The Administration Series (59 page)

Warrick paused, hunting for words. "I'm not pretending that I don't enjoy it, sometimes, but that's not why I do it." He smiled wryly. "It's work, not pleasure."

Which all boiled down to, I can't stop. Or maybe, I won't stop. "And secondly?"

"Secondly, that isn't something that works one way. Can you honestly say that I could expect the same —" another pause, "— concession in return?"

Toreth wanted to say yes, just in the hope that it would banish the images of Warrick in the sim that he'd had ever since talking to Sara. He'd be lying, though, which was fine except that they'd both know it.

"No."

"Quite. No. So where does that leave things?"

Toreth shrugged. "You don't like part of my job; I don't like part of yours. I don't like you fucking other people in the sim; you don't like me fucking other people anywhere."

"Seems like an accurate summary. What do you want to do about it?"

Toreth thought about it as they walked on through the grounds. It didn't take long, because the conclusion was surprisingly obvious — he wanted to keep fucking Warrick more than he cared about test-fucks in the sim. When he was quite sure he could persuade himself that that was true, he said, "My place is closest."

Warrick smiled. "Sounds good to me."

As conversations went, Toreth thought, it hadn't been too bad.

When Toreth needed to butter Sara up, or apologise, he bought flowers for her. A simple system, but it had always worked well to smooth over difficulties. A few days after the conversation about sim fucks, Toreth found himself wondering whether it would work with Warrick, too. Flowers were clearly out of the question, but what about something else? Fucking seemed like an obvious choice, but they had great sex all the time, and even a really well-orchestrated evening wasn't the same as a tangible gift.

The question stumped him completely. He tried ignoring the idea for a while in the hope it might go away. It came back, though, resurfacing with sufficiently irritating regularity that after a few weeks he decided to consult Sara.

As it happened, she'd invited him round to her flat, so there was no need to broach the subject in the overly public atmosphere of the I&I coffee room.

To his surprise, when he arrived he found Sara cooking. Even more oddly, she was doing it in the living room. Admittedly, her kitchen was cramped, but even with his limited culinary experience, he thought kitchens were more traditional.

She had a self-heating fondue bowl, a pile of ingredients, and a handwritten recipe on a piece of paper which looked as though it had already suffered through one or two attempts at completion. While he talked, Sara nodded and uh-huhed, breaking pieces of chocolate into the bowl. He didn't mind. It seemed easier, somehow, to start the explanation while she wasn't quite paying attention, and he felt less of an idiot for having to ask her at all.

He finished with, "— so I thought you might have some ideas."

"Well, what kind of thing does he like?" she asked absently, as she consulted the paper and frowned. "And what the hell does 'add to taste' mean, anyway?"

Toreth thought it over as he watched her stirring the bowl. He opened the bottle of wine with a
pop
, which caused the huge black cat on the chair opposite to growl and flatten its ragged ears. Toreth gave Bastard the finger, while Sara wasn't looking, and the cat stared back, balefully unimpressed.

He returned to the problem in hand. "Cooking," he suggested, ignoring her second question.

"Buy him something kitchen-y, then."

Immediately he regretted telling her about his sudden gift-giving impulse, but it was much too late. Something kitchen-y. Something nice and domestic. For a moment he actually felt sick, the overly sweet smell of melting chocolate catching in the back of his throat.

"I wouldn't know where to start," he said, when the feeling passed. "And besides, he's got everything already. You should see his kitchen — I don't even know what most of the crap in there is for, never mind what it's called."

"Okay, what else?"

"Fucking. Being topped. And, well . . . shiny tech, I suppose. The sim. I don't really know what else. I just fuck him."

"Well, there's your answer." She added a lump of butter and began stirring the pan slowly, picking up a marshmallow with her free hand.

"What?"

"Shiny fuck tech," she mumbled round the mouthful of sweet.

Perfectly obvious, when you thought about it. "You're a genius. I knew you'd be better at this than me."

"It's easy. I love buying presents — almost as much as I love getting them. Do you want me to help you pick something?"

It certainly wouldn't hurt. With an unexpected sense of excitement, he fished his hand screen out of his jacket, expanded the screen, and spent a couple of minutes searching.

"Okay . . . here we go," he said. "Catalogues."

They sat together on the sofa, paging through screens, while Sara stirred the fondue, adding cherry brandy in splashes.

"Jesus, some of this stuff is
weird
," she said after a while. "And I say that as someone who knows some fairly weird people."

"I set it on random selection. Just to get some ideas." He was certainly getting plenty of those.

She speared a marshmallow on a long fork, dipped it into the mix, and blew on it to cool it before she ate it. "Mmm. Not bad. That'll do for 'to taste'. You know, maybe it's just me, but I have to say I can't see him wearing — wait. There. Go back. Further down." She pointed. "
Those
."

Toreth looked at the screen, where a sugary fingerprint marked her selection, and then nodded. Perfect. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"'Course I am. Like you said, I'm a genius." She consulted her recipe, adjusted the controls on the pan, then started pouring cream in very slowly as she stirred. "Don't curdle this time . . . please don't curdle . . ."

"They're made to measure," he said after a while. "And . . . fucking hell. Have you seen how much they
cost
?"

