She hesitated awhile over that answer. "That depends," she said. "That very much depends. That's why you're with me. Someone Someone has to do something. I'd wanted to be inconspicuous for a while more, but I'm the only face the media knows and I'm the only one who has enough credit with them to patch this mess up-but I need you, I need your help. Possibly you'll double on me. I don't know. But whether it's true or false what they're saying, it's going to be terribly hard for your father to handle this or to back away from the cameras if he gets the chance. You're my hope of stopping that." has to do something. I'd wanted to be inconspicuous for a while more, but I'm the only face the media knows and I'm the only one who has enough credit with them to patch this mess up-but I need you, I need your help. Possibly you'll double on me. I don't know. But whether it's true or false what they're saying, it's going to be terribly hard for your father to handle this or to back away from the cameras if he gets the chance. You're my hope of stopping that."

Another small silence. Then: "How did you get Denys's permission for this move?"

"The same way I've gotten you into my residency. I told Denys you're mine, that I ran a major intervention, that Grant is far more of a hold on you than your father is; that you'd choose him over your father if it came to a choice, because your father can take care of himself; while Grant-" She shrugged. "That kind of thing. Denys believes it."

That got through to him, just about enough threat to make sure he understood. Justin sat there staring at her, mad, very mad. And very worried. "You're quite an operator, young sera."

The compliment made her smile, though sadly. "Giraud died too soon. The Paxers aren't going to sit still in all this commotion. The elections are going to be chaos, there may be more bombings, more people dead-the whole thing is going to blow wide if we don't head it off. You know all of that. Your work is exactly in my field. That's one thing at stake. So you can put your father in a position where he has to do something desperate and put himself out front of something he can't control and I don't think he has any idea exists; or you can help me defuse this, calm him down and let me run a little game with Denys-put your father wise to it if you can, I don't mind; encourage your father to wait until I do do run Reseune. We can double-team Denys, or you can blow everything to h.e.l.l with the newsservices-by asking to get your father in front of the cameras; by doing things that make you look like you're under duress-" run Reseune. We can double-team Denys, or you can blow everything to h.e.l.l with the newsservices-by asking to get your father in front of the cameras; by doing things that make you look like you're under duress-"

"The truth, you mean."

"-or by doing things that give you a bad image. You can't look like a traitor to your own father. You're very good with bright people and design-systems; but you don't know where the traps are, you're not current with the outside world, you're not used to the press and you're not used to picking up on your own public image. For G.o.d's sake take advice and be careful. If you get stubborn about this you can lose every leverage you've got."

He stared at her a long time, and sipped his whiskey. "Tell me," he said finally, "exactly what sort of thing I should watch out for."

Grant watched, entranced by the precision, as the cards crackled into a precise shuffle in the girl's fingers. "That's amazing," he said.

"This?" Sera Amy looked pleased and did it again. "My mother taught me, G.o.d, I guess from the time my fingers were big enough." She shot a series of cards to her and to him. Quentin AQ was the silent presence in the room, a tall, well-built young man in Security uniform, who sat and watched-a young man altogether capable of breaking a neck in a score of different ways: Grant had no illusions about his chances if he made a move crosswise of Amy Carnath. He had looked to spend the time confined to his room at best and under trank or under restraint at worst; but young sera had instead made every attempt to rea.s.sure him: It won't take long, they'll meet with the Bureau, I don't doubt they'll have everything straightened out in a couple of days: It won't take long, they'll meet with the Bureau, I don't doubt they'll have everything straightened out in a couple of days: and she had finally, after a mid-afternoon lunch, declared that she would teach him to play cards. and she had finally, after a mid-afternoon lunch, declared that she would teach him to play cards.

He was touched and amused. Young Amy was taking her recently-acquired Alpha license very seriously, and doing outstandingly well: the game did keep his mind off what, if he were half-tranked and locked in solitude, would have been absolute h.e.l.l-a situation which was still h.e.l.l, what time he let himself worry whether the plane had landed yet, whether Justin was safe, what was going on with Jordan in Planys.

He wished he were on that plane; but he figured he was actually doing more good for Justin as a hostage, being civil and cool-headed and not pouring fuel on the fires of juvenile excitement-or Administration paranoia.

Poker was also an interesting game, in which Amy said an azi had two considerable advantages, first, profound concentration, and second, the ability to conceal one's reactions. Sera was right. He very much wanted to try it with Justin.

When Justin got home.

