Cyteen

i

Uncle Denys was right. It was a huge place. It was very quiet, and at the same time filled with strange noises—motors going on, expansion of metal in the ducts, or small sounds that might have been a step, or a breath, though the Minder would surely sound an alarm if there were a living presence.

If it had not been tampered with. If Base One itself was reliable.

Ari knew which bedroom had been the first Ari's. The closets were full of her clothes. The drawers had more clothes, sweaters, underwear, jewelry, real jewelry, she thought. And the smell of the drawers and the closet was the smell of home—the scent she wore. The same smell as permeated her closet at home—at uncle Denys' apartment.

There was a room which had belonged to the first Florian and another which had belonged to the first Catlin. There were uniforms in their closets which were a man's and a woman's. Which bore their numbers. And party clothes in satin and black gauze.

There were things in the bureau drawers—there were guns, and odd bits of electronics, and wire—as well as personal things.

"They were Older," Catlin said.

"Yes," Ari said, feeling a chill in her bones, "they were."

There were, constantly, the sounds, the small whisperings that the rooms made.

"Come on," she said, and brought them out of the first Catlin's room.

She kept telling herself the Minder would react to an intruder.

But what if one had already been there?

What if the Minder were in someone's control?

She took them back to Ari's bedroom, back at the far end of the house They brought the guns that they had found, even though Catlin said they ought not to rely on charges that old. They were better than nothing

Stay with me," Ari said to them, and sat down on the bed and patted the place beside her.

So they got beneath the covers in their clothes, because the night seemed cold, and she was in the middle of the huge bed, Ari's bed, and Florian and Catlin were on either side of her, tucked up against her for warmth, or to keep her warm.

She shivered, and Florian put his arm around her on the right side and Catlin edged closer on her left, until she was warm.

She could not tell them the things they needed to know, like who the Enemy was. She did not know any longer. It was ghosts she imagined. She had read the old books. She was afraid of things she reckoned Florian and Catlin did not even imagine, and they were foolish to name.

No one had slept in this bed, on these sheets, since the first Ari died. No one had used her things or turned back the covers.

The whole bedroom smelled of perfume and musty age.

She knew it was foolish to be afraid. She knew that the sounds probably had to do with heating and cooling of metal ducts and unfamiliar, wooden floors. And the countless systems this place had.

She had read Poe. And Jerome. And knew there was no ghost to haunt the place. Things like that belonged to old Earth, which believed the nights were full of spirits with unfinished business, anxious to lay hands on the living.

They had no place in so modern a place, so far from old Earth, which had had so many dead: Cyteen was new, and they were only stories and silliness.

Except in the dark around their lighted rooms, in the unexplained noises and the start and stop of things that were surely the Minder doing its business

She wanted to ask Florian and Catlin if they felt anything like that, in their azi way of looking at things: she wondered in one pan of her, cold curiosity, if CITs could feel ghosts because of something in CIT mindsets—shades of value, her psych instructor said. Flux-thinking.

Which Florian and Catlin could do, but it was something they were just now learning to do.

Which meant if she told them about ghosts they could get very disturbed: Catlin was so literal, Catlin believed what she said, and if she started talking about Ari being dead and still in this place—

No. Not a good idea.

She tucked the sheets up around her chin and Florian and Catlin both tucked themselves up against her, warm and dependable and free of wild imagination, never mind the fact that Catlin also had a gun with her under the covers, which ought to make her more nervous than thumps in the night

The whole thing was unreal. Uncle Denys had called her bluff, that was what he had done, and hoped she would foul up and come back.

No, Base One had altered itself. It kept saying she was fourteen. It complained she was low in her test scores. Dammit, she was twelve; twelve; twelve; she was not ready to grow up.

And here she was, in a mess because she did not know whether to believe Base One anymore; or where everybody was pushing her life.

By setting her free. It was crazy. They set her free; and she didn't have to listen to Base One, she could ignore it, she didn't have to read the data, she didn't have to know what happened to Ari senior between seven and fourteen, that was seven years, dammit, she was supposed to jump over.

She wanted to be a kid. She wanted to take care of the Filly and have her friends and have fun and be just Ari Emory, just nobody-Ari, not—somebody who was dead.

And they—the They who did things in Reseune, like uncle Denys and uncle Giraud and dead Ari—they shoved her into this huge, cold place and told her to live by herself with no maman and no uncle Denys and no Nelly or Seely, nobody to take care of anything if it went wrong.

It had started out feeling good, and then feeling like an adventure, and now, at 0300 and snuggled down in a strange, huge bed with two kid azi, it started feeling like a terrible mistake.

I wonder if I can get Base One to back up and say I'm twelve again.

Or have I gotten myself into a mess and I can't back up and I can't catch up with it, it's just going to keep going, faster and faster, until I can't handle it anymore.

If I say no, Base One will stop all my accesses and take my Super license, and if they take that, they'll take Florian and Catlin—

They can't do that. Everybody across Union knows me, knows Catlin and Florian, I could call Mayday—

Not if I lose those accesses. Base One has to do that.

I daren't lose them. If I lose that I lose everything. I stop being Ari. I stop being—

–Ari.

I've got to do good, I've got to hold on to this, I can't do those things uncle Denys said, I can't foul up. I'm going to look like a fool, I know I'm going to do something wrong the very first day out—

I wish—

I wish I knew whether I like Ari. I wonder what did happen to her?

Are they going to do it to me, the way they did everything else?

But in this place Base One is supposed to take care of me. If that's lying, then everything is lying and I'm in bad trouble.

I can't foul up tomorrow. I can't look like I've had no sleep. I've got to do better than I usually do, that'll Get uncle Denys, throw me out, dammit, bug my room, put tapes of me under the mountain. I bet he can get at them, I bet he can, I bet his Base can retrieve it.

That whole list of people with higher clearances than mine—can lie to the system and lie to me and I can't find it out.

Unless I get a higher clearance. . . and the way I get that is when I do something that gets Base One to do it.

Which means doing everything Ari wants.

Nothing Ari wants, me-Ari, myself, for me. If I'm not the same. If there is a me. If there ever was a me that isn't Ari. Or if she's not me.

If I was her, how old would I be? A hundred fifty and twelve, a hundred sixty-two. That's older than Jane, no, she was born—Jane was a teenager, Jane was a hundred forty-two when she died, and she held the first Ari when she was a baby, so if I'm twelve and Jane was my maman when she was a hundred thirty-four and I was born—and if uncle Denys is right and I was begun on paper the day after Ari died—

It could take more work than making the Filly. And that was tons of figuring. And I'm not an azi, I'm not a production geneset, so that's nothing fast. So say it was a year, and then nine, ten months, and everything works out that Ari was a hundred—twenty-something.

You can live longer than that. I wonder if that's when I'm going to die. I wonder what she died of.

Rejuv usually doesn't go till you're a hundred forty if you get it started early, and she was pretty, she was pretty when she was older, she was on it early, for sure—

That's depressing. Don't think of that. It's awful to know when you're going to die.

It's awful to read ahead what's going to happen to you. I don't want to read that stuff in the files. I don't want to know.

And it's real stupid not to.

There was a man who could see the future. He tried to change his. But that was his future.

That was his future.

Like changing it—can't work. Because then you go off what the Base wants and you're frozen, locked up, no accesses.

I have to do well. I have to do everything they want and then when I grow up I can Get them good.

Damn. That's exactly what Ari said I should do.

How do I get away from her?

Can I get away from her—and still be me?

ii

She was very careful to keep on time when the Minder woke her, shower fast, grab breakfast—Florian and Catlin cooked it: the eggs got too done, and the cocoa was lumpy, but it was food, and she swallowed it down and headed out for class . . . Florian and Catlin to clean up and then wait for the deliveries from Housekeeping and check them out and get their stuff installed in their rooms; and stay put, and debug the place, as soon as Housekeeping brought some batteries up for some of the first Florian's stuff. They had an excuse to miss classes today. She didn't, and there was no stopping by the fishpond this morning: she had to stop by the pharmacy, and she was going to walk through Dr. Edwards' door right on the minute.

Dr. Edwards was very relieved to see her: he said that without saying a word; and was uncommonly easy on her in the work—she noticed that and looked up sideways and gave him her wickedest grin. "I suppose uncle Denys told you what happened last night."

Oh, he didn't want to talk about that. "In a general kind of way. You know he'd be worried."

"You tell him I was on time and we didn't burn up anything in the kitchen."

"I'll tell him. Don't you want to tell him yourself?"

"No," she said cheerfully, and went back to her frog eggs.

She really put her mind to it in Designs, worked with no nonsense, blasted through two lessons and actually enjoyed it: she got Dr. Dietrich to give her a complete manual on one of the Deltas in Housekeeping management, so she could see the whole picture of a Design, because that was the way she liked to learn, get the idea what the whole thing looked like so that the parts made sense.

She wanted an Alpha set, but Dr. Dietrich said it was better to learn a more typical kind and then work on the exotic cases. That made sense.

Dr. Dietrich said it shouldn't be anybody she knew. That she wasn't ready for that.

Nice that she wasn't ready for something. It made her feel like there was at least a floor to stand on. She had learned a very good word in Dr. Dietrich's class.

Flux. Which fairly well said what she was caught in.

