"The first bill on the agenda is number 2405, for the Bureau of Science. Ariane Emory sole sponsor, regarding the regular appropriations for the Bureau of Science, under the provisions of Union Statute 2595, section 2. . . ."
Emory looked Corain's way. Well? that half-lidded stare said. Will you defy me, over something so routine?
Corain smiled. And let the bitch worry.
The gavel hammered down, again early: "We are in recess," Bogdanovitch said. The murmuring in the Council chamber was subdued.
Ariane Emory drew a whole breath, finally. The first stage was passed. Rubin had his status, barring a veto from the Council of Worlds, and there would be none. Corain might orchestrate a double-cross, but he would save it for something important. Something Corain considered important. The Hope Station project could serve as a decoy until then. DeFranco might want to abstain. But she would not, when the heat came on.
Aides surged doorward, accompanying their Councillors. The press was, thank God, held downstairs, away from the chamber as long as there was no adjournment. A two-hour lunch and consideration of the dispensation of the rest of the Science permissions afterward, a tedious long list of permissions which, in the way of a good many things in a government which had started small and cozy and grown into an administrative monster within a single lifespan, the executive Nine were supposed to clear, but which in fact had devolved to the Secretarial level and which had become routine approval.
Still, she would not breathe easy until that clearance was given—until the obfuscated facts of permission to use a geneset from a living Special went through in the list of Reseune projects that required routine permissions.
There had been, each year, an attempt to cancel the whole Science permissions grant from the floor of General Council. Every year the Abolitionists or some other lunatic group got up a proposal to outlaw azi and to outlaw human experimentation. Every year the Council of Worlds sensibly voted it down. But there was that lunatic element, which the Centrists could in some attempt to exert leverage against the Hope project—use against the Science bill. If the fringes and the Centrists did combine on an issue in that body, it came dangerously close to a plurality against the Expansionist party.
She was worried. She had worried ever since her informers told her that the Centrists were talking walk-out. Corain's sudden willingness to deal bothered her.
And if it would not have raised the issue of an unseemly haste, she would gladly have urged the chair to put the Science bill up before noon. As it was, obstacles were falling too fast, things were going too well, everything was sliding on oil. What had looked to be a lengthy session would end in a record three days, sending the Nine back to their civilian lives for at least another six months.
It had been intended as a means to speed up government, that the Nine would meet and pass all measures that impacted their various spheres of interest, then leave the staff of the Bureaus and the elected representatives of the Council of Worlds and the various senates and councils to handle the routine and the ordinary administrative detail.
In fact, the Nine, being top professionals, were very efficient. They met briefly, did their job, and went away again to be what they were—but some of them exerted an enormous control over the Bureaus they oversaw, wielding Power that the framers of the constitution had not entirely foreseen, no more than they had foreseen Reseune's work in the war, or the fact that population would become what it was, or the defection of Pell from both Sol and Union, and the developments that had entrained. The Bureau of State had been conceived as carefully controlled by professionals in diplomatic service; but distances pushed it into greater and greater dependency on the Defense Bureau's accurate reporting of situations it was not there to see.
The Bureau of Science, considering the discovery of alien life at more than Pell's Star, had to take on diplomatic functions and train potential contact specialists.
The Bureau of Citizens had become a disproportionately large electorate, and it had elected an able and dangerous man, a man who had still the sense to know when he was trapped.
Possibly Corain did not know that deFranco was solidly hers. That would explain his willingness to risk his political life on a walk-out. Surely he did not think he had any hope of swinging the Pan-paris trade loop, which Lao dominated. He could do nothing but cost the government money, with which other interests would not be patient. It was certainly not likely that he would create any objection on the Science bill.
Surely.
"Dr. Emory." Despite her aides and her bodyguards a touch reached her arm, and Catlin was there too, instantly, her body tense and her expression baffled, because the one who had touched her was no one's aide, it was Adm. Gorodin himself who had just brushed by Catlin's defense. "A word with you."
"I'm on a tight schedule." She had no desire to talk to this man, who, already with an enormous share of the budget at his disposal, with sybaritic waste in his own department, argued with her about the diversion of ten ships to the Hope project; and sided with Corain. She had other contacts inside Defense, and used them: a good section of Intelligence and most of Special Services was on her side, and a new election inside the military might unseat both Gorodin and Lu: let Corain consider that if he wanted a fight.
"I'll walk with you," Gorodin said, refusing to be shaken, his aides mingling with hers.
"One moment," Catlin said, "ser." Florian had moved in. They were not armed. The military were. But it did not prevent them: they were azi, and they answered to her, not to logic.
