Cherryh, C J - Alliance-Union 08 (66 page)

She felt better then. She had to take a shower with a plastic bag taped and sealed around her arm, and when she came out again, Nelly helped her take the tape off and get into her pajamas.

Nelly was upset, Ari could feel it, and she knew she shouldn't let her mad get loose with Nelly, she shouldn't let it get loose with anybody.

"I'm not going to bed yet," she said when Nelly wanted to put her there, and Nelly said:

"You're supposed to."

Which made her want to hit Nelly, or to cry, both of which were stupid. So she said, very patiently: "Nelly, let me alone and go to bed. Right now."

She had been to maman's memorial service today. She had gotten through it and not cried, at least she had not made a scene like Victoria Strassen, who had sniffed and hiccuped and finally Security had walked over and talked to her. She had never met aunt Victoria. She was already mad at her. Maman would have been mad at her, even if she was maman's half sister. Herself, she had sores on the inside of her mouth where she had bitten down to keep from crying, and she didn't mind, that was all right, it was better than aunt Victoria.

I
want you to think about going,
uncle Denys had said.
You don't have to, understand. I'm sure your maman wouldn't mind one way or the other: you know how she felt about formal stuff— She's gone to the sun at Fargone: that's a spacer funeral, and your maman was a spacer before she lived at Reseune. But here in the House we do things a little differently: we go out in the East Garden, where all the memorials are, if the weather's such we can, or somewhere—and your maman's friends will tell a few stories about your maman, that's the way we do. I don't want you to go if it's going to upset you; but I thought you might want to hear those things, and it might help you learn about your maman, who she was when she was young, and all the things she did. If you don't want to, don't go. If you want to go and then change your mind, all you have to do is pull at my sleeve and you and I will just walk out the gate and no one will think anything about it: children don't always go to these things. Not even all the friends do. It just depends on the person, whether they feel they need to, you understand?

Florian and Catlin had not gone. They were too young and they were azi, uncle Denys said, and they didn't understand CIT funerals.

You don't want them to have to take tape for it,
uncle Denys had said.

She was terribly, terribly glad it was over. She felt bruised inside the way she was outside, and uncle Denys kept giving her aspirin, and Dr. Ivanov had given her a shot he said would make her feel a little wobbly, but it would help her get through the services.

She wished he hadn't. She had wanted to hear some of it clearer, and it all rolled around in her head and echoed.

It still did, but she put Nelly out the door and told Nelly send Catlin and Florian and go to bed and take the tape Dr. Ivanov wanted her to have.

"Yes," Nelly said, looking miserable.

Ari bit her lip again. She wanted that badly to yell at her. Instead she went and fed her fish, and watched them chase after the food and dodge in and out of the weeds. There were a lot of babies. One of the big ones had had hers. And there was her prettiest male who was in the tank with all the ugly females, to see if the babies would be prettier. Florian could net him out for her and put him back in his regular tank: she was afraid of hurting him with the net, working with her left hand.

Tomorrow. She was not in the mood to do anything with them tonight.

Catlin and Florian came in, still in their uniforms, and looking worried, the way they had been constantly since they found out about maman. They didn't understand half how it felt, she knew that, but they were hurting all the same, because she hurt.

Florian had told her he felt terribly guilty about her arm and then her maman, and asked her if there was anything they could do.

She wished there were. But he couldn't be guilty, he just felt bad: she told him that, and asked him if he needed tape, the way she was supposed to if her azi came to her.

Uncle Denys had told her that.

"No," Florian had said, very quick, very definite. "We don't want to. What if you needed us, and we'd be in hospital? No. We don't want that."

Now:

"I want you to stay here tonight," she said when they came in.

"Yes, sera," Florian said; and: "We'll get our stuff," Catlin said, as if both of them were happy then.