She didn't have class with any other kids until just before noon, when she had Economics with Amy and Maddy.

Amy and Maddy hadn't known about her moving out. They thought she was putting one on them. So she put her card in the nearest House slot in One A, and it started spitting out all these messages she hadn't known she was going to get, like Housekeeping asking for a verification on an order for a special kind of battery—she knew who had asked that, and punched yes—and a note from Yanni Schwartz telling her that her office in 1-244 was keyed to her card, and he had a secretary and a clerk going to set up in there, whose names were Elly BE 979 and Winnie GW 88690, and their living allowances were now on her card, along with the equipment requisition for another couple of terminals and on-line time on the House system; and a message from Dr. Ivanov that her prescription was waiting at the pharmacy.

That impressed Amy and Maddy, all right.

They looked like they still weren't sure she hadn't set this up to Get them, but she told them that tomorrow they were going to get a chance to see, she would take them up where she lived now, all on her own.

And they went funny then, like something was going different.

That was something she hadn't thought about.

She was thinking about it all the way to the pharmacy, and then she had that package to worry about, up past the Security guards into the lonely terrazzo hallway that was all hers down to the barrier-wall. She used her keycard on the door, and let herself in. The Minder told her that Florian and Catlin were there, and quick as that they showed up from the hall to the kitchen.

"Did Housekeeping get here?" she asked.

"Yes, sera," Florian said. "We've got everything put away. We went all over the apartment."

That meant the batteries Florian had wanted had gotten there. "Housekeeping was in order," Catlin said. "We made them set the boxes in the kitchen, no matter what they were, and we went over everything piece by piece before we put it away. We're warming up lunch."

"Good," she said. "Class was fine. No problems." She walked all the way back through the halls to her office to put down the carry-bag.

Her office, when she had automatically started for her bedroom. But now there was a room for everything. She unloaded the manual there; and took the carry-bag back past Florian and Catlin's rooms to her own bedroom.

Poo-thing was there, right on her bed where he always was. She picked him up and thought it would be really rotten if uncle Denys had bugged him. She picked him up and set him down again against the pillows.

And sat down and kicked off her shoes, and took out the pills from her carry-bag, the prescription pharmacy had fussed about until they nearly made her late for school, no matter what her keycard said and no matter what the House system told them she was authorized to have.

"75's," Florian said, looking at the pill-bottle, after lunch. Ham-and-cheese sandwiches. With nothing burned. "That's all right. That's right for a deep dose."

"Do you want to see what I have to tell you?" She had run out the print, and she had the paper in her lap. "I've told the Minder, no calls, no noises. I've got everything on the list. But I'd feel better if you looked at it."

She passed the printout over; they read it, one after the other.

"Sounds reasonable," Catlin said. "I haven't any trouble about it."

"I don't see any problem," Florian said. "It won't take half a minute. If there's no tape to do."

It still scared her. It scared her more than anything else.

But she did what it said. They took their pills and she followed what the paper said; and left them to sleep, then.

And went into her office, shut the door, and used the keyboard with Base One, because she wanted no noise in the apartment at all while they were that far down.

She told Base One the routine was run.

And Base One said: This Base now recognizes their cards.

She read, mostly, late, because she wanted them to wake up before she could rest. She scanned Ari senior's data, on the words Geoffrey Carnath. And she had understood uncle Denys in what he had said happened. She scanned it all the way to the end, when Ari moved out. She read the worst things and sat there feeling strange, just strange, like it was bad, but nobody had died, that was the worst, if somebody had died.

Then they might Disappear someone else.

And she was mad. Mad about things another Ari's guardian had done a long, long time ago, which weren't there, but the Security reports were, right up to when Ari had turned herself and Florian and Catlin over to Security, saying her uncle was abusing Florian.

That was the way Security wrote it. But she knew what had happened. Sort of. She couldn't make a picture in her mind, but she knew, all the same. And Ari talked about getting along with her guardian. I'd have killed him. Like I'd have killed uncle Denys if he'd gone after me. Because you don't play games with Security. Not with Seely, not with Denys. But then where would I be? In a lot of trouble. In a lot of trouble.

Her stomach went upset. She had known she was in a corner, deep down. Geoffrey Carnath's security had gotten the better of the first Ari's. They must have had a fight. Something must have happened.

Florian and Catlin had gone to detention. Ari had gone to hospital. Ari, hospital, she typed, for that date. Sedation, it said. Geoffrey Carnath's order. Florian, security.

A medic had seen him. He was hurt. So was Catlin. And they had run tapes on him and Catlin. She got the number on them.

She chased the case through files for an hour and chased the move-in order, and the Family council meeting—where senior staff, knowing what had happened, had given Ari senior a place of her own, with her own key and no one to watch over her, because that was what she demanded to have, because she was threatening to go to the news-services and Geoffrey Carnath was too much trouble for even the whole Family to fight him over the guardianship. True. Everything true, as far as Base One went. Things like that had happened to the first Ari.

They had taken maman. But uncle Denys and uncle Giraud had never done what Geoffrey Carnath had done to the first Ari.

She sat there a long time staring at the screen, and then started looking up some of the words the report had used.

And sat there a long time after, feeling her stomach upset.

She was terribly, terribly relieved when Florian called to her on the Minder and said that he was awake, and all right, just a little sleepy yet.

"I'm here," Catlin said then, a little vaguely; but Catlin made it into the hall before Ari did. Leaning on the wall. "Is there a problem?"

"Nothing," Ari said, "nothing right now. Go sleep, Catlin. Everything's fine. I'm going to fix dinner myself. I'll call you."

Catlin nodded and went back into her room.

There were a lot of things in the apartment, once they started going through it—a lot of Ari senior's clothes that were very nice but too large yet.

Ari senior had been—a bit more on top. And taller. That was spooky too, figuring out in the mirror what size she was going to be. Someday.

There was jewelry. Terribly expensive things. Not near as much as maman's, mostly gold, a lot of what could be rubies, just lying in the chest on the bureau—all these years—but who in the House would steal?

There was a wine cabinet taller than she could reach, which wouldn't have spoiled, she knew that, it was probably real good by now; and there was whiskey and other things under the counter that wouldn't have been hurt by all these years of sitting there.

There was a big tape library. A lot were about Earth and about Pell. A lot were on technical things. A lot were Entertainment. And a lot of those ... had a 20 Years and Over sticker. And titles that made her embarrassed, and uneasy.

Sex stuff. A lot of it.

It was like looking through Ari senior's drawers in her bedroom, like it was private, and she would hate if she were grown-up and dead, to have some twelve-year-old kid going through her drawers and finding out she had stuff like that in her library, but it was interesting too, and scary. The first Ari had said there was nothing wrong with the thoughts she had had, just that she was too young and shouldn't be stupid.

But it was all right when you were Older.

She remembered how the first tape felt. And she closed up the cabinet door and wondered what was in them, and whether they would be like the other one. They were just E-tapes. They weren't deep or anything like it. They couldn't hurt you.

If they were hers like everything else in the apartment, then she could do whatever she wanted with them—when she was settled in, when she was sure everything was safe.

It wasn't like being stupid with people, where sex could hurt you.

Kids were supposed to be curious. And there was no way anybody could find out she was using them. Just Catlin and Florian, and they wouldn't mess with her stuff. She could do private things now, real private, and uncle Denys couldn't know.

When she got settled in. You didn't do Entertainment tapes just anytime you wanted, no more than you had all the food you wanted. You got your regular work done.

Even if you thought about how interesting it would be, and what there was to find out, and how the teaching-tape had felt.

Meanwhile the cabinet stayed closed.

"It's all right, come on," she said, and brought Amy and Maddy past the Security guards and up the lift. !

She used her keycard on the door and let them in. The Minder told her that Florian and Catlin were not there, they were off in classes doing make-up work, the way she had told them they should.

She saw Amy and Maddy look at each other and look around at the huge front room, real impressed.

Something said to her she ought not let anyone see all of where she lived, or know how things were laid out: she knew Catlin would worry about that. But she showed them the middle of it, which was the big room in front and the kitchen and the breakfast room with the glassed-in garden where nothing was growing yet—and back to the main front room and into the other wing, where there was the big sunken den and the bar and then her office, and her bedroom and the bedrooms that had been Florian's and Catlin's (and were again).

They had oh'ed over this and that at the start, when she said that there were rooms down past the kitchen, mostly offices and stuff. And over the garden. But when they got this far, into still another living room with more rooms yet to go, they just stared around them and looked strange.

That bothered her. She was used to figuring people out, and she couldn't quite figure what they were thinking, except maybe they were worried about there being something dangerous about this, or her, or uncle Denys.

"We don't have to meet down in the tunnels anymore," she said. "We can be up here and there's no way they can find out what we're doing, because Florian and Catlin have this place checked over so nobody can bug us. Not even uncle Denys."

"They can still find out who we are," Amy said. "I mean, they know me and Maddy, maybe Sam, but they don't know all of us."

That was it. She had wondered over and over how much to tell them—particularly Maddy. She worried about it. But there were things they had to know, before they got the wrong ideas. "It's all right," she said, then took a deep breath and made up her mind on a big secret. "Let me tell you: I've got it set up so if any of you or your families gets a Security action, I know it the second it goes in."

"How can you?" Maddy asked.

