The Administration Series (221 page)

Socioanalysis is both an Art and a Science, one that is practised by genuine geniuses, measured on any scale. And a large part of the Art is finding the opportunities, and then applying the Science of knowing what to do with them.

As Sara well knew, Chevril had offered to buy the first round in the hope that only a few of the conspirators would have arrived at the bar by then.

No such luck.

Sara suspected that Toreth had suggested the necessary tactics to a few people on the way over. The group delayed, changed their minds, confused orders, and started again as new people arrived. Other I&I staff already in the bar for celebrations of their own were invited to join in. Eventually, when Chevril was literally sweating at the size of the upcoming bill, Kel called a halt to the persecution and brought out his hand screen.

"You lot need an admin. What's the saying about parties in alcoholic establishments? Names and drinks in order, please, my dears. Rank, brains or beauty — Assistant Director Toreth still goes first."

Toreth flipped through the cocktail menu, and ordered the most expensive thing on it. When Mike Belkin topped that with a bottle of champagne, Chevril actually whimpered.

A dozen more people arrived before the ordering finished, and Toreth insisted they were added to the round. When the bar staff had lined the last of the drinks up on the bar, Chevril handed over his credit card with an expression suggesting he'd rather have parted with a kidney.

"Elena is going to bloody kill me," he muttered, moving out of the way as the crowd descended. "When she sees —"

Toreth leaned down, and Sara didn't hear what he said, but Chevril stopped dead in mid-complaint and looked up at him. She couldn't hear his reply, either, but the mirror behind the bar clearly reflected their faces — Toreth absolutely humourless, with eyes like mid-winter, and Chevril suddenly subdued. Chevril said something again, and Toreth shook his head.

She didn't catch the first part of the sentence, but as Toreth straightened, she heard him say, " — tell anyone. I mean, I picked you — doesn't make me look very good, does it?"

"Thanks," Chevril said, but Toreth had already turned away. When Chevril saw Sara watching, he managed a sickly smile.

"What's all that about?" someone asked from behind, and Sara turned to find Daedra, still wearing her one black plait.

"Dunno." If Toreth wanted the betrayal kept secret, then she wouldn't spread it. "Have you got a drink? Chevril's buying."

Chevril cleared his throat, and then stepped backwards up onto the rail running around the bar a few inches above the floor, balancing with a hand on the bar. "Listen up, people. Before you're all too bloody wasted on my money to pay any bloody attention."

The crowd offered a few comments that Chevril ignored — mostly suggesting that he stood on something taller — then quieted.

"Right." He coughed again. "Those pillocks this afternoon were right about one thing — this is all down to Toreth. No pissing about — we owe him a lot, some of us more than others. Everyone here, everyone else at I&I. If it wasn't for him, we'd all be back down in those bloody cells right now, and I don't know about you, but once was enough for me. So — Toreth, Senior Para." He raised his glass.

Sara slipped her arm around Toreth's waist as the combination of applause, abuse and whistles rolled over them. Toreth grinned, actually blushing, and he hugged her shoulders until the noise died down.

"Ah, fuck." Speechless, for about the first time she could remember. "Thanks." He stopped again, running his hand through his hair. "I'll, uh — I'll just say that I didn't do it for any of you bastards personally. I did it to shaft fucking Carnac, and stop him taking I&I down, and I think I can say that as far as that goes, it was pretty fucking spectacular."

Another pause for more applause. Sara pinched Toreth's waist, and when he looked down, she mouthed, "Bevan."

He nodded, and waved for quiet. "Yeah, and also to say that I'm not the only one you ought to be buying free drinks until they retire . . . "

As he started the list of names, Sara looked around the room. It struck her that this was probably a new experience for him — he was used to professional respect, and sexual attention, but this was popularity and genuine gratitude. Not a bad achievement, considering who it was from.

Then she looked again, seeing invisible gaps. The people who weren't there. Too bloody depressing a thought for something that should be a celebration, but she couldn't stop herself. Another list of names, this time the dead, unrolling behind her eyes until Toreth squeezed her shoulder again.

