"You can do what you put your mind to, uncle Denys. But it's not time to talk about that kind of thing."
"I can't," Denys said, cradling the glass in his hands. "I've told Giraud that. He knows it. Take tape, he says. He knows damned well I'm not suited to holding office."
"It's not a question of that right now."
"He's dying, dammit. You know it and I know it. And his notions about my going to Novgoroddammit, he knows better."
"You'd be very good."
"Don't be ridiculous. A public speaker? An orator? Someone to handle press conferences? There's no one less suited than I am to holding public office. Behind the scenes, yes, I'm quite good. But I'm much too old to make major changes. I'm not a public man, Ari. I'm not going to be. There's no tape fix for age, there's no damned tape fix to make me a speechmaker . . ."
"Giraud isn't exactly skilled at it, but he's a fine Councillor."
"Do you know," Denys said, "when I came down to the AG unit that timethat was the first time since I was nine, that I'd ever left these walls?"
"My God, uncle Denys."
"Didn't add that up? Shame on you. I came down to see my foster-niece risk her lovely neck, the way I watched from the airport remotes when your predecessor would come screaming in, in that damned jet. I hate disasters. I've always expected them. It's my one act of courage, you understand. Don't ask me to handle press conferences." Denys shook his head and leaned on his elbows on the table. "Young people. They risk their lives so damned lightly, and they know so little what they're worth."
He wept then, a little convulsion of shoulders and face, and Ari picked up the decanter and poured him more, that being the only effective kindness she could think of.
She said nothing for perhaps a quarter, perhaps half an hour, only sat there while Denys emptied another glass.
Then the Minder said: "Message, Abban AA to Base Two, special communications."
Denys did not answer at once. Then he said: "Report."
"Ser Denys," Abban's voice said, cold with distance and the Minder's reproduction, "Giraud has just died. I'll see to his transport home, by his orders. He requested you merge his Base." Denys lowered his head onto his hand.
"Abban," Seely said, "this is Seely SA. Ser thanks you. Direct details to be; I'll assist."
Ari sat there a very long time, waiting, until Denys wiped his eyes and drew a shaken breath.
"Lynch," Denys said. "Someone has to notify Lynch. Tell Abban see to that. He's to stand proxy. He's to file for election. Immediately."
iii
The Family filed into the East Garden, by twos and threes, wearing coats and cloaks in the sharpness of an autumn noon. With conspicuous absences, absences which made Ari doubly conscious of her position in the forefront of the Familyeighteen, immaculate in mourning, and correct as she knew how to bewearing the topaz pin on her collar, the pin Giraud had given her . . . something that's only yours. . . .
The funeral was another of those duties she would have avoided if she could have found a way.
Because Denys had made a damnable mess of things. Denys had fallen to pieces, refused the appointment as proxy Councillor of Science, and refused to attend the funeral. Denys was over at the old Wing One lab, supervising the retrieval and implantation of CIT geneset 684-044-5567 . . . precisely at this hourat which Ari, even with compassion for his reasons, felt a vague shudder of disgust.
It left her, foster-niece, as nearest kinnot even directly related to Giraud, but ranking as immediate family, over Emil Carnath-Nye, and Julia Carnath-Nye, and Amy. She felt uncomfortable in that role, even knowing Julia's attachment to Giraud was more ambition than accident of blood. Hell with Julia: there was prestige involved, and she hated to move Amy out of her proper place, that was the uncomfortable part. The Carnath-Nyes stood, an ill-assorted little association of blood-ties far from cordial these daysAmy bringing Quentin as she had brought Florian and Catlin, for personal security in troubled times, not to flaunt him in front of the Family and her mother's disapproval; but that was certainly not the way Julia Carnath took it.
Julia and her father Emil resented having Abban standing beside them; and took petty exception to the man man, dammit, who had been closer to Giraud in many ways than any next-of-kin, even Denys; who had held Giraud's hand while he died and taken care of notifications with quiet efficiency when no Family were there to do anything.
That attitude was damned well going to go: she had served notice of it and scandalized the old hands before now. Let them know what she would do when she held power in the House: hell with their offended feelings.
Amy was there; Maddy Strassen was in the front row, with aunt Victoriamaman's sister, and at a hundred fifty-four one of the oldest people alive anywhere who was not a spacer. Rejuv did not seem near failing Victoria Strassen: she was wearing away instead like ice in sunlight, just thinner and more fragile with every passing year, until she began to seem more force than flesh. Using a cane now: the sight afflicted Ari to the heart. Maman would be that old now. Maman would be that frail. She avoided Victoria, not alone because Victoria hated her and blamed her for Julia Strassen's exile to Fargone. The Whitely clan was there: Sam and his mother; and the Ivanovs, the Edwardses; Yanni Schwartz and Suli; and the Dietrichs.
Justin and Grant were not. Justin had sent, all things considered, a very gracious refusal, and let her off one very difficult position. It was the only mercy she had gotten from Family or outsiders. Reporters clustered down at the airport press area, a half hour down there this morning, an appointment for an interview this afternoon, a half a hundred frustrated requests for an interview with Denys
I'm sorry., she had said, privately and on camera. Even those of us who work lifelong with psych, seri, do feel personal grief. Coldly, precisely, letting her own distress far enough to the surface to put what Giraud would call the human face on Reseune. My uncle Denys was extremely close to his brother, and he's not young himself. He's resigning the proxy to Secretary Lynch out of health considerations No. Absolutely not. Reseune has never considered it has a monopoly on the Science seat. As the oldest scientific institution on Cyteen we have contributions to make, and I'm sure there will be other candidates from Reseune, but no one in Reseune, so far as I know, intends to run. After allDr. Nye wasn't bound to appoint Secretary Lynch: he might have appointed anyone in Science, Secretary Lynch is a very respected, very qualified head of the Bureau in his own right.
And to a series of insistent questions: Seri, Dr. Yanni Schwartz, the head of Wing One in Reseune, will be answering any specific questions about that. . ..
. . . No, sera, that would be in the future. Of course my predecessor held the seat. Presently I'm a wing supervisor in Research, I do have a staff, I have projects under my administration
Every reporter in the room had focused in on that, sharp and hardscenting a story that was far off their present, urgent assignment: she had thrown out the deliberate lure and they burned to go for it despite the fact they were going out live-feed, with solemn and specific lead-ins and funeral music. She handed them the hint of a story they could not, with propriety, go for; and kept any hint of deliberate signal off her face when she did it.