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"Young sera," Abban said. "Florian, Catlin, I've already made the checks: sera will want the master bedroom, I'm sure; ser Justin to the white room or the blue—as sera pleases."
The blue bedroom was far off across the suite, down a hall and past the tape studio; the white was next to the master suite, co
"We thought meals might be short. Staff has a cold supper ready on call for any room; white wine, cheese and ham; or if sera prefers—"
"You're a dear, Abban." She patted his arm and walked wearily through the main doors of the VIP suite, Abban walking at her right, Florian at her left, and Catlin a little behind as they passed the guards into the long main hall of Volga sandstone. "I really appreciate your doing this. You didn't have to."
"Giraud asked me to close down his office and collect his personal papers. And ser Denys has asked me to oversee House Security, in somewhat Giraud's capacity, I hope on a tolerably permanent basis. It's only part of my job."
"I'm glad someone's looking after you. Are you all right, Abban?"
Abban was well above a hundred himself, having had one Supervisor for most of his life. He was very lost now, she thought, with Denys focused now on Giraud-to-come. Somebody had to take him—or give him Final tape and a CIT-number, which Abbban was ill suited for. All Abban had gotten since Giraud had died seemed to be snubs from the Family and responsibility for all the details, precious little grace for what he was suffering, and it made her mad.
"Perfectly well, thank you, sera. Ser Denys has offered me a place in his household."
"Good." She was surprised and relieved. "Good for Denys. I worry about you."
"You're very kind, young sera."
"I do. I know everything's in order; the staffs got it going. Go get some rest yourself."
"I'm perfectly fine, young sera, thank you: I prefer to stay busy." They stopped at the door of the master bedroom, a small suite within the suite, and Abban opened the door on manual. "I'll handle the staff and order your suppers—Florian and Catlin are staying right in your bedroom, aren't they? I'd advise that."
"Yes. Don't worry. It's all right." Abban would, she thought, have preferred Justin in the blue room, at the other end of the floor; and likely Giraud and therefore Abban had never believed there was no bed-sharing going on. "I assure you, justFlorian and Catlin. Everything's fine. Get us our suppers and we'll all be in for the night."
"Remember even the main Minder is a limited system: you're on manual for the door. Please don't forget to lock it."
"Yes," she said. That would nettle Florian and Catlin—Abban's damned punctilious superiority, as if they were still youngers. She smiled, glad at least Abban had that intact. "Go," she said. "It's all right." And Abban nodded, gave her a courteous "sera" and left her to Florian and Catlin.
"He's doing fine," Florian said, with precisely that degree of a
Abban's nit-picking outraged Florian; Catlin found his reminders merely a waste of her time and treated them with cool disdain. That was the difference in them. Ari smiled, shook her head and walked on into the living area of the master suite, gratefully turned the briefcase over to Catlin and fell into a formfit chair with a groan, while Florian went straight to the Minder to read out the entries since Abban would have set it sometime today.
"God," she sighed, leaned back in the soft chair and let it mold around her, feet up. "How are we, clean enough?"
"Nothing's clean enough in this place," Catlin said. She set the briefcase on the entry table, opened it, pushed a button and checked the interior electronics. "Everything's real nervous," Catlin said. "I'll be glad to get out of here."
Florian nodded. "Minder was set up at 1747, only staff admitted since then."
"It was supposed to be set by 1500," Catlin said, cool disapproval.
"Abban did the set." Snipe. "Probably re-set it when he came in." Double snipe. "I'll ask him. —Sera, just sit here awhile. Let us go over everything."
"God," Ari moaned, and reached down and pulled off her shoes. "If there's a bomb I don't care. I want my shower, I want my supper, I want my bed, I don't care who's in it."
Florian laughed. "Quick as we can," he said, and left the Minder and went and looked at Catlin's readouts, then unpacked his own kit, laying out his equipment.
Carelessness was the one direct order they would never obey. No one checked out her residences except them and that was the Rule. Catlin had made it, years ago, and they all still respected it. No matter the inconvenience.
So she tucked her knees up sideways in the chair and shut her eyes, still seeing the cylinder going into the ground, the cenotaph slamming down; Abban's pale face; Justin's, across from her on the plane, so pale and so upset—
Damned long day. Damnable day. Corain was willing to deal but Corain was being careful, Corain was playing as hard and as nasty as he could. Corain had gotten to Wells, on the Bureau committee, and after the recess the questions had gotten brutal and detailed.
What is your present position in Reseune? Who approved it?
When was the last time you spoke to your father? What was his state of mind?
Have you ever had treatment for psychological problems? Who administered it?
You have an azi companion, Grant ALX-972. Did he come with you? Why not?
Have you ever been subject to a psych procedure you haven't previously mentioned to this committee?
Justin had held his ground—occasionally outright lying to the committee, or lying by indirection, a flat challenge to the opposition inside the Bureau to see if they had the votes to mandate another psychprobe: they don't have, she had assured him in the recess; but let's don't put that to the test, for God's sake.
He had held up, absolutely no fractures, till his voice began to give out: the temper built, the nerves steadied—he always did that, nervous as hell because politics gave him flashes, because that mind of his saw so many possibilities in everything, and sorted and collated over so wide a range he had trouble thinking of where he was and what was going on around him, but he had stalled off, found his equilibrium—she had recognized that little intake of breath, that set of the shoulders the instant she saw it on camera in the adjoining room, known that all of a sudden the committee was dealing with a Justin Warrick who was inthat room, and starting onto the offensive.
Good,she had thought then, good. They think they can push him. He hasn't even been here till now. Now he is. He's too smart to go over to Corain. He'll never follow anyone's lead who's making mistakes: he's got far too much impatience with foul-ups and he said it while he was under kat: No one helped my father then. Not one of his damn friends. He has a lot of hostility about that.