"Are you all right?"
"I'm having flashes. Oh, God, Grant, I— Dammit!"
He spun about and hit the wall with his hand and leaned there, stiff, hard-breathing, in that don't-touch-me attitude that absolutely meant it.
But Grant had ignored that before. He came and pried him away and folded him in his arms, just held on to him until Justin got a breath and a second one.
"I—lost—my sense of where I was," Justin said finally, between small efforts after air. "God, I just—went away. I couldn't navigate. She's—God knows. God knows what I said. It just blew up—she—"
"—she neededa firm no. It's doubtless a new thing for her. Calm down.
Now is now."
"A damn kid!I—had—no finesse about it, absolutely none, I just—"
"You were expressing a polite and civilized no when I walked in. That young sera doesn't recognize the word isn't your fault. Young sera may call Security and young sera may lodge charges, I have absolutely no idea. But if she does, you have a witness, and I have no trouble about going under probe. Young sera needs favors from you.I politely suggested she consider the trouble she's caused and show up tomorrow with a civilized attitude—at which time I'm goingto be there; at all times hereafter, I assure you." He pushed Justin back at arm's length. "She's sixteen. Personalities aside, she's quite the other end of the proposition—a year younger than you were. A great deal more experienced, by all accounts, but not—not in adult behavior. Am I right? She has no idea what she's dealing with. No more than you did."
Justin blinked. Rapid thought: Grant knew the look. "Go back to the office."
"Where are yougoing?"
"To make a phone call."
"Denys?"
Justin shook his head.
"Good God," Grant said. And felt as if the floor had sunk. "You're not serious."
"I'm going alone, if she'll see me. Which is far from likely at this point."
"No. Listen. Don't do this. If you're having flashback, for God's sakedon't do this."
"I'm going to straighten it out. Once for all. I'm going to tell her what happened—"
"No!" Grant seized his arm and held on, hard. "Administration will have your head on a plate— listen to me.Even if she took your side she hasn't got the authority to protect you. She hasn't got anything, not really. Notinside thesewalls."
"What in hell do we do? What do we do when they take us in and they trump up a rape charge—what happens when we end up in a ward over in hospital under Reseune law? All they need is a statement from her. ..."
"And you're going to go over to her apartment and talk to her. No."
"Not her apartment. I don't think I can handle that. But somewhere."
vi
Justin took a sip of Scotch as the waiter at Changesbrought the three to their table—Ari in an ice-green blouse with metallic gray beading, Florian and Catlin in evening black.
Evening at Changeswas a dress occasion. He and Grant had taken pains, both of them in their best. Dress shins and jackets.
"Thank you," Ari said, when the waiter pulled the chair back. "Vodka-and-orange for the three of us, please."
"Yes, sera," the waiter murmured. "Will you want menus?"
"Give us a while," Justin said. "If you will, Ari."
"That's fine." She settled in her chair and folded her hands on the table. "Thank you for coming," Justin said as soon as the waiter left. "I apologize for this afternoon. For Grant and myself. It was me. Not you. Absolutely not you."
Ari shifted back in her seat, her lips pressed to a thin line.
And said not a thing. "Has your uncle Denys called you?"
"Have you called him?"
"No. I don't think he wants to hear what happened. I don't know to what extent he can come back on you—"
"Only because he's the Administrator," Ari said. "There's nothing he'll do to me."
"I wasn't sure." He saw the waiter coming back with the drinks, and waited during the serving.
Ari sipped hers and sighed. "Whose credit is this on?"
"Mine," Justin said. "Don't hesitate." As the waiter discreetly took himself off. It was a private corner, quite private: a sizeable addition to the bill assured it. "I want to assure you first of all—I'm perfectly willing to go on working with you. I want to tell you—what you're doing—is full of problems. But it's not empty exercise. You've got some ideas that are—fairly undeveloped right now. I still don't know to what extent you've modeled this on reality—or borrowed from your predecessor. If it's considerable borrowing—it would be remarkable enough that someone so young is working integrations at all. If any portion of it is original—I have to be impressed; because there is a center of this that, if I were going faster, and not taking the time to demonstrate your problems—I would simply throw into research, because I think it's a helpful model."
"You can do that, if you like." Not spitefully. Reasonably. Quietly. "Perhaps I'll do both. With your permission. Because I'm very afraid it's classified."
"Grant can do it."
"Grant could do it. With your permission. And Yanni's. We work for him."
"Because you refused to be transferred. I can still do that."
He had not expected that. He took a drink of Scotch. And was aware of Grant beside him, subject to whatever mistakes he made. "I wouldn't think," he said, "that you'd be thinking about that after the scene this afternoon."
Redirect. Shift directions.
She sipped at the vodka-and-orange. Sixteen, and fragile—in physiology. In emotions that the alcohol could flatten or exacerbate. Flux-thinking at its finest, Grant was wont to say. Puberty, hormones run wild, and ethyl alcohol.
Oh, God, kid, back off it: it did me no favors.
Power. Political power that was still running in shockwaves across Union; threats of assassination. And all the stress that went with it.
"I'm glad you want to talk about it," Ari said, on a slight sigh following the vodka. "Because I need you. I study my predecessor's notes—on kat. I knowthings. I've talked to Denys about putting the stuff into print.
Organizing everything. I said I wanted you to do it and he didn't want that. I said the hell with that."
"Ari, don'tswear."
"Sorry. But that was what I said. I could have sat down and said I wouldn't budge. But it's real good, politically, if the Bureau gets it about now. Sort of proof that I'm real. So you'll know pretty soon what's mine and what's Ari's. I'll tell you something else you can guess: not allthe notes are going out. Some aren't finished. And some are classified." She took another sip. The glass hardly diminished. "I've thought about this. I've thought real hard. And I've got a problem, because you're the one who's working on deep-sets, you're the one who could teach me the actual things I need— Giraud's very bright; but Giraud's not down the same track. Not at all. I don't wantto do the things he does. Denys is bright. He's very near-term and real-time. Do you want to know the truth? Giraud isn't really a Special. Somebodyhad to have it, to get some of the protections Reseune needed right then. The one who is, is Denys; but Denys wouldn't have it: it would make him too public. So he arranged it to get Giraud the Status."
He stared at her, wondering if it wastrue, if it couldbe true.