It was the little thoughts like that, that sent panic rushing through him, with the thought that something could happen, that somehow an order could come through that sera Amy could not resist or that authorities elsewhere could take Justin into custody; and, Reseune holding his Contract, they might not meet again. Ever.

Then he might not sit placidly waiting for re-training. Then he might do something incredibly unlikely for an azi designer, and get his hands on a weapon: in a very fluxed way it seemed what a CIT might do and what was the best thing to do. At other moments-he was fluxing that wildly-he knew that his own personal CIT might fight to be free, but he would never turn a weapon on sera Amy, nor on Quentin AQ, and that Justin could never-he had told the truth to ser Denys-never harm any of the people who had harmed him. His CIT might threaten with a weapon, but pull the trigger- Justin could not, not even if it was Giraud, who was dead anyway.

No, when it came to it, Grant thought, studying the hand young sera had dealt him-he could not see himself surrendering to the hospital; but he could not see himself shooting to kill, either.

Young Amy told him that the secret of the game she was teaching him was to keep one's intentions and one's predicaments off one's face. Young Amy was very intelligent, and quite good at it herself, for a CIT. Possibly she was playing more than one game and trying to read more than what cards he held, the same way he was trying to read her for more information than she was willing to give.

So meanwhile he gambled for small markers, because one was supposed to play for money, but he owned none that was not Justin's; and he would not risk that, even at the minuscule levels young Amy proposed. He risked nothing that was Justin's, was very glad to have enough liberty in the apartment to know that Justin's papers were safe, and generally to catch what bits of information he could . . . dumb-annie was a role he still knew how to play. I'll be all right, I'll be all right, Justin had said to him. And after all was said and done, he had to rely on that, like any azi-while he kept fluxing on Winfield and the Abolitionists and the fact that at thirty-seven he was legally a minor; and Amy Carnath at eighteen was legally an adult. Justin had said to him. And after all was said and done, he had to rely on that, like any azi-while he kept fluxing on Winfield and the Abolitionists and the fact that at thirty-seven he was legally a minor; and Amy Carnath at eighteen was legally an adult. Dammit, Dammit, he wanted to shout at her, he wanted to shout at her, take advice. Tell me what's going on and listen to someone with more experience than you have. take advice. Tell me what's going on and listen to someone with more experience than you have.

But that was not likely to happen. Amy Carnath took Ari Emory's orders; and whether it was Denys Nye or Ari Emory managing things now-he could not at all figure.

viii The airport stirred boyhood memories, himself in the terminal gift shop, begging a few cred-chits from Jordan for trinkets and gifts for home: Justin thought of that as they walked the safeway from the plane to the Novgorod terminal, with armed Security going ahead of them and crowding close behind.

No pa.s.sage through the public terminal: Ari had explained that; no transfer to a car in the open. Things were too dangerous nowadays. They took a side door, hurried downstairs to a garage where cars waited with shielded windows.

There Security laid hands on him and took him apart from Ari and Catlin and Florian. Ari had warned him it would happen and asked him to do exactly what Security told him, but they were d.a.m.ned rough, and their haste and their force getting him into the car was more than it need have been.

He kept his mouth shut about it, sandwiched in between two guards in the back seat, and with a heavy hand on his shoulder as the doors locked.

Then the man let go of him and he settled back, watching as the first few cars left the garage. Their own driver joined the tight convoy, whisking out past RESEUNE ONE's RESEUNE ONE's wing, along the edge of the field and out a guarded gate where they picked up more escort. wing, along the edge of the field and out a guarded gate where they picked up more escort.

It was the son of official protection, he thought, that must have attended Giraud Nye in these troubled years. He sat between the hard-muscled bodies of two of Reseune's senior House Security, with another, armed, in the front-seat pa.s.senger side, and one driving. He watched the road unfold to the river, the bridge and the drive-he remembered it-which led up to the government center, green crops growing in the interstices, a handful of trees which had prospered in the years since he had ridden this road at Jordan's side, taking the tour- The Hall of State loomed up around a turn, suddenly filling the windshield; and he felt a chill and a sense of panic. "Aren't we going to the Bureau?" he asked his guards quietly, calmly. "I thought we were going to the Science Bureau."

"We follow the car in front of us," the one on the left said.

He figured that much. d.a.m.n, he thought, and sat and watched, wishing he had Grant's ability to go Out awhile. He wanted this day done with. He wanted- G.o.d, he wanted to go home.

He wanted a phone, and a chance to talk to Jordan, and to find out the truth, but the truth, Ari had said it, was the least important thing.

