The Administration Series (233 page)

He was still absorbed in the view when Tarin said, "Keir?"

There was an awkward moment as Warrick stood up from the table and neither of them knew what to do. He half offered his hand, then Tarin took it and pulled him forwards into an embrace. No hesitation showed in his firm thump against Warrick's back.

"Good to see you, Keir."

"And you. Glad you could make it."

When he stepped back, Tarin looked over the table, noting the other place setting, and he frowned. "That's not — "

"It's for Dilly," Warrick said quickly.

Tarin raised one eyebrow. "Quite a family get-together."

"Yes. I thought it would be nice for us all to see more of each other. Not just the three of us — Val too, and Jen and Philly, but we can start small."

"Nothing too ambitious, I see." Tarin smiled slightly. "Reduce the chance of anyone getting knocked out."

Warrick grinned. "Sit down."

"This is a nice place," Tarin said as they sat. "Good choice."

Relief warmed him. "I had no idea it had changed so much."

"No? I bring Val here a lot, with and without Philly. I must admit I didn't like it when they knocked the old cafe down. Like someone had taken a bulldozer to my childhood." He shook his head. "Val and I took a piece of the wall home and put it in the garden, for a keepsake. Ridiculous how you can get attached to something like a building, isn't it?"

"Not at all. If it wouldn't bore you to tears, I'd tell you about the sim and the emotional recall linking of place memories."

"No, you should." Tarin picked the menu screen up, then set it down again. "Tell me rather than bore me, which I'm sure you wouldn't. I'd like to hear about it. And I'd like to try the sim too, sometime — if you don't mind."

"Mind? Not in the least. When you come to stay — " He hesitated, thinking of the fraught circumstances of the original offer made after Kate's arrest. "If you still want to, that is."

Tarin nodded. "Yes. I haven't mentioned it to Val yet, but that's only because she'd pester me every time I see her until we do go."

"Then when you come down — "

"My God!" Dillian's voice echoed across the sparsely-populated restaurant. "Tarin!"

Tarin looked over and waved, then smiled wryly at Warrick. "Do you think that means she's pleased to see me?"

Dillian hurried over, heels tapping on the mosaicked floor, and they both stood up again to exchange welcoming kisses with her.

"What on Earth are you doing here, Tar?" she said. Then her gaze swept over the table and she said, "Keir invited you?" She turned to him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it would make a nice surprise. And besides — " He hadn't been quite confident she wouldn't come up with some excuse not to attend.

However, the two of them were being perfectly friendly, or at least more than simply civil. His own abrupt silence had gone unremarked. Dillian had taken her seat and was chatting happily to Tarin about how the park outside hadn't changed a bit. She too had noticed the clock, and before long they were deep in recollections of designs that had been planted in the face in past years.

The menu had changed completely too. Without any meals from the past available to relive, Warrick picked beef and barley broth, with allegedly fresh-baked bread in which he would believe when he tasted it.

Dilly and Tar were still staring out of the window, pointing out parts of the formal garden that hadn't changed. Warrick examined the pair, trying to map their appearances back onto the childish faces he remembered. Dilly seemed easy, but perhaps that was only because of Valeria, who was so like her as to suggest cloning. He wondered if it ever bothered Tar — probably not, since it would have to remind him primarily of Kate. Philly, who had never liked Kate, might find it a less pleasant effect.

Tarin himself Warrick remembered only dimly as a child. He should have taken the time to look at photographs before he came. His earliest memories were of Tarin in his midteens, and he remembered him most clearly later still, already almost an adult: not so heavyset, but with the same sandy hair — although thinning now — firm jaw and grey-blue eyes. He'd always seemed like the kind of person who ought to have frown lines, but even sat next to Dillian Tar was aging well, with a minimum of lines around his eyes and mouth.

All three of them so much older, and with so much time wasted.

An approaching waiter interrupted Warrick's comparisons. After they had ordered food, Dillian turned to him and said, "Was this what Ash meant about news?"

"I'm sorry?" Warrick said.

At the same moment, Tarin said, "Ash Linton?"

"Mm-hm — that Ash. I spoke to her yesterday evening. She said Keir had some news, then clammed up and went all mysterious and said I'd better ask him because it wasn't for her to tell me." She looked to Warrick. "Did you tell her the three of us were having lunch?"

"Ah, no. There's something else." These were, he realised, possibly the two people in the world who would take this news worse than anyone. "Nothing very exciting, I'm afraid."

It was a measure of how well Dillian knew him that her eyes narrowed at once. "Oh? So what is it?"

"I'm moving flats. For security reasons to do with the revolt. I've found a place already, so it's just a question of the contracts being signed. You'll love it. It's rather larger than the place I have now, because — "

Dillian's eyes went wide. "
No
," she breathed.

"Because Toreth is moving into it with me."

"Oh!" She leaned back in the chair and looked up, apparently seeking inspiration from the distant ceiling. After a few seconds, she sighed and looked back. "Well, all I can say is good luck, because you're going to need it."

"I won't bring Valeria there," Tarin said in a precise, brittle voice. "Not if he's living there with you."

Warrick had been so absorbed by Dillian's reaction that he'd barely registered Tarin's icy silence. "But — "

"No. I won't have Val in a house with him." His normally ruddy cheeks had flushed a darker red. "And I don't want to hear about reforms at I&I, or changes to procedure, or any damn thing. He's a torturer, and it doesn't matter a damn what the Administration says he can or can't
do
, because it's what he
is
. If you think I'll let that sick, twisted — "

His voice had started to rise. No wonder Tarin had been so useful to Kate. Warrick closed the thought away and held his hand up. "Fine. I understand. I told you before, though, I don't expect you to see him or speak to him. I'll make sure you don't. I thought that was all right?"

