Cherryh, C J - Alliance-Union 08 (26 page)

Steps passed the door continually. More than usual. There were voices. Some of them Justin thought he knew; someone had stopped outside the door, a group of people talking.

Please,
he thought.
Please. Somebody stop here.
He hoped for a moment; and feared. He listened, sitting on the sleeping mat that was all the furniture in the room. He clenched his hands together in the hollow of his crossed legs.

"Call Ari," he kept saying to anyone who dealt with him. "Tell her I want to talk with her."

But they were azi. They had no authority to go above their Supervisor. And as many times as he asked, the Supervisor never came.

It was a suicide cell he was in, padded walls and door, just a sink and the toilet and the sleeping mat. The light was always on. Food came in water-soluble wrappers little more substantial than toilet paper, without utensils. They had taken his clothes and given him only hospital pajamas, made of white paper. They had not questioned him any more. They had not spoken to him again. He did not know how much time had passed, and his sleeping was erratic with depression and lack of cues from lights or activity outside. And the tape-flashes, seductive and destructive. He refused to let the flashes take hold in the isolation. He refused it even when it would have been consolation.

Not me, he kept thinking, keeping himself awake, away from the dreams. Not my choice. I'm not hers. I won't think her thoughts.

Ari was holding him hostage, he thought. She was holding him and maybe Grant against some threat of Jordan's to go to the Bureau with charges. Maybe she had arrested Jordan too. Maybe Jordan could
not
help him. But in any case—the police would come. And they had not psychprobed him again; they could not psychprobe Jordan.

It was Grant who was vulnerable. She would use Grant against Jordan—and use him too. He had no doubt of it.

He hoped for the police to come. Internal Affairs. Science Bureau. Anyone.

He hoped that was the small commotion outside.

But he had hoped that—time after time.

Grant would have been waiting for him to come back; but instead it was security that would have come in on him, hauled him off for more questions—

He heard the electronic lock tick. The door opened.

"Ser Nye wants to talk to you," one of two azi said; both Security. "Please come."

He got up. His knees went to jelly. He walked out into the light, knowing it was another psychprobe session; but at least he would get a chance to say something to Giraud, at least he would have a chance for a half-dozen words before they put the drug into him.

That they just let him walk loose was the last thing he was prepared for. He felt himself dizzy, his knees aching and shaking so it was hard to navigate.

Tape-flash again. And Florian—

Down the hall to the barren little interview room he had seen before. He reached the open door and stopped, dazed and disoriented by the realization it was not Giraud Nye at the table. It was a stout round-faced man that for a bewildered second his mind insisted to make into Giraud's lean form.

Not Giraud.

Denys
Nye, rising from his chair with a distressed look.

"Where's Grant?" Justin demanded. "Where's my father? What's going on?" His voice gave way on him. His legs shook as he reached the narrow table and leaned on it in Denys' face. "I've got the right to talk to my family, dammit! I'm a minor!
Remember?"

"Sit down," Denys said, fluttering a hand. "Sit. Please. —Get him something to drink."

"I don't want anything! I want to know—"

"Please," Denys said in his quiet, distressed way, and made a second appeal with his hand. "Please sit down. —Get him something. —Please, sit down."

Justin fell into the chair, feeling a crying jag coming on. He clamped his jaw and drew breaths until he had it under control; and Denys sank into his seat, folded his hands on the table in front of him and let him calm down while one of the azi brought back a soft drink and set it down on the table.

"What's in it?"

"Nothing. Nothing. Poor boy. Damn this all anyway. Have they told you about Ari?"

It was a strange thing to say. It made no sense. It fluttered like a cold chill through his nerves. "What
about
Ari? Where's my father?"

"Ari's dead, Justin."

It was like the world jolted sideways. For a moment everything went out of focus. Then where he was came crashing in on him. Where he was and what they were doing and the silence all around him.

Dead. Like not-natural-dead. Like—

—the plane crashed?

—some crazy person—in Novgorod?

"Jordan found out what she was doing to you," Denys said in the gentlest voice Justin had ever heard him use, "and he killed her. Locked her into the cold-lab and killed her."

