Cherryh, C J - Alliance-Union 08 (31 page)

"Oh,
shit,
Grant. So would Emory's."

"But Emory was
right.
Hauptmann was wrong.
That's
the difference."

"Tape affects how your endocrine system responds. Period. You give me enough tape and I'll jump every time you tell me to. And my pulse will do exactly what yours does."

"I'm one hell of a tape designer. When I'm old as Strassen I'll be damn good. I'll have all this endocrine learning. That's why some old azi get more like born-men. And some of us get to be real eetees. That's why old azi have more problems. Wing Two's going to be damn—damn busy with a yardful of annies on rejuv."

Justin was shocked. They were words staff meticulously avoided using. Born-men. Annies. The Yard. It was always CITs; azi; the Town. Grant was pronouncedly drunk.

"We'll see whether it makes any difference," Justin said, "whether Ari Emory had whitefish or ham for breakfast on her twelfth birthday."

"I didn't say I thought the Project would work. I say I think Emory's right about what azi are. They didn't start out to invent us. They just needed people. Fast. So start with tape in the cradle. Perfectly benign accident. Now we're eco-economic."

Back in the pre-Union days.

"Hell."

"I didn't say I minded, ser. We already outnumber you. Soon we'll establish farms where people can grow up like weeds and commune with their glands. There's bound to be a use for them."

"Hell with you!"

Grant laughed. He did. Half of it was an argument they had had a dozen times in different guises; half of it was Grant trying to psych him. But the day fell into perspective finally. It was only a memory tick-over. A jolt backward. Done was done. There was no way to get those damned blackmail tapes out of Archive, since they were Ari's and Ari was sacred. But he had learned to live with the prospect of all of it turning up someday on the evening news.

Or finding that no bargains held forever.

Jordan had killed a dying woman for reasons the Project was going to immortalize in the records anyway—if it worked. If it worked, every hidden detail of Ari's personal life was going to have scientific significance.

If it worked to any degree, and the Project went public, there was the chance Jordan could seek a re-hearing and release maybe to Fargone—after twenty years or so of the Project itself; which would mean all the people who had conspired to cover what Ari had done and all the Centrists who had been embarrassed by potential connections the case had had to the radical underground—were going to resist it. Reputations were going to be threatened all over again. Merino and the Abolitionists. Corain. Giraud Nye. Reseune. The Defense Bureau, with all its secrets. There might be justice in the courts, but there was none among the power brokers that had put Jordan where he was. The walls of secrecy would close absolutely, to keep silent a man they could no longer control. And his son—who had set everything in motion by a kid's mistake, a kid's bad judgment.

If the Project failed it would be a failure like the Bok clone, which had done nothing but add a tragic and sordid little footnote to a great woman's life—a very expensive failure, one Reseune would never publicize, the way to this day the outside world had heard a totally different story about the murder, heard a different story about the changes at Reseune, and knew nothing about the Project: administrative reorganization, the newsservices said, in the wake of Ariane Emory's death.

And went on with some drivel about Ari's will having laid out far-reaching plans and the lab being beneficiary of her considerable investments.

If it failed—it had political consequences, particularly between Reseune Administration and the Defense department, which was
inside
the wall of secrecy. Then there was no predicting what Giraud Nye would do to protect himself: Giraud
had
to carry this off to prove himself, and in the meanwhile dangling the Project in front of Defense let Giraud grab power in some ways greater than Ari had had. Power to silence. Power to use the covert agencies. If Giraud was halfway clever, and if the Project did not fail conspicuously and definitively, he was going to be older than Jane Strassen before he had to admit the Project was not working. He could even restart, and run the whole scam again, at which point Giraud was certainly going to be looking at the end of his need for any kind of power. After Giraud, the Deluge. What should Giraud care?

Justin only hoped it failed. Which meant a poor kid who only happened to have Ari's geneset ended up a psych case, mindwiped or worse. Maybe an endless succession of babies. A power as big and a man as smart as Giraud would not fail all at once. No. There would be studies of the study of the study. Unless there was a way to make sure it failed in public.

