The Administration Series (124 page)

"Really?" She dragged the word out, disbelievingly. "What if Kemp doesn't think so?"

Sometimes he wished she wasn't so astute. "Then Toreth's in serious trouble, which should make you happy."

"No. No it doesn't, because it would make you very unhappy." She sat back in her chair with a sigh. "God, but that man is
aggravating
. Do you remember when I worried about you spending too much time in the sim? I take it all back."

As usual, he couldn't manage to stay angry with her. He reached across the table and took her hand. "Everything will be fine." He squeezed her fingers gently for emphasis. "You caught the tail end of it. Nothing more is going to happen, I promise."

She smiled wryly. "Don't make promises you can't keep. Just tell me that you'll try to stay out of it."

He nodded, grateful that she'd said 'try'.

"And all the rest," she said after a moment. "All the usual."

"I know. I will be." Another squeeze, then he let go of her hand and checked his watch. "Do you want to go? We'll only miss twenty minutes or so."

"No. I'm not really in the mood for music any more. I think I'll do some shopping, and then I'll go home and fret for a while."

Relief that he hadn't had to cancel the day out himself cheered him slightly. "If it makes you happy, dearest Dilly darling."

She made a face. "You know, sometimes you almost deserve him."

When she had finally gone — after extracting more promises that he would take care — he set about finishing his breakfast. Dilly's arrival had been a mixed blessing. At least he'd managed to get Toreth to agree, however reluctantly, to the new security system. He'd anticipated a much tougher fight over that, and he'd better sort it out as soon as possible, before Toreth changed his mind.

He wasn't in the least surprised that Toreth had left. The only real surprises were that he'd stayed as long as he had, and that he'd said what he had last night.

Thinking it over now that he was alone, he felt incredibly . . . well, 'flattered' might be an acceptable approximation. Pleased that Toreth had trusted him enough to tell him what had happened — even though he was very probably regretting it now — and then to stay afterwards, although he knew that neither of them would mention it again. It had been a display of trust by Toreth that a couple of years ago Warrick would have found impossible to imagine.

Give it another ten years and they'd be living together.

While he ate, he amused himself by exploring the full horror of the concept. Then, when he'd finished, he made another pot of coffee and took it into the study. Time to start finding out about Gil Kemp.

When he checked his comm back at his flat, Toreth found Kemp's job offer waiting for him. Quick work — it made him wonder how often the situation arose for Kemp. Curiosity prompted him to see what he was turning down.

Sitting down — wincing as his back hit the chair — he paged through the details, impressed despite himself. 'Generous' was a more than adequate description, starting with an undertaking to buy out any remaining training obligation to the Administration. Not an excessive amount in his case, after so long, but still a consideration. Plenty of corporate offers didn't include that, or translated it into a loan to be deducted from salary, although with the size of the salary on offer that wouldn't have been much of a deterrent.

Accommodation was included in the package and reasonable latitude as to location, plus the option to appoint his own assistant. Had Kemp been thinking of Sara? The idea of working for Kemp hadn't seemed to bother her at all. Or had she just not thought it through then? Maybe he'd ask her tomorrow.

Toreth paused. Was he sliding towards thinking about accepting the offer? Generous terms, indeed. For a moment, he deliberately directed his mind back to the river.

Doesn't sound like someone you ought to be working for, Warrick had said, and he'd definitely had the right idea about that, although hopefully he was wrong about Kemp's likely reaction to a refusal. Toreth spent a while drafting a polite negative, then sent it to the reply address given on the offer. Kemp probably wouldn't see it until Monday, if ever.

That was it. It was over.

To his surprise, it wasn't even lunchtime before Warrick's pet security company turned up. As he'd expected, they were highly professional and efficient but, in such a small flat, it was impossible for them to work round him without disturbing him. In the end he asked for an estimate of how long it would take and went out to enjoy the first real sunshine of the summer.

Or at least, to try to do so.

He walked to the perimeter of the Int-Sec complex, scanned his ID at one of the unmanned staff entrances, and headed for the landscaped gardens around the small lake. Being a Sunday, it was quiet, although a few Int-Sec employees had brought their families along to this lower security zone to picnic in the sun. Perk of a good Administration job. Toreth lowered himself carefully to lie on the grass, and watched the clouds passing, and thought about corporates.

Theirs wasn't a world he lived in, but it was one he understood well. Beating the crap out of a partner was something any senior corporate of middle ranking or higher could expect to get away with, as long as they picked the right victim, preferably someone poor and unprotected.

Everything was relative. Jon Kemp was the son of a major corporate, but not influential himself. Sara worked for a powerful division, but had a low-status job within it. Toreth himself was a more important figure than Sara — too important to consider simply disposing of, as Gil Kemp had clearly understood. Set against Gil Kemp, though, Toreth's personal influence was no more significant than Sara's.

He couldn't banish the uneasy feeling that it wasn't over. Warrick's doubts, clearly demonstrated in his insistence on the new security for the flat, and Toreth's own instincts agreed on that point. As a rule, he didn't trust instinct. In this case, though, he could spot a control freak at a hundred meters — not difficult, because 'control freak' and 'senior corporate' were practically synonymous.

By not playing the game, by refusing the gilded cage, he'd probably upset Kemp a great deal more than he had by assaulting his son.

A loud splash wrenched him away from the depressing ruminations. He sat up too quickly, heart pounding, to find a small shoe bobbing in the centre of a widening ring on the lake and a child being soundly scolded by its mother.

