Dain
— unfolded into the vacuum of consciousness just as his forehead glanced off the table. His body
continued to unwind toward the floor. He fought through the drenching shock of the blow and
clutched at a chair, buying a pause in his descent. Using it, he snared the tabletop with nothing
but friction and leverage. He used both holds to pull himself toward upright — and faced a young,
red-headed girl, sprawled naked right in front of him. Other-disgust drove him fully upright.
He was naked too! With an erection like he'd never experienced, already falling off-center as it
lost its way. He flinched with self-disgust, then tried to parry it by mounting the center of
perception and grappling with zhuhndí.
Where? He shot looks about. His aircraft, its sides closed against a waning day that wormed in
through the pilot's chamber up front. At least a familiar venue.
When? He glanced at the watch set into his left thumbnail. A half-day! He'd lost nearly half of
the most critical day of his life so far. On what? Doing what?
The girl. Who? She provided no clue to her identity, stimulated no memories within him. He bent
to ask her, but she did not answer, did not respond except to stir a dread that crinkled his
bowels. He touched her throat, digging deeper and deeper after a pulse that never pushed back. He
snatched his futile hand away, allowed it to push him back from the chair. His heart surged in his
chest, blasting blood through him. Why such a reaction? I am no stranger to death. But he
couldn't remember any.
He noticed a slice of cake on the table beside her, knew he hadn't brought it aboard. That dread
now rose and curdled around his heart. Lost time meant an alter ego had taken over, but who? Not
that he ever could remember who he'd lost time to, but this time, there was no alter to steal from
him. He'd integrated them all ... hadn't he? Who killed this girl? slammed through him.
And how? he added. Perhaps a clue on his body, one of the ways he'd told before, but nothing new
showed, no damage, no markings. Except for being naked. I never go completely naked, even in the
shower.
He turned to the compartment, searching more closely for hints of what his body had done under
another's control. A cabinet door stood open where there never had been a door before. It filled
an obvious gap in the wall. Why haven't I noticed that before? Dread squeezed, fearing secrets
long-hidden even now.
The bottom of the cabinet showed only a hatch crossed with a long lever-handle so it could be
sealed. He peered more closely at a label on the handle. "Crema-tek," it read with an Em-Deh/cue
to contact the manufacturing combine. What sense does that make? Two sconces nearly full of clear
vials topped the hatch. Some vials hosted a milk-like fluid. Some stood half-filled with a
translucent, bile-yellow liquid. Others sat empty. He looked higher, at a series of shallow
shelves, no, sets of shelves, stacked on hinges, one behind another.
On the shelves hunched eggs of dull metal-gray, flat on the bottom, grooved at intervals shrinking
from bottom to top. The eggs seemed identical until he noticed smudges on the higher ones. He
took down the last of those. The smudge proved to be an engraved date, thirteen days before.
Where was I then? Here in Ganj Dareh. He remembered losing time that day too, time he was sure
JDB had stolen, based on how he'd awakened with cuts, bruises, and aching muscles. But JDB is
gone. I have assimilated him, used his skills as my own ... but where are his memories then? Out
of his own life, he knew Thy was dead — he remembered bragging on it this morning — and he
guessed JDB had done it, as he'd planned, but what about the assimilation he'd also planned? Most
of yesterday held no place in his memories. Where did it go? Back to JDB? Why did integration
fail? How much did it fail? What alters live again?
Absently, Dain twisted the egg. Its top spun open easily, drawing his attention. Inside, a double
handful of fine, off-white ash stirred with the motion, and the mystery — most of it — shook
itself clear. A peek at the body cooling near his right knee, a glance at the compact crematorium,
just the size for children, the racks of soporific and poison, a sweep of the rows and rows of
ash-filled eggs, a flood of memories, or rather gaps in his memory, not too often, but regular,
nothing specific about any one of those lost times, except he was invariably traveling, away from
Byukan-Hamil Direvnya. JDB all those times? But who is it now? JDB again? Did he come back just
to kill this innocent? Why did he kill all the others? Naming the alter eased his dread. If JDB
had broken free, Dain could integrate him again, this time permanently.
