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Aratha's war, Aiah thinks, was probably very bad, all madness and terror and
reflex. Practically all a military mage did involved the deliberate murder of
the enemy, or alternatively, frantic attempts to keep her own people or
herself from being killed. But Aratha had survived it, and survival had given
her a kind of serene, uncomplicated confidence she felt she^ould view
anything, deal with anything, engage with any kind of enemy, and on short
notice.
Aiah's war, probably less perilous, had left her feeling isolated, with only
the Adrenaline Monster for company. But then Aratha had all the other
officers to support her, the entire military culture. Aiah had little support
in her life, only crushing responsibilities that did not permit her any
weakness.
"Thank you," Aiah says simply.
"It will do us good," Aratha judges, "to get away from routine for a while.
NECESSITY IS THE WATCHWORD OF THE GODS.
A THOUGHT-MESSAGE FROM HIS PERFECTION, THE PROPHET OF AJAS"Refiq?" Alfeg says.
"This is Dulat. I wanted to remind you about the party. Third shift today,
21:00.
He holds the heavy plastic headset to his ears as he listens, looks up at
Aiah, mouths the words, "He's drunk.
"Everything's laid on," Alfeg says, when he gets a chance to speak. "The best
liquor, the best pills, entertainment, and more girls than you can imagine.
Do you have the address?
Alfeg waits again, presumably for Refiq to find something to write with, then
says, "100 Cold Canal. It's a really strange building, all carved stone, off
the Seahorse Waterway. Do you need directions, or will you just take a water
taxi?
Sweat is gleaming on his forehead by the time Alfeg finishes the call. "He
believed me, I think." He looks up at Aiah. "He it doesn't have Refiq's
memories, right? He doesn't know that Dulat is just someone we made up?
"Refiq's gone," Aiah assures him. "There's only that thing in there.
Alfeg wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "I was terrified," he
says, "just knowing what was on the other end of the line.
"If he was drunk," Khorsa says, "do you think he'll remember about the party?
"We'll have someone call later and remind him," Aiah says. "Melko.
She looks up at Melko, one of the two mages that Aratha has brought with her
from Lanbola. He is tall, gangly, and wears black plastic-rimmed glasses tied
around his ears with loops of elastic. He looks far too young to be the
captain his collar tabs proclaim him to be.
Aratha's other mage looks too young to be anywhere but in school. A silent,
spotty girl, painfully thin, Kari sits atop a file cabinet with her legs drawn
up and plays nervously with the dangling geomantic charms on her bracelet.
Combat mages tend to be young, Aiah has discovered. The young have a sense of
invulnerability that is useful in that line of work.
"In the meantime," Aiah says, "Khorsa needs to continue our surveillance to
make sure Refiq doesn't get away. I have reserved the small Operations Room
for all third shift today and first shift tomorrow. And
There's a knock on the door. Aiah goes to the door, unlocks it, cracks it
open, and sees her receptionist, Anstine.
"The president's on the phone for you," he says. "I told him I'd see if
you're available.
"I suppose I must be," Aiah decides.
She walks to her office, where she picks up the delicate headset and places it
over her ears.
"Yes?" she says.
Constantine's deep voice rumbles in her ears. "Did you get the flowers?
Aiah is suddenly weary. She folds into her chair. "You know I did.
"And did you read the note?
"No. I haven't had the time.
There is a moment's awkward silence, then, "What's so urgent? I thought you
were taking these days off?
"An investigation coming to a head. I won't bore you with detail." She's too
weary to make them up anyway.
"The note," Constantine says, "contained, I thought, a very well-phrased
apology, eloquent yet humble, a model of its kind.
"I'll read it," Aiah says, "when I have the time to appreciate such a piece of
art.
"I hope you will take its sentiments to heart.
"I hope," Aiah says, "that I may be able to.
There is another moment's pause, and then Constantine says, "Sorya is going to
Charna. Tomorrow. I am dining with her late third shift to say good-bye.
These things must be done properly farewells gracefully said, closures
correctly made.
Aiah pictures the ransacking of files that must be going on in Sorya's
department now, information plundered to be carried off to Charna, or
destroyed to keep from the hands of her successor. And then, she thinks, the
gracious dinner in Constantine's apartment while minions stuff secret after
secret into Sorya's trunks.
"Tomorrow, and after," Constantine says, "I am available to you. I hope to
see you as soon as you can find the time.
Tomorrow, Aiah thinks, if this all goes wrong, she may be dead or hiding from
Taikoen. If she is hiding, Constantine will have to decide between Aiah and
Taikoen, could not keep them both, might decide that he loved her and turn
against his monster.
For a wild, irrational minute she hopes that the attempt will fail, that this
affirmation will come to pass.
The moment fades. She knows what Constantine is, what truly moves his heart.
... It is not tender affections that are important to him, but his dreams,
realizing in stone and steel the glorious phantasm city that, all his life, he
has constructed in his mind.
"I hope I will see you as well," she says. If she is still alive.
"Remember," Constantine says, voice kind and confident now, certain that he
has won her, "remember that in less than four months' time we have an
appointment beyond the Shield. We will change the world together.
"I hope so," Aiah says.
"I know we will." Smoothly. Anger flares darkly in Aiah, anger at the cream
in Constantine's voice, at his confidence, his assumptions that she will
remain his instrument forever.
She will show him otherwise, she thinks. He has made her a power, but she
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