"What did she do when she found out I was gone?"
"I'll tell you later."
Dammit, he did not need worry to upset his stomach. It felt like home. Secrets, Ari, and trouble. And everything he loved. He took in a slow, long breath. "I'm holding on," he said, knowing Justin would understand. "I don't want any more tape. I don't want any more sedation. I need to stay awake. I want them to leave the lights on. All the time. I want to get this damn tube out of my arm."
"I haven't got any authority. You know that. But I'll tell Ivanov. I'll make it real strong with him. And I'll take the tube out. Here."
It stung. "That's going to drip all over the floor."
"Hell with it. There." He stopped the drip. "They're going to put a phone in here. And a vid."
His heart jumped. He remembered why a phone was important. But he was not there anymore. Or none of it had happened. Or there were possibilities he had missed.
"You know I'm not really well-hinged."
"Hell, I don't notice a difference."
He laughed, a little laugh, automatic, glad Justin was willing to joke with him; and realized that had come totally around a blind corner. Surprised him, when he had been expecting smooth, professional pity. It was not a funny laugh. Surprise-laugh.
Tape could hardly get Justin down pat enough to do something his mind had not expected, not when he was resisting it and not cooperating out of his subconscious.
He laughed again, just to test it, saw Justin look like he had glass in his gut, and hope at the same time.
"It's a worm," he told Justin. And grinned wide, wider as he saw an instant of real horror on Justin's face.
"You damn lunatic!"
He laughed outright. It hurt, but it felt good. He tried to draw his legs up. Wrong. "Oh, damn. You think they can get my legs free?"
"Soon as you know where you are."
He sighed and felt tension ebbing out of him. He melted back against the moving bed and looked at Justin with a placidity different than tape offered. It still hurt. Muscle tension. Sprain. God knew what he had done to himself, or what they had done to him. "I had you, huh?"
"If you put this on for an act—"
"I wish. I'm fogged. I think I'm going to have flashes off this. I think they'll go away. I'm really scared, if you don't come back. Dr. Ivanov's running this, isn't he?"
"He's taking care of you. You trust him, don't you?"
"Not when he takes Ari's orders. I'm scared. I'm really scared. I wish you could stay here."
"I'll stay here through supper. I'll come back for breakfast in the morning; every hour I can get free till they throw me out. I'm going to talk to Ivanov. Why don't you try to sleep while I'm here? I'll sit in the chair over there and you can rest."
His eyes were trying to close. He realized it suddenly and tried to fight it. "You won't leave. You have to wake me up."
"I'll let you sleep half an hour. It's nearly suppertime. You're going to eat something. Hear? No more of this refusing food."
"Mmnn." He let his eyes shut. He went away awhile, away from the discomfort. He felt Justin get up, heard him settle into the chair, checked after a moment to be sure Justin really was there and rested awhile more.
He felt clearer than he had been. He even felt safe, from moment to moment. He had known, if the world was halfway worth living in, that Justin or Jordan would get to him and pull him back to it. Somehow. When it came he had to believe it or he would never believe anything again, and never come back from the trip he had gone on.
ii
The reports came in and Giraud Nye gnawed his stylus and stared at the monitor with stomach-churning tension.
The news-services reported the kidnapping of a Reseune azi by radical elements, reported a joint police-Reseune Security raid on a remote precip station on the heights above Big Blue, with explicit and ugly interior scenes from the police cameras—the azi, spattered with the blood of his captors, being rescued and bundled aboard a police transport. It had taken something, for sharpshooters in outback gear to hike in, break into the garage via a side door, and make a flying attack up the stairs. One officer wounded. Three radical Abolitionists killed, in full view of the cameras. Good coverage and bodies accounted for, which left no way for Ianni Merino and the Abolition Centrists to raise a howl and convoke Counciclass="underline" publicly, Merino was distancing himself as far and as fast as he could from the incident. Rocher was deluging the Ministry of Information with demands for coverage for a press conference: he got nothing. Which meant that the police would be watching Rocher very carefully—the last time Rocher got blacked out, someone had unfurled a huge Full Abolition banner in the Novgorod subway and sabotaged the rails, snarling traffic in a jam the news-services could not easily ignore.
God knew it had not won Rocher the gratitude of commuters. But he had his sympathizers, and a little display of power meant recruits.
About time, he thought, to do something about Rocher and de Forte. Thus far they had been a convenient embarrassment to Corain and to Merino, discrediting the Centrists. Now Rocher had crossed the line and become a nuisance.
Convenient if the damage to Grant had been extreme. A before-and-after clip given to the news-services would show the Abolitionists up for the hounds they were. Honest citizens never saw a mindwipe in progress. Or botched. Convenient if they could take the azi down for extreme retraining—or take him down altogether. God knew he was Alpha, and a Warrick product, and God knew what Rocher's tapes had done: hehad rather be safe; he had told Ari as much.
Absolutely not, Ari had said. What are you thinking of? In the first place, he's a lever. In the second, he's a witness against Rocher. Don't touch him.
Lever with whom, Giraud thought sourly. Ari was holding night-sessions with young Justin, and Ari was, between driving Jane Strassen to ulcers over the refitting of Lab One and the relocation of eight research students, so damned wrapped up in her obsession with the Rubin project that nobody got time with her excepther azi and Justin Warrick.
Got herself a majortriste. Lost youth and all of that.
Goes off and leaves me to mop up the mess in Novgorod. 'Don't touch Merild or Krugers. We don't want to drive the enemy underground. Cut a deal with Corain. That's not hard, is it?'
The hell.
The phone rang. It was Warrick. Senior. Demanding Grant's release to his custody.
"That's not my decision, Jordie."
"Dammit, it doesn't seem to be anybody's, does it? I want that boy out of there."
"Look, Jordie—"
"I don't care whose fault it isn't."
"Jordie, you're damn lucky no one's prosecuting that kid of yours. It's his damn fault this came down, don't yell at me—"
"Petros says you're the one has to authorize a release."
"That's a medical matter. I don't interfere in medical decisions. If you care about that boy, I'd suggest you let Petros do his job and stay—"
"He passed the mess to you, Gerry. So did Denys. We're not talking about a damn records problem. We're talking about a scared kid, Gerry."
"Another week—"
"The hell with another week. You can start by giving me a security clearance over there, and get Petros to return my calls."
"Your son is over there right now. He's got absolute clearance, God knows why. He'll take care of him."
There was silence on the other end.
"Look, Jordie, they say about another week. Two at most."
"Justin's got clearance."