The egg's heaviness reassured him. It felt real, compelling, much more a part of this world than
its contents. The quivering ash, though, added poignancy, a link to the person who had ridden that
physical matrix, a child who no longer had to suffer.
That's what adult life was all about: suffering. The regular channels circling the egg drew his
fingertips. He traced them, finding comfort in the touch. They were contained, finite, always
coming back to the same place, never spiraling out of control into the long run of seconds that was
life as it sank more and more into misery, inevitably, as you got older. A reliable, reassuring
way to end up, this egg. And Dain understood JDB then, angel of death, champion of the weak,
preventer of sorrow, preserver of innocence.
Perhaps he needed to make a final sacrifice to our common lament, our common cause. Dain sought
that rugged, iron-bound doorway in his mind, the entrance to his dungeon of alter egos, but
couldn't resurrect it. He had banished them all, conquered each and every one. On his way over
here today, even little Jikki had integrated, almost incidentally, giving Dain back his childhood.
No, if JDB came out, then blended back, I'd remember many deaths, including this one. I'd greet
death as ... as ... Revulsion chilled him, crawled over him like a cloak of maggots. I wouldn't be
out here now. He'd still be in charge, finishing his ... ritual. So, who did this? Why am I
here? He watched the egg, how his fingers traced the grooves in it over and over. That bud-alter
that haunted me before? No, integration had cured that one as well ... He sniffed carefully about
the center of perception. Was there perhaps the echo of a hint of sandalwood? He couldn't be
sure. Can I conquer Ganj Dareh without JDB's skill and experience? He couldn't be sure of that,
either.
He had to solve this now. =Who are you?= he asked over the web of connection and got back no
answer. He settled in for a longer search. =Where — =
His doorbell rang.
"Who?" Aloud this time, his voice spiking and cracking.
The aircraft's automata answered with two images, a picture of outside plus a colorful list of
meetings. In one, Heejanus stood impatiently, her arms folded tight across her chest, her right
foot tapping, invading his space just like before. Behind her, a patrolcraft squatted like a sumo
wrestler preparing for a match. Alongside this image, the list showed that Heejanus had requested
a can-feel and that he — he! — had accepted. But I don't remember!
Panic jerked him about. The dead girl. The cabinet full of cremains. His naked body. The
shadowy cabin. His naked body. The dead girl. Faster and faster, ramming all logic from his
mind, tripping up action, aborting plan, do, and evaluate until only measure, measure, measure
whirled larger and larger inside him.
JDB
— hammered panic with calm, wiping it all, including Dain, away. He raised his face, cleared his
throat, and called, expecting automatic relay outside, "Doyle Phoebe, how prompt of you! You've
caught me with my pants down, literally. I will be with you in a few moments."
Outside, Heejanus ducked her face away, the very reaction he'd intended.
Inside, with one hand, JDB cranked open the crema-tek. With the other, he gathered up the girl's
wrists. Such a gyenge choice. You disappoint me, JDainB. But no reply came as he hoisted the
girl up, then folded her into the chamber. Regretting the lack of respect, he clamped the lever
tight, then reached for the cabinet door to enclose it all in mundane façade. His gaze fell on the
vials, and he quickly palmed one of each as he finished locking away his darkest secret.
With another dual reach, he opened the chiller and swept cake and plate, pot of icing, the wayward
fork, and the tunic into it. He fetched a napkin and efficiently vacuumed the mess. Then, he
scanned the compartment diligently till he found the casual-suit. As he assembled breechclout,
white shirt, bow-tie, trousers, and short jacket about himself, he bought some more time with,
"Just a couple minutes more, Doyle Phoebe. Sorry, but travel always seems to disagree with me."
He tucked the vials into a side pocket and turned to one last thing to clean up. Heejanus'
patrolcraft and its connection back to her combine worried him. He needed to know more, in case he
had to neutralize it, but he didn't know how. In the past, Dain would've called on Kär, but that
automaton had been divested because Dain no longer needed such an intermediary, having assumed
jDub's skills. However, if he, JDB, could assert himself, if Dain were fragmenting under the
pressure of reaching their final goal, perhaps other alters could come out and play as well. JDB
closed his eyes to probe the web of connection. =jDub?= he asked.
