Part 55 (1/2)

”d.a.m.n little plane; they had a h.e.l.l of a storm over the Tethys and we just dodged thunderheads and bounced.”

”Hungry?”

”G.o.d, no. Just sleep.”

Grant let him, just cut the lights, and let him lie.

Which he dimly remembered in the morning, hearing noise in the kitchen. He found himself in his clothes, unshaven.

And the clock saying 0820.

”G.o.d,” he muttered, and threw the cover over and staggered for the bath and the kitchen, in that order.

Grant, in white s.h.i.+rt and plain beige pants, looked informally elegant, was having morning coffee at the kitchen table.

Justin raked a hand through his hair and fumbled a cup out of the cabinet without dropping it.

Grant poured him half his cup.

”I can make some,” he protested.

”Of course you can,” Grant said, humoring the incompetent, and pulled his chair back. ”Sit down. I don't suppose you're going in today. -How's Jordan?”

”Fine,” he mumbled, ”fine. He really is.” And sat down and leaned his elbows on the table to be sure where the cup was when he took a drink, because his eyes were refusing to work. ”He's looking great. So is Paul. We had a great work-session-usual thing, too much talk, too little sleep. It was great.”

He was not lying. Grant's eyes flickered and took on a moment's honest and earnest relief. Grant had already heard the word last night, at the airport, but he seemed to believe it finally, the way they always had to doubt each other, doubt every word, without the little signals that said things were what they seemed.

And then Grant looked at the time and winced. ”d.a.m.n. One of us had better make it in. Yanni's hunting hides this week.”

”I'll get there,” Justin said.

”You're worthless. Stay here. Rest.”

Justin shook his head. ”I've got a report to turn in.” He swallowed down the last of the coffee at a gulp. ”G.o.d. You go on first. I'll get the papers hunted down. I'll get there. Message Yanni I'm coming, I just have to get the faxes together, they messed everything up in Decon.”

”I'm going.” Grant dumped the last of his coffee into Justin's cup. ”You need it worse. It seems to be a vital nutrient for CITs.”

d.a.m.n. He had crashed incommunicado last night when Grant had been waiting days for news, and now he stole Grant's coffee at breakfast.

”I'll make it up to you,” he called to Grant in the next room. ”Get a rez at Changes Changes for lunch.” for lunch.”

Grant put his head back in. ”Was it that good?”

”Sociology ran the TR design all the way past ten generations and it's still clean. Jordan called it clean as anything they're running.”

Grant pounded the doorframe and grinned. ”b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You could have said!”

Justin raised an eyebrow. ”I may be a son of a b.i.t.c.h, friend, but the very one thing I can't possibly be is a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. And now even Giraud will have to own up to it.”

Grant hurled himself out into the living room again, crying: ”Late, dammit! This isn't fair!”

In a moment the front door opened and shut.

There flatly was no time to go over things in the morning, even working back to back in the same office. Grant ticked away at the keyboard with occasional mutters to the Scriber-input, a constant background sound, while Justin ran the fax-scanner on his notes and Jordan's and the transcription of the whole week's sessions, punched keys where it was faster and sifted and edited and wrestled nearly fourteen hundred hours of constant transcription into five main topics with the computer's keyword scanning. Which still might miss or misfile things, so there was no question of dumping it: he created a sixth topic for Una.s.signed and kept the machine on autoTab, which meant it filed the original locations of the information.

He had four preliminary work-ups and one report nearing turn-in polish before Grant startled him out of a profound concentration and told him they had ten minutes to get to the restaurant.

He ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, saved down and stretched and flexed shoulders that had been rigid for longer than he had thought.

”Nearly done on the Rubin stuff,” he said.

But that was not what he and Grant talked about all the way downstairs and across to North Wing, through the door at Changes Changes and as far as their table-small respite for ordering drinks, more report, another break for ordering lunch, and into it again. and as far as their table-small respite for ordering drinks, more report, another break for ordering lunch, and into it again.

”The next thing,” he said, ”is getting Yanni to agree to test.”

Grant said: ”I'd take it.”

”The h.e.l.l you will.”

Grant lifted a brow. ”I wouldn't have any worry about it. I d actually be a d.a.m.ned good good subject, since it couldn't put anything over on me I couldn't identify-I understand the principles of it a h.e.l.l of a lot better than the Test Division is going to-” subject, since it couldn't put anything over on me I couldn't identify-I understand the principles of it a h.e.l.l of a lot better than the Test Division is going to-”

”And you're biased as h.e.l.l.”

Grant sighed. ”I'm curious what it feels like. You don't understand, CIT. It's quite, quite attractive.”

”Seductive is what I'm worried about. You You don't need any motivation, friend, -a vacation, maybe.” don't need any motivation, friend, -a vacation, maybe.”

”A tour of Novgorod,” Grant sighed. ”Of course. -I still want to see see the thing when you get through with it.” the thing when you get through with it.”

Justin gave him a calculated, communicative frown. They still still had to worry about bugs; and telling Security how skilled Grant was at reading-absorption of a program was something neither one of them wanted to do. had to worry about bugs; and telling Security how skilled Grant was at reading-absorption of a program was something neither one of them wanted to do.

That look said: Sure you would, and if you internalize it, partner, I'll break your fingers. Sure you would, and if you internalize it, partner, I'll break your fingers.

Grant smiled at him, wide and lazy, which meant: You smug CIT b.a.s.t.a.r.dy I can take care of myself. You smug CIT b.a.s.t.a.r.dy I can take care of myself.

A tightening of his lips: Dammit, Grant. Dammit, Grant.

A wider smile, a narrowing of the eyes: Discuss it later. Discuss it later.

”h.e.l.lo,” a young voice said, and Justin's heart jumped.

He looked at the young girl who had stopped beside their table, at a young girl in expensive clothes, clothes that somehow, overnight, seemed to have developed a hint of a waist; caught a scent that set his heart pounding in remembered panic, looked up into a face that was the child gone grave, shy-that had gotten cheekbones; dark eyes gone somber and, G.o.d, touched with a little hint of violet eyeshadow.

”h.e.l.lo,” he said.

”I haven't seen you in a while.”

”No. I guess I've been pretty busy.”