Sometimes he had thoughts that scared him, like finding some article of Ari's lying on his bed. He would never in his life be able to know if certain thoughts were his, just the natural consequence of a deep-seated anger, of himself growing older and harder and more aware how business was done in the world; or whether it was Ari still in control of him.

Worm
was an old joke between him and Grant.

He had to go on making nothing of it. Because that was all that kept it isolated.

"Get down from there!" Jane snapped, startled into a snarl, and her gut tightened as the two-year-old trying for the kitchen countertop leaned and stretched, reckless of her light weight, the tile floor and the metal-capped chair legs. Ari reacted, the chair slipped a fraction, she snatched the box of crackers and turned; the chair tipped and Jane Strassen grabbed her on the way down.

Ari yelled with outrage. Or startlement.

"If you want the crackers you ask!" Jane said, tempted to give her a shake. "You want to ouch your chin again?"

Hurt-Ari was the only logic that made a dent in Ari-wants. And a universally famous genetic scientist was reduced to baby-babble and a helpless longing to smack a small hand. But Olga had never believed in corporal punishment.

And if Olga had been human Ari had picked up rage and frustration and resentment in the ambience with her the same as a genetic scientist who wanted to take her out to the river and drown her.

"Nelly!" Jane yelled at the nurse. And remembered
not
to shout. In her own apartment. She left the chair on the floor. No. Nit-picking Olga could never have left a chair on the floor. She stood there with her arms full of struggling two-year-old waiting on Nelly, who had damn well better have heard her. Ari struggled to get down. She set Ari down and held on to her hand when Ari wanted to sit down and throw a tantrum. "Stand up!" Holding a small hand hard. Giving an Olga-like jerk. "Stand up! What kind of behavior is that?"

Nelly showed up in the doorway, wide-eyed and worried.

"Straighten that chair up."

Ari jerked and leaned to reach after the cracker box that was lying with the chair, while adults were busy. Damned if she was going to forget what she was after.

Does she or doesn't she get the cracker? No. Bad lesson. She'd better
not
get away with it, she'll break her neck.

Besides, Olga was a vengeful bitch.

"Stand still. Nelly,
put
those crackers up where she
can't
get them. Shut
up,
Ari. —You take her. I'm going to the office. And if there's a scratch on her when I come back I'll—"

Wide azi eyes stared at her, horrified and hurt.

"Dammit,
you
know. What am I going to do? I can't watch her every damn minute. Shut
up,
Ari." Ari was trying to lie down, hanging off her hand with her full weight. "You don't understand how active she
is,
Nelly. She's tricking you."

"Yes, sera." Nelly was devastated. She was out-classed. She had had all the tape showing her what a two-year-old CIT could do. Or get into. Or hurt herself with. Don't stifle her, Nelly. Don't hover. Don't
not
watch her. The azi was on the verge of a crisis. The azi needed a Supervisor to hug her and tell her she was doing better than the last nurse. It was not Olga's style. Jane-type shouts and Olga-type coldness were driving the more vulnerable azi to distraction. And she was spending half her time keeping the kid from killing herself, half keeping the azi from nervous collapse.

"Just get a lock installed on the damn kitchen," Jane said. Ari howled like hell if she was shut into the playroom. She
hated
the playroom. "Ari,
stop
it. Maman can't hold you."

"Yes, sera. Shall I—"

"Nelly, you know your job. Just take Ari and give her a bath. She's worked up a sweat."

"Yes, sera."

The azi took Ari in hand. Ari sat down and Nelly picked her up and carried her.

Jane leaned back against the counter and stared at the ceiling. At the traditional location of God, no matter what the planet.

And Phaedra came in to say that daughter Julia was in the living room.

A second time Jane looked ceilingward. And did not shout. "Dammit, I'm a hundred thirty-four and I don't deserve this."

"Sera?"

"I'll take care of it, Phaedra. Thank you." She pushed herself away from the counter. "Go help Nelly in Ari's bathroom." She
wanted
to go to the office. "No. Find Ollie. Tell him calm Nelly down. Tell Nelly I shout. It's all right. Get!"

