The Administration Series (248 page)

"Beautifully. I'm sure I'll learn to love them."

"And Seven Inches?"

Warrick smiled and turned back to the teapot. "Furniture isn't one of Toreth's major interests."

"As long as it's strong enough, right?" She bounced on the chair, which failed to creak under the assault.

He laughed. "That's about the size of it."

"So . . . should I unpack his things?" she asked. "I'm guessing not, but I thought I'd check. Don't want the poor boy feeling left out."

"I think leaving it all packed is a good guess." At the moment he frankly doubted Toreth would ever stay long enough to unpack. "How do you want the tea?"

"No milk for me, thanks," Cele said. "Squeeze of lemon, if you've got any fresh. I couldn't find any last week."

He opened the fridge. "You're in luck. I managed to hunt a couple down in the complex opposite."

While he sliced the lemon he listened. The sounds of unpacking — thumps and occasional swearing — came from the upstairs landing. He ought to call Dilly down for tea too, but there was something he needed to do first.

When he'd sat down and poured them both mugfuls, he said, "Cele, may I ask you something?"

She set her mug down without taking a sip. "Uh-oh. Sounds serious."

"Are you and Dillian . . . ?"

She rocked her hand from side to side. "Occasionally. When the mood takes her. Which — " she held her hand up, " — I do not have a problem with. All is hunky-dory in Cele-land."

"And at the moment? I mean, in the last week?"

Her expression cleared. "Right. Tarin. No, I haven't had a visit, but I'm expecting one. Don't worry. I'll make sure she's all right. Zinfandel and sympathy and girl stuff."

"Good. I've been — well, busy. I haven't spent as much time with her as I ought to. I don't really know how she's coping."

"I think she'll be okay. But since we're prying, how are you?"

If anyone would understand — and be able to handle the recent events — it was Cele. But he had no right to use her for sympathy, especially not with this. "I'm fine."

Of course, wanting to shield her and managing to lie to her successfully were different things. Cele looked at him for a long moment while he struggled to keep his expression neutral, then she shook her head firmly.

"B-u-l-l-s-h-i-t. There's all this — " She waved to indicate the flat. "There's Tarin. I know SimTech's having problems because Ash and Dilly both told me, even though it somehow slipped
your
mind. And there's something not right with Toreth. Dilly said you were fighting at Kate's."

"We fight everywhere."

"Okay. If you don't want to tell me, I'm not going to strap you down and stick needles under your — oh, shit." She shook her head. "My bad. I'm sorry."

He brushed the apology aside impatiently. "There's no need to tiptoe round it. I'm perfectly well aware of what Toreth does for a living." He tried to lighten his tone. "Sometimes I think I should get a badge made up." He drew a circle on his chest with his finger. "'Yes, I know he does'. It would answer so many questions."

Cele rubbed vaguely at her smudged cheek again, then sighed. "This is so fucked up."

"I'm sorry?"

"Everything. There are too many secrets. Listen, there's something I have to tell you. Even though maybe I shouldn't." She leaned forwards and lowered her voice. "I found a picture, something I did for Kate years ago. And the other guy I drew — the picture of the man at Val's school? There's probably nothing to it, but it looked a bit like — "

"I know," he interrupted quickly. "That was what we were fighting about. Toreth found the picture in Kate's room."

"Shit. Keir . . . "

He waited, listening to Dilly dragging something across the uncarpeted landing, and he prayed Cele wouldn't ask.

"Is it him?" Cele finished finally.

"Yes."

She sat back, mouth open, for once genuinely speechless.

With things gone this far, he might as well finish it. At least that way she would understand how important it was to keep quiet. "He and Kate both work for Citizen Surveillance — they have all their lives, as far as I know. That's why Kate had to leave the Administration, and it's why Leo left her when Dilly and I were children. His cover was compromised. Now you can see why it's very, very important that this doesn't get any further."