She felt better when they were with her, when no one else was. It was hard to go out where there were people, like going out with no clothes on, like she was made out of glass and people would know everything inside her and find out everything she didn't want everyone to know. But she never felt that way with Florian and Catlin. They were her real friends, and they could sleep in the same room and sit around in just their pajamas together, even if Florian was a boy.

And with the door shut and with just them, she could stop having that knotted-up feeling that made her broken arm ache and made her feel sick at her stomach and tired, so tired of hurting.

"They said a lot of nice things about maman," she said when they had gotten their pallets made in the corner and gotten into their pajamas and settled down on the end of her bed.

A lot of the staff had really been maman's friends. A lot of them were really sorry and really missed her. Aunt Victoria was sorry and scared, when Security came and probably told her to stop crying or asked her to leave; then aunt Victoria had been really, really mad: so aunt Victoria had left the garden right after that, on her own, while Dr. Ivanov was telling how maman had run Wing One.

There were a lot of things she wished she could talk about out loud with Florian and Catlin. But she
was
going to tell them, that was no problem. It just took longer.

There had been a lot of upset people there, at the services, and it was strange how they Felt different than the reporters. The reporters had been sorry. Reseune was sorry too; but a lot of them Felt mad like her mad, which was maybe because it wasn't fair people had to die at all; but there had been so many different flavors of mad there, so many different flavors of being sorry, not at all like the reporters, but very strong, very complicated, all the way down past what she could pick up on their faces.

Justin and Grant had been there. Grant was one of the only azi.

A lot of grown people had said how maman had been their teacher, and they really loved her.

Dr. Schwartz had said maman and he used to fight a lot so loud that everybody in the halls could hear it, but that was because she never would take second best about anything; and he said whatever she set up at RESEUNESPACE was going to be all right, because that was the way maman always did things.

That made her remember her maman's voice echoing out of the bedroom, right through the walls:
Dammit, Ollie—
And made her feel warm all over, like maman was yelling at her:
Dammit, straighten up, Ari, don't give me any of that nonsense. That doesn't get anywhere with me.

Like maman was back for a second. Like she was
there,
inside, just then. Or anytime she wanted to think about her. She wasn't at Fargone anymore.

Ollie was. And a lot of the Disappeareds might be.

She had thought on the plane coming home—who in the House just might know a lot of things.

And who she could scare into telling her.

"You're a damn fool," Yanni said, and Justin looked him in the eye and said:

"That's no news. It's all there in the memo. Probably you think I have ulterior motives—which isn't the case. Nothing against John Edwards. Nothing against anyone. I don't even know I'm right. Just—" He shrugged. It was easy to go too far with Yanni, and he had probably gone there, high and wide. Time to stage a retreat, he reckoned. Fast. "I'll go get back to
my
business," he said. "I'll have the GY project in tomorrow morning."

"Stay put."

He sank back into the
chair,
under Yanni's scowl.

"You think the kid doesn't have enough stress," Yanni said.

"I don't mean that. You know I don't mean that."

"Son, Administration is just a little wrought up just now. So am I. I appreciate the fact you don't hate the kid, you really think you see something—but you know, we're all tired, we're all frayed around the edges, and I really hope you haven't gone anywhere else with this."

"No. I haven't."

"You know what I think you're doing?"

Not a rhetorical question. Yanni left a long, deathly silence for his answer.

"What, ser?"

"Sounds like your own damn craziness, to me, the same damn sink you come back to like a stone falls
down,
that's what it sounds like to me. Motivations and reward structures."

"I think I have a point."

"And you put it in writing." Yanni picked up the three-page memo and slid it into a slot at the edge of his desk. A red telltale flashed, and a soft hum meant even the ash had been scrambled. "That's a favor, son. I'm not supposed to wipe documents that bear on the Project. I just broke a regulation. As it happens—there are those of us who think you're right on the mark with this. And I like one of your arguments. . . if you don't mind my borrowing it for the upcoming staff meeting."

"Whatever you like. I'd just as soon you didn't mention the source."

Yanni gave him a long slow look. "Sometimes you worry me."