"My computer. The Base I've got. My clearance is higher than yours—maybe not higher than somebody who could put a flag on and keep me from finding out stuff, but I've got my Base fixed so if there's information I'm not accessing it tells me it's going on."

"How?" Maddy asked.

"Because I'm in the House system. Because I've got a real high Base and a lot of clearances a kid isn't supposed to have. They come with this place. Lots of things. You don't have to worry. I've got an eye on you. If anything goes into the system about you, it calls me right then."

"Anything?"

"Not private stuff. Security stuff. And I'll tell you something else." Another deep breath. She shoved her hands into her belt and thought very carefully what she was saying and how much she was giving away; but Amy and Maddy were the highest-up in the gang. "You tell this and I'll skin you. But you two don't have to worry anymore. None of my friends do. I know why the Disappearances happened, and I don't think it's going to happen anymore. Except if I asked it to. If there was somebody I really, really wanted not to see again. Which isn't any of you, as long as you're my friends."

"Why did they?" Amy asked.

"Because—" Because things had to happen to me. Like Ari senior. That's too much, a whole lot too much about my business. She shrugged. "Because I wasn't supposed to know things, because my uncles figured they'd tell."

They were quiet a long time. Then Amy said, very carefully: "Even your maman?"

A second shrug. "Maman. Valery. Julia Strassen." She wanted off the subject. "I know why they did it. That's all." My maman agreed to go, but I'm not telling anybody that. They'd think she didn't like me. And that wouldn't be so. "I know a lot of things. Now they have to watch out, because I know they can't do anything to me, because anything they do from now on, they know I'll hold a grudge. And I will, if they Get any of my friends . . . because I know who they are, and they know how far they can go with me."

"Then who are they?" Amy asked.

"My uncles. Dr. Ivanov. Lots of people. Because of me being a PR of Ariane Emory. That's what. This was her place. Now it's mine, because I'm a PR. Everything she had is mine. The way there used to be a Florian and a Catlin, too, and they died; and they replicated them for me."

That took some thinking on their part. They knew about the replicate bit. They knew about a lot of things—like Florian and Catlin. But they never knew how it fit.

"I'll tell you," she said while she Had them, "why they won't do anything that makes me mad. Reseune needs me, because if I'm a PR I have title to a whole lot of things they want real bad; and because if I'm a minor it's going to be a while before the first Ari's enemies can do anything against me, because of the courts, because if my uncles do any more to me than they've already done they're in a lot of trouble, because they know I'm onto them. I don't forget about maman. I don't forget a lot of things. So they're not going to bother my friends. You can figure on that."

They looked at her without saying anything. They were not stupid. Maddy might be silly and she had no sense, but she was not at all stupid when it came to putting things together, and Amy was the smartest of all her friends, no question about it. Amy always had been.

"You're serious," Amy said.

"Damn right I'm serious."

Amy grunted and sat down on the big couch with her hands between her knees. And Maddy sat down. "This isn't any game," Amy said, looking up at her. "It's not pretend anymore, is it?"

"Nothing is pretend anymore."

"I don't know," Amy said. "I don't know. God, Ari, you could park trucks in this place. —Isn't there anybody here at night, or anything? Aren't you scared?"

"Why? There's nothing I can't order from Housekeeping, same as being at uncle Denys's. There's Security watching us all the time. We cook our food, we clean up, we do all that stuff. We can take care of ourselves. The Minder would wake us up if there was any trouble."

"I'll bet somebody comes in at night," Maddy said.

"Nobody. The Minder isn't easy to get by; not even Housekeeping gets in here without one of us watching them every minute. That's how the security is here. Because my Enemies are real too. It's not pretend. If somebody sneaks in here, they're dead, for-real dead." She sat down, at the other side of the corner. "So this is mine. All of it. And they can't bug it. Florian and Catlin have been over it from end to end. We can have our meetings up here often as we like and we don't have to worry about Security. We can do a lot of stuff up here, with no Olders to get onto us."

"Our mothers will know," Amy said. "Security's going to tell them.

"It's safe," Ari said.

"They still might not like it," Amy said.

"Well, they wouldn't like the tunnels either, would they? That didn't scare you any."

"This is different. They'll know we're here. They know people can get in trouble, Ari, my mama is worried about me getting in too much with you, she's real worried, and she didn't want me to take on the guppy business, remember?"

"She said it was all right, then."

"She still worries. I think somebody talked to her.

"So she'll let you. She won't mind." .

"Ari, this is—real different. She's going to think you can get in trouble up here without any Olders. And then we could be. They could say it was us. And we'd all be at Fargone. Bang. That fast."

So she got an idea of the shape of what was wrong with Amy and Maddy, then, even if she couldn't see all of it.

"We're not going to get in any trouble," she said. "We d get in a lot more if they caught us in the tunnels. I'm telling you I can tell if something's going on in Security. And Florian and Catlin are Security. They find out a lot of things, like stuff that doesn't go in the system."

"Not really Security," Maddy said. "They're kids.

"Ever since those kids got killed, they're Security, that's where they take their lessons. That's what their keycards say. And they work office operations a lot of the hours they're there. Real operations. They can come in and out of there and they find out a lot of things."

Like about taping in my apartment. But she wasn't about to tell them that

"Our mothers don't know about the tunnels," Amy said, "but they're going to know about us coming here."

"Not if you don't tell them right off. Security's not going to run to them the first day, are they? Then you can say you've been doing it, it's all right. How else do you get away with stuff? Don't be stupid, Amy."

They still looked worried.

"Are you my friends?" she asked them, face on. "Or aren't you?

"We're your friends," Amy said. The room was quiet. Real quiet.

And she felt a little cold inside, like something was different, and she was older, somehow, and was getting more and more that way, faster than Amy, faster than anybody she knew. Overrunning the course, she thought, remembering Florian going down that hallway too soon, too fast for the other team.

Who had had about a quarter of a second, maybe, to realize it had stopped being an Exercise and they were about to die for real.

I've got to be nice, she thought. I don't want anybody to panic. I don't want to scare them off.

So she talked with them like always, she bounced up to get them all soft drinks and show them the bar and the icemaker.

And all the stuff in the cabinet that opened up. The wine and everything.

"God," Maddy said, "I bet we could have a party with this."

"I bet we can't," Ari said flatly. Because that cabinet of wine was expensive stuff, and Maddy wasn't going to pay for it out of her allowance, that was sure; besides, she thought, a drunk Maddy Strassen squealing and clowning around Base One was a real scary thing to think about. Not mentioning the other kids, like the boys Maddy hung around.

Maddy thought that was a shame.

Amy said their mamas would smell it on them and they'd be in real trouble and so might Ari, for giving it to them.

Which was the difference between Maddy and Amy.

That night there was a message from uncle Denys on Base One. It said: "Of course I was checking up on you, Ari. You've done very well. I hoped you would."

"Message to Denys Nye," she answered it. "Of course I knew you were watching. I'm no fool. Thanks for sending my stuff over. Thanks for helping out. I won't be mad, maybe by next week. Maybe two weeks. Recording me was a lousy trick."

That would Work him fine. Let him worry.

iii

The Tester's name was Will, a Gamma type, a warehousing supervisor what time he was not involved in test-taking, plain as midday and matter-of-fact about internal processes Gamma azi were not usually aware of.

Phlegmatic of disposition, if he were a CIT: older, experienced. And stubborn.

"I want to see you in my office," the message from Yanni had said, and Justin had gathered his nerve and gone in with his notes and his Scriber to sit listening while Will GW 79 told him and Yanni what he had told the Testing Super.

It was good news. Good news, no matter how he turned it over and looked at all sides of it.

"He said," Justin reported to Grant when he got back to the office, Grant listening as anxiously as he had: "Will said he got along with it fine. Why Yanni called me in—it seems Will's told his super he wants to take it all the way. He likes it. His medical report is absolutely clean. No hyper reactions, no flutters. His blood pressure is still reading like he was on R&R. He wants to Carry the program. Committee's going to consider it."

Grant got up from where he was sitting and put his arms around him for a moment. Then, at arm's length: "Told you so."

"Not saying the Committee's going to approve." He tried desperately hard to keep his mental balance and not go too far in believing it was working. Discipline: equilibrium. Things didn't work so well when the ashes settled out. There were always disasters, things not planned for; and Administration's whims. He found the damnedest tendency in his hands to shake and his gut to go null-G, every time he thought about believing it was going to work. He wanted it too badly. And that was dangerous. "Damn, now I'm scared of it."

"I told you. I told you I wasn't scared of it. You ought to believe me, CIT. What did Yanni say?"

"He said he'd be happier if the Tester was a little less positive. He said addictions feel fine too ... up to a point."

"Oh, damn him!" Grant threw up his hands and stalked the three clear paces across the cluttered office. "What's the matter with him?"

"Yanni's just being Yanni. And he's serious. It is a point he has to—"

Grant turned around and leaned on his chair back. "I'm serious. You know that frustrates hell out of me. They aren't going to know anything a Tester can't tell them; they've had their run in Sociology, let them believe what the man's saying."

"Well, it frustrates me, too. But it doesn't mean Yanni's going to go down against it. And it's had a clear run. It's had that."