The name echoed, whipping him with dizziness. He rode it out and asked again. This time, a blank
graph, its axes empty of labels and data, acknowledged.
=Can you still work?=
A grid bloomed neatly on the graph, its matrix empty, but a cursor flashed hungrily in the top-left
corner.
=Good. Eavesdrop on the aircraft, 40 degrees off our azimuth.=
Graph and grid winked away. Instantly, their medulla modem whirred into action, its sawing growl
muted at first, but ratcheting up quickly, rebounding, richocheting, vibrating like all the hornets
in the world swarming in his head, roaring mad, an avalanche of meter-long stingers that targeted
him, drove at him from all directions —
Bedlip
— rubbed his hands in anticipation of meeting Phoebe, a focused, but rich tactile sensation, so
long missing from his life. What there is of it these days. He stretched his body, same size as
he remembered, but not as quick, not as fresh, obviously older than he'd known. Still, he rejoiced
in the physical luxury. He breathed deeply and drew in a desert-borne musk. He glanced around for
a source, but quickly gave up. Got a powerful woman to chat up, he thought with a grin, then, Just
one more thing.
He said, "Cabaña mode." He'd always wanted to flick on that token of the success that Dain had
culminated, but he, Bedlip, had actually started. The side of the fuselage lifted smoothly in
front of him, a sight that somehow completed something inside him. An acknowledgment of his
efforts, a reward even.
Smiling, he strode out into a beautifully calm and clear day just starting to die, the last day of
a corrupt era. Bedlip startled at this morbid image, but pressed on.
Phoebe stood there, her handsome face sculpted into a scowl, her slender body racked into
disapproval, yet her presence radiated caring and warmth and kiss-it-and-make-it-better and ... and
... In person, the woman just exceeded all his expectations. Overwhelmed, he was, but he had been
overwhelmed before. He could still schmooze with the best of them.
He cooed, "Doyle Phoebe, again apologies." He reached out to her, but she disdained to
reciprocate. Still, he caught her scent, just a touch of vanilla. So antipodal, a hint of kitchen
in a powerful business woman. He savored the fragrance, rising from her body, inspired by its
warmth. Will that be enough conquest, just to smell her essence faintly? No, maybe I can win a
smile, too.
"May I get you a drink?" he asked. She declined. He offered a chair. She refused. Finally, he
matched her furious stance by folding his own arms, only he expressed patience, and waited.
"How much power do you need, Jik Dain?"
Bedlip frowned his puzzlement, no pretense necessary, and waited some more.
"First, Har Norma puts you in charge of the whole continent, giving you a hammer of legitimate
power, but that's not enough for you. No, you have to dip into the underworld, raise up an anvil
built of hate and violence. Then you proceed to pound us between the two, my customers, my
combine, and me."
Are you jealous of my promotion? Jealous enough to blame me for your loss of control over your own
customer base? No, no, you're too bright, too capable for that petty emotion. I need to know —
"What's driven you to such elaborate — and erroneous — conclusions, Doyle Phoebe?" he
asked calmly.
She wavered then. Certain of her facts, less certain of her conclusions. Gives me leverage. Less
severe, she said, "I have discovered a chain of evidence that links you with the gangs my combine
arrested yesterday."
The center of perception rumbled beneath Bedlip. "G-g-gangs?" he stuttered. The world he
remembered didn't include gangs.
Phoebe snapped, "Five gangs, over a thousand gangsters. Don't tell me you don't know about that!"
