O God, what did they do to me? Ari, Giraud, Petros He wept. Grant put a hand on his arm. Grant was the only one, the only one who could. The child had touched his hand. And he had flashed-back. It was like touching a corpse.
He sat like that for a long time. Until he heard voices, and knew other people were on the walk, far across the quadrangle. There was a hedge to hide them. But he made the effort to pull himself together. "Justin?" Grant said. "I'm all right. Dammit." And, which he had never said to Grant: "Petros did something to me. Or Giraud did. Or Ari. Don't you see it? Don't you see a difference?"
"No."
"Tell me the truth, dammit!"
Grant flinched. A strange, distant kind of flinching. And pain, after that. Profound pain.
"Grant? Do you think they did something to me?"
"I don't understand born-men," Grant said.
"Don't give me that shit!"
"I was about to say" Grant's face was white, his lips all but trembling. "Justin, you peopleI don't understand."
"Don't lie to me. What were you going to say?"
"I don't know the answer. God, you'd been shocked over and over; if you were azi you'd have gone like I did. Better if you could have. I don't know what's going on inside you. I seeI see you"
"Spit it out, Grant!"
"You're notnot like you would have been if it hadn't happened. Who could be? You learn. You adjust."
"That's not what I'm asking. Did they do anything?"
"I don't know," Grant said. All but stammered. "I don't know. I can't judge CIT psychsets."
"You can judge mine."
"Don't back me into a corner, Justin. I don't know. I don't know and I don't know how to know."
"I'm psyched. Is that what you see? Come on. Give me some help, Grant."
"I think you've got scars. I don't know whether Petros helped or hurt."
"Or knocked me the rest of the way down and did it to me like Ari did. The kid" It had been a jolt. A severe jolt. Time-trip. I'm afraid of the tape-flashes. I shut them out. I warp myself away from that time. That in itself is a decision, isn't it?
Petros: "I'm going to close it down."
Wall it off.
God. It's a psychblock. It could be.
They weren't my friends. Or Jordan's. I know that.
He drew a deep, sudden gulp of air. I'm blocking off everything I learned from her. I'm scared stiff of it.
"Justin?"
The kid's shaken it loose. The kid's thrown me back before Petros. Before Giraud. Back when there was just Ari.
Back when I didn't believe anything could get to me. I walked in her door that night thinking I was in control.
Two seconds later I knew I wasn't.
Family is a liability, sweet.
What was she telling me?
"Justin?"
Would she want what Reseune is becoming? Would she want that kid in Giraud's hands? Damn, he was in Ari's pocket while she was alive. But after she died
"Justin!"
He became aware of Grant shaking at him. Of real fear. "I'm all right," he mumbled. "I'm all right." .
He felt Grant's hand close on his. Grant's hand was warm. The wind had gone through him. What he was looking at, he did not know. The garden. The pond. "Grant, whether or not that kid's Ari reincarnate, she's smart. She's figured out how to psych them. Isn't that what it's all about? She's figured out what they want, isn't that what you say about Hauptmann's subjects? She's got them believing all of it. Denys and Jane and Giraud and all of them. I don't have to believe in it to believe what can happen to us if Giraud thinks we're a threat."
"Justin. Let it alone. Let's go. It's cold out here.
"Do you think they ran a psychblock on me?" He dragged himself back from out-there; looked at Grant's pale, cold-stung face. "Give me the truth, Grant."
A long silence. Grant was breathing hard. Holding back. It took no skill to see that.
"I think they could have," Grant said finally. The grip on his hand hurt. There was a tremor in Grant's voice. "I've done whatever I could. I've tried. Ever since. Don't slip on me. Don't let them get their hands on you again. And they canif you give them any excuse. You know they can.
"I'm not going under. I'm not. I know what they did." He took a deep breath and drew Grant closer, hugged him, leaned against him, exhausted. "I'm doing all right. Maybe I'm doing better than I have been in the last six years."
Grant looked at him, pale and panicked.
"I swear," Justin said. He was beyond cold. Frozen through. Numb. "Damn," he said. "We've got time, don't we?"
"We've got time," Grant said. And pulled at him. Come on. You re freezing. So am I. Let's get inside."
He got up. He threw the rest of the food to the fish, stuffed the napkin into his pocket with numb fingers, and walked. He was not thoroughly conscious of the route, of all the automatic things. Grant had no more to say until they got to the office in Wing Two.
Then Grant lingered at the door of his office. Just looked at him, as if to ask if he was all right. "I've got to run to library."
He gave Grant a silent lift of the chin. I'm all right. Go on, then.
Grant bit his lip. "See you at lunch."
"Right."
Grant left. He sat down in the disordered little office, logged on to the House system, and prepared to get to work. But a message-dot was blinking on the corner of his screen. He windowed it up.
See me first thing, my office, it said. Giraud Nye.
He sat there staring at the thing. He found his hand shaking when he reached to punch the off switch.
He was not ready for this. Psychprobe flashed into his mind; all the old nightmares. He needed all his self-control.
All the old reflexes were gone. Everything. He was vulnerable. Grant was.
He had whatever time it took to walk over there to pull himself together. He did not know what to do, whether to route himself past the library and try to warn Grantbut that looked guilty. Every move he could make could damn him.
No, he thought then, and bit his lip till it bled. It flashed back to another meeting. A taste of blood in his mouth. Hysteria jammed behind his teeth.
It's started, he thought. It's happened.
He turned the machine on, sent a message over to Grant's office: Giraud wants to see me. I may be held up on the lunch. J. It was warning enough. What Grant could do about it, he had no idea.
Worry. That was what.
He shut down again, got up, locked the office, and walked down the corridor, still tasting the blood. He kept looking at things and people with the thought that he might not be back. That the next thing he and Grant might see might be an interview room in the hospital.
ix
Giraud's office was the same he had always had, in the Administrative Wing, the same paneled and unobtrusive entry with the outside lockmore security than Ari had ever used. Giraud was no longer official head of Security. He was Councillor Nye these daysfor outsiders' information. But everyone in the House knew who was running Securitystill.
Justin slid his card into the lock, heard it click, set for his CIT-number. He walked into the short paneled hall and opened the inside door, on the office where Giraud's azi Abban was at his accustomed desk.