Grant looked at him with agitation plain on his face. But Grant took a deep breath and swallowed it, and cleared the expression away in a transition of emotions possible only in an actor or an azi. "It's had that, yes. They'll clear it. They have to use sense sooner or later."

"They don't have to do anything," he admitted, feeling the pall of Grant's sudden communications shutdown. "They've proved that. I just have some hope—"

"Faith in my creators," Grant repeated quietly. "Damn, it deserves celebrating." The last with cheerfulness, a bright grin. "I can't say I'm surprised. I knew before you ran it. I told you. Didn't I?"

"You told me."

"So be happy. You've earned it."

One tried. There was a mountain of work to do and the office was not the place to discuss subtleties. But walking the quadrangle toward dark, an edge-of-safety shortcut with weather-warnings out and a cloud-bank beyond the cliffs and Wing Two: "You started to say something this afternoon," Justin said. He had picked the route. And the solitude. "About Yanni."

"Nothing about Yanni."

"Hell if there wasn't. Has he been onto you for something?"

"Yanni's conservatism. That's all. He knows better than that. Dammit, he knows it's going through. He just has to find something negative."

"Don't blank on me. You were going to say something. Secrets make me nervous, Grant, you know that."

"I don't know what about. There's no secret."

"Come on. You went 180 on me. What didn't you say?"

A few paces in silence. Then: "I'm trying to remember. Honestly."

Lie.

"You said you were frustrated about something."

"That?" A small, short laugh. "Frustrated they have to be so damn short-sighted."

"You're doing it again," Justin said quietly. "All right. I'll worry in private. No matter. Don't mind. I don't pry."

"The hell."

"The hell. Yes. What's going on with you? You mind telling me?"

More paces in silence. "Is that an order?"

"What the hell is this 'order'? I asked you a question. Is there something the matter with a question?" Justin stopped on the walk where it crossed the sidewalk from Wing Two, in the evening chill with the flash of lightning in the distance. "Something about Yanni? Was it Yanni? Or did I say something?"

"Hey, I'm glad it worked, I am glad. There's nothing at all wrong with me. Or you. Or Will."

"Addictions. Was that the keyword?"

"Let's talk about it later."

"Talk where, then? At home? Is it that safe?"

Grant gave a long sigh, and faced the muttering of thunder and the flickering of lightnings on Wing Two's horizon. It was a dangerous time. Fools lingered out of doors, in the path of the wind that would sweep down—very soon.

"It's frustration," he said. "That they won't take Will's word on it. That they know so damn much because they're CITs."

"They have to be careful. For Will's sake, if nothing else. For the sake of the other programs he tests, —"

"CITs are a necessary evil," Grant said placidly, evenly, against the distant thunder. "What would we azi possibly do without them? Teach ourselves, of course."

Grant made jokes. This was not one of them. Justin sensed that. "You think they're not going to listen to him."

"I don't know what they're going to do. You want to know what's the greatest irritation in being azi, Supervisor mine? Knowing what's right and sane and knowing they won't listen to you."

"That's not exactly an exclusive problem."

"Different." Grant tapped his chest with a finger. "There's listening and listening. They'll always listen to me, when they won't, you. But they won't listen to me the way they do you. No more than they do Will."

"They're interested in his safety. Listening has nothing to do with it."

"It has everything to do with it. They won't take his word—"

"—because he's in the middle of the problem."

"Because an azi is always in the middle of the problem, and damn well outside the decision loop. Yanni's in the middle of the problem, he's biased as hell with CIT opinions and CIT designs, does that disqualify him? No. It makes him an expert."

"1 listen."

"Hell, you wouldn't let me touch that routine."

"For your own damn—good, —Grant." Somehow that came out badly, about halfway. "Well, sorry, but I care. That's not a CIT pulling rank. That's a friend who needs you stable. How's that?"

"Damn underhanded."

"Hey." He took Grant by the shoulder. "Hit me on something else, all right? Let's don't take the work I'd test my own sanity on and tell me you're put out because I won't trust my judgment on it either. I'd give you anything.

I'd let you—"

"There's the trouble."

"What?"

"Let me."

"Friend, Grant. Damn, you're flux-thinking like hell, aren't you?"

"Ought to qualify me for a directorship, don't you think? Soon as we prove we're crazy as CITs we get our papers and then we're qualified not to listen to azi Testers either."

"What happened? What happened, Grant? You want to level with me?"

Grant looked off into the dark awhile. "Frustration, that's all. I—got turned down—for permission to go to Planys."

"Oh, damn."

"I'm not his son. Not—" Grant drew several slow breaths. "Not qualified in the same way. Damn, I wasn't going to drop this on you. Not tonight."

"God." Justin grabbed him and held on to him a moment. Felt him fighting for breath and control.

"I'm tempted to say I want tape," Grant said. "But damned if I will. Damned if I will. It's politics they're playing. It's—just what they can do, that's all. We just last it through, the way you did. Your project worked, dammit. Let's celebrate. Get me drunk, friend. Good and drunk. I'll be fine. That's the benefit of flux, isn't it? Everything's relative. You've worked so damn long for this, we've both worked for it. No surprise to me. I knew it would run. But I'm glad you proved it to them."

"I'll go to Denys again. He said—"

Grant shoved back from him, gently. "He said maybe. Eventually. When things died down. Eventually isn't now, evidently."

"Damn that kid."

Grant's hands bit into his arms. "Don't say that. Don't—even think it."

"She just has lousy timing. Lousy timing. That's why they're so damn nervous. . . ."

"Hey. Not her timing. None of it's—her timing. Is it?"

Thunder cracked. Flashes lit the west, above the cliffs. Of a sudden the perimeter alarm went, a wailing into the night. Wind was coming, enough to break the envelope.

They grabbed each other by the sleeve and the arm and ran for shelter and safety, where the yellow warning lights flashed a steady beacon above the entrance.

iv

"Dessert?" uncle Denys asked. At Changes, at lunch, which was where she had agreed to meet him; and Ari shook her head.

"You can, though. I don't mind."

"I can skip it. Just the coffee." Denys coughed, and stirred a little sugar in. "I'm trying to cut down. I'm putting on weight. You used to set a good example."

Fifth and sixth try at sympathy. Ari stared at him quite steadily.

Denys took a paper from his pocket and laid it down on the table. "This is yours. It did pass. Probably better without you—this year."

"I'm a Special?"

"Of course. Did I say not? That's one reason I wanted to talk with you. This is just a fax. There was—a certain amount of debate on it. You should know about that. Catherine Lao may be your friend, but she can't stifle the press, not—on the creation of a Special. The ultimate argument was your potential. The chance that you might need the protection—before your majority. We used up a good many political favors getting this through. Not that we had any other choice—or wanted any."

Seventh.

She reached out and took the fax and unfolded it. Ariane Emory, it said, and a lot of fine and elaborate print with the whole Council's signatures.

"Thank you," she said. "Maybe I'd like to see it on the news."

"Not—possible."

"You were lying when you said you hated the vid. Weren't you? You just wanted to keep me away from the news-services. You still do."

"You've requested a link. I know. You won't get it. You know why you won't get it." Uncle Denys clasped his cup between two large hands. "For your own health. For your well-being. There are things you don't want to know yet. Be a child awhile. Even under the circumstances."

She took the paper and carefully, deliberately slowly, folded it and put it in her carry-bag, thinking, in maman's tones: Like hell, uncle Denys.

"I wanted to give you that," uncle Denys said. "I won't keep you. Thank you for having lunch with me."

"That's eight."

"Eight what?"

"Times you've tried to get me to feel sorry for you. I told you. It was a lousy thing to do, uncle Denys."

Shift and Shift again. Working only worked if you used it when it was time. No matter if you were ready.

"The taping. I know. I'm sorry. What can I say? That I wouldn't have done it? That would be a lie. I am glad you're doing all right. I'm terribly proud of you."

She gave him a nasty smile, fast and right into a sulk. "Sure."

"'To thine own self be true'?" With a smile of his own. "You know who planned this."

She ran that through again. It was one of his better zaps, right out of the blind-side, and it knocked the thoughts right out of her.

Damn. There weren't very many people who could Get her like that.

"I wonder if you can imagine how it feels," uncle Denys said, "to have known your predecessor—my first memories of her are as a beautiful young woman, outstandingly beautiful; and having the same young woman arriving at the end of my life—while I'm old—is an incredible perspective."

Trying to Work her for sure. "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm glad you accepted my invitation." He sipped at his coffee.

"You want to do something to make me happy?"

"What?"

"Tell Ivanov I don't need any appointment."

"No. I won't say that. I can tell you where the answer is. It's in the fifteenth-year material."

"That's real funny, uncle Denys."

"I don't mean it to be. It's only the truth. Don't go too fast, Ari. But I am changing something. I'm terminating your classes."

"What do you mean, terminating my classes?"

"Hush, Ari. Voices. Voices. This is a public place. I mean it's a waste of your time. You'll still see Dr. Edwards—on a need-to basis. Dr. Dietrich. Any of them will give you special time. You have access to more tapes than you can possibly do. You'll have to select the best. The answer to what you are is in there—much more than in the biographical material. Choose for yourself. At this point—you're a Special. You have privileges. You have responsibilities. That's the way it always works." He drank two swallows of the coffee and set the cup down. "I'll put the library charges to my account. It's still larger. —You can see your school friends anytime you like. Just send to them through the system. They'll get the message."