He just sat there a moment. It was not true. It was not true. Jordan had no idea what Ari had done. He had covered everything. And Ari was not dead.

Ari could not be—dead.

"Jordan admits it," Denys said in that quiet tone. "You know they can't do anything. Legally. The law can't touch him for—questioning, or anything like that. Not psychprobe. Certainly not mindwipe. Jordie's all right. He's safe. I promise you."

He was shaking. He picked up the cup and slopped it carrying the drink to his mouth. He slopped it again setting it down. The icy liquid soaked his knee. There was no sense to things. He could not get his mind to function. "What about Grant? I told him I was going to come back. I didn't come back—"

"Grant's still in hospital. He's safe. Jordan's been to see him. Jordan's flying to Novgorod this afternoon. They're working out an arrangement for him to leave Reseune."

"That's a damned lie!" They were starting to work psych games with him. He saw it coming. He flung himself up and came face to face with the two azi that moved to stop him. He froze. They froze.

"Boy. Justin. Please. Please, sit down. Listen to me."

"Ari's not dead!" he yelled at Denys. "It's a damned lie! What are you trying to do? What is
she
trying to do?"

"Oh, God, boy, sit down. Listen to me. Your father won't have much time. Please.
Damn
that brother of mine! So damned afraid of putting you in hospital— Look. Sit down."

He sat. There was nothing else to do. They could do anything they wanted to.

"Listen to me, Justin. Internal Affairs has been questioning Jordie; Jordie begged Giraud to keep you out of it. He didn't want the story out, do you understand? He didn't want them psychprobing you. Giraud just flat refused them permission. Jordie backed him on it. But my damn brother went off to the capital and kept the lid on, and they kept saying you were all right—" Denys drew a small breath, reached across and laid his hand on Justin's on the table. "You're not all right. Dammit, it wasn't like Giraud's was the first psychprobe you'd had in the last few weeks, is it?"

He jerked his hand from under Denys'. "Let me alone!"

"Do you want a sedative?"

"I don't want anything. I want out of here! I want to talk to my father!"

"No. You don't. Not in that tone of voice. Understand me? He's leaving. He won't be back."

He stared at Denys.
Not be back—

"Council's drawn up a plan," Denys said, "to allow him a facility over in Planys. He
won't
be able to travel. He won't be able to call you—for quite a while. I don't want you to upset him, son. He's got to meet with a Council inquiry tomorrow. He's got to get through that in one piece. Are you understanding me? It's very important."

It was real. It had happened. He stared into Denys Nye's worried eyes with the feeling that the whole world was chaos, except it was going to sort itself out again in some terrible new shape no one he loved lived in.

"Do you want the sedative? No tricks, Justin. I promise you. Just enough to let you rest awhile before you talk with him."

He shivered. And controlled it. "No," he said. "Let me get dressed. Let me clean up."

"Absolutely." Denys patted his hand. "You can use the shower down the hall. I've told them to bring clothes for you."

He nodded.

"I'm going to have Petros have a look at you."

"No!"

"When you get through this. When you're satisfied everything's all right. No one's going to touch you. You've had enough of that. God knows. Are you getting tape-flashes?"

The question triggered one. Or simple memory. It shamed him. Like some dark, twisted side of himself that was always—very like Ari. That—dammit—had learned what she did—felt good. He never wanted a psychtech wandering through that. He never wanted Jordan to know, he never wanted to let it show on his face what was going on in the dark inside him. And maybe everyone knew.

Ari had said—she had pictures. If Ari was dead—the House investigators had them. Had everything.

There was no dignity left him then, except to keep from noticing they knew, or admitting the truth to anyone.

"Listen to me, son." Denys' hand closed on his again. It was soft and warm and any human contact affected him in terrible ways. "Son, I can't excuse what Ari did. But there was more to her than—" He jerked back.

He saw Denys read him. Saw the thinking going on in Denys' eyes and tried to keep the color from his face. "—than you want to hear about," Denys concluded. "I know. Listen.
Listen to me. Make this register—
All right?"