"It's all right," Ariane said, lifting a hand in a signal that confirmed what she said.
"An inside source tells me," Gorodin began, "you've got the votes on the Hope project."
Damn. Her heart raced. But aloud, with a stolid calm: "Well, then, your source might be right. But I don't take it for granted."
"Corain's upset. He's going to lose face with this."
What in hell is he up to?
"You know we can stall this off," Gorodin said.
"Likely you can. It won't win you anything. If you're right."
"We have a source on deFranco's staff, Dr. Emory. We are right. We also have a source inside Andrus Company; and inside Hayes Industries. Damn good stock buy. Are they finally going to get that deep-space construction?"
My God.
Gorodin lifted a brow. "You know, Hayes has defense contracts."
"I don't know what you're getting to, but I don't like to talk finance anywhere near the word vote. And if you've got a recorder about your person, I take strong exception to it."
"As I would to yours, sera. But we're not talking finance. As it happens, I set my people to talking to people in Hayes when we heard that. And we know very well that the Reseune extension is connected to the Rubin bill, and when my staff spent last night investigating the Reseune Charter, a very helpful young aide came up with a sleeper in the articles that gives Reseune the unique right to declare any subsidiary facilities part of its Administrative Territory. That means what you're going to build at Fargone won't be under Fargone control. It's going to be under yours. An independent part of Union. And Rubin has something to do with it."
This is more than he could come up with on his own. Damn, but it is. Someone's spilled something and he keeps naming Hayes and Andrus. That's who I'm supposed to blame.
"This is all very elaborate," she muttered. They had reached the intersection of the balcony and the hall to the Council offices, where she wanted to go. She stopped and faced the admiral. "Go on."
"We find this of military interest. A Reseune facility at Fargone poses security risks."
For a moment everything stopped. It was not from the direction she had expected. It was not sane. It was, if one was worried about merchanter contacts.
"We're not talking about labs, admiral." "What are we talking about?"
"Rubin's going to be working there. Mostly it'll be his lab." You have enormous faith in this young man." Trap. My God, where is it? "He's a very valuable young man." I'd like to discuss the security aspects of this. Before the vote this afternoon. Can we talk?"
"Dammit, I've got a luncheon appointment."
"Dr. Emory, I honestly don't want to send this to committee. I'm trying to be cooperative. But I feel this is going through much too fast. I have other concerns that I don't think you want me to mention here."
Someone's talked. He's gotten to someone.
But aloud, to Florian: "Tell Yanni I'm caught in a crisis. Tell him to sit in for me. I'll get there when I can." She looked at the admiral, calmer, reckoning that it sounded like bargaining, not a torpedo from the flank. "Your place or mine?"
"Thank you," Ariane said, taking the coffee from Florian, who knew how she liked it. It was her office, her conference room, and her bodyguards present, the military aides staying outside, the admiral's own offer.
Conciliation, perhaps.
The admiral took his coffee black. Most did, who got a taste of it on special occasions. It was rare and real, imported all the way from Sol, Earth's southern hemisphere. It was one of Ariane's cultivated vices. And she took hers white. Real milk. A second extravagance.
"AG is still working on this," she said. "Someday." Cyteen had been a silicate-polluted hell when they started agriculture in the low-lying valleys, where domes and the precipitators could create mini-climate.
Another small flash: so much brown, so much blue-green on the hills. The lines spun above the valley like a webfly's work. The big mirrors caught light from space and flung power down from the hills. And the weathermakers in orbit raked the land with storms, terrible storms— We're safe, Ari, maman would say. It's only noise. It's weather, that's all—
Leonid Gorodin sipped his coffee with a tranquil look. And smiled. And said: "The rumor inside the Bureau is that this Rubin project is yours. Personally. There's nothing you do that doesn't change the balance between us and Alliance, us and Sol. I've talked to Lu. We have a lot of anxiety about this."
"We manage our own security. We've always managed it."
"Tell me this, Dr. Emory. Is the project you're undertaking . . . going to have any strategic significance?"
Trap. "Admiral, I suspect the development of a new toilet seat has strategic significance with some of your advisers."
Gorodin chuckled politely, and waited.
"That's fine," she said calmly. "We'll appreciate a vote of support from your Bureau. You want us to move the facility, we'll move it, even to Cyteen Station. We're very accommodating. We just don't want to lose Rubin."
"That important?"
"That important."
"I'll make a proposition to you, Dr. Emory. You've got an agenda. You want it passed. You want these things to go through, you want them to go through with a clean bill from Finance, you certainly don't want any long delays. You want to get back to Reseune. I want to get back to my command. I've got business out there, and between you and me, I'm allergic as hell to something around here and I hate the socializing."
