately slowly, folded it and put it in her carry-bag, thinking, in maman's tones:
Like hell, uncle Denys.

"I wanted to give you that," uncle Denys said. "I won't keep you. Thank you for having lunch with me."

"That's eight."

"Eight what?"

"Times you've tried to get me to feel sorry for you. I told you. It was a lousy thing to do, uncle Denys."

Shift and Shift again. Working only worked if you used it when it was time. No matter if you were ready.

"The taping. I know. I'm sorry. What can I say? That I wouldn't have done it? That would be a lie. I
am
glad you're doing all right. I'm terribly proud of you."

She gave him a nasty smile, fast and right into a sulk. "Sure."

"'To thine own self be true'?" With a smile of his own. "You know who planned this."

She ran that through again. It was one of his better zaps,
right
out of the blind-side, and it knocked the thoughts right out of her.

Damn. There weren't very many people who could Get her like that.

"I wonder if you can imagine how it feels," uncle Denys said, "to have known your predecessor—my first memories of her are as a beautiful young woman, outstandingly beautiful; and having the same young woman arriving at the end of my life—while I'm old—is an incredible perspective."

Trying to Work her for sure. "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation." He sipped at his coffee.

"You want to do something to make me happy?"

"What?"

"Tell Ivanov I don't
need
any appointment."

"No. I won't say that. I can tell you where the answer is. It's in the fifteenth-year material."

"That's real funny, uncle Denys."

"I don't mean it to be. It's only the truth. Don't go too fast, Ari. But I am changing something. I'm terminating your classes."

"What do you mean, terminating my classes?"

"Hush, Ari. Voices. Voices. This is a public place. I mean it's a waste of your time. You'll still see Dr. Edwards—on a need-to basis. Dr. Dietrich. Any of them will give you special time. You have access to more tapes than you can possibly do. You'll have to select the best. The answer to what you are is in there—much more than in the biographical material. Choose for yourself. At this point—you're a Special. You have privileges. You have responsibilities. That's the way it always works." He drank two swallows of the coffee and set the cup down. "I'll put the library charges to my account. It's still larger. —You can see your school friends anytime you like. Just send to them through the system. They'll get the message."

He left the table. She sat there a moment, figuring, trying to catch her breath.

She
could
go to classes if she wanted to. She could request her instructors' time, that was all.

She could do anything she wanted to.

Shots again. She scowled at the tech who took her blood and gave them to her. She did not even
see
Dr. Ivanov.

"There'll be prescriptions at pharmacy," the tech said. "We understand you'll be using home teaching. Please be careful. Follow the instructions."

The tech was azi. it was no one she could yell at. So she got up, feeling flushed, and went out to the pharmacy in the hospital and got the damned prescriptions.

Kat. At least it was useful.

She got home early: no interview with Dr. Ivanov, no hanging around waiting. She put the sack in the plastics bin and read the ticket and discovered they had billed her account thirty cred for the pills and probably for Florian and Catlin's too.

"Dammit," she said out loud. "Minder, message to Denys Nye: Pharmacy is your bill.
You
pay it. I didn't order it."

It made her furious.

Which was the shot. It
did
that to her. She took half a dozen deep breaths and went to the library to put the prescription bottles in the cabinet under the machine.

Damn. It was nowhere near time for her cycle. And she felt like that. She felt—

On. Like she wished she had homework tonight, or something. Or she could go down and see the Filly, maybe. She had been working too hard and going down there too little, leaving too much of the Filly's upbringing to Florian, but she didn't feel like that, either. The shots bothered her and she hated to be out of control when she was around people. It was going to be bad enough just trying not to be irritable with Catlin and Florian when
they
got home, without going around Andy, who was too nice to have to put up with a CIT brat in a lousy, prickly mood.

She knew what was going on with her, it had to do with her cycles, damn Dr. Ivanov was messing with her again, and it was embarrassing. Going around other people, grown-ups, likely they could
tell
what was going on with her, and that made her embarrassed too.

The whole thing was probably on Denys' orders. She bet it was. And she tried to think of a way to get them to stop it, but as long as Ivanov had the right to suspend her Super's license if she dodged sessions—she was in for it.

Dammit, there wasn't anything in the world those shots and those checkups had to do with her dealing with azi, not a thing—but she couldn't prove it, unless maybe she could do what the first Ari had done and call Security, and get them to arrange a House council meeting.

God, and sit there in front of every grown-up she knew in the whole House and explain about the shots and her cycles? She had rather die.

Don't go up against Administration, Ari senior had told her, out of the things she had learned.

Except it was Ari senior doing it to her as much as it was Denys.

Damn.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

She opened the tape cabinet, looking for something to keep her mind busy and burn some of the mad off. One of the E-tapes. Dumas, maybe. She was willing to do that tape twice. She knew it was all right.

But it was the adult ones that she started thinking about, which made her think about the last sex tape she had had, which was a long time back. And it was just exactly what she was in the mood for.

So she pulled one out that didn't sound as embarrassing as the others,
Models,
it was called; and she took it to the library, told the Minder to tell Florian and Catlin when they came in that she was doing tape and might be fifteen more minutes—she checked the time—by the time they got the message.

And locked the tape-lab door, tranked down with the mild dose you did for entertainment, set up and let it run.

In a while more she thought she should cut it off. It was different than anything she had thought.

But the feelings she got were interesting.

Very.

Florian and Catlin were home by the time the tape ran out. She ought not, she thought, stir about yet; but it was only a tiny dose, it was not dangerous, it only made her feel a little tranked, in that strange, warm way. She asked the Minder was it only them—silly precaution—before she unlocked the door and came out.

She found them in the kitchen making supper. Warm-ups again. "Hello, sera," Florian said. "Did it go all right today?"

Lunch with Denys, she realized. And remembered she was still mad, if she were not so tranked down. It was strange—the way things went in and out of importance in the day. "He stopped my classes," she said. "Said I didn't have to go to class anymore except just for special help. Said I had too many tapes to do."

So what do I start with?
That
stupid thing. Like I had all kinds of time.

"Is it all right, sera?" Catlin was worried.

"It's all right." She shoved away from the doorframe and came to put napkins down. The oven timer was running down, a flicker of green readout. "I can handle it. I will handle it. Maybe he's even right: I've got a lot to go through. And it's not like I was losing the school." She leaned on a chair back. The timer went. "I'll miss the kids, though."

"Will we meet with them?" Florian asked.

"Oh, sure. Not that we won't." She grabbed her plate and held it out as Florian used the tongs to get the heated dinner from the oven. She took hers and sat down as Florian and Catlin served themselves and joined her.

Dinner. A little talk. Retreat to their rooms to study. It was the way it always had been—except she had her own office and they had their computer terminals and their House accesses through the Minder.