C. Cherryh - Cyteen

She opened her mouth. She wanted to talk about the other thing. But he didn't. He closed that off like a door going shut and threw her an important question. And Grant came back with the water. They were Working her, timing every thing. And he had said what he wanted to say.

"It's because one is an action and one is a substantive. Defend will drift and so will base. And there's going to be no enemy from offworld, just the possibility of one, if that gets passed down. And they're not going to have tape after the first few years: Gehenna didn't."

Justin nodded slowly. "You know that my father specializes in educational sets. That Gehenna has political consequences. You talk about my working with him. You know what you're doing, throwing this my way. You know what it could cost me. And him. If anything goes wrong, if anything blows up—it comes down on us. Do you understand that?"

"It won't."

"It won't. Young sera, do you know how thin that sounds to me? For God's sake be wiser than that. Not smarter. Wiser. Hear me?"

God. Complications. Complications with Defense. With politics. With him. With everything.

"So," he said. "Now you do know. I just want you to be aware. —Your idea about semantic drift and flux is quite good—but a little simple, because there's going to be occupational diversity, which affects semantics, and so on—"

Another shift of direction. Finn and definitive. "They stay agricultural."

He nodded. "Let's work through this, step by step. I'll give you my objections and you note them and give me your answers. ..."

She focused down tight, the way Florian and Catlin had taught her, mind on business, and tried to hold it, but it was not easy, she was not azi, and there was so much to him, there was so much complication with him, he was always so soft-spoken, Yanni's complete opposite. He could come off the flank and surprise her, and so few people could do that.

He could go from being mad to being kind—so fast; and both things felt solid, both of them felt real.

She felt Grant's disapproval from across the room. There was nothing she could gain there: win Justin and eventually she won Grant, it was that simple. And she had made headway with Justin: she added it up in its various columns and thought that, overall, complicated as he was, he had given her a great deal.

"He was nice about it," she said to Florian and Catlin at dinner. "He truly was. I think it was real."

"We'll keep an eye on him," Florian said.

They did much less of their work at the Barracks nowadays. Just occasionally they went down to take a course, only for the day. They had taken one this day. Catlin was sporting a scrape on her hand and a bruise on her chin, but she was pleased with herself, which meant pleased with the way things had gone.

Mostly they did their study by tape. Mostly things were real, nowadays. And they watched the reports they got on the Defense Bureau, and all the comings and goings of things in the installations that bordered on Reseune properties.

There had been a lot of dirty maneuvers—attempts to create scandal around Reseune. Attempts to snare Reseune personnel into public statements. Khalid was much better behind the scenes than in front of the cameras, and he had gained ground, while Giraud told her no, no, there's no percentage in debating him. He can make charges. The minute you deny them you're news and the thing is loose again.

But she had rather have been news so she could throw trouble into Khalid's lap.

There had been a scare last week when a boat had lost its engines and come ashore down by precip 10: some CITs had taken offense at the level of security they ran into, and said so, which a Centrist senator from Svetlansk had used to some advantage, and proposed an investigation of brutality on the part of Reseune Security.

Never mind that the CIT in question had tried to repossess from Security a carry-bag that had turned out to contain a questionable number of prescription drugs. The CIT claimed they were all legitimate and that he had a respiratory ailment which was aggravated by stress. He was suing for damages.

There was a directive out to Security reaffirming that Reseune stood by the guard. But Florian worried about it; and Catlin did, when Florian pointed out that it could be a deliberate thing, and if someone hadn't thought of creating an incident with Reseune Security in front of cameras, someone surely would now, likely Khalid, and likely something in Novgorod.

Let me tell you, she had said, when they brought it up with her, don't worry about it. If that was engineered, that's a fallout that could benefit our enemies. Don't doubt your tape; react, and react on any level your tape tells you. If I'm alive I can handle whatever falls out—politically. Do you doubt that?

No, they had said solemnly.

So she slammed her hand down on the table and they jumped like a bomb had gone off, scared white.

"Got you," she said. "You're still fast enough. That was go and stop, wasn't it? Damn fast."

Two or three breaths later Florian had said: "Sera, that was good. But you shouldn't scare us like that."

She had laughed. And patted Florian's hand and Catlin's, Catlin all sober and attentive, the way Catlin got when she was On. "You're my staff. Do what I say. Not Denys. Not your instructors. Not anyone."

So when Florian said, We'll keep an eye on him, there was a certain ominous tone to it.

"He's my friend," she said, reminding them of that.

"Yes, sera," Catlin said. "But we don't take things for granted."

"Enemies are much easier to plan for," Florian said. "Enemies can't get in here."

It was sense they gave her. They were things she had known once, when they were children, in uncle Denys' apartment.

"Hormones," she said, "are a bitch. They do terrible things to your thinking. Of course you're right. Do what you have to."

"Hormones, sera?" Florian asked.

She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. But there was no jealousy about it. Just worry. "He's good-looking," she said. "That gets in the way, doesn't it? But I'm not crazy, either."

She felt strange about that, after. Scared. And she thought of times when she had had a lot less flux going on.

So she thought of Nelly; and thought that it had been much too long since she had seen her; and found her the next morning, a Nelly a little on the plump side, and very, very busy with her charges in the nursery.

Nelly had a little trouble focusing on her, as if the changes were too sudden or the time had been too long. "Young sera?" Nelly said, blinking several times. "Young sera?"

"I got to thinking about you," she said to Nelly. "How are you doing? Are you happy?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, young sera." A baby began crying. Nelly gave it a distracted look, over her shoulder. Someone else saw to it. "You've grown so much."

"I have. I'm sixteen, Nelly."

"Is it that long?" Nelly bunked again, and shook her head. "You were my first baby."

"I'm your oldest. Can I buy you lunch, Nelly? Put on your coat and come to lunch with me?"

"Well, I—" Nelly looked back at the rows of cribs.

"I've cleared it with your Super. Everything's fine. Come on."

It was very strange. In some ways Nelly was still only Nelly, fussy with her own appearance—fussy with hers. Nelly reached out and straightened her collar, and Ari smiled in spite of the twitch it made about self-defense, because there was no one else in the universe who would do that now.

But she knew before lunch was half over that the small wistful thought she had had, of bringing Nelly back to the apartment, was not the thing to do.