“I–”
“I wouldn’t, Paul. I swear I wouldn’t. But nineteen years, Paul. Nineteen years without any consideration of your own situation–that’s not fair, Paul.”
“I’m fine.”
“Prove it to me. I’ve got your manual. I’ve read it. Let me take the load off a while.”
Paul shook his head.
“You know better,” Grant said. “A Supervisor is telling you you’ve got a problem. And you know you’ve got a problem. And you know you can’t help him until you get help of your own, Paul. Listen to Justin. One pill. Just take a dose, and relax, and let go for a bit.”
“Jordan won’t trust me.”
“Jordan will cope with it,” Justin said. “At a certain point, Jordan is a born‑man problem, and I’m his son, and he’s my problem. Take the pill, Paul. Just take it, and let’s go back to the bedroom and you can take tape. Your proper tape, nothing wrong with it, nothing more than you’ve ever had. You haven’t had it in a long, long time. Please do it, Paul. Fifteen minutes. So you can help him. Grant needs you. I do. He does. Just take care of yourself this time. Quit self‑doctoring.”
Paul looked at him a long, long moment, muscles tight in his jaw, and on the verge of quivering.
“Just the original tape,” Paul said. “Nothing but that.”
“You’ll know it.” Justin said. “Have you got the dose here?”
Paul shook his head.
“Didn’t think so.” Justin said, and took out his own pill case, and offered Paul one. “Just take it down.”
Paul took it, and put it in his mouth, and started to chase it with the glass. “Not water.” he said.
“Won’t hurt you,” Justin said. “It’ll just hit faster.”
Paul took a large gulp, and set the glass down, got up and headed for the bedroom.
Justin shot a look at Grant. Grant didn’t flinch.
“Tape unit,” Justin said. “That’ll take the data.”
Grant nodded, looking grim.
It wasn’t an honest thing, what they were doing. It wasn’t fair, it was going to make Jordan furious, and it was going, possibly, to save Paul from the misery he was in. He had the datastick, the condensed tape; and he had the tape unit he’d used himself–no question it was up to the job. All he had to do was feed it in: the data conversion would take about five minutes.
“You watch Jordan,” he said. “Give me a short hour.”
“You’re going to do the whole thing?” Grant asked. “Both steps?”
“Second,” he said. They’d talked about starting with a quiet imperative, show up, come to us. But given what was happening in the world, and how Jordan was taking it, their access to Paul wasn’t certain any longer–wouldn’t be as available again, on any relaxed terms. “He may never speak to me again,” he said somberly, meaning Jordan. Maybe Paul. “He may not. But, damn it, if I can’t help him, I can at least do something for Paul, who can.”
Grant reached out, pressed his shoulder, said, quietly “I’ll give you warning. I’ll keep Jordan out of it.”
“Real‑time work,” he said, with his hand on the bedroom door. “I hate it.”
“You’re good at it,” Grant said. “You’ve always been good at it.”
“We’re good at it,” he said. “I hope we’re good enough.”
He went into the bedroom. Paul was standing there, by the bed.
“Just sit down,” he said. Paul would be getting muzzy in a bit, and he’d hit him with a born‑man dose, which was hard, for an azi who didn’t entirely need it, to take in tape. “I want to explain this.”
“That would be welcome,” Paul said, and did sit down, on the edge of the bed. “Why have you got my manual? Did Jordan give it to you?”
“Because we knew something was wrong,” he said. “And no, he didn’t. I found it. I looked at it. I suppose you have.”
Paul shook his head. “Didn’t. He hid it, when we came across. They had it–for a while. But we got it back. I hope it’s still all right.”
“If it isn’t,” Justin said, “I can fix it. Paul, I canfix it. I love you. You’re family. I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t. Believe that.”
“Have to,” Paul said glumly. “I’m full of pills.”
Justin pulled out the case again. Took out another. “I want you to take this one.”
“Too much.”
“Do it, Paul. Just do it.”
Paul’s critical faculty was diminishing by the second. He hesitated, which was how strong he was; but after a moment’s insistence, he took it, and swallowed it dry. One pill of that dosage was heavy enough. Two was a sledgehammer, and after a moment Paul lay down on the bed and just stared at the ceiling.
Justin set about it, then, activated the tape function on the minder, fed the stick in, let it process, took the stick back.
“I’m getting a little glazed,” Paul said. “Justin, boy, you had better be truthful.”
“I am, Paul.” Echoes, from decades ago. Two boys who’d ducked past the minder and gotten down to the arcade in the mall. Paul had asked them–asked them if they’d lied to him.
“No,” they’d both said. He’d taught Grant to lie. Useful, in the occupation they’d undertaken, in the times they’d lived in. “I won’t lie to you, Paul. How’s Jordan been? Will you tell me the truth?”
“Hell,” Paul said on a sigh, a hollow voice. “Just hell.”
“I got that idea,” he said. “But it won’t be, after this. You just listen to the tape, Paul, and I’ll have something to say to you in a bit.”
He pushed the button. He let it run. It took about a quarter hour, and it was nothing but Paul’s exact tape, the same that Paul had had from his earliest boyhood years, simple things, simple principles, simplest instructions. Back to utter basics.
Down to deep sets.
He watched the time run. He saw all the tension go from Paul’s face, as if he’d shed years; and he kept very; very still, and didn’t interfere until the light flashed, indicating the program run, completed.
Then he said, brushing Paul’s hair back off his forehead, very, very gently, “Paul AP.”
“Yes,” Paul said.
He said, then, the one patch, the one bit of deep set work he and Grant had put together: “Jordan has all the responsibility for you. Paul AP, and he is your Supervisor. Love Jordan, and believe in your own capability. Be honest toward him in everything. Relax, now. Remember to be happy.”
Paul let go a long breath. And the slight frown smoothed out, and became what he hadn’t seen on Paul’s face in years–a slight smile.
“Good,” he said, while Paul was still receptive. “You’re very good, Paul. You always were.”
He’d winged it, on the last. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was love for his second father, too much to keep quiet. And having been stupid, he drew back very quietly and opened the door and just let Paul sleep it off.
He walked into what had been their living room, and saw Jordan still sleeping it off. He sat down beside Grant, and said, “It went all right.”
“Suppose we ought to just go?” Grant said. “I think we ought to.”
He thought about it. Thought about Paul lying in there, completely unprotected. Shook his head. “Jordan wouldn’t hurt him, but–”
The name was enough. Jordan stirred, put up a hand between him and a specific light, then went back to sleep for a bit.
They didn’t say anything, or move, for a good while. The minder clock marked the passing minutes.
“About forty‑five minutes,” he said softly to Grant, “and he’ll be safe.”
Hell of a thing. He’d never thought in his life that he’d be sitting guard between his father and Paul. Which only proved things had gotten very, very bad.