"That must have hurt."

She swung her feet and felt better and better: she Had them. She liked it better when they didn't write the questions. It was easier to Work them. "Just a bit. It hurts worse now, sometimes. But I get my cast off in a few weeks."

But they went back to the written ones. "Do you have a lot of friends at Reseune? Do you play with other girls and boys?"

"Oh, sometimes." Don't be nasty, Giraud had said. "Mostly with Florian and Catlin, though. They're my best friends."

"Follow-up," somebody said. "Ser Giraud, can you tell us a little more about that?"

"Ari," Giraud said. "Do you want to answer? What do you do to amuse yourself?"

"Oh, lots of things. Finding things and Starchase and building things." She swung her feet again and looked around at Florian and Catlin. "Don't we?"

"Yes," Florian said.

"Who takes care of you?" the next question said.

"Nelly. My maman left her with me. And uncle Denys. I stay with him."

"Follow-up," a woman said.

Giraud read the next question. "What's your best subject?"

"Biology. My maman taught me." Back to that. News got to Fargone. "I sent her letters. Can I say h.e.l.lo to my maman? Will it go to Fargone?"

Giraud didn't like that. He frowned at her. No. No.

She smiled, real nice, while all the reporters talked together.

"Can it?" she asked.

"It sure can," someone called out to her. "Who is your maman, sweet?"

"My maman is Jane Stra.s.sen. It's nearly my birthday. I'm almost nine. h.e.l.lo, maman!"

Because nasty uncle Giraud couldn't stop her, because Giraud had told her everybody clear across Union would be on her side if she was a nice little girl.

"Follow-up!"

"Let's save that for the next news conference," uncle Giraud said. "We have questions already submitted, in their own order. Let's keep to the format. Please. We've granted this news conference after a very stressful day for Ari, and she's not up to free-for-all questions, please. Not today."

"Is that the Jane Stra.s.sen who's director of RESEUNEs.p.a.cE?"

"Yes, it is, the Jane Stra.s.sen who's reputed in the field for work in her own right, I shouldn't neglect to mention that, in Dr. Stra.s.sen's service. We can provide you whatever material you want on her career and her credentials. But let's keep to format, now. Let's give the child a little chance to catch her breath, please. Her family life is not not a matter of public record, nor should it be. Ask her that in a few years. Right now she's a very over-tired little girl who's got a lot of questions to get through, and I'm afraid we're not going to get to all of them if we start taking them out of order. -Ari, the next question: what do you do for hobbies?" a matter of public record, nor should it be. Ask her that in a few years. Right now she's a very over-tired little girl who's got a lot of questions to get through, and I'm afraid we're not going to get to all of them if we start taking them out of order. -Ari, the next question: what do you do for hobbies?"

Uncle Giraud was Working them, of course, and they knew it. She could stop him, but that would be trouble with uncle Giraud, and she didn't want that. She had done everything she wanted. She was safe now, she knew she was, because Giraud didn't dare do a thing in front of all these people who could tell things all the way to her maman, and who could find out things.

She knew about Freedom of the Press. It was in her Civics tapes.

"What for hobbies? I study about astronomy. And I have an aquarium. Uncle Denys got me some guppies. They come all the way from Earth. You're supposed to get rid of the bad ones, and you can breed ones with pretty tails. The pond fish would eat them. But I don't do that. I just put them in another tank, because I don't like to get them eaten. They're kind of interesting. My teacher says they're throw-backs to the old kind. My uncle Denys is going to get me some more tanks and he says I can put them in the den."

"Guppies are small fish," uncle Giraud explained.

People outside Reseune didn't get to see a lot of things, she decided.

"Guppies are easy," she said. "Anybody could raise them. They're pretty, too, and they don't eat much." She shifted in her chair. "Not like Horse."

v There was a certain strange atmosphere in the restaurant in the North corridor-in the att.i.tude of staff and patrons, in the fact that the modest-price eatery was jammed and taking reservations by mid-afternoon-and only the quick-witted and lucky had realized, making the afternoon calls for supper accommodations, that thoroughly extravagant Changes Changes was the only restaurant that might have slots left. Five minutes more, Grant had said, smug with success, and they would have had cheese sandwiches at home. was the only restaurant that might have slots left. Five minutes more, Grant had said, smug with success, and they would have had cheese sandwiches at home.

As it was, it was c.o.c.ktails, hors d'oeuvres, spiced pork roast with imported fruit, in a restaurant jammed with Wing One staff spending credit and drinking a little too much and huddling together in furtive speculations that were not quite celebration, not quite confidence, but a sense of Occasion, a sense after hanging all day on every syllable that fell from the mouth of a little girl in more danger than she possibly understood-that something had resulted, the Project that had monopolized their lives for years had unfolded unexpected wings and demonstrated-G.o.d knew what: something alchemical; or something utterly, simply human.