"Toreth said it wasn't him," she said faintly.

"He's trying to keep it quiet, and I agree with him about that much."

"Jesus." She picked up her mug and took a distracted gulp, wincing at the heat. "You hear about it happening. Stories about undercover agents and secret departments and agent provocateurs. I heard some from my parents, hints about how the Service got its information. But . . . Jesus.
Kate
? I mean,
our
Kate?"

"I know." Horrendously inappropriate as it was, he couldn't help smiling at her expression of disbelief. "It is hard to believe, I'll grant you that."

"All that time . . . why did they get married? Because Citizen Surveillance told them to?"

"Presumably. But she loved him a great deal, I know that much."

"Everything she did, though. She was always so kind to us. To me and Ash, I mean. And, fuck, my parents are Service. God, what if I'd ever said anything?" She frowned, rubbing at her cheek again. "Maybe I did say something. I'd never remember if I had."

"Was there ever anything to say?"

"I suppose not. Not really. If you cut 'em in half they'd both have Administration stamped right through them. But
everybody
says things sometimes, don't they? They used to complain about the system, about bad postings and mad budget cuts, and the idiotic things Senior Command did. And . . . God. Do you remember when Dad was caught up in that enquiry? After the Unification Day protest shootings? He had plenty to say about
that
. When I was just a kid I could've repeated any of it."

Now she was getting too close to things he didn't want her to think about. "I'm sure she kept her work and her family separate."

Cele didn't seem to be listening. "Kate's house was — I mean, people
always
talked there. It was liberal. Not like idealist, criminal liberal, at least not if you don't count Tarin, I suppose, but everyone knew it was okay — "

"
Cele
," he said desperately.

Then he could do nothing but watch comprehension dawning. "All Tar's friends," she whispered. "She knew who they all were. They all came round, they all talked there. Tarin talked to her. He must've told her . . . he had no idea, did he?"

"None."

"You did, though." The confidence in her voice was absolute. "Before now, I mean. How long?"

"More than twenty years," he said harshly, and waited for the condemnation.

"You knew all that time and you never told him?" She sounded surprised more than anything.

"That's right." He didn't let himself look away from her. "I never told him, because I was too afraid of the consequences."

"Oh, shit. Oh, Keir, I'm sorry." She reached out and took his hand. He grasped it, squeezing far too hard because he heard her gasp. Before he could apologise, she was crouching by his chair with her arms round him. He returned the embrace, grateful for the comforting contact. He pressed his face into her hair and, dimly, thought how good it was that Toreth wasn't around to walk in on the scene.

"I'm sorry," Cele said. "I didn't mean to say — I should just learn to do my thinking with my mouth closed."

"It's okay," he said, trying to breathe past the tightness in his throat.

"No, it's not. I'm a moron. I spend way too much time alone in my studio and I talk to myself which is an incredibly bad habit to get into because it means that I do this stupid shit all the time. Okay, not usually quite this serious but I did once think that this guy in a gallery was the most boring human being that I'd ever had the misfortune to meet and somehow I managed to say it out loud. Which was more than a bit embarrassing because he
owned
the damn gallery and . . . and there I go again."

He laughed and hugged her tight. "You're forgiven."

"Thanks." She lifted her head and kissed his cheek. "Poor Keir."

The sympathy made him acutely uncomfortable. "Tar's the one who's been hard done by."

"Yeah, but ignorance is bliss. It must've been hell all those years, knowing and not being able to tell anyone."

"I got used to it." He hadn't realised until that moment how odd it was that the secret was a secret no longer. "In the end, I just didn't think about it. There was always a chance I was wrong about the whole thing. I used to hang on to the doubts."

"What about Dilly? How did she take it? I can't believe she's been so calm. All she said was that you and Toreth had a blazing row and you wouldn't say what it was about."

"She doesn't know what it was about, and it's going to stay that way."