"Well, it's got to be something expensive, hasn't it?" Holding a cherry by the stem, she dipped it in, shook off the excess chocolate, and ate it. "Something good. I mean, it's Warrick."

"I suppose so." It wasn't actually an enormous amount of money, just more than Toreth would normally think of spending on toys. It seemed less every second, though, as he imagined Warrick's face when he saw them. Oh, yes. Cheap at the price.

"There you go. Sorted out." She spat out the stone. "Try some of this. It's fantastic."

He'd been hoping she wouldn't ask. It looked horribly, sickly sweet. "I ate before I came over."

"Oh, go on. Please. I need a second opinion."

"Try the cat."

"Bastard will eat
anything
, whatever it tastes like. You ate half a twenty-euro tub of moisturizer last week, didn't you, sweetheart?
And
threw it up on mummy's bed."

Recognising she was addressing it, the cat started purring like an asthmatic generator. Toreth regarded it with deep loathing. He had a fresh set of scratches on the back of his hand to remind him exactly why he'd named the cat You Fucking Evil Bastard.

Sara proffered the bowl of cherries. "Come on."

Toreth dipped in a cherry and tried it dubiously. Ready to fake appreciative noises, he found it less sweet than he'd imagined. The bitter chocolate went surprisingly well with the fruit; the contrast made the cherry taste fizzy. "Oh, hey. That's pretty good."

She frowned. "No need to sound so surprised."

"Come off it. You're usually about as house-trained as I am. What brought this on?"

"I'm supposed to be taking something to a dinner party tomorrow and I thought I'd make an effort. Pretend to be grown-up for once. Warrick lent me the fonduing-thing and gave me the recipe. He gave me the cherries, too. Enough to try now and plenty to take tomorrow. Pretty nice of him, hm?"

Yes, it was. "When did you get them?"

Sara looked at him sidelong, and then smiled. "Yesterday evening at SimTech. I was doing a volunteer run on the sim."

She was doing it deliberately and he knew she was, but he couldn't help responding. "Oh?"

"Oh?" she mimicked.

Before he could think of anything to say, she laughed. "All right. Sorry. He wasn't in the sim. He wasn't even in the building. He left the stuff at reception with a note. Happy?"

Now he could relax. "Why would I care whether he was there or not?"

She shook her head. "Like I said, weird people. Have another cherry. Are you going to the SimTech do?"

Toreth ate the cherry, without chocolate, while he thought about it. Warrick had said something . . . what was it? Eventually he gave up.

"Probably. I don't remember. Was it an anniversary or something?"

Sara spat another cherry stone into her hand. "God, sometimes you're hopeless. It's
on
the anniversary, but it's because they passed the, um, third round safety trials."

"Meaning what?"

"No idea, except they're splashing out for a huge bloody party, so it must be something good. It's for the staff and sponsors, but they did a lottery for volunteers and I got an invite. Or Warrick fixed it for me — I didn't ask. It sounds like it's going to be fantastic: food, drinks, dancing, sim demos, you name it. Formal, though. I'll have to find something to go in. You've got a dinner jacket, haven't you?"

"Well, there's the one I bought back when I was seconded to Corporate Fraud. You remember — when Liz Carey and I were working that undercover corporate case." Catching her expression, he said, "You're right. I'll get a new one. When is it?"

"Three weeks. Plenty of time."

Yes, plenty of time. Toreth returned his attention to the catalogue. Plenty of time indeed.

Toreth had been waiting in a state of strategic unreadiness for fifteen minutes by the time the car arrived — five minutes early — and Warrick called up from the entrance.

"I'm running a bit late, I'm afraid," Toreth told him. "Come up to the flat." Then he cut the comm before Warrick could refuse.

Planning these things out was almost as much fun as doing them. Almost.

Toreth opened the door wearing trousers, socks, and an unbuttoned shirt, with his untied bow tie draped around his neck. His dinner jacket and shoes were ready in the hall. On Warrick's face he caught a flicker of irritation at the fact that he wasn't even dressed, only partly countered by a flicker of appreciation. So far, so good.

He offered an apologetic smile, which Warrick wouldn't believe for a second. "Sorry about this. I won't be long. Come in."

Warrick brushed past him without comment and leaned against the wall, arms folded, fingers tapping his biceps impatiently.

Toreth closed the door and started to fasten his way down the buttons on the front of his dress shirt. "I don't suppose there's any chance of you missing this thing, is there?"

"No. All the major sponsors will be there, and I have to make a presentation and a speech. I can't be late." Warrick frowned. "I thought I'd explained all this? Of course, you don't have to come along, if you don't want to. If you'd mentioned it —"

"No, no. Just wondering. I'm looking forward to it." He tucked in his shirt and began on the buttons at the wrists. "But while you're waiting — I bought something for you. It's over there."

He nodded towards where he'd left the box on the table in the hallway. Beneath the mirror, so that when Warrick opened it Toreth would be able to see his face.

Warrick raised an eyebrow, surprise replacing irritation. "What is it?"

"A present."

"What's the occasion?" Warrick asked as he crossed to the table.

"Nothing in particular." Toreth stood behind him, tying his bow tie. "Go on. Open it."

Warrick looked at the box for a moment longer, and then lifted the lid. He moved aside the covering layer of packing foam, and then his eyes in the mirror went wide.