One tried. There was a mountain of work to do and the office was not the place to discuss subtleties. But walking the quadrangle toward dark, an edge-of-safety shortcut with weather-warnings out and a cloud-bank beyond the cliffs and Wing Two: "You started to say something this afternoon," Justin said. He had picked the route. And the solitude. "About Yanni."
"Nothing about Yanni."
"Hell if there wasn't. Has he been onto you for something?"
"Yanni's conservatism. That's all. He knows better than that. Dammit, he knows it's going through. He just has to find something negative."
"Don't blank on me. You were going to say something. Secrets make me nervous, Grant, you know that."
"I don't know what about. There's no secret."
"Come on. You went 180 on me. What didn't you say?"
A few paces in silence. Then: "I'm trying to remember. Honestly."
Lie.
"You said you were frustrated about something."
"That?" A small, short laugh. "Frustrated they have to be so damn short-sighted."
"You're doing it again," Justin said quietly. "All right. I'll worry in private. No matter. Don't mind. I don't pry."
"The hell."
"The hell. Yes. What's going on with you? You mind telling me?"
More paces in silence. "Is that an order?"
"What the hell is this 'order'? I asked you a question. Is there something the matter with a question?" Justin stopped on the walk where it crossed the sidewalk from Wing Two, in the evening chill with the flash of lightning in the distance. "Something about Yanni? Wasit Yanni? Or did Isay something?"
"Hey, I'm glad it worked, I amglad. There's nothing at all wrong with me. Or you. Or Will."
"Addictions. Was that the keyword?"
"Let's talk about it later."
"Talk where, then? At home? Is it that safe?"
Grant gave a long sigh, and faced the muttering of thunder and the flickering of lightnings on Wing Two's horizon. It was a dangerous time. Fools lingered out of doors, in the path of the wind that would sweep down—very soon.
"It's frustration," he said. "That they won't take Will's word on it. That they know so damn much because they're CITs."
"They have to be careful. For Will's sake, if nothing else. For the sake of the other programs he tests, —"
"CITs are a necessary evil," Grant said placidly, evenly, against the distant thunder. "What would we azi possibly do without them? Teach ourselves, of course."
Grant made jokes. This was not one of them. Justin sensed that. "You think they're not going to listen to him."
"I don't know what they're going to do. You want to know what's the greatest irritation in being azi, Supervisor mine? Knowing what's right and sane and knowing they won't listen to you."
"That's not exactly an exclusive problem."
"Different." Grant tapped his chest with a finger. "There's listening and listening. They'll always listento me, when they won't, you. But they won't listento me the way they do you. No more than they do Will."
"They're interested in his safety. Listeninghas nothing to do with it."
"It has everything to do with it. They won't take his word—"
"—because he's in the middle of the problem."
"Because an azi is always in the middle of the problem, and damn well outside the decision loop. Yanni'sin the middle of the problem, he's biased as hell with CIT opinions and CIT designs, does that disqualify him? No. It makes him an expert."
"Ilisten."
"Hell, you wouldn't let me touch that routine."
"For your own damn—good, —Grant." Somehow that came out badly, about halfway. "Well, sorry, but I care. That's not a CIT pulling rank. That's a friend who needs you stable. How's that?"
"Damn underhanded."
"Hey." He took Grant by the shoulder. "Hit me on something else, all right? Let's don't take the work I'd test my own sanity on and tell me you're put out because I won't trust my judgment on it either. I'd give you anything.
I'd let you—"
"There's the trouble."
"What?"
"Let me."
"Friend,Grant. Damn, you're flux-thinking like hell, aren't you?"
"Ought to qualify me for a directorship, don't you think? Soon as we prove we're crazy as CITs we get our papers and then we're qualified not to listen to azi Testers either."
"What happened? What happened, Grant? You want to level with me?"
Grant looked off into the dark awhile. "Frustration, that's all. I—got turned down—for permission to go to Planys."
"Oh, damn."
"I'm not his son. Not—" Grant drew several slow breaths. "Not qualified in the same way. Damn, I wasn't going to drop this on you. Not tonight."
"God." Justin grabbed him and held on to him a moment. Felt him fighting for breath and control.
"I'm tempted to say I want tape," Grant said. "But damned if I will. Damnedif I will. It's politics they're playing. It's—just what they can do, that's all. We just last it through, the way you did. Your project worked, dammit. Let's celebrate. Get me drunk, friend. Good and drunk. I'll be fine. That's the benefit of flux, isn't it? Everything's relative. You've worked so damn long for this, we've both worked for it. No surprise to me. I knew it would run. But I'm glad you proved it to them."
"I'll go to Denys again. He said—"
Grant shoved back from him, gently. "He said maybe. Eventually. When things died down. Eventually isn't now, evidently."
"Damnthat kid."
Grant's hands bit into his arms. "Don't say that. Don't—even think it."
"She just has lousy timing. Lousytiming. That'swhy they're so damn nervous. . . ."
"Hey. Not her timing. None of it's—her timing. Is it?"
Thunder cracked. Flashes lit the west, above the cliffs. Of a sudden the perimeter alarm went, a wailing into the night. Wind was coming, enough to break the envelope.
They grabbed each other by the sleeve and the arm and ran for shelter and safety, where the yellow warning lights flashed a steady beacon above the entrance.
iv
"Dessert?" uncle Denys asked. At Changes,at lunch, which was where she had agreed to meet him; and Ari shook her head.
"You can, though. I don't mind."
"I can skip it. Just the coffee." Denys coughed, and stirred a little sugar in. "I'm trying to cut down. I'm putting on weight. You used to set a good example."
Fifth and sixth try at sympathy. Ari stared at him quite steadily.
Denys took a paper from his pocket and laid it down on the table. "This is yours. It did pass. Probably better without you—this year."
"I'm a Special?"
"Of course. Did I say not? That's one reason I wanted to talk with you. This is just a fax. There was—a certain amount of debate on it. You should know about that. Catherine Lao may be your friend, but she can't stifle the press, not—on the creation of a Special. The ultimate argument was your potential. The chance that you might needthe protection—before your majority. We used up a good many political favors getting this through. Not that we had any other choice—or wanted any."
Seventh.
She reached out and took the fax and unfolded it. Ariane Emory, it said, and a lot of fine and elaborate print with the whole Council's signatures.
"Thank you," she said. "Maybe I'd like to see it on the news."
"Not—possible."
"You were lying when you said you hated the vid. Weren't you? You just wanted to keep me away from the news-services. You still do."