“Who’d care,” Yvgenia laughed, “if I went to my hairdresser?”
“We know you’re there, though,” Ari said soberly. “And if you didn’t show up, we’d know. You’d get a call. If you didn’t answer it, someone would come looking. I don’t say it’ll always be like this, but it will for a while. Expect it. Expect nerves to be pretty taut.”
“Is there a reason we should know?” Maddy asked.
“Just–politics,” Ari said. “The Council election’s about to come down to the wire…they’re going to read the results probably on the twenty‑fifth. We think Spurlin’s got it, but if Khalid should win, that’s a problem. Two different philosophies in the military. Khalid’s not that careful about observing registration when he goes after information–sees no reason he shouldn’t be able to inquire into Science, or Citizens, or just anybody he doesn’t like. Particularly Science. Don’t get me started on Khalid.”
“But Spurlin’s got it.”
“Safely so, we think. He’d have carried Fargone by a big majority, no question, afterthe new Reseune build at Fargone passed in Council, all those jobs going there, and Spurlin was supporting Jacques voting for it in Council while Khalid was up on the station and not really doing much of anything. Unfortunately the vote was already in progress on Fargone before much of that news had gotten there…unfortunate timing, but we’re hearing there was some favorable impact during the last two days of the balloting. Whether any large number of military was excited enough to go in and change their vote before the deadline, I don’t know, but we think the news did help Spurlin.”
“But is there that much military at Fargone?” Mischa asked, and Tommy dug an elbow back this time.
“The whole big hospital installation,” Tommy said. “Which I bet is big enough.”
“It’s a classified major lot of votes, say–partly because it’s supporting an operation out at Eversnow. Trust me, it is large.”
Eyes flickered, simultaneous registry of a tidbit of information on the existing universe.
“The whole military base out there,” Amy said. “Too covert to vote?”
“So far,” Ari said. “They can’t admit they exist. So they can’t vote.”
“You know, when Eversnow goes into official operation,” Amy said, “that’s going to take nearly two years to get a vote through.”
“Going to matter who’s Proxy Councillor‑designate when that happens,” Ari said. “It already does, but it’s going to matter a lot more. I like that argument. I’ll use it on Yanni the next time we have a fight about Eversnow. If humankind goes stringing off down Yanni’s route to new stars, we’re going to have elections that last a lifetime. God! That’s more entertainment than the universe needs.”
“Just cross our fingers about Khalid,” Amy said. “I certainly hope you’re right.”
“I hope I am, too,” she said. And meant it. Passionately.
BOOK THREE Section 4 Chapter iii
JULY 18, 2424
1829H
“The office all right?” Jordan had asked, for openers.
“Fine,” Justin had said guardedly.
And all through dinner they hadn’t talked politics, for once. Jordan talked about psychsets. They, Jordan, Grant, Paul and Justin, talked for two hours about design and sets and things that would bore the adjacent tables in Farrell’s to unconsciousness.
It was the best evening they’d had since Jordan had come home.
And it didn’t end in a fight. They walked back via the open air, in balmy night temperatures, walked into Wing One, which lately smelled of paint and plaster, and continued the conversation for a moment in front of the lift, which they hadn’t called.
“Last night you’ll be buying dinner,” Jordan said. “I’m applying to go on salary.”
“Seriously?” That wasn’t the right word. Justin tried to find one, and didn’t.
“I’d expect better than that.”
“Excellent news.” Grant supplied.
“I’m taking refresher tape,” Jordan said. “I’m trusting not to be mind‑bent. So far so good.”
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear it,” Justin said. “Dad, that’s great.”
“All I have to get,” Jordan said, “is your little dear’s approval.”
That wasn’t so great.
“You don’t think I can.”
“What have you sent her? Dad, this isn’t some game, is it?”
“Why in hell would you think it’s a game? I don’t think it’s a game.”
“Dad.” He stopped himself, held up a hand. “I’m glad. All right.”
“Good,” Jordan said, and punched the lift call button. “You can talk her into it.”
“Dad, either your designs will, or I can’t.”
“Oh, I’m sure of my design. I’m very sure of it. How sure are you?”
“Dammit. Just one evening–just one evening can we manage not to have a quarrel–”
The car arrived. Opened. Jordan stepped in. So did Paul. “Want to come upstairs and explain why you won’t back it?”
“I will, dammit. I have to read it first.”
“Those two statements are contradictory,” Jordan said. “Make up your mind, can’t you?”
Jordan had let the button go. The doors shut. The car left, upward bound, and their way was back to the U and the Alpha Wing gateway.
“Damn,” Justin said.
“He has improved, however,” Grant said. And they walked in silence.
Which lasted until they’d gone through security and ridden their lift up to their floor in Alpha Wing.
It lasted until they reached their own front door, across from hers, and reached their bedroom, and started getting ready for bed.
“Damn, damn, and damn,” Justin said. “ Whyis he like that?”
“You’re the closest to his psychset,” Grant said, “at foundational level, at least.”
“Not lately. Ari works the deep sets, doesn’t she?”
“Maybe he’s trying to find out what she did,” Grant said. “Sounds like a probe to me.”
“Meaning he’s redirected his plan, not his objectives, and he’s stilla bastard.”
“Meaning, perhaps, he wants to know if that indefinable born‑man flux still bends in the directions he understands in you. He knows you don’t like conflict. That’s verydifferent than he is. And, forgive me, he doesn’t believe the impulse doesn’t exist in you. He’s fishing for it.”
“Don’t like conflict. Hell, I hated it when I was ten!”
“True,” Grant said. “And yougrew up with a man who has to have it. What’s that going to do to an impressionable young mind?”
“Make my life hell.”
“Do you want my opinion?”
“Definitely.”
“Jordan had you born; he started out trying for psychogenesis. And when you got out of the cradle and onto two feet, he came face to face with his genes–his looks–his temper, which he doesn’t control well. You two used to scare hell out of me…when we were seven. You had his temper. He had his temper. And when we were seven he gave you me, and you had to hold it in, because I got upset, and he told you so. Nasty little trick, that was. As I faintly understand the rules of born‑man combat–that was fairly underhanded. It assured he could always win a fight. And we know he has one other quirk: he likes to fight, but he has to win all the fights, or he’s going to be very unhappy. I can just go null. I did, if you recall, at certain times.”
“I remember.”
“Impossible for his replicate, however.”
“I’d try to calm him down, to get you out of it.”
“So it wasn’t just Ari had a go at remodeling the Warrick psyche. He’d already blinked at creating his own double. He couldn’t take the arguments. You were seven. And he just had to win, didn’t he, or burst a blood vessel?”
It was certainly a point. He gazed at Grant, who had a momentarily earnest look, saw at least what made a certain grim sense.
“He ties you in knots,” Grant said. “And you remain the one that can return the favor…if you ever would, but you never let that shoe drop. In the meanwhile, he ran afoul of another man who didn’t like to lose.”