She caressed his check. "Darling, I'll watch over you. I'll
protect you. No one alive will hurt you without coming through
me first."
"I know that, and I'm glad for it, but I can't shake off this
feeling. Is it just guilt? Guilt, that life has been good to us, that
we've had love while those others died like rats in a corner?"
His voice trembled; he looked at the sienna weave of the bed-
spread in the lamp's mild glow. "How long can the Peace go
on? The old despise us while the young see through us. Things
must change, and how could they be better? It can only be
worse for us. . . . Sweetheart. . . ." He met her eyes. "I remember the days when we had nothing, not even the air to breathe,
and the rot crept in all around us. Everything we've gained
since then has been sheer profit to us, but it's not been
real . . . What's between us two is real, that's all. Tell me that if
this all collapses, you'll still be with me. . . ."
She took his hands, curling the iron one over her own. "What's
brought this on? Is it Constantine?"
"Vetterling wants to bring one of Constantine's men into the
Clique."
"Burn him, I knew that despot came into this somehow. He's
what frightens you, isn't he? Stirring up old tragedies. ... I feel
better now that I know who I'm facing!"
"It's not just him, darling. Listen: Goldreich-Tremaine can't
stay on top forever. The Investor Peace is crumbling; it'll be
open struggle again between Shaper and Mechanist. The military wing is bound to reassert itself. We'll lose the
capitalship-"
"This is pure alarm, Abelard. We haven't lost anything yet.
The Detentistes in G-T have never been stronger. My
diplomats-"
"I know you're strong. You'll win, I think. But if you don't, if
we have to sundog it-"
"Sundog? We're not refugees, darling, we're Mavrides genetics,
with offices, property, tenure! This is our fortress! We can't just
abandon this, when it's given us so much. . . . You'll feel different after the treatment. When your youth is back you'll see
things differently."
"I know," Lindsay said. "And it scares me."
"I love you, Abelard. Tell me you'll call Ross tomorrow."
"Oh, no," Lindsay said. "It would be a bad mistake to seem
too eager."
"When, then?"
"Oh, a few more years; that's nothing by Ross's standards. . ."
"But Abelard ... it hurts me, watching age cut into you. It's
gone far enough. It's just not reasonable. . . ." Her eyes filled
with tears. Lindsay was startled and alarmed. "Don't cry, Nora. You'll hurt yourself." He put his arms around her.
She embraced him. "Can't we keep what we have? You've
made me doubt myself."
"I'm a fool," Lindsay said. "I'm in good shape, there's no need
to be rash. I'm sorry I've said all this." Her eyes were dry again. "I'll win. We'll win. We'll be young and strong together. You'll see."
GOLDREICH-TREMAINE COUNCIL STATE: 16-4-'53
Lindsay had put off this meeting as long as possible. Now
antioxidants and his special diet were no longer enough. He was
sixty-eight.
The demoralization clinic was in the outskirts of Goldreich-
Tremaine, part of the growing cluster of inflatable subbles. The
tube-linked bubbles could mushroom or vanish overnight, a
perfect habitat for Black Medicals and other dubious enclaves.
Mechanists lurked here, hunting Shaper life-extension while
evading Shaper law. Supply and demand had conjured up corruption, while Goldreich-Tremaine grew lax with success. The capital had overreached itself, and cracks in the economy were papered over with black money.
Fear had driven Lindsay to this point: fear that things might
fall apart and find him weak. Ross had promised him anonymity. He would be in and out in a hurry, two days at the most.
"I don't want anything major," Lindsay told the old woman.
"Just a decatabolism."
"Did you bring your gene line records?"
"No."
"That complicates matters." The black-market demortalist
looked at him with an oddly girlish lilt of the head. "Genetics
determine the nature of the side-effects. Is that natural aging or
cumulative damage?"
"It's natural."
"Then we can try something less fine-tuned. Hormonals with a
deoxidation flush for free radicals. Quick and dirty. But it'll
bring your sparkle back."
Lindsay thought of Pongpianskul and his leathery skin. "What
treatment do you use yourself?"
"That's confidential."
"How old are you?"
The woman smiled. "You shouldn't pry, friend. The less we
know about each other, the better."
Lindsay gave her a Look. She failed to catch it. He Looked
again. She didn't know the language.
He crawled with unease. "I can't go through with this," he said.
"I find you too hard to trust." Lindsay floated toward the
bubble's exit, away from its free-fall core of hospital scanners
and samplers.
"Is our price too high, Dr. Abelard Mavrides?" the woman
called out.
His mind raced as his worst fears were realized. He turned,
determined to face her down. "Someone has misled you."
"We have our own intelligence."
He studied her kinesics warily. The wrinkles of her face were
very slightly wrong, not matching the muscles beneath the skin.
"You're young," he said. "You only look old."
"Then we share one fraud. For you, that's only one of many."
"Ross told me you were dependable," he said. "Why risk your
situation by annoying me?"
"We want the truth."
He stared. "How ambitious. Try the scientific method. And in
the meantime, let's talk sense."
The young woman smoothed her medical tunic with wrinkled
hands. "Pretend I'm a theatre audience, Dr. Mavrides. Tell me
about your ideology."
"I don't have one."
"What about the Investor Peace? All those Detentiste plays?
Did you think you would heal the Schism with this Investor
fraud?"
"You're younger than I thought," he said. "If you ask me that,
you must have never seen the war."
She glared at him. "We were raised in the Peace! Children,
told from the creche that love and reason would sweep the war
aside! But we read history. Not Juliano's version but the bitter
truth. Do you know what happens to groups whose innovations
fail? At best they're shuffled off to some wretched outpost. At
worst they're hunted down, picked off, turned against each
other-"
The truth of it stung him. "But some live!"
The girl laughed. "You're unplanned, so why should you care
for us? Stupidity is life and breath to you."
"You're one of Margaret Juliano's people," he said. "The
Superbrights." He stared at her. He had never met a
Superbright before. They were supposed to be closely sheltered,
constantly under study.
"Margaret Juliano," she said. "From your Midnight Clique.
She helped design us. She's a Detentiste! When the Peace falls,
we'll fall with her! They're always prying at us, spying, looking
for flaws. . . ." Her eyes were wild in the wrinkled face. "Do you
realize the potential we have? There are no rules, no souls, no
limits! But dogmas hedge us in. False wars and stupid loyalties.
The heaped-up garbage of the Schismatrix. Others wallow in it,
hiding from total freedom! But we want all the truth, without
conditions. We take our reality raw. We want all eyes open,
always: and if it takes a cataclysm, then we have a thousand
ready. . . ."
"No, wait," Lindsay said. The girl was a Superbright; she could
he no more than thirty. It appalled him to see her so fanatic, so