"I'm also anxious to get home," she said. It was a dance. It would get where it was going in Gorodin's own time.
"You level with me," Gorodin said, "about the Fargone project."
"Say it's genetics. It's experimental."
"Are you going to have advanced labs out there?"
"No. Medical wing. Analysis. Administrative work. None of the classified equipment."
"Meaning you're following-up, not creating."
"In practical terms, yes. No birth-lab."
Gorodin looked at the empty cup, and at the two azi, and held his out.
"Florian," Ariane said, and the azi, with a quiet nod, took the pot from the sideboard and filled it. Gorodin followed Florian's moves with his eyes, thoughts proceeding.
"You can rely on their discretion," Ariane said. "It's quite all right. They're not sensitive to discussion. Reseune's best work. Aren't you, Florian?"
"Yes, sera," Florian said, preparing her second cup. He offered it.
"Beauty and brains," Ariane said, and smiled with the mouth, not the eyes. "Alliance won't develop birth-labs. They have no worlds to fill."
"Yet. We have to think about that. —Who's going to manage that facility at Fargone?"
"Yanni Schwartz."
Gorodin frowned, and sipped slowly at the incongruously tiny cup.
Ah, Ariane thought. Now, now, we get closer to it.
"I'll tell you, Dr. Emory. A lot of my people rely on the psych hospital at Viking. For reasons which are only politics—I'd like to have a facility a lot closer to that Hope Station route you're promoting. I'd like to have a place to send some of my worse cases—where Cyteen won't take them through the station facility."
"Any particular reason for that?"
"We're talking about special operations. People whose IDs change. People whose faces—you understand—I don't want seen. These are people who live anxious lives. They feel exposed at the big stations. They'd feel a hell of a lot better if there were a way to get to a Reseune facility—not on Cyteen."
Ariane frowned, not bothering to hide her perplexity. It sounded halfway sane.
"What I want," Gorodin said, "is access. A facility where my people feel—safe. Where I know they are. I want to throw some of the covert budget in there. Some of my staff."
"No military."
"We're talking about unanimous support for that facility. I can deliver that."
"No military. Reseune staff. And it better be a damn large contribution. You'll force a redesign. I'm not having my project compromised by your people strolling through Reseune boundaries. There'll be a total separation between any military hospital and our offices."
"We can go with that. But we want a liaison between our side and yours that we have confidence in. Someone we've worked with."
The thought hit like ice water. It was hard not to react, to keep the fingers relaxed on the fragile handle of the cup. "Who did you have in mind?"
"Dr. Warrick. He designed the training tapes. We want him, Dr. Emory."
"Does he want you?" Calmly. Very calmly.
"We can ask him."
"I think I know your source, admiral. I'm damned sure I know your source. What else did he tell you?"
"I think you're jumping to conclusions."
"No, I'm not. I was afraid of something like this. You want him, do you? You want a man in charge of your highest security operations, who quite readily betrayed my interests."
"I've told you my sources."
"Of course you have. You're quite willing to have some Hayes employee's head on the block, some poor sod of an engineer, no doubt, that they'll find a way to blame if I come down on them. You want Jordan Warrick. Did he tell you why?"
"He didn't tell me anything."
"Admiral, you're a damn good poker player, but remember how I make my living. Remember how he makes his. What's he done? Offered to go public with his opinions? Is that how you'll guarantee me Corain?"
"Dr. Emory, you know I can deliver what I promise."
"Of course you can. And Jordan Warrick promises you my head on a platter. He promises you he can swing votes in Science. I'll tell you what I'll do. You can have him. I'll transfer him and his whole damned staff. If you want to put him over a top-secret facility, go right ahead. If he wants to make speeches and write papers against my policies, fine." She set the cup down. "Do we have a deal, admiral? We can get out of this damned city days early, if that's the case. You support me in a request to let us leave sealed ballots on the Hope bill, and if you can guarantee they'll be unanimous, none of us will have to show up here to call a question. Deal?"
"I think we can go with that."
She smiled. "Excellent. If you want Warrick's wing at Fargone, that'll have to be written up. I'll trust your staff for that. Mine's busy. But it'll wait on the establishment of a secure facility. And I do trust you know how to lay your hands on Warrick to get his signature on the request."
Gorodin swallowed his coffee in some haste and set his cup down. "Thank you, Dr. Emory. I'm sure this will work to everyone's good." He rose and offered his hand.
Ariane rose and reciprocated a strong handshake. And smiled at him all the way to the door.
The azi Catlin closed it then, her face as blank as any soldier at attention.
Florian picked up the cups, trying not to look at her either.
They knew when to be afraid.