"I haven't got any ulterior motives. I don't
want
my name on it."

Another long look. "Motivational psych. —You haven't
had
the Rubin data. Just the structures. I told you I'd keep you off real-time. But I'd like you to do something for me, son. A favor. A real favor. I'm going to dump all Rubin's data on you. The whole pile."

"He's, what, two?"

"Not the replicate. The original."

"Why?"

"I'm not going to tell you that."

"What do you want out of it?"

"I'm not going to tell you that either."

"I get the idea."

"All right." Yanni leaned on his elbows, hands locked in front of him. "You run the problem. I'll tell you what I think about it."

"Is this an exercise?"

"I'm not going to tell you that."

"Dammit, Yanni—"

"You're right about the kid. She's smarter than those scores. You leave that in my lap. You take care of your work. I'll take care of the Project. All right?"

Uncle Denys took another helping of eggs. Ari picked at hers, mostly just moved them around, because breakfast upset her stomach.

"We could go out to eat tonight," uncle Denys said. "Would you like that?"

"No," she said. "I'm not hungry."

It was her ninth birthday. She just wanted to forget it was her birthday at all. She didn't want to complain about her stomach, because then uncle Denys would call Dr. Ivanov, and that would mean another shot, and her head being all fuzzy.

"Is there anything you
do
want?" uncle Denys said.

I want maman,
she thought, mad, mad until she felt like she could throw the dishes off the table and break everything.

But she didn't.

"Ari, I know it's a terrible time for you. There's nothing I can do. I wish there were. Is there anything you'd like to do? Is there anything you want that I can get you?"

She thought. There was no good throwing an offer like that away. If you could get something, you got it, and you might be glad later. She had figured that out a long time ago.

"There is something I want for my birthday."

"What's that, dear?"

She looked uncle Denys right in his eyes, her best wishing-look. "Horse."

Uncle Denys took in his breath, real quick. "Ari, sweet, —"

"You asked."

"I'd think a broken arm is enough. No. Absolutely not."

"I want Horse."

"Horse belongs to Reseune, Ari. You can't just
own
him."

"That's what I want, anyway."

"No."

That hurt. She shoved her plate away, and got up from the table.

"Ari, I think a broken arm ought to do, don't you?"

She felt like crying, and when she did that she went to her room. So she went that way.

"Ari," uncle Denys said, "I want to talk with you."

She looked back at him. "I don't feel good. I'm going to bed."

"Come here."

She didn't. She went to her hall and shut the door.

And went and cried like a baby, lying on her bed, till she got mad and threw Poo-thing across the room.

Then she felt like something had broken, because Poo-thing came from maman.

But he wasn't real, anyway.

She heard somebody open the hall door, and then they opened hers. She figured it was uncle Denys, and she turned over and scowled; but it was Catlin and Florian, come to see what was the matter with her.

"Ser Denys wants you," Florian said in a hushed voice.

"Tell him go to hell."

Florian looked distressed. But he would go do that and he would get in a lot of trouble for her, she knew he would.

"Yes, sera."

"No," she said, and wiped her eyes and got up. "I will." She wiped her eyes again and walked past him and Catlin, and went out to the living room.

It was a mistake to walk out on uncle Denys. When she did that, she let him Work
her,
and now she was having to walk back into the living room he owned and be nice.

Stupid, stupid,
she told herself, and unraveled her mad and got a nicer expression on her face when she went to uncle Denys. Denys was in the dining room having his coffee and he pretended not to notice her for a second.

That was Working, too.

"I'm sorry, uncle Denys."

He looked at her then, took a quick sip of coffee, and said: "I did have a surprise planned for you today," he said. "Do you want some more orange juice?"

She moped over to the chair and climbed into it, hugging her cast with her good hand. "Florian and Catlin too," she said.

"Seely," uncle Denys said. And Seely came and got two more glasses and poured orange juice as Florian and Catlin quietly settled down across the table.