"And last but not least, of course, Sara." He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth, firmly and with more tongue than she ought to let him get away with, to the accompaniment of another storm of whistles.

He straightened up. "So — to Sara, Bev and everyone else."

Not sure whether she ought to drink to herself, Sara raised her glass anyway, adding her own silent toast.

Parsons. Starr. Sedanioni. All the rest.

Later that evening, the building security admitted Carnac without difficulty. As he rode up in the lift, he ran through the encounter to come, mapping out probabilities and building contingencies. These were the things he did best and the ritual of planning calmed him.

Outside Keir's flat, the guard checked his ID carefully, and then called in to the flat. Then they waited in silence as the time ticked past. Twenty-three long days since he had been here last. Nineteen since Keir had visited I&I — ostensibly about the curfew passes, but his real motive had been so transparent.

Carnac wished, briefly, that he were the kind of person who could truthfully say 'I don't understand why you're with him'. However, he understood both of them better than they did themselves. Therefore, he also knew how slim were the chances that this evening would bring him anything more than a sweet taste of revenge to mitigate the bitterness of defeat.

The door opened.

Carnac said nothing. Eventually, Keir nodded, and stepped aside without comment.

They sat down in the kitchen, and he watched Keir as he made them a coffee. Since Keir had admitted him to the flat, there were two possibilities. Firstly, that Keir knew nothing and therefore had no reason not to admit him, in which case his project would run smoothly. Secondly, that he knew everything, and therefore felt that Carnac posed no threat. In the latter case, things would be more difficult, but not impossible.

Painful as it was, he made small talk, asking about SimTech and Keir's sister. He needed to play for time, and it was safer this way. At the same time, he knew precisely how improbable it was that he would ever have the chance to speak to Keir again, and he found that idea more discomforting than he had expected.

He wanted to explain. He had to take the chance, however slim it was, that Keir would understand. Despite his blind infatuation with Toreth, Keir knew the truth about I&I. Yet, for once in his life, Carnac couldn't find the words to do it.

"I hear that you've had some success with the reform of I&I?" Keir said eventually. He tilted his head slightly, waiting for the answer with a half smile that answered any doubts about what he knew.

"Oh, no." Carnac dredged up a cool, professional voice. "Let's not work through all the questions and counter-questions. I would like to think that we know each other better than that."

Keir shook his head. "I don't think I know you at all."

"All I would like is a chance to explain what I did, and why I did it." He didn't hold out much hope that the explanation would be worth anything in terms of altering Keir's attitude towards him, but it would keep him here, where he needed to be.

"I don't think I require an explanation, or that any explanation would suffice. But if you must."

Not much of an opening, but he'd take it. "Reform of that place is hopeless. As long as the skills and the will to use them are there, whatever good intentions abound at the moment it is only a matter of time before the interrogation rooms are busy again. It may be years before it is restored to full strength but it will begin to happen in months. It is a habit that this society has fallen into."

Was Keir listening? He was certainly watching with every appearance of interest.

"To break the habit the system had to be destroyed, root and branch. All knowledge, all expertise. Everyone who identified themselves with the organisation. I set the situation up to see who would come back, to pick out the ones who believed in the system. I gave Toreth a chance to leave along with the others. You know I did."

Keir shook his head. "You pretended to. And you did so in a way that meant he had to go back. Why?"

"To destroy I&I. And I know that you share that ideal. The Administration doesn't need an abomination like that, and if it does, then the Administration should go too."

"Yes. All true. But I meant, why involve Toreth at all?"

The truth, spoken by himself, would kill the conversation now. "Because I knew that he would be the best tool for the job."

"Was that the only reason?" Keir paused, then continued. "I have a tendency to dismiss Toreth's . . . concerns as unfounded. But in this case, I think I was wrong. Or am I flattering myself unduly?"