She released him abruptly and sat back on her heels. "Keir, you can't — you can't not tell her. He's her father too. She's got a right to know."

"It would be better for Dilly if she doesn't know. And I don't have the first idea of what or how to tell her. I still have no idea why he was at the school, Cele. Do you understand? What on Earth could I say to her?"

"That . . . well, I guess, that her long-lost, allegedly dead father isn't dead at all, but possibly he did try to murder her half-brother." Cele nodded slowly. "Right. I mean, I can see it's hard. But . . . there must be some way." Her tone changed to determination. "We can do it together. We can think of something."

"
No
," he said, and her eyebrows rose. "Please, Cele. I don't want to see Dilly get hurt any more than she already has been, and that's all it could do to her. Kate and Leo are out of her life for good — they can't do any more harm and all she has left is the memories of them. And there's Jen. Should I tell Dilly but not her? How the hell could I tell Jen that her sister lied to her for her whole adult life?"

First Tar, now Dilly, a voice whispered. Sound reasons or not, he'd never felt like such a coward in his life.

Cele was deep in thought, biting her lower lip. Finally she looked up at him. "Okay, maybe you're right, at least for now."

He didn't try to hide his relief. "I know I am. Look, if anything happens to me, then you can tell her, if you think it's necessary."

"If . . . ?" Cele held her hands up. "Whoa right there. No. This shit cannot be real. If something
happens
to you?"

"It's possible. Unlikely, I hope, but possible. This is dangerous knowledge, Cele, and believe me, you have no idea how sorry I am that you were dragged into it. But I promise you that when Toreth asked you to draw the picture, he had no idea who the man was."

She snorted quietly. "And worrying about me would've stopped him, of course. No, I'm sorry." The shock had dissipated and she was beginning to fidget on the spot, her usual energy bouncing back. "I hate just . . . gah. Not being able to
do
something to fix it for you."

He had to smile. "I know. If you want to help, look after Dilly."

"Oh, I'll do that." She smiled. "Hardship city. Okay. I'll do what I'm told, this once — keep my mouth shut and my hands all over Dilly. Don't make me regret it."

"I'll do my very best."

"Just so I can keep this straight, no one else knows about Leo and Kate? I'm not going to get strangers coming up to me and making cryptic remarks?"

"I sincerely hope not. Outside of Citizen Surveillance, the only people who know are myself, Toreth, and now you."

And someone he'd somehow forgotten.

Carnac. The one alternative source for Leo Warrick's real name now that he'd abandoned the files. Toreth had asked him to stay away from Carnac, but if Toreth was withholding his help, he wasn't leaving Warrick with many options.

"Keir?" Cele asked.

"Nothing. I think it would be better if we don't talk about this again, all right?" When she nodded, if reluctantly, he touched her cheek briefly. "Good. Shall we take some tea up to Dilly? She sounds like she could use some."

Hotel owners were one group who would regret the abolition of movement notification.

It was the first trip away Warrick had taken since the revolt. He'd booked a hotel out of habit. In the pre-revolt days it had been automatic. Unless he had been a hundred percent sure the trip would only take a day, it had always been better to book a place in advance and waste the price than to go through the complications of reregistering the stay if he couldn't complete his business in one day.

It wasn't until he arrived in Strasbourg that he realised he needn't have bothered. Perhaps the change was largely illusory — a credit and purchase check would still reveal everywhere he had spent money, and the Data Division would doubtless still log every use of his ID. However, the open, obvious face of Administration surveillance no longer watched over the airport.

It felt odd to pass through without the usual questions: purpose of visit, planned length of stay, temporary residence address. The ID scanners stood silent; many of the people filing beneath them glanced around before they walked through, occasionally breaking stride or pausing for a moment. Warrick understood their hesitation. As he passed through, he half expected alarms to ring and guards to be summoned. It was harder still to believe that he could change his plans, move on from Strasbourg to anywhere within the Administration that his fancy took him, and no one would care or question him.