"That was when he lived somewhere else. But if that's his home, then no. I won't take Val there."

Dillian drew breath, but Warrick interrupted before she could show which side she was about to take.

"Let's talk about it later," Warrick said. "We can do it over the comm instead of here. Let's not . . . "

"Spoil this place," Dillian said.

Warrick nodded. "Just what I meant."

After a long moment, Tarin nodded. "Sounds like a good idea. Since we're supposed to be getting along."

"Right," Dillian said firmly. "Let's have lunch and then go for a walk and see how many of the names we gave the topiary animals we can still remember."

"Tar will win," Warrick said. "I remember hearing Val using the same names."

So they moved on to safe topics, and it wasn't long before the crisis had passed and Warrick thought that at least they might make it to the end of meal without anyone throwing a punch or walking out. However, while the shared memories might help, there was too much bad history along with the good. Had things between them degenerated so far that the best they would ever be able to hope for, as Jen would say, was no blood on the floor?

For a month, to Toreth's surprise, everything went like a wet shave — perfectly smooth except for the occasional small nicks.

Work was busier, which made for a distraction from other things. Section heads were, crablike, sidling into new positions, subtly redefining their sections' remits to emphasise the 'politically important' nature of the crimes they claimed, and deemphasise the purely political. Corporate Fraud and Computer Crimes were busy, as the corporations took advantage of the confusion to start another round of sabotage. General Criminal, whose catchall description had always been a handicap, was well placed to bid for incoming cases. Tillotson developed a disconcerting cheerfulness which suggested the section was doing well in the post-revolt prestige wars.

Annoyingly, news of Toreth's planned house move had leaked out into the section, although Sara swore it wasn't her fault. Chevril produced an endless series of cracks about corporate sugar daddies. The rest of the seniors backed him up. It was fairly good-natured, for I&I, but it grated.

After a couple of weeks, Toreth had come in to work to find a box containing a cheap but very sparkly paste engagement ring on his desk, along with a bridal bouquet of pink plastic flowers. He'd slammed out into the main office and announced that if he found out who'd left them there, he'd be returning the gift with interest and a rectal speculum. It had caused a lot of laughter, but he got no more presents.

Outside work, things could have been much worse. The topic of the new flat had stayed in the background. Warrick had said so little about it, in fact, that Toreth had occasionally asked him how things were. Reassuringly, the answers were never very interesting, as everything was being arranged by SimTech's legal department.

A few times Warrick had asked his opinion about something. Decor, mostly: carpets, wallpaper, paint, furniture. Nothing Toreth cared much about, but fortunately Warrick had made it easy by presenting a limited range of choices for each item. Presumably, Toreth had decided, Warrick had already winnowed out all the options he couldn't live with personally. No doubt he would be happy with anything Toreth picked, so Toreth didn't give himself ulcers worrying about the decisions.

After the first couple, though, he'd paid more attention, hesitating over the choices and trying to read from Warrick which was the one he wanted, which ones he was less keen on. Naturally, it hadn't taken Warrick long to notice what he was doing and, equally naturally, to try to avoid giving anything away. Usually, reading Warrick was so easy that Toreth had enjoyed the challenge provided by the novel subject. It had almost been fun.

Today, however, things weren't fine, or fun, and it was no longer a game.

The day had started well enough. Bright spring sunshine, warm enough that Toreth had set off early and walked most of the way to work. He'd had to catch a taxi for the last part, because the journey on foot took longer than he anticipated. Walking to work was a habit he'd let slide when the streets were still too dangerous for an I&I uniform. On the way, he'd even thought how much more convenient it would be once they'd moved to the new flat.

He'd been in his office for five minutes before he called Sara in. As she closed the door, she looked apprehensive, as well she might.

"What the fuck is that?" he demanded, pointing at the screen.

She didn't even pretend to need to look. "Accommodation form for the Department of Population, just like it says at the top."

"You filled it in."

"I thought it would save you time, that's all."

He couldn't reasonably make a protest. She'd filled in hundreds of forms for him in the past, both work-related and personal, and he'd never been anything other than grateful. "Is there any rush?"

"The deadline to let them know is today. Counting from the last time you were at the old flat."

Of course she would know that. Sometimes she was
too
efficient. "With all the chaos from the revolt, does it really matter? The whole citizen registration system is a bloody shambles. I doubt the DoP'll be handing out fines for late address changes. Have they even decided whether change-of-residence went out with movement notification?"

"Yes, they did, and no, it didn't. It's still in force."

He cast round for another argument, finding nothing. "Yeah . . . yeah, you're right. Thanks for remembering."

"My pleasure," she said as she closed the door, sounding as if she really meant it. No doubt looking forwards to the house-warming, so she could try to pick up a rich corporate guest.

If she got off so much on domestic arrangements,
she
should move in with Warrick.

He frowned at the screen. This was the real step. This meant abandoning all rights to his own flat, which had belonged to the Administration anyway, and having nowhere to go except Warrick's flat, which belonged to SimTech. Looked at like that, it wasn't much of a change.

Except that it was. He'd said it to Chevril a hundred times: there was all the difference in the world between working for I&I and belonging to the Administration, and working for some corporate on a personal contract. Even though having the DoP know he was fucking Warrick on a regular basis wasn't anything like putting his name to a body-and-soul corporate contract, it provoked an oddly similar gut reaction.