C. Cherryh - Cyteen

Now—I'm not that person.

But Ari's following her predecessor's program. Following her notes.

Its a dangerous course for her. If Ari hasn't the perspective to figure that out, to figure me out—it's very dangerous.

Not because I wish her harm.

Because I can't help it. I have ties—I can't shed.

"I don't want to hurt her, Grant."

"Is there a question of it?"

It was too much to say. Ari had sworn there was no monitoring, but that was only the truth she wished were so: her capabilities were another story. Ari would lie by telling what she wished instead of what she would do: Ari had confessed that to him—manipulative in that admission as in anything else she did. Never take me for simple . . . in any sense.

"No," he answered Grant. "Not by anything I want."

Are you listening, Ari?

Do you hear what I'm saying?

"Message," the Minder said, waking Ari out of sleep, and waking Florian.

"Coded private, Base Three."

Giraud.

Giraud was in Novgorod. Or had been when she went to sleep.

"Damn," she said; and rolled out of bed and searched for her slippers and her robe.

"Shall I get up, sera?"

"Go back to sleep," she said. "It's just Giraud going through the overhead. What else did I expect? Probably one from Denys too. . . ."

She found one slipper and the other as she put her arms into the sleeves, found the sashes and lapped them. "A little light," she said, "dammit, Minder. Eight seconds. On in the hall."

The room light came up a little, enough to see her way to the door, while—a backward glance—Florian pulled the covers over his head and burrowed into the dark. Eight seconds. She opened the door to the outside, blinking in brighter light, rubbing her eyes, as the light faded behind her.

She shut the door, and saw Catlin in the hall, in her nightrobe, her hair loose. "Back to bed," she told Catlin. "Just Giraud."

Catlin vanished.

She wanted a cup of something warm. But she was not about to rouse either of them: they had worked themselves to exhaustion getting Justin packed and upstairs before the rest of House Security could get at Justin's belongings or Justin's notes, and getting enough essentials through the Residency scanners to give them a choice of clothing and the basics for breakfast and to put their working notes into their hands again—after which, she reckoned, Justin might be a good deal happier.

Giraud certainly would not be.

She went into her office, tucked up in the chair and said, "Minder, message. I'm alone."

"Message, Base Three to Base One. Ari, this is Giraud."

All right, all right. Who else?

"Abban's flying down with this tape and flying back again tonight. He'll probably be on his way back to the airport by the time the system's alerted you. I can't afford this time. He can't. But I expect you know what's got me upset."

Three guesses, uncle Giraud? Is this about the dance?

Or have you heard your niece's latest?

"I'm terribly worried, Ari. I've made multiple tries at recording this message. The first one wasn't polite. But I think I can understand at least the reasons behind your reasons.

"I'm not going to yell at you. Isn't that what you always used to say: if you're going to yell at me, uncle Giraud, I'm not going to listen.

"We're both too old for that, and this is much too important for temper to get into it. So please, listen to this all the way through. It's ephemeral in the system unless you capture and copy—which you may do. If you do, I leave it to your discretion whether to send it to Archive, but I advise otherwise for reasons which may occur to you. This message is cued only to Base One. Unless I am dangerously mistaken, that will assure you are the only recipient.

"There's been another bombing. You may have heard."

Damn. No.

"Major restaurant. Five dead, nineteen injured. New Year's Day crowds. That's what we're dealing with. Lunatics, Ari. People who don't care about their targets.

"Let me go through this point by point, as logically as I can, why what you've done regarding young Warrick isn't advisable.

"I advised you in the first place against coming to Novgorod. I foresaw a press furor that could well lead to more bombings, and the public is damn tense—putting up with it, surviving, but ready to find a focus for their problems, and I don't want that blood on you, understand. Certainly we don't need to make you a center of controversy.

"Your suggestion to lend enforcement and surveillance help under Reseune's aegis is a damned fine one. I'm ashamed not to have thought of the means: Novgorod city government's touchy and suspicious of anything that massive with Reseune's stamp on it, but they're desperate, and that gives them an alternative to the several other routes they don't want to go—they don't want the precedent of calling on the regular military; they don't have the funds to Contract more personnel. Reseune Security in the subways is bound to be a target, but no sitting target, either—and we can muster enough to handle it: borrow the transport and the weapons from the military, at a level where Novgorod doesn't have to be acutely aware of that connection; shore up Jacques, too: the armed forces are chafing at what they call a do-nothing policy across the board. Success at something, success at anything, would make the whole administration of Union look a damned sight better.

"Which brings up another point, Ari. One I'm no happier talking about than you can imagine—but you and I both know that I'm on the downward slide." Pity, uncle Giraud? Shame on you.

"Just de-charge the situation and listen to me. I want you to start thinking clearly about what in hell you're going to do when I die, because I can assure you your enemies are planning for it.

"Khalid is beyond the two year rule. He could challenge Jacques again now. He could, but he hasn't filed. The Centrists are nominally backing Jacques. They're scared of Khalid: he's not someone they can control and Corain in particular sees Khalid as a clear danger to himself, someone who'd like to take the helm from him—and Corain's no young man any longer. Khalid calls Corain a tired old grandfather . . . behind closed doors, but that kind of thing gets passed along, in private circles.

"Me, he calls a dead man. Not particularly pleasant, but I'm getting used to the idea. He doesn't know yet how right he is."

My God, uncle Giraud. What a view of things! "Look at Council, Ari. Catherine Lao's almost my age. That's your most valuable ally besides Harad and myself. I'm going. Jacques is a very weak figure and Gorodin's grooming a replacement in the senior end of the admiralty board, in a man named Spurlin, able, but very middle-of-the-spectrum, very strictly the interests of his own Bureau, blow anyone else. Are you following this?" Too well. I'm ahead of you.

"I made a terrible mistake, Ari, when I moved against Warrick without consulting you. We crossed one another, and to your damage. I made a further mistake when I didn't level with you then. Now I have reason to suspect you've passed at least my Base ..." Oh. Dear.

"... and possibly Denys' as well—either that or you have an uncanny timing. "I confess that threw me. I didn't know then what to do. I'm old and I'm sick and I'm scared, Ari. But I'm not going to get maudlin. Just in that very bright mind of yours, you should realize that your uncles have human weaknesses. I should have taken immediate measures I failed to take. When I was younger I might have done better, but I'm not sure I would have. Doubts like that, you understand, are the bane of any reasoning mind. Do I not act because I see too much and the choices are too wide—or because I just can't make a choice?