Carnac shook his head. Now it came down to it, he was surprised by how difficult it was, by how few of the carefully prepared words he could remember. "That you are with him is — " Wrong. Terribly wrong. But that wasn't what he wanted to say. He needed to phrase it in terms of himself, not of Toreth.

"You are one of the few people I have met in my life who consistently treats me as a person. Not a tool, or some performing freak bred up by the Administration and to be loathed or feared or envied, depending on how much of a threat I pose. You cannot imagine how precious a thing that is. Is it such a surprise that I might hope for more than friendship from you?"

Keir said nothing, his face a mask of polite attention.

"If I might risk the arrogance of expressing a professional opinion on such a personal matter, we are far from incompatible. I know what you get from Toreth; I understand your needs. I'm not as incapable of making compromises as I sometimes appear." The clumsiness of the words appalled him.

"I'm perfectly content with what I have," Keir said. No emotion — he might have been speaking about his flat. "What have I ever said to you that gave any other impression?"

"You have been admirably clear about that in the past. But I hoped that things might change."

"That would take divine intervention, not socioanalysis." Now he smiled coldly. "Of all the people Toreth has been jealous of — and, God knows, there have been enough of them — you are perhaps the least realistic. I wouldn't fuck you again if my life depended on it."

Carnac felt the sting of the anger behind the words. "Keir, all I wanted — "

"You wanted Toreth out of the way permanently." Keir finished his coffee and placed the cup back onto the saucer, positioning the handle carefully. "And you were willing to sacrifice Kate to do it."

That stopped Carnac dead. He hadn't expected Kate's name and for once he was unsure how to react. Keir's expression gave no clue. At length he said, "That was a threat and nothing more. I never intended to carry it out."

Keir simply looked at him, ice cold and unforgiving, until he was forced to look away. It was hopeless. There was nothing he could say, no way to explain. He could drag the encounter out for a few minutes, no more, and then he would have to go.

"Well, I hope that you suitably expressed your gratitude to Toreth for her swift rescue." He couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice.

"It had little to do with Toreth. I did it. He told me what had happened, and I managed to make contact with someone who could free her."

Carnac waited while the past reordered itself, based on the new information, until he knew what, and when, and how, as clearly as if Keir had already explained it in detail. Payne had held something back from him after all. There were only one or two questions left, things to clarify.

"You already knew about her."

"Yes." Then he added, almost apologetically, "I suppose that wasn't terribly likely."

Likely or not, the mistake had been his. It irked him that he consistently underestimated Toreth in this one regard — the strength of his feelings towards Keir. He had believed that Toreth would be too afraid of the consequences to tell Keir of the threat in the first place. The fact that the shock should have been too great for Keir to do anything in time was a secondary consideration.

"You gave them my name?" he asked.

"Yes." No apology in his voice this time. "Now, I think, we've said everything there is to say."

Carnac could only nod. He had hoped for more from him: more vision, more detachment, more . . . morality. Keir had made the decision to save Kate, and so save Toreth and the rest of I&I. In that way, he had proved a disappointment in the end, like all the others. The other things Carnac had allowed himself to hope for were now forever beyond his reach.

Then, finally, he heard the door to the flat open and Sara call, "Warrick! It's us."

Keir looked towards the door and back, and said, "You knew they were coming."

Carnac contented himself with a smile, pulling his coffee cup towards him. Maximising the sense that he was at home here.

Sara's voice came down the hall towards the kitchen. "We brought the celebration with us, so unless you're going to be enough of a miserable bastard to throw out a free drink, we — "

She stopped dead in the doorway, champagne bottle in one hand. "What the hell are you doing here?" she breathed.

"Who?" Toreth appeared behind her, and also froze, if only briefly.

Sara put her arm out across the doorway, the bottle hitting the frame, but he pushed her aside without looking at her and came into the kitchen. "Why the fuck is he here?"

Keir stood up. "He came round to talk and I wanted to hear what he had to say, so I let him in."

"I can fucking see that."