He was numb, in overload, total flux. He tried to find answers and there was no information to give them to him, except the ones Ari herself led him through, bringing order where none existed-or finding the only way through, he did not know any longer. He had found himself agreeing to lie to the press, agreeing to deny his father's innocence-to which he himself could not swear- He found himself doubting Jordan, doubting Jordan's motives, Jordan's love for him, everything in the world but Grant. Doubting his own sanity, finally, and the integrity of his own mind.

Not even Giraud did this to me. Not even Giraud.

Flux of images, the older Ari, the younger; flux of remembered panic, interview in Ari's office: . . . You make my life tranquil, sweet, and stand between me and Jordan, and I won't have his friends arrested, and I won't do a mindwipe on Grant, I'll even stop giving you h.e.l.l in the office. You know what the cost is, for all those transfers you want. . . . You make my life tranquil, sweet, and stand between me and Jordan, and I won't have his friends arrested, and I won't do a mindwipe on Grant, I'll even stop giving you h.e.l.l in the office. You know what the cost is, for all those transfers you want. . . .

. . . I told Denys you're mine, that I ran a major intervention, that Grant is far more of a hold on you than your father is; that you'd choose him over your father if it came to a choice. . . .

The convoy drew up under the portico at the side of the Hall of State. He moved when his guards flung the door open and hastened him out and through the doors-not so roughly this time: this time there were news cameras.

Ari stopped and took his arm. The thought flashed through his mind that he could shove her away, refuse to go farther, tell the cameras everything that had happened to him, shout out the fact that Reseune was holding Grant hostage, that they had worked on him to divide him from his father, that Jordan might well have spent twenty years in confinement for a lie- He hesitated, Ari tugging at his arm, someone nudging him from behind.

"We're going to meet with Secretary Lynch," Ari said, "upstairs. Come on. We'll talk to the press later."

"Is your father innocent?" someone shouted at him out of the echoing chaos. someone shouted at him out of the echoing chaos.

He looked at that reporter. He tried to think, in the time-stretch of nightmare, whether he even knew the answer or not, and then just ignored the question, going where Ari wanted him to go, to say whatever he had to say.

"You do this one alone," Ari told him when they reached the upstairs, turning him over to Bureau Enforcement. "I'll be getting the hearing on monitor, but n.o.body from Reseune will be there. The Bureau wants you not to feel pressured. All right?"

So he walked with blue-uniformed strangers still of Reseune's making, taught by Reseune's tapes-who brought him into a large conference room, and brought him to a table facing a triple half-ring of tables on a dais, where other strangers took their seats in a blurred murmur of conversation- Strangers except Secretary-now-Proxy for Science Lynch: Lynch he knew from newscasts. He settled into his chair, grateful to find at least one known quant.i.ty in the room, at the head of the committee, he supposed. There was a pitcher of water in front of him, and he filled a gla.s.s and drank, trying to soothe his stomach. Ari's staff had offered him food on the plane, but he had not been able to eat more than the chips and a bite of the sandwich; and he had had another soft drink after the whiskey. Now he felt light-headed and sick. d.a.m.n fool, he told himself in the dizzying buzz of people talking in a large room, quit sleepwalking. Wake up and focus, for G.o.d's sake, they'll think you're drugged.

But the flux kept on, every thought, every nuance of everything Jordan had last said to him; everything Ari had said that might be a clue to what was going on or whether the threat was threat or only show for Denys and Security.

Secretary Lynch came up to the table where he was sitting, and offered his hand. Justin stood up and took it, felt the kindness in the gesture, saw a face that had been only an image on vid take on a human concern for him; and that small encouragement hit him in the gut, he did not know why.

"Are you all right?" the Secretary-Proxy asked.

"A little nervous," he said; and felt Lynch's fingers close harder on his. A little pat on his arm. Giraud's career-long a.s.sociate, he suddenly remembered that with a jolt close to nausea, and felt the whole room go distant, sounds echoing in his skull in time with the beating of his heart. Where does Ari stand with him? Is this ch.o.r.eographed? Where does Ari stand with him? Is this ch.o.r.eographed?

"You're inside Bureau jurisdiction now," Lynch said. "No Reseune staff is here. Three Councillors are in the city: they've asked to audit the proceedings: Chairman Harad, Councillor Corain; Councillor Jacques. Is there any other witness you want? Or do you have any objection to anyone here? You understand you have a right to object to members of the inquiry."

"No, ser."

"Are you all right?" It was the second time Lynch had asked. Justin drew in a breath and disengaged his hand.