He left the table. She sat there a moment, figuring, trying to catch her breath.

She could go to classes if she wanted to. She could request her instructors' time, that was all.

She could do anything she wanted to.

Shots again. She scowled at the tech who took her blood and gave them to her. She did not even see Dr. Ivanov.

"There'll be prescriptions at pharmacy," the tech said. "We understand you'll be using home teaching. Please be careful. Follow the instructions."

The tech was azi. it was no one she could yell at. So she got up, feeling flushed, and went out to the pharmacy in the hospital and got the damned prescriptions.

Kat. At least it was useful.

She got home early: no interview with Dr. Ivanov, no hanging around waiting. She put the sack in the plastics bin and read the ticket and discovered they had billed her account thirty cred for the pills and probably for Florian and Catlin's too.

"Dammit," she said out loud. "Minder, message to Denys Nye: Pharmacy is your bill. You pay it. I didn't order it."

It made her furious.

Which was the shot. It did that to her. She took half a dozen deep breaths and went to the library to put the prescription bottles in the cabinet under the machine.

Damn. It was nowhere near time for her cycle. And she felt like that. She felt—

On. Like she wished she had homework tonight, or something. Or she could go down and see the Filly, maybe. She had been working too hard and going down there too little, leaving too much of the Filly's upbringing to Florian, but she didn't feel like that, either. The shots bothered her and she hated to be out of control when she was around people. It was going to be bad enough just trying not to be irritable with Catlin and Florian when they got home, without going around Andy, who was too nice to have to put up with a CIT brat in a lousy, prickly mood.

She knew what was going on with her, it had to do with her cycles, damn Dr. Ivanov was messing with her again, and it was embarrassing. Going around other people, grown-ups, likely they could tell what was going on with her, and that made her embarrassed too.

The whole thing was probably on Denys' orders. She bet it was. And she tried to think of a way to get them to stop it, but as long as Ivanov had the right to suspend her Super's license if she dodged sessions—she was in for it.

Dammit, there wasn't anything in the world those shots and those checkups had to do with her dealing with azi, not a thing—but she couldn't prove it, unless maybe she could do what the first Ari had done and call Security, and get them to arrange a House council meeting.

God, and sit there in front of every grown-up she knew in the whole House and explain about the shots and her cycles? She had rather die.

Don't go up against Administration, Ari senior had told her, out of the things she had learned.

Except it was Ari senior doing it to her as much as it was Denys.

Damn.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

She opened the tape cabinet, looking for something to keep her mind busy and burn some of the mad off. One of the E-tapes. Dumas, maybe. She was willing to do that tape twice. She knew it was all right.

But it was the adult ones that she started thinking about, which made her think about the last sex tape she had had, which was a long time back. And it was just exactly what she was in the mood for.

So she pulled one out that didn't sound as embarrassing as the others, Models, it was called; and she took it to the library, told the Minder to tell Florian and Catlin when they came in that she was doing tape and might be fifteen more minutes—she checked the time—by the time they got the message.

And locked the tape-lab door, tranked down with the mild dose you did for entertainment, set up and let it run.

In a while more she thought she should cut it off. It was different than anything she had thought.

But the feelings she got were interesting.

Very.

Florian and Catlin were home by the time the tape ran out. She ought not, she thought, stir about yet; but it was only a tiny dose, it was not dangerous, it only made her feel a little tranked, in that strange, warm way. She asked the Minder was it only them—silly precaution—before she unlocked the door and came out.

She found them in the kitchen making supper. Warm-ups again. "Hello, sera," Florian said. "Did it go all right today?"

Lunch with Denys, she realized. And remembered she was still mad, if she were not so tranked down. It was strange—the way things went in and out of importance in the day. "He stopped my classes," she said. "Said I didn't have to go to class anymore except just for special help. Said I had too many tapes to do."

So what do I start with? That stupid thing. Like I had all kinds of time.

"Is it all right, sera?" Catlin was worried.

"It's all right." She shoved away from the doorframe and came to put napkins down. The oven timer was running down, a flicker of green readout. "I can handle it. I will handle it. Maybe he's even right: I've got a lot to go through. And it's not like I was losing the school." She leaned on a chair back. The timer went. "I'll miss the kids, though."

"Will we meet with them?" Florian asked.

"Oh, sure. Not that we won't." She grabbed her plate and held it out as Florian used the tongs to get the heated dinner from the oven. She took hers and sat down as Florian and Catlin served themselves and joined her.

Dinner. A little talk. Retreat to their rooms to study. It was the way it always had been—except she had her own office and they had their computer terminals and their House accesses through the Minder.

She went to her room to change. And sat down on the bed, wishing she had left the cabinet alone and knowing she was in trouble.

Bad trouble. Because she was good at saying no to herself when she saw a reason for it... but it got harder and harder to think of the reasons not to do what she wanted, because when she did refuse she got mad, and when she got mad that feeling was there.

She went and read Base One . . . long, long stretches of the trivial housekeeping records Ari senior had generated, just the way they themselves were doing, until she ran them past faster and faster. Who cared whether Ari senior had wanted an order of tomatoes on the 28th September?

She thought about the tape library, about pulling up one of the Recommendeds and getting started with it. And finally thought that was probably the thing to do.

"Sera." It was Florian's voice through the Minder. "Excuse me. I'm doing the list. Do you want anything from Housekeeping?"

Bother and damnation.

"Just send it." A thought came, warm and tingly, and very, very dangerous. Then she said, deliberately, knowing it was stupid: "And come here a minute. My office."

"Yes, sera."

Stupid, she said to herself. And cruel. It's mean to do, dammit. Make up something else. Send him off on a job.

God. . . .

She thought about Ollie. The way she had thought about him all afternoon. Ollie with maman. Ollie when he had looked young and maman had. Maman had never had to be lonely. . . while Ollie was there. And Ollie never minded.

"Sera?" Florian said, a real voice, from the doorway.

"Log-off," she told Base One, and turned her chair around, and got up. "Come on in, Florian. —What's Catlin doing?"

"Studying. We have a manual to do. Just light tape. It—isn't something you need to Super, —is it? Should I stop her?"

"No. It's all right. Is it something really urgent?"

"No."

"Even if you were late? Even if you didn't get to it?"

"No, sera. They said—when we could. I think it would be all right. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to come to my room a minute," she said, and took him by the hand and walked him down the hall to her bedroom.

And shut the door once they were inside and locked it.

He looked at that and at her, concerned. "Is there some trouble, sera?"

"I don't know." She put her hands on his shoulders. Carefully. He twitched, hands moved, just a little defensive reaction, even if he knew she was going to do it. Uneasiness at being touched, the way he had reacted with Maddy once. "Is that all right? Do you mind that?"

"No, sera. I don't mind." He was still disturbed. His breathing got faster and deeper as she ran her hands down to his sides, and walked around behind him, and around again. Maybe he thought it was some kind of test. Maybe he understood. Another twitch, when she touched his chest.

She knew better. That was the awful thing. She was ashamed of herself all the way. She was afraid for Catlin and for him and none of it mattered, not for a moment.

She took a hard grip on his shoulder, friend-like. "Florian. Do you know about sex?"

He nodded. Once and emphatically.

"If you did it with me, would Catlin be upset?"

A shake of his head. A deep breath. "Not if you said it was right."

"Would you be upset?"

Another shake of his head. "No, sera."

"Are you sure?"

A deep nod. Another breath. "Yes, sera." Another. "Can I go tell Catlin?"

"Now?"

"If it's going to be a while. She'll worry. I think I ought to tell her."

That was fair. There were complications in everything. "All right," she said. "Come right back."

v

He left sera to sleep, finally—he had slept a little while, but sera was restless. Sera said she was a little uncomfortable, and he could go back and sleep in his own bed, she was fine, she just wanted to sleep now and she wasn't used to company.

So he put his pants on, but he was only going to bed, so he carried the rest, and slipped out and shut the door.

But Catlin's room had the light on, and Catlin came out into the hall.

He stopped dead still. He wished he had finished dressing.

She just stood there a moment. So he walked on down as far as her room, past his own.

"All right?" she asked.

"I think so," he said. Sera was in a little discomfort, he had hurt sera, necessarily, because sera was built that way: sera said go on, and she had been happy with him, overall. He hoped. He truly hoped. "Sera said she wanted to sleep, I should go to bed. I'll do the manual tomorrow."

Catlin just looked at him, the way she did sometimes when she was confused, gut-deep open. He did not know what to say to her. He did not know what she wanted from him.

"How did it feel?"

"Good," he said on an irregular breath. Knowing then what he was telling her and how her mind had been running and was running then. Partners. For a lot of years. Catlin was curious. Some things went past her and she paid no attention. But if Catlin was interested this far, Catlin wanted to figure it out, the same way she would take a thing apart to understand it.

She said finally—he knew she was going to say—: "Can you show me? You think sera would mind?"

It was not wrong. He would have felt a tape-jolt about it if it were. He was tired. But if bis partner wanted something, his partner got it, always, forever.

"All right," he said, trying to wake himself up and find the energy. And came into her room with her.

He undressed. So did she—which felt strange, because they had always been so modest, as much as they could, even in the field, and just not looked, if there was no cover.

