So for starters, they sent Valery away, and Julia and Gloria, and then when I was seven, they sent Maman away. And that was because the first Ari’s mother died at that precise age, and it was time, in the Project, for Jane Strassen to go away–along with Ollie, which was kind of Denys, at least, that Ollie went with her…but I think Denys never even thought about that. They just wanted everybody I loved to leave, and Denys took charge of me one day and told me Maman was gone forever and I had to move in with him, and that was the way things had to be.
I was upset. I was terribly upset. Everything had been good, and then it wasn’t, and he really hated having a child around. He made that clear, fast.
Worse, he particularly hated the first Ari. Or at least what he felt about her was tangled and complicated. If what I think is right, he may be the one who killed her. Or his azi did, to protect him from her. And Abban and Seely are both dead, so nobody can ask them what the truth was, not that it matters, now, anyway.
I hope, I really do, that you don’t have to go through that kind of separation from people you love. But probably you’ve already had to, and maybe you hate me as part of all of it, but likely by now you probably realize why you had to go through it, so I hope you forgive me along with the rest of them. I know I might not have survived my coming of age if I hadn’t been through the fire.
So maybe the first Ari was right, and if I’d had no stress on me I’d be like that poor clone of Estelle Bok. I’d guess you still study that case, along with Rubin, or if you don’t–do. They gave Bok Two the best of everything, and that genius brain just floundered around with no boundaries, until it went way, way off into miserable territory, and became none too sane. Rubin wasn’t a great success, either, or isn’t, so far. He’s just a pretty good chemist. And his predecessor, with every luxury in the world, committed suicide right in the middle of the program. Didn’t that throw my keepers into a fit?
So you are whatever you are, and I am what I became, because they were suddenly hard on me at the right time. The first Ari had had her mother telling her when to breathe in and out, until her life changed suddenly and her mother died and she was just Ari, trying to survive in Reseune and not to have anybody murder her. She suddenly had to fight. So did I. Maybe so do you.
So even at eighteen years old, I’m still sorting out what the Project did to me, and I can say I’m all right and I’m glad I learned to defend myself. But I’m not satisfied with just finding out I’m all right. Now is my time to try to sort out what the Project did to other people–people the Project didn’t give a damn if it hurt. Maybe it will work. Maybe it’s beyond recovery. But I intend to try.
I hope all those people will find a way to love me after all. It’s selfish. But I do hope so. Is that a vulnerability? Maybe. But it’s me.
BOOK THREE Section 1 Chapter iii
JUNE 1, 2424
1540H
Ari shoved back from the console. Replayed the last bit. Struck it out, disturbed by what had come out of her in that rambling account, not sure it was good for her successor to hear that much honesty, whether that it was too stupid, that badly written, too naive to say, or whether it revealed too much–it was embarrassing, was what. It revealed a trigger. A touch‑point. That was worth considering. It was just too personal.
But her successor had to know her. It could be life or death. And she recalled that section, reviewed it, then entered the code that made it, with all the other entries, uneraseable.
BOOK THREE Section 1 Chapter iv
JUNE 6, 2424
1657H
It ought to be suppertime, but it wasn’t, yet–the new domestic staff was finally arriving. Ari had put on a favorite rose sweater and a nicer pair of pants, plus a little jewelry, anxious to have the new people have the best impression of her and the household.
Catlin and Florian had missed their dinnertime, too–there was never a time she met strangers that they weren’t right beside her. Marco and Wes were in the security station, it being their shift as of an hour ago, but the rest of staff was stirring about in the kitchen, getting ready with a nice little party, sandwiches and refreshments for the incomers.
Herself–she was thinking of that pile of sandwiches when the word came that the group had passed building security, presented their IDs, and been logged in. That was about a three‑minute process to reach upstairs via the lift, another to reach her apartment.
Deep breath.
And a group of people exited the lift and approached the apartment. Corey was on duty there, with his partner Mato, the two Marco and Wes identicals. They were spit and polish for the occasion.
And, no question, the group on the other side of the door would be all nerves: they were just Contracted. It was birthdays, weddings, and first jobs all rolled into one bundle and presented to them–and they were Contracted not just to anyclient, mind, but–she could think so without overmuch egotism–to her. With all she meant to make thatmean to them, every advantage, every comfort for her staff. She’d do well for them, and they’d help her run the new place, once they moved over.
She stood in the hallway, hands folded. Corey opened the doors to the newcomers, a handsome lot, mostly male, all wearing the typical azi barracks issue. Her domestics, like Corey and Mato, wore dark blue, her security–like Florian and Catlin, plain black. These wore, at the moment, gray.
The group stopped, shuffled a little, making room for the lot of them in the foyer. They eyed her respectfully.
“I’m Ariane Emory,” she said, and that name would resonate off their Contracts, which was much, much more than paper. The whole group bowed, as if one nerve ran through them all. “I expect,” she said, “that you’re Theo.”
“Theo BT‑384, sera,” the foremost identified himself–a dark, squarefaced man with a cleft in his chin.
“Theo, you’re our new majordomo.”
“Yes,” Theo said cheerfully, and drew forward the woman at his side, a thin‑boned blonde with fine features. “My partner, Jory.”
“Jory will be your direct assistant in your post. Pro tem major domo has been Callie. You’ll work with her to get settled in. Callie will be household administration and chief of supply, hereafter, and answer to you, but no other on staff.”
Theo bowed. Jory did.
“Very satisfactory,” she said. “I’m very pleased with you.” Meeting new Contracts, as their Supervisor, she found it was of utmost importance to offer reassurance, confirmation: they were psychologically exposed, as never in their lives, and so much hung on her expressions and her tone.
“And who is Wyndham?” she asked.
Wyndham stepped to the fore, one of the most anticipated of arrivals, their new cook, with his partner Hiro. That meant that Gianni, who did excellent desserts, could concentrate on his specialty and give the running of the kitchen over to someone who could orchestrate dinner for eight and take great delight in showing off.
Logan, Haze, Tomas, Spessy: they were general work, domestic and repair. The two remaining women, Del and Joyesse, were solely to attend her personal needs, do her hair, handle her wardrobe, and double‑check her appointments and calendar.
And Callie showed up, nodded very respectfully to Theo and Jory when introduced.
“Very well done,” Ari said to Callie, because it was important, too, that the original household staff feel appreciated and by no means diminished in the arrival of more specifically trained individuals. “You’ve all done extremely well, under very trying circumstances. Nothing supplants your respect, and you retain a special place in my regard, for being with me longest and managing everything. I have a special affection for my senior‑most staff: I have every confidence in you in this transition. Understand, this arrival frees you of any extraneous duties, and you will repeat this, verbatim, to all the staff: you are needed and much respected.”