"Just a little-" Light-headed. No. G.o.d, don't say that. Light-headed. No. G.o.d, don't say that. He thought his face must be white. He felt the air-conditioning on sweat at his temples. "I was too nervous to eat. I don't suppose I could get a soft drink before we start. Maybe crackers or something." He thought his face must be white. He felt the air-conditioning on sweat at his temples. "I was too nervous to eat. I don't suppose I could get a soft drink before we start. Maybe crackers or something."

Lynch looked a little nonplussed; and then patted his shoulder and called an aide.

Like a d.a.m.ned kid, he thought. Fifteen minutes, a pastry and a cup of coffee, that little time to catch his breath in an adjoining conference room, and he was better collected-was able to walk back into the hearing room and have Secretary Lynch walk him over to Mikhail Corain and to Simon Jacques and Nasir Harad one after the other, faces he recognized in what still pa.s.sed in a haze of overload, but a less shaky one: G.o.d, he was fluxed. He had had nightmares about publicity, lifelong, felt himself still on the verge of panic-still kept flashing on Security-the cell-the Council hearings. . . .

Giraud's voice, saying things he could not remember, but which put a profound dread in him.

Wake up, up, dammit! No more time for thinking. Do! dammit! No more time for thinking. Do!

"Dr. Warrick," Corain said, taking his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, finally."

"Thank you, ser."

When did that message actually come from my father? That was what he wanted to ask. That was what he wanted to ask.

But he did not, not being a fool. Audit, Audit, Lynch had said: then the Councillors were not here to engage in questions. Lynch had said: then the Councillors were not here to engage in questions.

"If you need anything," Corain said, "if you feel you need protection-you understand you can ask for it."

"No, ser. -But I appreciate your concern." This is a man who wants to use Jordan. And me. What am I worth to him? Where would his protection leave me? This is a man who wants to use Jordan. And me. What am I worth to him? Where would his protection leave me?

Out of Reseune. And Grant inside.

Corain patted him on the arm. Simon Jacques offered his hand, introducing himself, a dark-haired, neutral kind of man with a firm grip and a tendency not to meet his eyes. "Councillor. . . . Chairman Harad." -as he shook Harad's thin hand, meeting a gray stare appallingly cold and hostile. One of Reseune's friends. One of Reseune's friends.

"Dr. Warrick," Harad said. "I hope you can clear up some of the confusion in this. Thank you for agreeing to appear."

"Yes, ser," he said. Agreeing to appear. Who asked me? Who agreed in my name? How many things have gone out, in my name, and Jordan's? Agreeing to appear. Who asked me? Who agreed in my name? How many things have gone out, in my name, and Jordan's?

"Dr. Warrick," Lynch said, taking his arm. "If we can get this underway-"

He took his seat at the table; he answered questions: No, I have no way of knowing anything beyond my father's statements. He never discussed the matter with me, beyond the time-just before the hearing. When he was leaving. No, I'm not under drugs; I'm not under coercion. I'm confused and I'm worried. I think that's a normal reaction under the circ.u.mstances. . . . His hand shook when he picked up the water gla.s.s. He sipped water and waited while committee members consulted together, talking just under his hearing.

"Why do you believe," a Dr. Wells asked him then, "-or did you ever believe-your father's confession?"

"I believed it. He said so. And because-" Bring out some of the s.e.xual angle, Bring out some of the s.e.xual angle, Ari had said on the plane. Ari had said on the plane. It plays well in the press. Scandal always gets the attention, and you can work people en ma.s.se a lot easier if you've got their minds on s.e.x: It plays well in the press. Scandal always gets the attention, and you can work people en ma.s.se a lot easier if you've got their minds on s.e.x: everybody's everybody's got an opinion on that. Just don't mention the tape and I won't mention the drugs, all right? got an opinion on that. Just don't mention the tape and I won't mention the drugs, all right? "Because there was a motive I could believe in-that everyone in Reseune believed in. Me. Ariane Emory blackmailed me into a relationship with her. My father found out." "Because there was a motive I could believe in-that everyone in Reseune believed in. Me. Ariane Emory blackmailed me into a relationship with her. My father found out."

The reaction lacked surprise. The interrogator nodded slowly.

"Blackmailed you-how?"