Strange, Justin thought, that he had felt so proprietary, so anxious-and so d.a.m.ned personally affected when the Project perched on a chair in front of all of Union, swung her feet like any little girl, and switched from bright chatter to pensive intelligence and back again- Unscathed and still afloat.

The rest of the clientele in Changes Changes might be startled to find the Warrick faction out to dinner, a case of the skeleton at the feast; there were looks and he was sure there was comment at Suli Schwartz's table. might be startled to find the Warrick faction out to dinner, a case of the skeleton at the feast; there were looks and he was sure there was comment at Suli Schwartz's table.

"Maybe they think we're making a point," he said to Grant over the soup.

"Maybe," Grant said. "Do you care? I don't." Justin gave a humorless laugh. "I kept thinking-"

"What?"

"I kept thinking all through that interview, G.o.d, what if she blurts out something about: 'My friend Justin Warrick.'"

"Mmmn, the child has much too much finesse for that. She knew what she was doing. Every word of it."

"You think so."

"I truly think so."

"They say those test scores aren't equal to Ari's."

"What do you think?"

Justin gazed at the vase on the table, the single red geranium cl.u.s.ter that shed a pleasant if strong green-plant scent. Definite, bright, alien to a gray-blue world. "I think-she's a fighter. If she weren't, they'd have driven her crazy. I don't know what she is, but, G.o.d, I think sometimes, -G.o.d, why in h.e.l.l h.e.l.l can't they declare it a success and let the kid just grow up, that's all. And then I think about the Bok-clone thing, and I think-what happens if they did that? Or what if they drive her over the edge with their d.a.m.n hormones and their d.a.m.n tapes-? Or what if they stop now-and she can't-" can't they declare it a success and let the kid just grow up, that's all. And then I think about the Bok-clone thing, and I think-what happens if they did that? Or what if they drive her over the edge with their d.a.m.n hormones and their d.a.m.n tapes-? Or what if they stop now-and she can't-"

"-Integrate the sets?" Grant asked. Azi-psych term. The point of collation, the coming-of-age in an ascending pyramid of logic structures.

It fit, in its bizarre way. It fit the concept floating in his mind. But not that. Not for a CIT, whose value-structures were, if Emory was right and Hauptmann and Poley were wrong, flux-learned and locked in matrices.

"-master the flux," he said. Straight Emory theory, contrary to the Hauptmann-Poley thesis. "Control the hormones. Instead of the other way around."

Grant picked up his wine-gla.s.s, held it up and looked at it. "One gla.s.s of this. G.o.d. Revelation. The man accepts flux-theory." And then a glance in Justin's direction, sober and straight and concerned. "You think it's working-for Emory's reasons?"

"I don't know anymore. I really don't know." The soup changed taste on him, went coppery and for a moment unpleasant; but he took another spoonful and the feeling pa.s.sed. Sanity rea.s.serted itself, a profound regret for a little girl in a h.e.l.l of a situation. "I keep thinking-if they pull the program from under her now- Where's her compa.s.s, then? When you spend your life in a whirlwind-and then the wind dies down-there's all this quiet-this terrible quiet-"

He was not talking about Ari, suddenly, and realized he was not. Grant was staring at him, worriedly, and he was caught in a cold clear moment, lamplight, Grant, the smell of geranium, in a dark void where other faces hung in separate, lamplit existence.

"When the flux stops," he said, "when it goes null-you feel like you've lost all contact with things. That nothing makes sense. Like all values going equal, none more valid than any other. And you can't move. So you devise your own pressure to make yourself move. You invent a flux-state. Even panic helps. Otherwise you go like the Bok clone, you just diffuse in all directions, and get no more input than before."

"Flow-through," Grant said. "Without a supervisor to pull you out. I've been there. Are we talking about An? Or are you telling me something?"

"CITs," Justin said. "CITs. We can flux-think our flux-states too, endless subdivisions. We tunnel between realities." He finished his soup and took a sip of wine. "Anything can throw you there-like a broken hologram, any piece of it the matrix evokes the flux. The taste of orange juice. After today-the smell of geraniums. You start booting up memories to recollect the hormone-shifts, because when the wind stops, and nothing is moving, you start retrieving old states to run in-am I making sense? Because when the wind stops, you haven't got anything else. Bok's clone became a musician. A fair one. Not great. But music is emotion. Emotional flux through a math system of tones and ratios. Flux and flow-through state for a brain that might have dealt with hypers.p.a.ce."

