C. Cherryh - Cyteen

He stood there, adrenaline coursing through him, but the body got duller with overload. The brain did. And flux just straightened out, even when he knew she was Operating, even when he knew step by step what she was doing: even when he realized there had been deep-level tweaks that had prepared for this, even when he felt amazement that she did it from around a blind corner and improvising as she went.

The knot unkinked. He was wide-open as drugs could send him, for one dizzy instant.

"All right," he said. "That's got one little flaw: Grant's not safe when you can meddle with him."

"Grant would never do anything against you. That's as controlled as I need. I'd be a fool to meddle with the one stable point you've got—when what I want is to be sure where you are. You're the one I'd intervene with—if I was going to do it. But if Grant's safety is assured, you're going to remember—anytime you think about doing anything against me—that much as your father might want to, he hasn't got the power to protect himself, much less you; and I have. I'll never hurt Jordan. I'll never hurt Grant. I can't promise that with you. And right now you know exactly why—because you're my leverage on a problem that threatens a whole lot more than just me."

It was strange that he felt no panic. Deep-set work again. He felt that through a kind of fog, in which intellect took over again and said: And you're my leverage. Aren't you?

But aloud, he said: "Can I see Grant?"

She nodded. "I said so. But you will stay here—at least for a few days. At least till I get it straightened out with my uncles."

"It's probably a good idea," he said, quite calm, even relieved, past the automatic little flutter of alarm. Flux kicked back in. Defenses came up all the way. He thought about the chance that Giraud would arrest them even over Denys' objections.

Or arrange their assassination. Giraud was not a man who worried about his own reputation. A professional—in his own nefarious way—who served a Cause, Ari was right about that. Giraud would sacrifice even Ari's regard for him—to be sure in his own mind, that Ari was safe.

Giraud would do it dirty, too. It was Ari's regard for them he had to terminate. It was his ideas Giraud had to discredit.

There had been a plot to incriminate him through Grant. He was sure of that. Every trip to Planys was a risk. They were cut off again. No more visits. No chance to see Jordan. They were lucky to get Grant back unscathed. And if Giraud could work on Jordan, indirectly—

Jordan knowing his son and his foster-son had joined Ari's successor—

There was no end to the what-ifs, no way to untangle truth and lies. Anyone could be lying. Everyone had reason. Every move Jordan made in Planys—was a risk. Failing to get to them, Giraud might well move on Jordan to get leverage on them in Reseune, to create doubts in Ari's mind—

And Ari said– I'm working both of you—

God.

He went to the hall and to the open library door; and into the dim room where Grant lay on the couch, asleep and very tranked. Florian was there, shadow in the corner, just sitting guard. Catlin was not. Catlin was somewhere else in the apartment, in the case he had violated instructions to stay to the front rooms, he thought.

He laid his hand on Grant's shoulder and said: "Grant, it's Justin. I'm here, the way I said."

Grant frowned, and drew a deep breath and moved a little; and opened his eyes a slit.

"I'm here," Justin said. "Everything's all right. She said you're all right."

A larger breath. Eyes showing white and pupil by turns as Grant struggled up out of the trank and reached after him. He took Grant's hand. "Hear me?" Double press on the inside of the wrist. "It's all right. You want Florian and me to carry you? You want to go to bed?"

"Just lie here," Grant murmured. "Just lie here. I'm so tired. I'm so tired—"

His eyes closed again.

"I'm doing quite well," Ari said, over a bite of salad; lunch, at Changes, the 18th December. "They're back in their own residency. Everyone's happy. There's no problem with Jordan, no lingering messiness. I just wasn't about to let them out where Giraud could get at them. You shouldn't worry. I can take care of myself. Is that enough said?"

"You know what I think about it," Denys said.

"I appreciate your concern. But," she said with a small quirk of her brow, a deliberate smile, "you probably worried about Ari senior this way too."

"Ari was murdered," Denys said.

Point.

And feeler? Denys was upset. Giraud was upset. Giraud hated disorder and his own impending death was creating maximum disorder: there were beginning to be rumors in the House—no leak: Giraud's own appearance, increasingly frail despite his large bones—was its own indicator of a man in failing health.

"One thinks she was murdered," Ari said. "Who knows? Maybe the pipe just blew. I've tried that door. A breath of air would disturb it, at certain points. A blown cryo line is just that. Isn't it? The line blows, she gets caught in the spray, falls, hits her head. The door closes quite naturally. Maybe murder was a useful story. Murder let you take fairly extreme measures."

"Is that what Justin says?"

"No. Dr. Edwards."

"When did John say a fool thing like that?"

"Not specifically. He just taught me scientific procedure. I never rule anything out. I just think some hypotheses are more likely than others."

"Confession makes it more likely, doesn't it?"

"I suppose it ought to. All things equal." She cut up a cucumber slice. "You know the kitchen's getting a little lazy. Look at this." She impaled a large lettuce rib. "Is that a way to serve?"

"Let's stay to business, dear, like why in hell you're being a fool about this man. Which has much more to do with glands than you want to admit. If you don't realize your vulnerability, I can assure you it's going to dawn on him, just as soon as the waves stop."

"Except one thing, uncle Denys: Justin's not Jordan. And he can't kill. He absolutely can't, for the same reason he can't work real-time. He'd freeze. He can't even hate Giraud. He feels other people's pain. Ari exacerbated that tendency in him. She leaned on it, hard. You see I do have those notes. I know something else, too: Jordan was hers. She just couldn't use his slant on things, so she conned Jordan into a replicate, and she took him, she absolutely took him. If she hadn't died, Justin would have slid closer and closer to her over the years—either healed the breach with Jordan or broken with him—because there's something very sad about his relationship to Jordan, and he would have learned it."

"What's that, mmmn?"

"That Jordan would have smothered him. Ari was never afraid of competition. Jordan was; and that relationship—Justin and his father—would have become more and more strained under Ari's influence. That's exactly what I project. Jordan is an arrogant, opinionated man who had intentions for his replicate, but they weren't going to work, because his son, with a good infusion of independence from Ari's side, was going to go head to head against him and make his life miserable; and I don't think Jordan's ego would ever let him see that."

"You don't even know Jordan Warrick."

"Ari did. It's my predecessor talking now. She set his whole life up. She provided Grant as an ameliorating influence on Justin, a partner of equal potential—Grant's predecessor was a Special, remember?—but deep-setted to be profoundly supportive of his Contract, which is exactly what a boy being pressured by his father to succeed—would rely on, wouldn't he, for the unqualified emotional support he'd need? Grant was always the leverage Ari would have to get Justin away from Jordan when the time was right; and now I have him. I'm going on Ari's instructions on this. She valued Jordan's abilities, she just wanted them to support her work—which, by what everyone tells me, is exactly the point where she and Jordan clashed: Jordan accused her of taking his ideas and claiming them. Justin's voiced similar reservations, of course. And he's confessed to resentments. But I've got that covered."