But he was mostly the one who was embarrassed, because he had always had sex-feelings, he understood that now—while Catlin, who was so much more capable than he was in a lot of ways, missed so much that involved what sera called flux-values.

"Bed," he said, and turned back the covers and got under, because it was a little cold; and because bed was a comfortable, resting kind of place, and he knew Catlin would feel more comfortable about being up against him skin against skin in that context.

So she got in and lay on her side facing him, and got up against him when he told her she should, and relaxed when he told her to, even when he put his hand on her side and his knee between hers. "You let me do everything first," he said, and told her there was a little pain involved, but that was no more than a don't-react where Catlin was concerned. You didn't surprise her in things like that.

"All right," she said.

She could react, he found that out very fast, with his fingers.

He stopped. "It gets stronger. You want to keep going with this? Does that feel all right?"

She was thinking about it. Breathing hard. "Fine," she decided.

"You let that get started again," he said, "then you do the same with me. All right? Just like dancing. Variations. All right?"

She drew a deep, deep breath, and she took his advice, until he suddenly felt himself losing control. "Ease up," he said. "Stop."

She did. He managed all right then, finding it smoother with her than with sera—but of course it would be. Catlin would listen, even when it was hard to listen, and he had a far better idea this time what he was doing.

He warned her of things. She was as careful with him as he was with her, not to draw a surprise reaction: he had more confidence in her in that way too.

She did not put a mark on him. Sera had, a lot of them.

He finished; and said, out of breath: "Most I can do, Catlin. Sorry. Second round for me. I'm awfully tired."

She was quiet a minute, out of breath herself. "That was all right." In the thoughtful way she had when she approved of something.

He hugged her, on that warm feeling. She didn't always understand why he did things like that. He didn't think she had understood this time, just that it was temporary reflex, a sex thing, but when he kissed her on the forehead and said he had better get back to his own bed:

"You can stay here," she said, and sort of fitted herself to him puzzle-fashion and gave him a comfortable spot it was just easier not to leave.

They had to get up before sera anyway.

vi

Ari woke up at the Minder-call, remembered what she had done last night, and lay there for a minute remembering.

A little scared. A little sore. It had not been quite like the tapes—like real-life, a little awkward. But someone had said—the tape, she thought—that happens; even sex takes practice.

So they were twelve pushing thirteen real hard. Which was young. Her body wasn't through growing, Florian's wasn't. She knew that made a difference.

The tape had said so. "Does Ari have any reference on sex?" Ari asked

Base One.

But Base One only gave her the same thing it had always given, and she had read that so often she had it memorized.

She had been irresponsible, completely, last night, that was what kept eating at her. She could have hurt them, and the worst thing was she still could: this morning she was still on, —a whole lot cooler and calmer, but sex was just like the tape, hard to remember what it felt like the minute it was over, a damn cheat, leaving just a curiosity, something you kept picking at like a fool picking at a scab to see if it hurt—again.

It was hard to remember a whole lot of things when that got started.

Like responsibility. Like people you cared about.

Like who you were.

Ari senior was right. It messed up your thinking. It could take over. Real easy.

Sex is when you're the most vulnerable you'll ever be. Brains is when you're least.

Damn those shots! They're Working me, that's what they're doing, they're Working me and I can't stop it, Dr. Ivanov can pull my license if I don't take them, and I know what they're doing, dammit!

That stuff is still in my bloodstream. I can still feel it. Hormones gone crazy.

And I still want to pull Florian in and try it again like a damn fool.

Fool, fool, fool, Ari Emory!

"Are you all right?" she cornered Florian to ask, before breakfast, in the hallway. Carefully. Care about things. It was the only antidote.

"Yes, sera," Florian said, looking anxious—perhaps for being pulled alone out of the kitchen and far down the hall and backed against the wall, perhaps thinking they were going to go through it again.

Calm down. Don't confuse him. You've done enough, fool. She could hear maman, could hear maman clear when she did something stupid– Dammit, Ollie! "You're sure. I want you not to try to make me feel good, Florian. If I did something wrong, tell me."

"I'm fine." He took a deep breath. "But, sera, —Catlin and I—she—I– Sera, I slept with her last night. We—did sex too. It felt all right—then. It was all right, —wasn't it?"

Surge of hormones. Bad temper. Panic. She found her breath coming hard and folded her arms and turned away, looking at the stonework floor a moment until she could jerk herself sideways and back to sense.

Stupid, Ari. Real stupid. Look what's happened.

She's his partner, not me, what in hell am I being jealous for? I did a nasty thing to him and he doesn't even know it's not right.

Oh, dammit, Ari. Dammit!

Flux. That's what sex sets loose. A hell of a flux-state. Hormones. That's what's going on with me.

I wonder if I could write this up for one of Dr. Dietrich's damn papers.

"But she's all right," she said, looking around at Florian—at a painfully worried Florian. "She is all right this morning, isn't she? I mean, you don't think it's messed anything up between you. That's what I'm worried about."

His face lightened, a cloud leaving. "Oh, no, sera. No. Just—we got to thinking about it– Sera, Catlin was just curious. You know how she is. If it was there she wants to know about it, and if it involved me—she—really needs to know, sera, she really needs to understand what's going on." The frown came back. "Anything I do—is her, too. It has to be."

She put her hand on his arm, took his hand and squeezed it hard. "Of course it does. It's all right. It's all right, Florian. I'm only upset if you two are. I don't blame you. I don't care what you did. I only worry I could have hurt you."

"No, sera." He believed everything. He would do anything. He looked terribly relieved. She took his arm through hers and held on to his hand, walking him back down the hall toward the kitchen where rattles and closings of doors said Catlin was busy.

"But Catlin's not as social as you. And sex is a hell of a jolt, Florian, an awful hormone load." But it's the flux-values it goes crazy with. Flux and feedback loop, brain and hormones interacting. That's what's going on with me. CIT processing. The whole environment fluxing in values. Even Florian doesn't flux-think that heavy. "It didn't bother her—really?"

"I really don't think so. She said it—was sort of like a good workout."

A little laugh got away from her, just surprise on top of the angst, that left her less worried and more so, in different directions. "Oh, damn. Florian. I don't know everything I ought to. I wish I was azi, sometimes. I do. Keep an eye on Catlin. If her reactions aren't up to par, or yours aren't, I want to know it, I want to know it right then—call me if you have to stop an Exercise to do it, hear?"

"Yes, sera."

"I just worry—just worry because I'm responsible, that's all. And experimeriting around with us makes me nervous, because I can't go and ask, I just have to try things and I really need you to tell me if I do wrong with you. You object, hear me, you object if you think I'm doing something I shouldn't."

"Yes, sera." Automatic as breathing.

They reached the kitchen. Catlin was setting out plates. Catlin looked up at them, a little query in the tension between her brows.

"No troubles with me," Ari said. "Florian told me everything. It's all right."

The tension went away, and Catlin gave one of her real smiles.

"He was real happy," Catlin said, the way she could go straight to the middle of something.

Of course Florian had been happy. His Super took him to bed and told him he was fine; sent him away in a heavy flux-state to deal with a Catlin fluxed as Catlin could get—her Super locking her out of the room and doing something emotional and mysterious with her partner.

So they wake up with that load on them.

Fool, Ari. Upset them twice over, for all the wrong reasons. Can I do anything right?

They ate breakfast. Pass the salt. More coffee, sera?—While her stomach stayed upset and she tried to think and look cheerful at the same time.

Then: "Florian," she said, finally. "Catlin."

Two perfectly attentive faces turned to her, open as flowers to light.

"About last night—we're really pretty young yet. Maybe it's good to get experience with each other, so we don't get fluxed too badly if we do it with other people, because it's a way people can Work you. But the last thing we need to do is start Working each other, not meaning to, even if it is fun, because it sure gets through your guard. It got through mine."

It was Catlin she was talking to, most. And Catlin said: "It does that." With her odd laugh, difficult to catch as her true smile. "You could use that."

"You sure could," she said finally, steadier than she had been. The flux diminished, steadily, now that she knew her way. "But it's hard for CITs. I'm having flux problems . . . nothing I can't handle. You'll have to get used to me being just a little on now and again; it doesn't last, it doesn't hurt me, it's part of sex with CITs, and I know I'm not supposed to discuss my psych problems with you—but now I'm onto it, I've got my balance. Nothing at all unnatural for a CIT. You know a little about it. I can tell you a lot more. I think maybe I should—use me for an example, to start with. You aren't used to flux—" Looking straight at Catlin. "Not real strong, anyway. You did fine when Florian got hurt. But that's something you knew about. This is all new, it feels good, and it's an Older thing. Like wine. If you feel uneasy about it, you tell Florian or you tell me, all right?"

"All right," Catlin said, wide-open and very serious. "But Florian's had tape about it already, so he's all right. If he doesn't get a no with me it's just something he's the specialist at, that's all. But I can learn it all right."

Trust Catlin. Ari paid earnest attention to her eggs, because Catlin was real good at reading her face, and she came near laughing.

Hormones were still crazy. But the brain was starting to fight back.

The brain has to win out, Ari senior had said. But the little gland at the base of the brain is the seat of a lot of the trouble. It's no accident they're so close together: God has a sense of humor.

vii

"We're giving permission," Yanni said, "for Will to assimilate the routine. I think—and the board thought—he'd already done it to a certain extent, from the time it started working. With its touch with deep-set values, it's not at all surprising . . . and I agree with the board: it's cause for concern."