"Except they never took the pressure off Bok's clone," Grant said. "She was always news, to the day she died."

"Or it was skewed, chaotic pressure, piling up confusions. You're brilliant. You're a failure. You're failing us. Can you tell us why you're such a disappointment? You're brilliant. You're a failure. You're failing us. Can you tell us why you're such a disappointment? I wonder if anyone ever put any enjoyment loop into the Bok clone's deep-sets." I wonder if anyone ever put any enjoyment loop into the Bok clone's deep-sets."

"How do you do that," Grant asked, "when putting it in our eminently sensible sets-flirts with psychosis? I think you teach the subject to enjoy the adrenaline rushes. Or to produce pleasure out of the flux itself instead of retrieving it out of the data-banks."

The waiter came and deftly removed the empty soup-bowls, added more wine to the gla.s.ses.

"I think," Justin said uncomfortably, "you've defined a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t. Or said something." His mind kept jumping between his own situation, Jordan, the kid in the courtroom, the cold, green lines of his programs on the vid display, the protected, carefully stressed and de-stressed society of the Town, where the loads were calculated and a logical, humane, human-run system of operations forbade overload.

Pleasure and pain, sweet.

He reached for the wine-gla.s.s, and kept his hand steady as he sipped it, set it down again as the waiters brought the main course.

He was still thinking while he was chewing his first bite, and Grant held a long, long silence.

G.o.d, he thought, do I need need a state of panic to think straight? a state of panic to think straight?

Am I going off down a tangent to lunacy, or am I onto something?

"I'm d.a.m.n tempted," he said to Grant finally, "to make them a suggestion about Ari."

"G.o.d," Grant said, and swallowed a bite in haste. "They'd hyperventilate. -You're serious. What What would you suggest to them?" would you suggest to them?"

"That they get Ari a different teacher. At least one more teacher, someone less patient than John Edwards. She isn't going to push her own limits if she has Edwards figured out, is she? She's got a whole lot of approval and d.a.m.ned little affection in her life. Which would you you be more interested in, in the Edwards set-up? Edwards is a d.a.m.ned nice fellow-d.a.m.ned fine teacher, does wonders getting the students interested; but if you're Ari Emory, what are you going to work for-Edwards' full attention-or a test score?" be more interested in, in the Edwards set-up? Edwards is a d.a.m.ned nice fellow-d.a.m.ned fine teacher, does wonders getting the students interested; but if you're Ari Emory, what are you going to work for-Edwards' full attention-or a test score?"

Grant quirked a brow, genuine bemus.e.m.e.nt. "You could be right."

"d.a.m.n, I know I'm right. What in h.e.l.l was she looking for in the office?" He remembered then what he had thought of when they made the reservations, that Security could find them, Security could bug the d.a.m.ned geranium for all he knew. The thought came with its own little adrenaline flux. A reminder he was alive. "The kid wants attention, that's all. And they've just given her the biggest adrenaline high she's had in years. Sailing Sailing through the interview. through the interview. Everyone Everyone pouring attention on her. She's happier than she's been in her poor manipulated life. How can Edwards fight pouring attention on her. She's happier than she's been in her poor manipulated life. How can Edwards fight that that when she gets back? What's he got to offer, to keep her interested in her studies, against that kind of rush? They need somebody who can get when she gets back? What's he got to offer, to keep her interested in her studies, against that kind of rush? They need somebody who can get her her attention, not somebody who lets her get attention, not somebody who lets her get his." his." He shook his head and applied his knife to the roast. "d.a.m.n. It's not my problem, is it?" He shook his head and applied his knife to the roast. "d.a.m.n. It's not my problem, is it?"

"I'd strongly suggest you not get into it," Grant said. "I'd suggest you not mention it to Yanni."

"The problem is, no one wants to be the focus of her displeasure," Justin said. "No one wants to stand in that hot spot, no more than you or I do. Ari always did have a temper-the cold sort. The sort that knew how to wait. I'm not sure how far it went, I never knew her that well. But senior staff did. Didn't they?"

vi They got out of the car with Security pouring out of the other cars, and Ari stepped up on the walk leading to the gla.s.s doors, with uncle Giraud behind her and Florian and Catlin closing in tight to protect her from the crush of their Security people and the reporters.

The doors opened. She could see that, but she could not see over the shoulders around her. Sometimes they frightened her, even if it was her they had come to see and even if it was her they were trying to protect.

She was afraid they were going to step on her, that was how close it was; and she was still bruised and sore.

