Free Cherryh, C J - Alliance-Union 08 by Cyteen Trilogy V1 1 html

counteroffer soon. And I'll make mine. And that's how we'll pass the months. He's sure he can match me move for move. We'll see. I'm going to my apartments. I'm sure Florian's run his checks by now. I'm going to have a shower, put my feet up a while, and read the logs. And have a decent meal. Formal dinner tonight. It's a session-end, isn't it? Catlin can approve the menu."
    "I'll tell the staff," Denys said. The thought of food turned Giraud's stomach.
    "It's not a total disadvantage," she said. "Have you seen the news? The Centrist coalition is showing seams this morning. Corain's made Ianni Merino very, very upset. An old hand like Corain—this is moving much too fast for him. Corain had his people ready to walk, now he shifts stance on them—the Abolitionists will suspect a sell-out. . . won't they? Let the Abolitionists peel off and start talking about dismantling the labs again. It's bound to make the moderates a little anxious."
    "That's where Jordan can do us the most damage! If he goes to the press—"
    "Oh, you don't think the Abolitionists are going to credit a voice out of Reseune."
    "If he's saying the right things they damn well will."
    "Then we have to do something about his credibility, don't we? Think about it, Gerry. Corain's going to end up acquiescing—no, voting for— the establishment of a Reseune lab right on the Hope colony route. The Abolitionists haven't gotten saner, just quieter; and we have our own sleepers in their rank and file. Keep Corain quite busy putting out fires on his own decks. Gorodin may find the whole noise a bit more than he wants: there are always deals we can offer him: he always stands with his feet either side of the line. Lu is the problem, that double-crossing bastard. But we can persuade him. This facility is exactly the kind of thing that may do it. I want you to look into these things, I don't need to tell you how discreetly. Use your military contacts. The Science Bureau is dispatching a ship to notify Rubin of his status. They're also going to take measures to establish him a protective residency in Fargone Blue Zone: the team is on its way Sunday, when Atlantis pushes off for Fargone."
    "Harogo's going to be aboard?" Denys asked.
    "Absolutely. There's not going to be a hitch. He'll get our staff right through customs, and Atlantis is running light."
    "Military can beat her."
    "A worry. But Harogo's a much higher card, on his own station, and he's bringing home the second biggest construction project Fargone's ever lusted after. First being the Hope corridor, of course. There won't be a hitch. If the Centrists try anything with Rubin, Harogo can fry them, no question. We'd love that kind of ammunition. Did you see the clip? Rubin's a wide-eyed innocent. Pure science and total vulnerability. I thought that came across rather well."
    "They can throw that back at us too," Giraud said.
    "We can rely on Harogo, I think. At certain times, you have to let a thing go."
    "Even Warrick?"
    "If they want him by then."

ii
    Ari smiled gently across the table, across the salad with vinaigrette, product of their own gardens, and dusted it liberally with a spoonful of Keis, synthetic cheese, a salted yeast, actually: spacer's affectation. Her mother had used it. Ari still liked the tang of it, and imported it downworld at some little trouble.
    Most of the Family abhorred it.
    It was the formal dining hall: one long table for the Family, and a large U-shaped table around the outside for the azi who were closer than relatives, and somewhat more numerous, about two to one.
    Herself at the head: that had been the case since the day uncle Geoffrey died. To her right, Giraud Nye, to her left his brother Denys; then Yanni Schwartz rightside, left again, his sister Beth; and across from her, Beth's son by Giraud Nye, young Suli Schwartz, long-nosed and thin-faced, and looking preoccupied as usual: sixteen and bored; left next, and right and right again, Petros Ivanov and his two sisters Irene