Phaedra got. Phaedra was one of
her
staff. Phaedra was competent. Jane walked out of the kitchen, down the hall in Phaedra's wake, and took the left turn, the glass-and-stone walk past the dining room and the library to the front living room.

Where Julia was sitting on the couch. And three-year-old Gloria was playing on the long-pile rug.

"What
in hell are you doing here?" Jane asked.

Julia looked up. "I took Gloria to the dentist. Routine. I thought I'd drop by for a minute."

"You know better."

Julia's soft mouth hardened a little. "That's a fine welcome."

Jane took a deep breath and went over and sat down with her hands locked between her knees. Gloria sat up. Another baby. Meditating destruction of something. The apartment was safed for a two-year-old's reach. Gloria was a tall three. "Look, Julia. You know the situation. You're
not
supposed to bring Gloria in here."

"It's not like the baby was going to catch something. I was just passing by. I thought we could go out for lunch."

"That's not the
point,
Julia. We're being taped. You know that. I don't want any question of compromise. You understand me. You're not a child. You're twenty-two years old, and it's about time—"

"I said we could go out for lunch."

With Gloria. God. Her nerves were at the breaking point. "We'll go out for lunch—" Gloria was over at the bookcase. Gloria was after a piece of pottery.
"Gloria, dammit!"
No platythere and no three-year-old ever turned from an objective. She got up and snatched the kid back, dragged her toward the couch and Gloria started to scream. Which could carry all the way down the damn hall where another little girl was trying to drown her nurse. Jane shifted her grip and clamped her hand over Gloria's mouth. "Shut that up!
Julia, dammit, get this kid out of here!"

"She's your granddaughter!"

"I don't care
what
she is, get her out of here!"
Gloria was struggling hysterically and kicking her shin.
"Out, dammit!"

Julia got that desperate, offended, out-of-breath look; came and snatched Gloria away, and Gloria, uncorked, screamed as if she was being skinned.

"Get out!"
Jane shouted. "Dammit, shut her up!"

"You don't care about your own granddaughter!"

"We'll go to lunch tomorrow!
Bring
her! Just shut her up!"

"She's not one of the damn azi!"

"Watch your mouth! What kind of language is that?"

"You've got a granddaughter! You've got
me,
for God's sake, and you don't bloody care!"

Hysterical howls from Gloria.

"I'm not going to talk about it now!
Out!"

"Damn you then!"
Julia started crying. Gloria was still screaming. Julia grabbed Gloria up and hauled her to the door and out it.

Jane stood in the quiet and felt her stomach profoundly upset. Julia had finally got some guts. And damn near sabotaged the Project. There was not
supposed
to be another little girl. They were still feeling their way. Little changes in self-perception while it was forming at incremental rates could have big effects down the line. If the start was true, Ari would
handle
course deviations at the far end just fine.

Ari did not need to be wondering, Maman, who was that?

Ari
had been an only child.

So now the damn Project had Julia's nose out of joint. Because
mother
was one of Julia's triggers,
mother
was the root of all Julia's problems,
mother
was what Julia was determined to succeed in being, because Julia knew that that was the one place where the great and famous Jane Strassen had messed up and Julia was sure she could do it right. Julia felt deprived in her childhood so she was going to the other extreme, ruining her own kid with smothering:
that
little brat knew exactly how to get everything from mama but consistency, and she needed a firm hand and a month away from mama before it was too late. Amazing how accurate hindsight could be.

It was patches again. Florian felt himself a little fluttery, fluttery like when things got confused. The big building and sitting on the edge of the table always made him feel that way, but he could answer when the Super asked him where the One patch went. Right over his heart. He knew that. He had a doll he could patch. But it didn't have so many.

"That's right," the Super said, and patted him. "You're an awfully good boy, Florian. You're very smart and you're very quick to do things. Can you tell me how old you are?"

Old meant big and as he got bigger and smarter the right answer meant more fingers. Right now he got to hold up the first and the next and the next, and stop. Which was hard to do without letting them all come up. When he did it right he felt good all over. The Super gave him a hug.