own, black, but a smooth Italian merino. She laid it out to give to Oa. The girl sat on her bed, the teddy bear in her arms, her eyes gazing at something Isabel couldn’t see.
When the mirror cleared, the change in light made Isabel look up. Gretchen Boreson stood in the corridor. She wore a black suit that made her skin look pale as milk, and her lips were painted scarlet. Earrings of some red stone hung from her earlobes, trembling, catching the light. Even through the glass, Isabel could see the tic that marred the administrator’s tight features, and she felt a swell of sympathy. She rose from her chair and went to the window.
“Good morning,” she said.
Boreson held a black silk scarf in her hand, and she pulled it through her fingers, pleating it, smoothing it, pleating it again. “Good morning. Mother Burke.” The speaker made her tone thin. “I’m so sorry about—” She gestured at the space beyond the glass. “About this situation.”
“I have most of what I need.” Isabel smiled. “Oa and I are getting to know one another.”
“But, you know, there were lovely rooms all ready for you at the guest suites. I’m sure you’d rather be—”
Paolo Adetti came to stand at Boreson’s shoulder. Without the mask, Isabel saw that his complexion had the charcoal undertones of Sicily, and his black eyes were stony. “I see you got your equipment,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Good. Fine. Well, I’m coming in now to run a medicator test on the girl.”
Isabel’s back stiffened, but she made an effort to keep her voice level and her face noncommittal. “Not now, I think. Dr. Adetti.”
“I have work to do, Mother Burke. I won’t interrupt you. It won’t take long.”
Isabel pursed her lips, as if considering. Then she said calmly, “No, I think not, Dr. Adetti. I’ll finish these existing reports first.”
“You can go right ahead. But I need some readings today,” he insisted.
“There’s not a great deal of time . . .”
Isabel looked away from him deliberately, turning her face to Boreson.
“Administrator, as Oa’s guardian, I prefer not to have her disturbed until I’ve completed my preliminary evaluation.”
Boreson’s tic worsened, tugging at her cheek and distorting her eyelid. “Ah, Mother Burke, I’m sure Dr. Adetti’s presence won’t interfere—”
Isabel was shaking her head. “No,” she said, letting her voice sharpen. “Not today. Probably not tomorrow.” She gave them both a cool glance. “I’m sure you don’t want to endanger the extraordinary empowerment provision—or have a report reach the press that ESC officials put their own interests ahead of this child’s.”
She saw the fire blaze in Adetti’s black eyes, and his chin jutted. Boreson put her white, sharp-nailed fingers on his arm, and murmured something Isabel couldn’t catch.
Isabel nodded. “I’ll let you know, shall I? And I do appreciate your patience until then.”
She turned away from the window and walked with deliberate steps into the small surgery where her computer waited. She spoke to Oa from the doorway.
“Oa. Come here, will you? I want to show you a book I have on my computer.”
Isabel held the door as if she had every confidence Oa would do as she asked. She held her breath. For an uncomfortable moment, she thought the child might not respond.
Oa didn’t move quickly, but she did move. Bit by bit, she straightened her legs and slid down from the bed. She didn’t look at the window, but her awareness of Adetti’s presence showed in every muscle, in her gaze that fastened on Isabel with a kind of desperation. The walk was no more than five steps, but it seemed to take forever. Isabel stepped back, and Oa, bless her, walked straight into the small surgery.
Isabel directed a warm smile at Boreson and Adetti, and shut the door.
*
SHE READ THE first medicator reports with great care, absorbing every detail of Oa’s physical condition, her blood counts, her heart and
When the mirror cleared, the change in light made Isabel look up. Gretchen Boreson stood in the corridor. She wore a black suit that made her skin look pale as milk, and her lips were painted scarlet. Earrings of some red stone hung from her earlobes, trembling, catching the light. Even through the glass, Isabel could see the tic that marred the administrator’s tight features, and she felt a swell of sympathy. She rose from her chair and went to the window.
“Good morning,” she said.
Boreson held a black silk scarf in her hand, and she pulled it through her fingers, pleating it, smoothing it, pleating it again. “Good morning. Mother Burke.” The speaker made her tone thin. “I’m so sorry about—” She gestured at the space beyond the glass. “About this situation.”
“I have most of what I need.” Isabel smiled. “Oa and I are getting to know one another.”
“But, you know, there were lovely rooms all ready for you at the guest suites. I’m sure you’d rather be—”
Paolo Adetti came to stand at Boreson’s shoulder. Without the mask, Isabel saw that his complexion had the charcoal undertones of Sicily, and his black eyes were stony. “I see you got your equipment,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Good. Fine. Well, I’m coming in now to run a medicator test on the girl.”
Isabel’s back stiffened, but she made an effort to keep her voice level and her face noncommittal. “Not now, I think. Dr. Adetti.”
“I have work to do, Mother Burke. I won’t interrupt you. It won’t take long.”
Isabel pursed her lips, as if considering. Then she said calmly, “No, I think not, Dr. Adetti. I’ll finish these existing reports first.”
“You can go right ahead. But I need some readings today,” he insisted.
“There’s not a great deal of time . . .”
Isabel looked away from him deliberately, turning her face to Boreson.
“Administrator, as Oa’s guardian, I prefer not to have her disturbed until I’ve completed my preliminary evaluation.”
Boreson’s tic worsened, tugging at her cheek and distorting her eyelid. “Ah, Mother Burke, I’m sure Dr. Adetti’s presence won’t interfere—”
Isabel was shaking her head. “No,” she said, letting her voice sharpen. “Not today. Probably not tomorrow.” She gave them both a cool glance. “I’m sure you don’t want to endanger the extraordinary empowerment provision—or have a report reach the press that ESC officials put their own interests ahead of this child’s.”
She saw the fire blaze in Adetti’s black eyes, and his chin jutted. Boreson put her white, sharp-nailed fingers on his arm, and murmured something Isabel couldn’t catch.
Isabel nodded. “I’ll let you know, shall I? And I do appreciate your patience until then.”
She turned away from the window and walked with deliberate steps into the small surgery where her computer waited. She spoke to Oa from the doorway.
“Oa. Come here, will you? I want to show you a book I have on my computer.”
Isabel held the door as if she had every confidence Oa would do as she asked. She held her breath. For an uncomfortable moment, she thought the child might not respond.
Oa didn’t move quickly, but she did move. Bit by bit, she straightened her legs and slid down from the bed. She didn’t look at the window, but her awareness of Adetti’s presence showed in every muscle, in her gaze that fastened on Isabel with a kind of desperation. The walk was no more than five steps, but it seemed to take forever. Isabel stepped back, and Oa, bless her, walked straight into the small surgery.
Isabel directed a warm smile at Boreson and Adetti, and shut the door.
*
SHE READ THE first medicator reports with great care, absorbing every detail of Oa’s physical condition, her blood counts, her heart and
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