They had driven around and seen the docks and the Volga where it met Swigert Bay, and they had seen the s.p.a.ceport and places that Ari would have given a great deal to have gotten out to see, but uncle Giraud had said no, there were too many people and it was too hard.

Like at the hotel, where they had spent the night in a huge suite, a whole floor all to themselves; and where people had jammed up in the lobby and around their car. That had scared her. It scared her in the Hall of State when they were stopped in the doors and they started to close while she was in them; but Catlin shot out a hand and stopped them and they got through, all of them.

The Hall of State was the first thing they had really gotten to see at all, because there were all these people following them around, and all the reporters.

It was the way it looked in the tapes, it was huge and it echoed till it made you dizzy when you were looking around at it, with all the people up on the balconies looking down at them: it was real, the way the Court had been just a place in a tape, and now she knew what the room at the top of the steps was going to look like the moment uncle Giraud told her that was where the Nine met.

The noise died down. People were all talking, but they were not shouting at each other, and the Security people had put the reporters back, so they could walk and look at things.

Uncle Giraud took her and Florian and Catlin upstairs where she shook hands with Nasir Harad, the Chairman of the Nine: he was white-haired and thin and there was a lot of him that he didn't give away, she could tell that the way she could tell that there was something odd about him, the way he kept holding her hand after she had shaken his, and the way he looked at her like he wanted something.

"Uncle Giraud," she whispered when they were going through the doors into the Council Chamber, "he was funny, funny, back there." back there."

"Shush," he said, and pointed to the big half-circle desk where all the Councillors would sit if they were here.

It was funny, anyway, to be asking Giraud Giraud whether anybody was a friendly or not. She looked at what he was telling her, which seat was which, and where Giraud sat when he was on Council-that was Science, she knew that: they had driven past the Science Building, and Giraud said he had an office there, and one in the Hall of State, but he wasn't there a lot of the time, he had secretaries and managers to run things. whether anybody was a friendly or not. She looked at what he was telling her, which seat was which, and where Giraud sat when he was on Council-that was Science, she knew that: they had driven past the Science Building, and Giraud said he had an office there, and one in the Hall of State, but he wasn't there a lot of the time, he had secretaries and managers to run things.

He had Security push a b.u.t.ton that opened the wall back, and she stood there staring while the Council Chamber opened right into the big Council Hall, becoming a room to the side of the seats, with the Rostrum in front of the huge wall uncle Giraud said was made out of stone from the Volga banks, all rough and red sandstone, just like it was a riverside.

The seats all looked tiny in front of that.

"This is where the laws are made," uncle Giraud said, and his voice echoed, like every footstep. "That's where the Council President and the Chairman sit, up there on the Rostrum."

She knew that. She could tape-remember the room full, with people walking up and down the aisles. Her heart beat fast.

"This is the center of Union," uncle Giraud said. "This is where people work out their differences. This is what makes everything work."

She had never heard uncle Giraud talk like that, never heard uncle Giraud talk in that quiet voice that said these things were important. He sounded like Dr. Edwards, somehow, doing lessons for her.

He took her back outside then, where it was noisy and Security made room for them. Down the stairs then. She could see cameras set up down below.

"We're going to do a short interview," uncle Giraud told her, "and then we're going to have lunch with Chairman Harad. Is that all right?"

"What's going to be for lunch?" she asked. Food sounded good. She was not so sure about Chairman Harad.

"Councillor," an older woman said, coming up to them, and put her hand on uncle Giraud's sleeve and said: "Private. Quickly. Please." Please."

It was some kind of trouble. Ari knew it, the woman was giving it off like she was about to explode with worry, and Giraud froze up just a second and then said: "Ari. Stand here."

They talked together, and the woman's back was to them. The noise blurred everything out.

But uncle Giraud came back very fast, and he was upset. His face was all pale.

"Sera," Florian said, very fast, very soft, like he wanted her to say what to do. But she didn't know where the trouble was coming from, or what it was.

"Ari," uncle Giraud said, and took her aside, along by the wall, the huge fountain, and down to the other end where there were some offices. Security moved very fast, Florian and Catlin went with her, and n.o.body was following them. There was just that voice-sound, everywhere, murmuring like the water.

Security opened the doors. Security told the people inside to go into a back office and they looked confused and upset.

But: "Wait out here," uncle Giraud said to Florian and Catlin, and she looked at them, scared, uncle Giraud hurrying her into an empty office with a desk and a chair. They were going to follow her, not certain what to do, but he said: "Out!" "Out!" and she said: "It's all right." and she said: "It's all right."