"All right. I'm with you."

"Brave lad. Listen now. Jordie's covering—for us and for you. He's lying to the press,
and
the Council. He's telling them it was Ari standing in the way of his transfer. Every reason in the world but the truth—and they can't psychprobe him. You have to understand, Justin—you're . . .
him,
as much as you're his son. That puts a freight on everything that happened between you and Ari that—that pushed him beyond the limit. It was old business—between him and Ari. He understands what happened to you. Yes. You know what I'm telling you. And he loves you very much. But part of it is his own pride. Do you understand? Those of us who work inside these walls—know how tangled and complicated even a parent's love can be ... in a moment when he was pushed too far. Everything he wants is gone, except you. And
you
can take everything else he's got—if you go in there with your emotions out of control. I want you to get control of yourself. Let him take a little peace of mind out of here with him. Let him see his son's all right. For his sake."

"Why won't they let me go with him?"

"Because you're a minor. Because of the security arrangements. Because, truthfully, I couldn't get Giraud to agree to it. Security, they keep saying."

"That's a damn lie!"

"Listen, now. I'm going to get some arrangement where you
can
get visiting privileges. Not right away. Maybe not even this year. But time and quiet can do a lot for this situation. They're scared as hell there's a conspiracy—the Winfield-Kruger mess, you know."

O God. My fault. My fault.
"They
can't
think Jordan was in on that.
I
was. Giraud ran the psychprobe. Run it again! I can swear he didn't know a damn thing—"

"Unfortunately, son, that's exactly the kind of thing Jordie wants to prevent—getting you involved in the investigation. There is fire under that smoke. I'm afraid Jordie was meeting with a man called Merild, who had connections that are running into some very dark corners. He was also meeting in secret with a number of very high-up Centrists who are linked to lanni Merino—the Abolitionists. And Rocher has come out with a very inflammatory statement about Ari's death that Merino hasn't quite repudiated. A lot of people in the government are running scared, scared of investigations, scared of guilt by association. Internal Affairs demanded to get hold of Grant. Giraud had to do a probe to satisfy them—"

"Oh, my God—"

"He
had
to. I know. I
know,
son. But they could have learned too much from you. Justin, the shock waves Ari's death has generated—are enormous. You can't imagine how enormous. The government is in crisis. Careers are in jeopardy. Lives are. There's an almost universal conviction that this
had
to be political; that the reasons for what's changed their lives has some meaning beyond a dissatisfied scientist breaking Ari's skull. It's human to think like that. And Jordie's testimony—the fact that he can't testify under probe—the fact that Florian and Catlin were put down—some posthumous order of Ari's, they think. . . . Yes. They're gone too. —People sense something else going on. They
want
to think something else is going on. Crime of passion, from an education tape-designer, you know, gives people cold chills. We're supposed to be too rational. Jordie's going to have to do the best damn psych-out in front of the Council committee he's ever done in his life. And for Jordie's own sake, the quieter things stay for the next few years, the better. Just be patient. Jordie's not without friends. He's not old. Forty-six isn't old. He can outlast the furor, if you don't do something that blows the lid off everything we've arranged."

He found enough air to breathe finally. He tried to think that through. He tried to think—what was the safest thing for his father and what his father would want. Tried
not
to think—O God!—that it was his own mistakes that had caused it.

"Can you get yourself together?" Denys pressed him.

"I'm together. I'm all right. What about Grant?"
Oh, God, they could mindwipe him. Florian dead! And Catlin—

"Giraud is assigning Grant back to you."

Good things no longer happened to him. He did not believe them. He did not trust them.

"He
has,"
Denys said, "because I just signed the papers. Get through this business with Jordan and you can get him out of hospital. —Do you want that sedative, son?"

Justin shook his head. Because Jordan would know if there was any drug involved. He had read him all along. Jordan must have. He hoped—

He hoped he could keep from tape-flashes if Jordan hugged him. That was how bad it was. That was what Ari had done to him. He was losing his father. He was not going to see him again. And he could not even tell Jordan goodbye without feeling Ari's hands on him.