Crevices suddenly yawned beneath Bedlip. A pall of sordidness spewed out of them. Le Coeur
business, he realized. Why did Dain start all that? Why couldn't he just be satisfied with wealth
and power? Laced with tourney schedules, flecked with violence organized into katas, soiled with
scuttling through the seams of society, the pall morphed into a foul-smelling net of thorns that
swirled up and around and dragged on him, down and back, back and down. No, wait, I can handle
this. I can —
The Wraithe
— fumbled after words like slippery eels, not just their meaning, but how to shape them, say them,
when to breathe — and avoid that stink — what shape of the lips, where the tongue went —
Dain
— hid his relief as he clutched the center of perception, felt it wrap around him, free of any web
of connection, free of all challenges to his domination. Unlike Bedlip, he could access all
memories — maybe not all, like JDB's, he acknowledged with a tremor — and struggled to view
Heejanus' challenges with disdain. An army surrounded her and her direvnya. Easier. She and her
combine could not stand against them. Easier. She and her Collective would fall beneath his
command. Now, a shrug tempted him, and the words "So what?" rose to his lips.
He crushed them. Heejanus still threatened his plans. As long as the Em-Deh permitted, she could
reach out across it, to Har Norma or the Yojin Suru or both, spoiling the surprise he counted on to
take Ganj Dareh away from them all. And he needed the Em-Deh stable for just a while longer, so
his agents could sow their toxic messages across the Collective. He needed Heejanus to back down
and go away, to stay internally focused, for that little while.
So. Dain said calmly, "Would you like to explain that to me?" He settled in to study her
kaleidoscope of facts so he could twirl it and produce a whole new, innocent pattern, one that
would satisfy and squelch her suspicions.
Her response was quick, as though rehearsed. "You travel to the Laetoli Valley?"
Truth shores up the best deceptions. He said, "Yes. My lodge has permission to use the Inn. The
hunting is excellent there."
Her pause gave him the chance to prove his dominance in this situation. He stepped back inside to
the chiller. He gathered a crystalline mug from the subzero section and a bottle of soda from the
chiller part. He offered them to her, and when she refused again, he poured and tasted, all very,
very calmly.
Impatient with his actions, she talked over them. "Every one of the gangsters we took into custody
was enrolled in the Tlaxtli League of Popovich."
"What an odd name," he said to the mug, then lowered it to peer at her. "Is that a sports league?
And what's it got to do with the Inn?" He tested his web of connection once more, found it loose,
leading to no alter, leading no alter to him. He was ready for any surprise Heejanus could throw
at him.
"The chief promoter for the League, a man named Ges Lugar Sailie, spent time in the Laetoli Valley
while you were there."
Dain applied more truth with a little lie mixed in. "I know Ges Lugar. He belongs to a different
society within the lodge. I'm Knights of Templar; he's Knights of Magellan. I don't know him
well, but I do remember seeing him there the last time."
"Twice," Heejanus said, her voice still a driving monotone, her eyes clear and open and
challenging. "In the last twenty-five days."
Very close to enjoying himself, Dain set down his soda so he could fling open his face and arms,
embracing another distracting truth. "It's the best season for gwira! The inn is very crowded
nearly every day!"
"Ges Lugar then moved on to Ganj Dareh where he set up five seminars that camouflaged the gangs he
used to attack us. He was here when you came to visit me. First, the Laetoli Valley, then
Ganj Dareh, at the same time."
Now she was becoming tedious, resisting his efforts to calm her accusations. After all, he didn't
have all that much time to spare. The impending sunset, for instance, nagged at him. Something
scheduled for then, so I'd better change my tactics. He said, "I'm impressed, Doyle Phoebe, very
impressed. Just where did these meaningless correlations come from?"
"Data abounds in the Mirnaya Direvnya. You just have to look for it."
"However." Dain switched to a stern tone, with just a hint of disappointment. "You and I both
know that modern society generates data like dust on a dirt road, most of it not much more than the
debris of prosperity. Narrow, incomplete traces of everyday transactions, movements, whims,
reactions. They require some sort of connection, some sort of theme, to transform them into
information, to correlate them with truth."
"Correlate this, then, Jik Dain!" Her voice betrayed her control, inspired her eyes to show the
anger as well. "You, Ges Lugar, and another person named Sous Thy Pouthisat worked together in an
athletic league. We can prove you all met together several times since the Futures Rendezvous
began. Many players from that league started making trouble in Ganj Dareh about the same time. We
are sorting through the Beobachtung now for evidence that will assure their convictions ... and
exile. And this Sous Thy has disappeared, gone, no more trade transactions since you and she last
visited the Laetoli Valley together."
