Ever since Ari died. Ever since her successors sold out—sold out everything she stood for.
God, I wish—wish she was still alive.
The kid—doesn't have a chance.
"Son, —I'm sorry, Justin. Habit. —Listen to me. I see your point. I can see it very clearly. It worries me too."
"Are we being taped, Yanni?"
Yanni bit his Up, and touched a button on his desk. "Now we're not."
"Where's the tape?"
"I'll take care of it."
"Where's the damn tape, Yanni?"
"Calmdown and listen to me. I'm willing to work with you. Blank credit slip. Let me ask you something. Your psych profile says suicide isn't likely. But answer me honestly: is it something you ever think about?"
"No." His heart jumped, painfully. It was a lie. And not. He thought about it then. And lacked whatever it took. Or had no reason sufficient, yet. God, what does it take? Do I have to see the kids walking into the fire before I feel enough guilt? It's too late then. What kind of monster am I?
"Let me remind you—you'd kill Grant. And your father. Or worse—they'd live with it."
"Go to hell, Yanni."
"You think other researchers didn't ask those questions?"
"Carnath and Emory built Reseune! You think ethics ever bothered that pair?"
"You think ethics didn't bother Ari?"
"Sure. Like Gehenna."
"The colony lived. Lived, when every single CIT died. Emory's work, damned right. The azi survived."
"In squalor. In abominable conditions—like damned primitives—"
"Throughsqualor. Through catastrophes that peeled away every advantage they came with. The culture on that planet is an azi culture. And they're unique. You forget the human brain, Justin. Human ingenuity. The will to live. You can send an azi soldier into fire—but he's more apt than his CIT counterpart to turn to his sergeant and ask what the gain is. And the sergeant had better have an answer that makes sense to him. You should take a look at the military, Justin. You have a real phobia about that, pardon the eetee psych. They do deal with extreme stress situations. The military sets will walk into fire. But an azi who's too willing to do that is a liability and an azi who likes killing is worse. You take a look at reality before you panic. Look at our military workers down there. They're damned good. Damned polite, damned competent, damned impatient with foul-ups, damned easy to Super as long as they think you're qualified, and capable of relaxing when they're off, unlike some of our assembly-line over-achievers. Look at the reality before you start worrying. Look at the specific types."
"These are survivors too," Justin said. "The ones who outlived the War."
"Survival rate among azi is higher than CITs, fifteen something percent. I have no personal compunction about the azi. They're fine. They like themselves fine. Your work may have real bearing on CIT psych, in behavioral disorders. A lot of applications, if it bears out. We deal with humanity. And tools. You can kill a man with a laser. You can save a life with it. It doesn't mean we shouldn't have lasers. Or edged blades. Or hammers. Or whatever. But I'm damned glad we have lasers, or I'd be blind in my right eye. You understand what I'm saying?"
"Old stuff, Yanni."
"I mean, do you understandwhat I'm saying? Inside?"
"Yes." True. His instincts grabbed after all the old arguments like he was a baby going for a blanket. About as mature. About as capable of sorting out the truth. Damn. Hand a man a timeworn excuse and he went after it to get the pain to stop. Even knowing the one who handed it to him was a psych operator.
"Besides," Yanni said, "you're a man of principle. And humans don't stop learning things, just because they might be risky: if this insight of yours is correct you're only a few decades ahead of someone else finding it on his own. And who knows, that researcher might not have your principles—or your leverage."
"Leverage! I can't get my brother a visit with his father!"
"You can get a hell of a lot if you work it right."
"Oh, dammit!Are we down to sell-outs, now? Are we through doing morality today?"
"Your brother. Grant's a whole lot of things with you. Isn't he?"
"Go to hell!"
"Not related to you. I merely point out you do an interesting double value set there. You're muddy in a lot of sensitive areas—including a little tendency to suspect every success you have, a tendency to see yourself perpetually as a nexus defined by other people—Jordan's son, Grant's—brother, Administration's hostage. Less as a human being than as a focus of all these demands. Youhave importance, Justin, unto yourself. You're a man thirty—thirty-one years old. Time you asked yourself what Justin is."
"We areinto eetee psych, aren't we?"
"I'm handing it out free today. You're not responsible for the universe. You're not responsible for a damn thing that flows from things you didn't have the capacity to control. Maybe you areresponsible for finding out what you couldcontrol, if you wanted to, if you'd stop looking at other people's problems and start taking a look at your own capabilities—which, as I say, probably qualify you as a Special. Which also answers a lot of questions about why you haveproblems: lack of adequate boundaries. Lackof them, son. All the Specials have the problem. It's real hard to understand humanity when you keep attributing to everyone around you the complexity of your own thinking. You have quite a few very bright minds around you—enough to keep you convinced that's ordinary. Jordan's, particularly: he's got the age advantage, doesn't he, and you've always confused him with God. You think about it. You know all this with the Rubin kid. Apply it closer to home. Do us all a favor."
"Why don't you just explain what you want me to do? I'm real tired, Yanni. I give. You name it, I'll do it."
"Survive."
He blinked. Bit his lip.
"Going to break down on me?" Yanni asked.
The haze was gone. The tears were gone. He was only embarrassed, and mad enough to break Yanni's neck.
Yanni smiled at him. Smug as hell.
"I could kill you," Justin said.
"No, you couldn't," Yanni said. "It's not in your profile. You divert everything inward. You'll never quite cure that tendency. It's what makes you a lousy clinician and a damned good designer. Grantcan survive the stress—if you don't put it on him. Hear me?"
"Yes."
"Thought so. So don't do it. Go back to your office and tell him I'm putting his application through again."
"I'm not going to. It's getting too sensitive. He'shurting, Yanni. I can't take that."
Yanni bit his lip. "All right. Don't tell him. Do you understand whyit's a problem, Justin? They're afraid of the military grabbing him."
"God. Why?"
"Power move. You can tell him that. I'm not supposed to tell you. I'm breaking security. There's a rift in Defense. There's a certain faction that's proposing the nationalization of Reseune. That's the new move. Lu's health is going. Rejuv failure. He's got at most a couple more years. Gorodin is becoming increasingly isolated from the Secretariat in Defense. He may get a challenge to his seat. That hasn't happened since the war. An election in the military. There's the head of Military Research, throwing more and more weight behind the head of Intelligence. Khalid. Vladislaw Khalid. If you're afraid of something, Justin, —be afraid of that name. That faction could usean incident. So could Gorodin's. Fabricated, would serve just as well. You're in danger. Grant—more so. All they have to do is arrest him at the airport, claim he was carrying documents—God knows what. Denys will have my head for telling you this. Iwanted to keep you out of it, not disrupt your work with it— Grant's not getting a travel pass right now. Youcouldn't get one. That's the truth. Tell Grant—if it helps. For God's sake—tell him somewhere private."