"There's a tape," Ari had said to Denys, in his office, and told him which tape.
"How did you find out about it?" he had asked.
"My Base."
"Nothing to do with dinner at Changes last night."
"No," she said without a flicker, "we discussed cultural librations."
Denys hated humor when he was serious. He always had. "All right," he said, frowning. "I certainly won't withhold it."
So he sent Seely for it. And said: "Don't use kat when you see this, don't expose Florian and Catlin to it, for God's sake don't put it where anyone can find it."
She had thought of asking him what was in it. But things were tense enough. So she talked about other things—about her work, about the project, about Justin—without mentioning the disagreement.
She drank a cup and a half of coffee and exchanged pleasant gossip; and unpleasant: about the elections; about the situation in Novgorod; about Giraud's office—and Corain—until Seely brought the tape back.
So she walked home with it, with Catlin, because she was anxious all the time she had it in her carry-bag; she was anxious when she arrived home and contemplated putting it in the player.
Her insecurity with the situation wanted Florian and Catlin to be beside her when she played it—
But that, she thought, was irresponsible. Emotional situations were her department, not theirs, no matter that sera was anxious about it, no matter that sera wanted, like a baby, to have someone with her.
I wouldn't have advised this, Denys had said—distressed, she picked that up. But not entirely surprised. But I know you well enough to know there's no stopping you once you start asking a question. I won't comment on it. But if you have questions after you've seen it—you can send them to my Base if you find them too personal. And I'll respond the same way. If you want it.
Meaning Denys wasn't putting any color on the situation.
So she closed the door on the library and locked it; and put the tape into the player—not taking a pill. She was no fool, to deep-study any tape blind and unpreviewed, and without running a check for subliminals.
She sat down and clenched her hands as it started—fascinated first-off by the sight of a familiar place, familiar faces—Florian and Catlin when they would have been a hundred twenty at least; and Justin—the boy was clearly Justin, even at the disadvantage of angle—he would be seventeen; and Ari herself—elegant, self-assured: she had seen newsclips of Ari this old, but none when Ari was not simply answering questions.
She listened—caught the nervousness in Justin's voice, the finesse of control in Ari's. Strange to know that voice so well, and to feel inside what it was doing—and to understand what kat would do to that experience, for someone skilled at tape-learning: she felt a little prickle down her back, a sense of hazard and involvement—conditioned response, a dim, analytical part of her thoughts said: the habits of this room, the physiological response of the endocrine system to the habit of taking kat here, and the lifelong habit of responding to tape— Azi must do this, she thought. And: The emotional context is kicking it off. Thank God I didn't trank down for this.
As muscles felt the sympathetic stimulus of nerves that knew what it felt like to walk and sit, and speak, and a brain that understood in all that context that Ari was On, and that her pulse was up, and that the target of her intentions was a Justin very young, very vulnerable, picking up the signals Ari was sending and reacting with extreme nervousness—
Back off, she told herself, trying to distance herself from the aggression Ari was radiating. Disinvolve.
The switch was beside her. She only had to reach to it and push it to cut it off. But the sexual feeling was too strong, toward an object otherwise out of reach—toward a Justin not quite real, not the man she knew, but Justin all the same.
She saw the glass fall—realized then what Ari had done to him, and that he was in terrible danger. She was afraid for him; but the muscles she felt move in response to that falling glass were Ari's, the impulse she felt through the heat of sex was concern for the orange juice spill on the damned upholstery— Her couch—
Oh, God, she should shut this off. Now.
But she kept watching.