Quiet Invasion(89)

“Not a problem.” Grace stood up and pitched the remains of her coffee and the cup into the appropriate chutes. “I take it I’m dismissed.”

“Until the next press call.” Helen gave her a small smile, and Grace returned it. Helen touched a key to open the door for her.

Grace walked out but paused in the threshold and turned around. “By the way, Helen, it wasn’t me.”

Helen frowned. “It wasn’t you, what?”

“Who’s been talking to the yewners.” Grace’s smile was sly, like someone who knew they’d made a stellar move in a difficult game. “If I were you, I’d bring the subject up with Michael Lum.”

Then she did leave. The door shut, and Helen sat there, paralyzed.

Michael? Michael talked to the U.N. without talking to her? Ridiculous. Michael wouldn’t even think…

No, Michael would think. It was the one thing Michael could be absolutely counted on to do. It was one of the reasons she and Ben had picked him for the board when the slot opened up.

But without talking to her?

Listen to me, will you. Sitting in my throne room wondering who’s just stabbed me in the back. A little wind-up Caesar. Helen’s head sank slowly to her hands. Has it really come to that?

She’d seen it coming, the money crisis that lay at the root of every question she’d had to ask during the whole long, aching day. More than a year ago, she’d seen the trends and had known a storm was brewing. She’d told no one on Venera.

That was probably a mistake. But she hadn’t wanted anyone to worry. She hadn’t wanted to disturb anyone’s work.

To be honest, she hadn’t wanted anyone to leave.

Instead, during her yearly stump trip to Mother Earth, she’d made a side visit to U.N. City and went to see Yan Su.

They’d been in a windchime park. The salty ocean breeze blew through the miniature trees and rang bells representing every republic, from mellow brass Tibetan bells to weirdly tuned Monterey pipes. They sat on one of the autoform benches, ignoring the security cameras that trained themselves automatically on Su as a member of The Government.

The sun was pleasantly hot on the back of Helen’s neck as she told Su what was happening—the shrinking pure-research budgets, never huge to begin with, the waning enthusiasm for corporate charity, the inability of the hundreds of tiny republics to support major research grants for their people.

“I hate to say this.” She’d smiled tiredly at her friend. “But if nothing changes, we’re going to be asking for a government handout next year.”

The wind caught a lock of Su’s white hair and whipped it across her forehead. Su brushed it back under her scarf. Most people who went in for body-mod had themselves made artificially younger. Su, on the other hand, had herself aged. She looked about seventy-five, but Helen knew she was only a little over sixty. It had to do with respect and camouflage, Su said. A number of her influential colleagues came from backgrounds that respected age. The ones who didn’t, underestimated her. Both attitudes could be extremely useful.

“What kind of handout were you thinking of, Helen?”

Just a couple of old women sitting on a bench and discussing the future often thousand people. Helen shrugged. “I can show you our budgets. We’re going to need between a third and a half of our operating expenses for, say, five years. By then the slump should be over and we should be able to tap into our normal sources.”

“You want a loan?”

“I want a grant, but I probably can’t have one. So, yes, I’ll take a loan.”

Su sat there for a long moment. Helen watched her face carefully. She looked tired, and, despite the fact that Helen knew most of the lines and pouches were artificial, she really did look old. Something inside Helen stirred uneasily. The last time she’d seen Su look like this was right after her husband had left. Correction, after her husband had cleaned out their bank account to have himself made back into a thirty-something and run away with a professional wife and blamed Su for it.

He’d married someone who was supposed to have a future, he said, not someone who was going to be stuck in the same dead-end bureaucratic appointment for the rest of their lives, nursemaiding miners and importers when there was important work to be done. Oh, and incidentally, I’ve decided I want to get genetic rejuvenation past the 120 years everyone’s guaranteed, so I’ve signed over my reproduction rights. The boy’s all yours.

Helen couldn’t even imagine what that had been like. Su, born and raised in U.N. City, had gone the expected route. She had a career of government service, a family of her own, and a host of people and causes to fill her life to the brim. How did she focus? How did she choose what was important? Helen knew it was how most people lived, but sometimes she wondered how anyone managed when they’d given their heart to more than one thing.