Justin looked at the edge of Yanni's desk. Unfocused. "I agree with that," he said finally.

"What do you think about it?"

He drew a breath, hauled himself back out of the mental shadows and looked at Yanni's face—-not his eyes. "I think the board's right. I didn't see it in that perspective."

"I mean—what's your view of the problem?"

"I don't know."

"For God's sake, wake up, son. Didn't think, don't know, what in hell's the matter with you?"

He shook his head. "Tired, Yanni. Just tired."

He waited for the explosion. Yanni leaned forward on his arms and gave a heavy sigh.

"Grant?"

Justin looked at the wall.

"I'm damn sorry," Yanni said. "Son, it's temporary. Look, you want a schedule? He'll get his permit. It's coming."

"Of course it is," he said softly. "Of course it is. Everything's always coming. I know the damn game. I've had it, Yanni. I'm through. I'm tired, Grant's tired. I know Jordan's getting tired." He was close to tears. He stopped talking and just stared, blind, at the wall and the corner where the shelves started. A Downer spirit-stick, set in a case. Yanni had some artistic sense. Or it was a gift from someone. He had wondered that before. He envied Yanni that piece.

"Son."

"Don't call me that!" He wrenched his eyes back to Yanni, breath choking him. "Don't—call me that. I don't want to hear that word."

Yanni stared at him a long time. Yanni could rip him apart. Yanni knew him well enough. And he had given Yanni all the keys, over the years. Given him a major one now, with his reaction.

Even that didn't matter.

"Morley's sent a commendation on your work with young Benjamin," Yanni said. "He says—says your arguments are very convincing. He's going to committee with it."

The Rubin baby. Not a baby now. Aged six—a thin, large-eyed and gentle boy with a lot of health problems and a profound attachment to young Ally Morley. And in some measure—his patient.

So Yanni started hitting him in the soft spots. Predictably. He was not going to come out of this office whole. He had known that when Yanni hauled him in.

He stared at the artifact in the case.

Non-human. A gentle people humans had no right to call primitive. And of course did. And threw them into protectorate.

"Son—Justin. I'm telling you it's a temporary delay. I told Grant that. Maybe six months. No more than that."

"If I—" He was cold for a moment, cold enough at least to talk without breaking down. "If I agreed to go into detention—if I agreed to cooperate with a deep probe—about everything that's ever gone on between myself and Jordan—would that be enough to get Grant his permit?"

Long silence. "I'm not going to give them that offer," Yanni said finally. "Dammit, no."

He shifted his eyes Yanni's way. "I haven't got anything to hide. There's nothing there, Yanni, not even a sinful thought—unless you're surprised I'd like to see Reseune Administration in hell. But I wouldn't move to send them there. I've got everything to lose. Too many people do."

"I've got something to lose," Yanni said. "I've got a young man who's not a Special only because Reseune wouldn't dare bring the bill up—wouldn't dare give you that protection."

"That's a piece of garbage."

"I gave you a chance. I've taken risks with you. I didn't say I thought Will's got a problem. I'm saying that testing your routines—may have to absorb Test subjects. By their very nature. Once they've run, it takes mindwipe to remove them. That doesn't mean they're not useful."

Defense Bureau.

Test programs with mindwipe between runs—

"Justin?"

"God. God. I try to help the azi—and I've created a monstrosity for Defense. My God, Yanni—"

"Calm down. Calm down. We're not talking about the Defense Bureau."

"It will be. Let them get wind of it—"

"A long way from Applications. Calm down."

It's my work. Without me—they can't. If something happened to me—they can't—not for a long while.

Oh, damn, all the papers, all my notes—

Grant. . . .

"Reseune doesn't give away its processes," Yanni said reasonably, rationally. "It's not in question."

"Reseune's in bed with Defense. They have been, ever since Giraud got the Council seat."

Ever since Ari died. Ever since her successors sold out—sold out everything she stood for.

God, I wish—wish she was still alive.

The kid—doesn't have a chance.

"Son, —I'm sorry, Justin. Habit. —Listen to me. I see your point. I can see it very clearly. It worries me too."

"Are we being taped, Yanni?"

Yanni bit his Up, and touched a button on his desk. "Now we're not."

"Where's the tape?"

"I'll take care of it."

"Where's the damn tape, Yanni?"

"Calm down and listen to me. I'm willing to work with you. Blank credit slip. Let me ask you something. Your psych profile says suicide isn't likely. But answer me honestly: is it something you ever think about?"

"No." His heart jumped, painfully. It was a lie. And not. He thought about it then. And lacked whatever it took. Or had no reason sufficient, yet. God, what does it take? Do I have to see the kids walking into the fire before I feel enough guilt? It's too late then. What kind of monster am I?

"Let me remind you—you'd kill Grant. And your father. Or worse—they'd live with it."

"Go to hell, Yanni."

"You think other researchers didn't ask those questions?"

"Carnath and Emory built Reseune! You think ethics ever bothered that pair?"

"You think ethics didn't bother Ari?"

"Sure. Like Gehenna."

"The colony lived. Lived, when every single CIT died. Emory's work, damned right. The azi survived."

"In squalor. In abominable conditions—like damned primitives—"

"Through squalor. Through catastrophes that peeled away every advantage they came with. The culture on that planet is an azi culture. And they're unique. You forget the human brain, Justin. Human ingenuity. The will to live. You can send an azi soldier into fire—but he's more apt than his CIT counterpart to turn to his sergeant and ask what the gain is. And the sergeant had better have an answer that makes sense to him. You should take a look at the military, Justin. You have a real phobia about that, pardon the eetee psych. They do deal with extreme stress situations. The military sets will walk into fire. But an azi who's too willing to do that is a liability and an azi who likes killing is worse. You take a look at reality before you panic. Look at our military workers down there. They're damned good. Damned polite, damned competent, damned impatient with foul-ups, damned easy to Super as long as they think you're qualified, and capable of relaxing when they're off, unlike some of our assembly-line over-achievers. Look at the reality before you start worrying. Look at the specific types."

"These are survivors too," Justin said. "The ones who outlived the War."

"Survival rate among azi is higher than CITs, fifteen something percent. I have no personal compunction about the azi. They're fine. They like themselves fine. Your work may have real bearing on CIT psych, in behavioral disorders. A lot of applications, if it bears out. We deal with humanity. And tools. You can kill a man with a laser. You can save a life with it. It doesn't mean we shouldn't have lasers. Or edged blades. Or hammers. Or whatever. But I'm damned glad we have lasers, or I'd be blind in my right eye. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Old stuff, Yanni."

"I mean, do you understand what I'm saying? Inside?"

"Yes." True. His instincts grabbed after all the old arguments like he was a baby going for a blanket. About as mature. About as capable of sorting out the truth. Damn. Hand a man a timeworn excuse and he went after it to get the pain to stop. Even knowing the one who handed it to him was a psych operator.

"Besides," Yanni said, "you're a man of principle. And humans don't stop learning things, just because they might be risky: if this insight of yours is correct you're only a few decades ahead of someone else finding it on his own. And who knows, that researcher might not have your principles—or your leverage."

"Leverage! I can't get my brother a visit with his father!"

"You can get a hell of a lot if you work it right."

"Oh, dammit! Are we down to sell-outs, now? Are we through doing morality today?"

"Your brother. Grant's a whole lot of things with you. Isn't he?"

"Go to hell!"

"Not related to you. I merely point out you do an interesting double value set there. You're muddy in a lot of sensitive areas—including a little tendency to suspect every success you have, a tendency to see yourself perpetually as a nexus defined by other people—Jordan's son, Grant's—brother, Administration's hostage. Less as a human being than as a focus of all these demands. You have importance, Justin, unto yourself. You're a man thirty—thirty-one years old. Time you asked yourself what Justin is."

"We are into eetee psych, aren't we?"

"I'm handing it out free today. You're not responsible for the universe. You're not responsible for a damn thing that flows from things you didn't have the capacity to control. Maybe you are responsible for finding out what you could control, if you wanted to, if you'd stop looking at other people's problems and start taking a look at your own capabilities—which, as I say, probably qualify you as a Special. Which also answers a lot of questions about why you have problems: lack of adequate boundaries. Lack of them, son. All the Specials have the problem. It's real hard to understand humanity when you keep attributing to everyone around you the complexity of your own thinking. You have quite a few very bright minds around you—enough to keep you convinced that's ordinary. Jordan's, particularly: he's got the age advantage, doesn't he, and you've always confused him with God. You think about it. You know all this with the Rubin kid. Apply it closer to home. Do us all a favor."

"Why don't you just explain what you want me to do? I'm real tired, Yanni. I give. You name it, I'll do it."

"Survive."

He blinked. Bit his lip.

"Going to break down on me?" Yanni asked.

The haze was gone. The tears were gone. He was only embarrassed, and mad enough to break Yanni's neck.

Yanni smiled at him. Smug as hell.

"I could kill you," Justin said.

"No, you couldn't," Yanni said. "It's not in your profile. You divert everything inward. You'll never quite cure that tendency. It's what makes you a lousy clinician and a damned good designer. Grant can survive the stress—if you don't put it on him. Hear me?"