"I can prove Lugar ran gangs that killed and destroyed, gangs that consisted completely of
players from that league of yours. Therefore, he's guilty of killing and destroying. I can also
prove that you and Lugar — and this mysterious Thy — colluded about something, probably those
gangs. I don't know what the three of you were after. I do know that you're the only one of the
three still alive, so even if I can't put you together with the gangs, I can construe that
you are also guilty of killing and destroying. As soon as I lay that suspicion into Byukan-Hamil's
policyware, it will suspend your responsibilities and authority. Then, I'll talk to Har Norma, and
she'll make it permanent — all within a matter of seconds.
"In summary, Jik Dain — without benefit of llevar and all the pretty graphs you Partners like so
much — I'm going to get you fired today! See how you like losing everything
you've been working for."
=Kill her!= The command shot through Dain's mind, shaking his control of the center of perception.
In fact, he remembered with a queer feeling in his stomach, he'd promised himself that precipitous
— and precipitating — action. Not a good idea, he protested raggedly. JDB, is that you? How
can you be? We cannot come to that yet. Tomorrow, yes, but not until after complete victory.
=Win her over,= another voice — Bedlip? — suggested.
"Jik Dain, do you hear me?" Heejanus snapped.
Yes, win her over ... how?
=Figure out what she wants for herself.=
"Jik Dain, I demand your resignation right now!"
Dain tried to focus on those words. Their meaning somehow escaped him. He tried to focus on the
person who said them. Her name escaped him too. Give her what she wants, give her —
jDub
— smoothed the common cerebral reality, that broad, two-dimensional screen on the backside of the
eyelids. However, smudges of yellow inflicted by the bright world lying on the other side just
would not unmar the faded black. So, over its uneven center, he instantiated a blank panel,
flicked its boundaries into a receptive rectangle, and spread its pristine face with his favorite
Gray #2, just right for filling with data. He labeled the panel "Doyle Phoebe Heejanus," then
reached into the darker gray of the cyberspace that contained him and sustained him and breathed
within him.
His first pass pummeled him with data. So much she could be angry about in these times.
Seeking a foundation to redirect his search, he flopped an image of Heejanus on the panel, a
monochrome picture of her as she stood in front of this body he now conducted, her
ask-for-the-order silence withering around the edges with confusion. jDub inspected the image,
applying corporate patterns of appearance against it. She was kempt, but only within the bounds of
propriety. She wore the simplest of uniforms, with no ornament, even that required by policy. He
consulted prior images: at those times, she had invested more in her own appearance,
jDub correlated this information with existing knowledge, just a few thousand psychology texts.
Conclusion: Heejanus was desperate, fighting for everything she held dear.
Needing data once more, jDub stretched for her biography, her performance reviews, her personnel
data, everything Byukan-Hamil's coag stored about her. They reflected her as competent, paid
according to longevity, no awards, no praises, but no disasters either. He opened his queries to
evidence of a life beyond her job — and found nothing besides subsistence, a home and not much
else. With that hint, he returned to her image and applied social patterns to it. No rings, no
tattoos, no sign of joining her life with another's.
Conclusion: Heejanus lived to work. Was that need threatened?
jDub sought the terms of her employment: no long-term contract, serving at the whims of her boss,
the mercurial Dain. He noted the on-going competition for her combine's contract and current
projections that they would fail that challenge.
Conclusion: Heejanus would soon lose everything she valued.
jDub sought more correlations, but could not formulate any more meaningful queries. All pertinent
data had been laid upon the panel and formulated as information. All knowledge gleaned from that
information had been highlighted. Further action required wisdom, and jDub didn't do wisdom. He
withdrew from the center of perception, leaving it empty.
JDainB
— pounced. He sent a rude =Stand aside, mute.= after the fading jDub, then consolidated his
control. He stubbed out the web of connection, so no other could spy, much less assault. He
stretched his mind to fill cerebral reality, so much bigger when the sensory cortexes fed his
perception. He sniffed about for leaks in his control and found none.