He looked at the dark water, ripples smoothing out in the gentle breeze, and wondered why the hell he'd come here instead of another part of the grounds. But moving somewhere else, now, would be an admission of defeat. Looking at his watch, he decided to head back home, via some food shopping. He didn't fancy going round to Warrick's for a few days, so he ought to get something in.

On the way out, the scanner rejected his ID three times before it let him through. A glitch in the system, nothing more, and common enough. Still, it didn't improve his mood.

The security firm estimated well. When he returned, they were finishing up, and the woman in charge, who styled herself as a personal security consultant, walked him through the system. He couldn't deny that it made him feel safer. It would be easier to come through the wall than the new door, and the upgraded alarm system encompassed all the windows, as well as sensors in every room.

The personal security consultant told him that the invoice was already settled, but she gave him a copy without protest when he asked. Briefed by Warrick, no doubt.

The total made his eyes water, and he decided to let Warrick pay it, if he really wanted to.

Toreth nearly didn't go in to work on Monday. He hadn't slept well, and his wrist ached nastily. Although the bruises and general muscle pains were a little better, he still required handfuls of painkillers before he made it out of bed. In the end, though, hanging around at home with nothing to do but hurt seemed less attractive than hurting slightly more while being busy.

As he prepared to leave the flat, Kemp called him. Not even half past eight.

"What can I do for you?" Toreth asked, knowing the answer.

"I have a note here saying that you declined my offer." Kemp's voice wasn't a bad approximation of friendly, but it had an edge of anger.

"Yes. Thanks for the thought, and I appreciated the package, but I'm happy where I am."

"That's a shame. I was looking forward to having you working for us. May I ask why?"

I don't work for fucking psychos. "Personal reasons."

"I see. A pity. But I have a number of friends at Int-Sec, and even a few at I&I. If there is anything I can do for you in the future, as recompense for your unfortunate experience, I hope you'll remember my influence there."

Now the edge in his voice was definitely a threat.

"Thanks. I will."

"Excellent. I shall keep my eye on your doubtless successful career. Goodbye."

That afternoon, Toreth sat at his desk and looked at his sixth coffee of the day, cooling in front of him. It was always a bad sign when Sara provided drinks unprompted, particularly in these quantities. It meant that one of them was seriously out of sorts. Since it wasn't him, there had to be something wrong with her.

He knew what it was. He'd known before Warrick had said it in the flat — she blamed herself for what had happened to him. Annoying, but probably inevitable, Sara being who she was. As inevitable as the fact that he'd have to talk to her about it, although he wasn't sure what to say.

No time like the present to find out. He tapped the comm.

"Sara, could you come in here for a moment, please?"

The 'please' probably threw her, because it took a few seconds for her to say, "I'll be a minute."

"Now, please." Before he changed his mind.

She took so long that he was about to go and drag her in. Then the door opened and she stepped through, stopping just over the threshold.

"Yes?"

"Sit down."

"I'm busy."

"And I'm your boss. So sit."

Reluctantly, she perched on the edge of the desk.

That would have to do. "Have you got something to say?"

She hesitated, biting her lip.

"No? That must be a first." He pushed his chair back, put his feet up on the desk, and looked at his watch. "I've only got an hour before I'm due in a very boring meeting, and I've got better things to do with it than sit here and wait. But I will."

"I'm sorry." She met his eyes briefly, then looked down at her hands. "I know you don't want to hear it. But it's my fault that you got hurt, and I'm so fucking sorry."

"Oh? Well, that explains it then."

She looked up, puzzled. "What?"

"How they got the code into my flat."

Her eyes went wide. "I've never told anyone! Why would you even think I — oh. That's not fair. You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. And that's bollocks, too. If you want to blame someone, try Jonny. That's who I'm blaming. And his fucking father."

"His father?" She frowned. "Why?"

Oh, hell. Careless and stupid. He'd have to cut back on the painkillers. "Nothing serious. He made some threats he can't back up, to try to keep me quiet."

Now she looked alarmed. "Threats? But I thought he offered you a job?" Something of his manner from Saturday night must have filtered back, because she shut her mouth abruptly.

Toreth sighed. "There's nothing to worry about, I promise." I hope. "It wasn't your fault."

Weak, and not surprisingly, ineffective.

"Yes, it was. If I hadn't been so stupid as to get mixed up with Jon in the first place, you wouldn't have had to do anything."

"
Had
to? Right, of course. You held a gun — " Fucking, fucking hell. "You held a gun on me and forced me to go over and beat the shit out of him. Because it would never have occurred to me to do it on my own, would it? Seeing as the bastard richly deserved it and I
wanted
to do it. Anyway, it's just a few bruises and a bit of a sprain. Forget it, and we can get back to work."

She looked down again. Impasse. This wasn't getting them anywhere. He should have put more thought into it to start with — now he was stuck for a line of attack and that always looked bad. Luckily, as he was considering telling her to go, she gave him an opening.

"I should have told you not to — "

"You could have told me anything you liked. I'd still have done it."

She glanced up. "You know . . . that's what Warrick said."

Thank you, Warrick. "Well, he's not just a great fuck."

"God, he must be thrilled with me."

"Not that it's any of his business what I do for my friends, but he thinks it was the only thing to do."

"Really? He said that?"

It seemed like a reasonable interpretation of Warrick's position to Toreth. Or at least plausible. "Of course, really. Ask him yourself if you like. Look, if me and Warrick both say that I'm stupid enough to have done it on my own, whatever the fuck you said about it, can we agree that it wasn't your fault?"