"Yes."

"Thought so. So don't do it. Go back to your office and tell him I'm putting his application through again."

"I'm not going to. It's getting too sensitive. He's hurting, Yanni. I can't take that."

Yanni bit his lip. "All right. Don't tell him. Do you understand why it's a problem, Justin? They're afraid of the military grabbing him."

"God. Why?"

"Power move. You can tell him that. I'm not supposed to tell you. I'm breaking security. There's a rift in Defense. There's a certain faction that's proposing the nationalization of Reseune. That's the new move. Lu's health is going. Rejuv failure. He's got at most a couple more years. Gorodin is becoming increasingly isolated from the Secretariat in Defense. He may get a challenge to his seat. That hasn't happened since the war. An election in the military. There's the head of Military Research, throwing more and more weight behind the head of Intelligence. Khalid. Vladislaw Khalid. If you're afraid of something, Justin, —be afraid of that name. That faction could use an incident. So could Gorodin's. Fabricated, would serve just as well. You're in danger. Grant—more so. All they have to do is arrest him at the airport, claim he was carrying documents—God knows what. Denys will have my head for telling you this. I wanted to keep you out of it, not disrupt your work with it– Grant's not getting a travel pass right now. You couldn't get one. That's the truth. Tell Grant—if it helps. For God's sake—tell him somewhere private."

"You mean they are bugging us."

"I don't know. I can answer for in here. We're off the record right now."

"You say we are—"

"I say we are. If Gorodin survives the election we're sure is going to be called—you'll be safer. If not—nothing is safe. We'll lose our majority in Council. After that I don't lay bets what will stay safe. If we lose our A.T. status, so will Planys. You understand me?"

"I understand you." The old feeling settled back again. Game resumed. He felt sick at his stomach. And a hell of a lot steadier with things as-they-were. "If you're telling me the truth—"

"If I'm telling you the truth you'd better wake up and take care of yourself. Next few years are going to be hell, son. Real hell. Lu's going to die. It's an appointive post. Lu could resign, but that's no good. Whoever gets in can appoint a new Secretary. Lu's wrecking his health, holding on, trying to handle the kind of infighting he's so damn good at. Gorodin's in space too much. Too isolate from his command structure. Lu's trying to help Gorodin ride out the storm—but Lu's ability to pay off political debtors is diminishing rapidly, the closer he comes to the wall. He's balancing factions within his own faction. Question is—how long can he stay alive—in either sense?"

viii

The Filly made the circuit of the barn arena again, flaring her nostrils and blowing, and Ari watched her, watched Florian, so sure and so graceful on the Filly's back.

Beside her, arms folded, Catlin watched—so did Andy, and a lot of the AG staff. Not the first time any of them had seen Florian and the Filly at work, but it was the first time the AG staff and Administration was going to let her try it. Uncle Denys was there—uncle Giraud was in Novgorod, where he spent most of his time nowadays: they were having an election—a man named Khalid was running against Gorodin, of Defense, and everybody in Reseune was upset about it. She was, since what she heard about Khalid meant another court fight if he did what he was threatening to do. But an election took months and months for all the results to get in from the ends of everywhere in space, and uncle Denys took time out of his schedule to come down to the barn: he had insisted if she was going to break anything he wanted to be there to call the ambulance this time. Amy Carnath was there; and so was Sam; and 'Stasi and Maddy and Tommy. It made Ari a little nervous. She had never meant her first try with the Filly to turn into an Occasion, with so much audience.

Florian had been working the Filly and teaching her for months—had even gone so far as to make a skill tape, patched himself up with sensors from head to foot while he put the Filly through every move she could make, and kept a pocket-cam focused right past her ears—all to teach her how to keep her balance and how to react to the Filly's moves. It was as close to riding as she had come until today. It felt wonderful.

Uncle Giraud said, being uncle Giraud, that tape had real commercial possibilities.

Florian brought the Filly back quite nicely, to a little oh and a little applause from the kids—which upset the Filly and made her throw her head. But she calmed down, and Florian climbed down very sedately and held the reins out to her.

"Sera?" he said. Ari took a breath and walked up to him and the Filly.

She had warned everybody to be quiet. It was a deathly hush now. Everyone was watching; and she so wanted to do things right and not embarrass herself or scare anyone.

"Left foot," Florian whispered, in case she forgot. "I'll lead her just a little till you get the feel of it, sera."

She had to stretch to reach the stirrup. She got it and got the saddle and got on without disgracing herself. The Filly moved then with Florian leading, and all of a sudden she felt the tape, felt the motion settle right where muscle and bone knew it should, just an easy give.

She felt like crying, and clamped her jaw tight, because she was not going to do that. Or look like a fool, with Florian leading her around. "I've got it," she said. "Give me the reins, Florian."

He stopped the Filly and passed them over the Filly's head for her. He looked terribly anxious.

"Please, sera, don't let her get away from you. She's nervous with all these people."

"I've got her," she said. "It's all right."

And she was very prudent, starting the Filly off at a sedate walk, letting the Filly get used to her being up instead of Florian, when for months and months she had had to stand at the rail and watch Florian get to ride—and watch Florian take a few falls too, figuring out what nobody this side of old Earth knew how to do. Once the Filly had fallen, a terrible spill, and Florian had been out for a few seconds, just absolutely limp; but he had gotten up swearing it was not the Filly, she had lost her footing, he had felt it—and he had staggered over and hugged the Filly and gotten back on while she and Catlin stood there with their hands clenched.

Now she took the Filly away from him, for the Filly's really public coming-out, and she knew Florian was sweating and suffering every step she took—knowing sera could be a fool; the way Catlin was probably doing the same, knowing if anything went wrong it was only Florian stood a chance of doing anything.

She was fourteen today; and she had too much audience to be a fool. She was amazingly sensible, she rode the Filly at a walk and kept her at a walk, anxious as the Filly started trying to move—no, Florian had said: if she tries to break and pick her own pace, don't let her do that, she's not supposed to, and she's bad about that.

Florian had told her every tiny move the Filly tended to make, and where she could lose her footing, and where she tried to get her own way.

So she just stopped that move the instant the Filly tried it, not easy, no, the Filly had a trick of stretching her neck against the rein and going like she was suddenly half-G for a few paces: she was glad she had not let the Filly run the first time she was up on her; but the Filly minded well enough when she made her.

It was not, of course, the show she wanted to make. She wanted to come racing up at a dead run and give everyone a real scare; but that was Florian's part, Florian got to do that: she got to be responsible.

She passed her audience, so self-conscious she could hardly stand it—she hated being responsible; and uncle Denys was probably still nervous. She came around to where Florian was standing by the rail, and stopped the Filly there, because he was walking out to talk to her.

"How am I?" she asked.

"Fine," he said. "Tap her once with your heels when she's walking, just a little. Keep the reins firm. That's the next pace. Don't let her get above it yet. Don't ever let her do it if you don't tell her."

"Right," she said; and started the Filly up, one tap, then a second.

The Filly liked that. Her ears came up, and she hit a brisk pace that was harder to stay with, but Ari found it. Her body suddenly began to tape-remember what to do with faster moves, found its balance, found everything Florian had given her.

She wanted to cut free, O God, she wanted to go through the rest of it and so did the Filly, but she kept that pace which the Filly found satisfactory enough and pulled up to a very impressive stop right in front of Andy and Catlin. The Filly was sweating—excitement, that was all; and stamped and shifted after she had gotten down and Andy was holding her.

Everyone was impressed. Uncle Denys was positively pale, but he was doing awfully well, all the same.

Amy and the rest wanted to try top, but Andy said it was best not to have too many new riders all at once: the Filly would get out of sorts. Florian said they could come when he was exercising the Filly and they could do it one at a time, if they wanted to.

Besides, Florian said, the best way to learn about horses was to work with them. The Mare was going to birth again and they were doing two completely different genotypes in the tanks; which would be seven horses in all—no longer Experimentals, but officially Working Animals.

Of which the Filly was the first. Ari patted her—good and solid: the Filly liked to know you were touching her; and got horse smell all over her, but she loved it; she loved everything; she even gave uncle Denys a hug.

"You were very brave," she said to uncle Denys when she did it, and on impulse, kissed him on the cheek and gave him a wicked smile, getting horse smell on him too. "Your favorite guinea pig didn't break her neck."

Uncle Denys looked thoroughly off his balance. But she had whispered it.

"Even her inflections," he said, putting her off hers. "God. Sometimes you're uncanny, young woman."

ix

"That's it," Justin said as the Cyteen election results flashed up on the screen, and: "Vid off," to the Minder. "Khalid."

Grant shook his head, and said nothing for a long while. Then: "Well, it's a crazy way to do business."

"Defense contractors in the Trade bureau, in Finance."

"Reseune has ties there too."

"It's still going to be interesting."

Grant bowed his head and passed a hand over his neck, just resting there a moment. Thinking, surely—that it was going to be a long while, a long while before either of them traveled again.

Or thinking worse thoughts. Like Jordan's safety.

"It's not like—" Justin said, "they could just ram things through and get that nationalization. The other Territories will come down on Reseune's side in this one. And watch Giraud change footing. He's damned good at it. He is Defense, for all practical purposes. I never saw a use for the man. But, God, we may have one."

x