Sure of himself once more, JDainB pondered what jDub had laid out on the panel, and leered, on the
inside only. Need a little rescuing, my pretty? Indeed you do, and I have a little unfinished
business myself. He would need all the wiles he could muster, but he felt himself rising to the
occasion, and not just on the inside.
"I'm sorry," he said solemnly. "I had to be certain you meant what you said."
"I certainly do."
"Excellent!" JDainB blazed forth with Dain's best smile, making sure it wasn't crooked.
"Congratulations!"
Heejanus recoiled with surprise,
A perfect thrust, straight into the center of her hopes. How easy to fool when she fools herself.
He would need some privacy here, so JDainB swung casually around and grabbed his drink, murmuring,
"Screendoor." He sucked at his mug as he gazed fondly at Heejanus over it. Behind her, a soft
screen dropped down from the edges of the wall-turned-porchroof and blocked all sight of the
interior, while barely dimming the double-suns' light as it flooded in from their perch above the
horizon.
He allowed a half-smile and followed his first lie with a gang of consistent others. "Norma and I
had a small bet on whether you'd pass the test. I'm glad to say I won. You are indeed our best
chief of anshin. None better on the entire continent, well deserving of the promotion we have in
mind." He stepped back into the cabin, tossing his head in a comradely come-with gesture. "Sit
down. We've quite a lot to talk about now." He reached casually for the chiller's door, but found
within the mess JDB had made. With a casual shift, he masked all that with his body, naked once
more under all of Dain's clothes, and slid a platter of small crumb cakes onto the table. Then, he
dropped into a chair.
"And it isn't just your intellect," he continued, "nor just your energy, your, uh, tenacity." He
twisted in his seat and brought down plates and forks. "It's the way you care, the way you take on
the responsibility, not just for your combine — and their appraisals of you are always maximum —
but for the whole direvnya. The people of Ganj Dareh are very important to you, are they not?"
The set of her shoulders eased. The bunched muscles on her jawline relaxed. The grit in her eye
died just a little. "Yes, they are," she said and took the chair opposite him.
JDainB chose carefully from the near side of the platter — just one of the cakes, marked by a
dollop of whipped cream, did not carry the toxin, according to JDB's memories he'd hijacked from
Dain. He contrived to dribble crumbs over the table as he delivered the cake to his plate. With
feigned unconsciousness, he licked powdered sugar, so soft and sweet, from his fingers, leaving
them cool and slick, then lifted a fork over the pastry.
"Which means," he said with raised eyebrows. "That the recent past has been very trying for
you—"
"If you think—"
He held up both hands. "Not a bit! Your exemplary performance in the face of all that adversity,
well, I cannot praise it too highly." If only I'd known toying with these adults was so much fun!
"Just what are you talking about, Jik Dain?"
He cut a piece of cake, opened his mouth to receive it, carried it slowly into place. How his
mouth awoke around the textures! How his underbrain cooed as tastes, sweet and tart, slushed
about! He chewed even more slowly. Explosions of flavors, single and mixed, apple, apple and
spice, the crisp, floury crumbs. He let his eyes drift closed. The mashed cake filled his mouth,
stroked his tongue, caressed his palate. He swallowed in dribbles, stretching the moment, and when
it was gone, he remembered Heejanus. Replete with pleasure, sure he hadn't spoiled the ruse, he
flashed his eyes open.
She stared back with uncertainty, then said, "Of course, I am flattered by what you're saying,
but—".
Don't care, not now, not ever. Time for him to talk so that she had nothing to do with her mouth
and hands. He broke in, "There's a conspiracy at the highest levels of our consortium, Phoebe ...
if I may call you 'Phoebe.'"
Still uncertain, she nodded.
"Only recently have I become aware of this conspiracy, and I alerted Norma as soon as I suspected
it. We've been acting together since then." He cut another bite of cake and raised it. It
buffeted him with aromas, delightful on their own, but also promising —
He slapped down the seduction; he had greater pleasures in sight. Her lips, for instance. He
envisioned them spread wide and accepting. Over an electric surge of desire, he continued, "Those
trips of mine that you mentioned? My investigation took me to the Inn both times, so it wasn't
coincidence at all that I was there at the same time as Lugar. I was looking into his role in the
conspiracy. As you've confirmed, he was hip-deep in it. You say he actually controlled the gangs
out of the Rendezvous of Futures?"
