“It was a Tuesday.”
“Oh yes.”
Cyrus believed that Tuesday was the dullest and least useful day of the week and he tried to liven the low spot of each week with a little spice.
“Shame about Milo,” Cyrus said, accepting a cup of tea. “He was good.”
“That he was. But that’s water under the bridge, Mr. Cyrus,” murmured Otto. “We’ll send Kimball.”
“Are you sure I haven’t killed him yet?”
“Not so far.”
Cyrus shot him a look, but Otto gave his master a small wink. No smile, though.
“Maybe I should kill you next Tuesday.”
“Mm, when you’re done threatening me I’ll go find a broom cupboard to hide in.”
“What else do we have today?”
“The latest batch of New Men has been shipped to the Hive. Carteret and his lot are conditioning them. We have orders for sixty females and two hundred males. We can fill those orders with the current batch; however, if we get the heavier requests you’re expecting then we’ll have to up production by twenty percent.”
“Do it. Speaking of the New Men—did that idiot van der Meer try to haggle on the per-unit price?”
“He tried.”
“And—?”
“This isn’t a buyer’s market.”
Cyrus nodded, pleased. He already had the money earmarked for a new research line. Something he’d been thinking about during those long hours in his sensory dep tank. He always did his best thinking in there—a place where he felt connected to the whole of the universe, a place where he could unlock every chamber in his infinite mind.
He lifted the heavy lid of the serving dish and studied the meal. Four slices of white breast meat were fanned out like playing cards in a thick cream sauce. He didn’t recognize the grain of the meat, though the accompanying vegetables were from a more familiar group of exotics—fingerling potatoes, whole crowns of dwarf broccoli, and a spill of hybridized spinach-carrots. Otto took the lid from him.
“Something new?” Cyrus asked.
“Something old, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Breast of dodo in a white wine cream sauce.”
Cyrus applauded like a happy child. “Delightful!” He reached for a fork, then paused. “Have you tried it?”
“Of course.”
“And . . . ?”
“It doesn’t taste like chicken.”
Cyrus laughed.
Otto pursed his lips. “It’s a bit more gamey. A bit like bald eagle, though less chewy.”
Cyrus picked up his knife and fork.
“And, not to spoil your appetite, sir,” said Otto, “but I wanted to remind you that the Twins are on their way for their regular visit. Almost certainly to discuss the Berserker issue.” Cyrus began to protest, but Otto held up a calming hand. “Don’t worry; we’ve taken the usual precautions. They’ll see and hear exactly what they expect to see and hear.”
Cyrus cut a slice of the dodo meat and chewed it thoughtfully. Otto waited with practiced patience.
“I want them thermal-scanned during any conversation.”
“We’re already on that. The chair sensors in the private garden have all been checked. With the new vapor density scanners the doctor thinks we can expect a seventy to seventy-three percent confidence in the readings. If they lie, we’ll probably know it.”
“They’re smart, those two,” warned Cyrus.
“They would have to be,” said Otto, then smiled. “And no, sir, that’s not as obsequious as it sounds. I actually have a lot of respect for the Twins.”
“As far as it goes,” corrected Cyrus.
“As far as it goes,” agree Otto.
“My young gods . . .” Cyrus looked into the middle distance for a long moment, a half smile playing across his lips. He blinked his eyes clear and cut a look at Otto. “What about the SAMs?”
“One Sixteen and One Forty-four are coming along nicely. They’ll be getting their fourth round of psych evaluations today, and if we like the results we can process them into the Family. Ninety-five is getting high marks in surgical classes, and he seems to have a taste for it. A family trait. Most of the rest are coming along.”
“Make sure they’re out of sight. I don’t want Hecate or Paris to see them.”
Otto nodded. “As I said, they’ll see only what we want them to see. The only child the Twins have seen—or ever will see—is Eighty-two, and he’s still at the Hive.”
Cyrus paused. “And . . . what about Eighty-two?” When Otto didn’t immediately respond, Cyrus said, “I still have hopes for that one. I feel more . . . kinship with him than any of the others.”