He slid a glance toward Mikhail Corain, though it was a committee member who asked the question. He said, watching Corain's reactions in his peripheral vision: "There was a secret deal for Jordan's transfer to RESEUNEs.p.a.cE. Ari found out Jordan had pulled strings to get past her, and she made a deal with me-not to stop my father's transfer." Corain did not like that line of questioning. So, So, he thought, and looked back at the questioner. "She told me-that she intended me to stay in Reseune; that she meant to teach me; that she saw potential in my work she wanted developed, and that she wanted a guarantee Jordan wouldn't mess up the psychogenesis project. It looked like it would be a few years. Then she said she'd approve my transfer to go with him. Probably she would have. She usually kept her promises." he thought, and looked back at the questioner. "She told me-that she intended me to stay in Reseune; that she meant to teach me; that she saw potential in my work she wanted developed, and that she wanted a guarantee Jordan wouldn't mess up the psychogenesis project. It looked like it would be a few years. Then she said she'd approve my transfer to go with him. Probably she would have. She usually kept her promises."

Slowly, slowly, there began to be consultation. They knew, They knew, he thought to himself. he thought to himself. They knew-the whole d.a.m.n committee-even Corain- All these years; my G.o.d, the whole d.a.m.n Council and the Bureau-there was no secrecy about me and Ari. But something I said-they didn't know. They knew-the whole d.a.m.n committee-even Corain- All these years; my G.o.d, the whole d.a.m.n Council and the Bureau-there was no secrecy about me and Ari. But something I said-they didn't know.

G.o.d! What am I into? What deals did Giraud make, what am I treading on?

"You wanted to keep the s.e.xual relationship secret," Wells said. "How long did that continue?"

"A few times."

"Where?"

"Her office. Her apartment."

"Who initiated it?"

"She did." He felt the heat in his face, and leaned his arms on the table for steadiness. "Can I say something, ser? I honestly think, ser, the s.e.x was only a means to an end-to make me guilty enough to drive a wedge between me and my father. It wasn't just the encounter itself. It was the relationship between her and my father. I'm a PR, ser. And she was not my father's friend. I thought I could handle the guilt. I thought it wouldn't bother me. From the other side of the event it looked a lot different; and she was a master clinician-she was completely in control of what was going on and I was a student way out of his limits. My father would have understood that part of it, when I couldn't, at the time. I didn't plan for him to find out. But he did." A thought flashed up with gut-deep certainty out of the flux: He didn't do it. He couldn't kill anyone. He'd have been concerned for me. He'd have wanted to work the situation, get me clear before he did anything-and I can't tell them that. . . . - He didn't do it. He couldn't kill anyone. He'd have been concerned for me. He'd have wanted to work the situation, get me clear before he did anything-and I can't tell them that. . . . -to change an instant later into: Anyone can do anything under the right stress. If that was the right stress for him-the unbearable point- Anyone can do anything under the right stress. If that was the right stress for him-the unbearable point- Lynch asked: "Did your father confront you with the discovery?"

"No. He went straight to her. I had a meeting with Ari for later that evening. I didn't know she was dead until they told me, after I was arrested." Then-then the thing that had been trying to click into place snapped into lock, clear and plain, exactly where the way out was: Disavow what Jordan's said-be the outraged son, defending his father: put myself in a position to be courted by both sides. That's the answer. Disavow what Jordan's said-be the outraged son, defending his father: put myself in a position to be courted by both sides. That's the answer.

Out of everything that Ari had said on the plane, exactly where she was trying to lead him. Her pieces, handed him bit by bit-d.a.m.n, she's an operator. she's an operator. But there was a way to position all of it so he could step to either sh.o.r.e, play the emotional angle, the outrage-oppose Jordan and be won over; or win Jordan over-whichever worked, h.e.l.l with Corain, h.e.l.l with all the would-be users in this mess: he could maneuver if he could just get a position and focus everyone's efforts on him, to persuade But there was a way to position all of it so he could step to either sh.o.r.e, play the emotional angle, the outrage-oppose Jordan and be won over; or win Jordan over-whichever worked, h.e.l.l with Corain, h.e.l.l with all the would-be users in this mess: he could maneuver if he could just get a position and focus everyone's efforts on him, to persuade him. him. It collected information, it collected a small amount of control, and he thought, he It collected information, it collected a small amount of control, and he thought, he thought thought it possibly exceeded the perimeters where Ari had intended he should go-but only enough to worry her and keep her working on him and his position, it possibly exceeded the perimeters where Ari had intended he should go-but only enough to worry her and keep her working on him and his position, not not so long as he could tread a very narrow line between opposition and cooperation. so long as he could tread a very narrow line between opposition and cooperation.