She nodded again, and her eyes drifted over to the platter. Drawn by the aromas, probably.
JDainB kept lecturing. "Norma discovered that some of the Partners were involved. That's why she
re-organized the Team." Picked up some stuff from Dain while I was at it. Perhaps I'll head back
into Byukan-Hamil when I'm done here. Such arch intrigue would be fun. "However, that action
barely seems to have slowed them down."
Heejanus slid her plate over and transferred the pastry nearest her onto it. She brought it back
in front of her and lifted doubtful eyes.
He promptly took the bite off his fork and savored it ... but not too much. As soon as he could,
he started talking again. "We're not sure what their ultimate goal is, but we're fairly sure
Ganj Dareh is just the beginning. They were very clever to take advantage of the Rendezvous to
stir up major civil disruption, but we don't know if that was already on their agenda or whether it
was an impromptu cover."
Heejanus cut off a bite of her own, lips enveloping the fork, wrapping completely around it.
Riding another blaze as it swelled in- and outside of him, JDainB kept rambling. "We're concerned
that Pla Cliff is involved—" Her brow flinched at the name. Why? He continued, "— somehow.
Surely, he had to have at least looked the other way—" flinch "— as Lugar set up his gangs ...
or maybe not. What do you think?"
Heejanus shook her head as she chewed and swallowed. "Not a bit."
JDainB sighed and scrambled away from that faulty vector. "That's a relief." Heejanus reflected
his faux emotion and glanced down at her fork, oh, lucky fork. "I can't tell you how glad I am
that such a valued and experienced member—" she took a bite "— of our corporate staff is
innocent." She pouted appreciation and cut off another forkfull. "I'll report that to Norma just
as soon as I can." She ate again from the fork. "We are fairly sure that some in the senior staff
are involved, just as we think the conspiracy includes some of the other anshin chiefs as
well. Perhaps you can help us there."
As she took the last bite of cake, he popped open the chiller and slipped a poisoned soda, its cap
snared in his hand, in front of her. She drank almost automatically, long and deep. He moved
another cake onto her plate while watching her. When her eyes closed at maximum tilt, they stayed
that way even as she lowered the bottle. Her eyelids fluttered open so she could judge the
touch-down, then a moment later, she looked up blearily; he used his fingers to finish his own
serving. So wonderful — No, later, after ... her.
Through the last swallow, he said, "'May you live in interesting times,' the ancient Zhongguo ren
said. You and I both know — now — why that was a curse and not a blessing. These past days—"
She took up her fork again. Good. "I certainly haven't been home much myself, criss-crossing the
continent ..." No, back to her, he reminded himself. "About your new job: we're looking for a
continent-wide chief of anshin to clean up that part of the conspiracy. By passing our test today,
you made yourself the prime candidate—"
He caught her forehead as it plummeted forward. He didn't know why: it seemed the least he could
do. He laid her head down, nose away from the powdered sugar, then stroked her red hair back off
her face. Such exquisite cheeks, he thought as he admired his work.
She wasn't dead yet. She breathed steadily, her stomach digested, her bowels peristalted, her
brain rested. True, there was a slow and steady decline in these processes that would lead to
death.
Should I wait till then? JDainB gathered another slip of hair, twined it in his fingers. Or get
started now? He smoothed the lock back, but met something small and hard anchored there, just
behind and above her ear. Alarm whinnied within him as he hunched over to probe further.
He found an arc of tek, colored to match her hair, clinging there. He couldn't imagine what it
did, but he didn't like it, didn't like it at all. He snatched it off and flung it away. Then he
examined his upraised hand, glanced at Heejanus' unprotected face. You impudent and unfeminine
cow! He folded the hand carefully into a fist, his pulse racing with anticipation. You traitorous
and willful whore! He brought the fist hammering back down —