Under fire. When he always did his best thinking. He picked up the gla.s.s and took a second drink, and his hand was suddenly steady, his heart still pounding: d.a.m.n, Giraud did a piece on me, didn't he? Shot my nerves to h.e.l.l. But the mind works. d.a.m.n, Giraud did a piece on me, didn't he? Shot my nerves to h.e.l.l. But the mind works.

"Were you aware of any other person who might have had a motive for murder?"

"I'm not aware of any," he said, frowning, and plunged ahead unasked. "I'll tell you, ser, I have a major concern about what's going on here."

"What concern?"

"That my father's being used. That if he did recant his confession-that can't be checked any more than the confession can be. No one knows. No one can know. He's a research scientist. He's been twenty years out of touch with current politics. He could make a statement. He could say anything. G.o.d knows what he's been told or what's going on, but I don't trust this, ser. I don't know if he's been told something that made him come out with this, I don't know if he's been promised something, but I'm extremely worried, ser, and I resent his name being caught up in politics he doesn't know anything about-he's being used, used, ser, maybe led into something, maybe just that people are taking this up that had absolutely nothing to say to help him twenty years ago and all of a sudden everyone's interested, ser, maybe led into something, maybe just that people are taking this up that had absolutely nothing to say to help him twenty years ago and all of a sudden everyone's interested, not not because they know whether he's guilty or innocent, but because it's a political lever in things my father's not in touch with, for reasons that don't have anything to do with my father's welfare. I'll fight that, ser." because they know whether he's guilty or innocent, but because it's a political lever in things my father's not in touch with, for reasons that don't have anything to do with my father's welfare. I'll fight that, ser."

There was silence for about two breaths, then a murmur broke out in the room.

Now the knives were going to come out, he thought. Now he had found his position and now he had built Jordan a defense no matter what he had said.

His hand was shaking nearly enough to spill the water when he took his next drink, but it was the after-a-fight shakes. Inside, he had more hope for himself and Jordan and Grant than he had had since he had known where they were taking him.

Corain bit his lip as young Emory courteously shook his hand during the mid-session recess, as she said earnestly, in the insulation of her personal Security and his: "It's politics, of course: Reseune understands that; but it's very personal with Justin. He's not political. He sees what happened to his father in the first place as political and now he sees it all starting up again now that Giraud's dead and there are elections on. I've advised him to tone it down; but he's terribly upset."

"You should advise him," Corain said coldly, "if that's his primary concern, he should stay away from the media, young sera. If he raises charges, they'll go before Council."

"I'll pa.s.s him that word, ser." With a little lift of the chin. Not Ari senior's smile, not that maddening, superior smile; just a direct look. "Possibly my predecessor slipped and fell. I I have no idea. I'm interested in the truth, but I have no idea. I'm interested in the truth, but I really really don't think it's going to come out in this hearing." don't think it's going to come out in this hearing."

If Ari senior had said that, it would surely have meaning under meaning. He looked this incarnation in the eye and was absolutely sure it did. Reseune was pulling strings in Science, d.a.m.ned right it was.

"I hate it," Ari Emory said, a.s.suming a confidential friendliness, "that this has blown up now. Politics change, positions change-and develop common interests. I'll administer Reseune before too many years; there's a lot I can do then, and there are changes I want to make. I want you to understand, ser Corain, that I'm not welded to the past."

"You have a few years yet," Corain said. And thought: Thank G.o.d. Thank G.o.d.

"A few years yet. But I've been in politics a long, long time. If my predecessor were alive right now, she'd look at the general situation and say something has to be done to calm it down. It's not good for either party. All it does is help Khalid."

Corain looked at the young face a long, long moment. "We've always maintained a moderate position."

"We absolutely overlap, where it comes to solving Novgorod's problems. And the Pan-Paris loop. All of that. I think you're entirely right about those bills-the way I know I'm right about Dr. Warrick."

"You don't have any power, young sera."

"I do," she said. "At least within Reseune. That's not small. Right now I'm here because I know people, and Justin doesn't; and because Justin's my friend and quite honestly, I don't think his father is any danger to me personally and neither does Reseune Administration. So it's psychology of a sort: I want people to know that I support Justin. He sees his father in danger of getting swept up in causes he knows his father wouldn't support; and that's where Reseune is going to insist on its sovereignty to protect its citizens, both him and his father. It can end up in court; and it can get messy. And that just helps the Paxers, doesn't it, that I don't think you like either. So is there a way out of this? You've got the experience in Council. You tell me." me."

"First off," Corain said, with a bitter taste in his mouth, "young Warrick has to back off the charges he's making."