lowering on her moment by moment, that she was taking on more and more responsibility with each passing second. She saw this in the way the children looked at her, with deference, respect, and even love. They were becoming dependent on her.
Slowly, as if in a dream, Lori felt herself pulling away from Fujiko and seeming to float closer to the children, but knew she couldn’t really be moving in that manner. She must be walking toward them. Within moments, she knelt with them, and they gathered around her. One of the children—Veronica—turned down the tunecube, then shut it off and handed it to Lori.
“ Olto Karida , “ Veronica said to Lori, with a wise little smile. “ Olto Karida .”
Viscerally, Lori knew what the words meant, and they comforted her. But intellectually she could not make the connection and translate into English.
Off to one side, she saw the bespectacled redhead, Michelle Renee. “What did she say to you?” the translator asked. “That wasn’t ancient Aramaic.”
“I don’t know,” Lori said. And this was the truth.
* * *
The tall, black-haired man stood calmly in the doorway, while Styx considered the irritating personality of this functionary. It was shortly after 5:00 AM in Bureau headquarters, and the staff had been up all night. A bleary eyed Kylee Branson, the Vice Minister of Doctrine & Faith, had just delivered a monotone report on the status of the search for the four missing UWW aircraft: No new information.
It wasn’t that Branson couldn’t perform his job; on the contrary, he was quite good at it, and fiercely loyal to the privately funded bureaucracy. But he had a condescending manner about him, a way of making Styx feel inferior to him, no matter their respective ranks. Of course Branson behaved that way out of custom and breeding, but at times he seemed to play up his business and familial connections, oblivious to the potential danger this placed him in. The Acting Minister, while he couldn’t fire this entrenched employee easily, had other, even more decisive, ways of dealing with people.
As far as Styx was concerned, Branson’s unquestioned loyalty to the Bureau was his only redeeming feature. Styx appreciated this, no matter the different paths the two men had taken to get here. It annoyed him, though, that Branson was loyal to the Bureau first and only secondarily to Styx Tertullian.
Styx lifted his coffee cup and took a long sip. He’d been pouring it non-stop all night. He reminded himself (as he had several times before) that the relationship the two of them had was an imperfect one in an imperfect world. So be it. He would work with what he had. Worse men could be in Branson’s position.
“This is the point where I should yell at someone for not finding the aircraft,” Styx said, with more resignation in his voice than dissatisfaction. “As our Vice Minister of Doctrine & Faith, some of the failure would seem to fall on your shoulders, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, dealing with the UWW is a religious matter, isn’t it?”
Branson scrunched his brow, and in the haughtiness of his expression it appeared to Styx that he accepted no blame whatsoever. He had, after all, passed on to Styx what he called “the concerns of other Bureau officers” prior to the attack on Monte Konos, and while the man had professed to support the attack, he had done so only grudgingly. Branson was undoubtedly thinking now that Styx had made the military decision on his own, and any failure stemming from such a risky, foolhardy expedition was the responsibility of him alone.
“Well, answer my question!”
“Uh, Minister Culpepper assigned it to Minority Affairs, and uh—”
“I was Vice Minister of Minority Affairs at the time. Do you mean to say that I was responsible for the failure?”
“No, sir.”
“In any event, Culpepper isn’t around anymore, so whatever I say goes. And I want Doctrine & Faith to handle the UWW from now on. Is that
Slowly, as if in a dream, Lori felt herself pulling away from Fujiko and seeming to float closer to the children, but knew she couldn’t really be moving in that manner. She must be walking toward them. Within moments, she knelt with them, and they gathered around her. One of the children—Veronica—turned down the tunecube, then shut it off and handed it to Lori.
“ Olto Karida , “ Veronica said to Lori, with a wise little smile. “ Olto Karida .”
Viscerally, Lori knew what the words meant, and they comforted her. But intellectually she could not make the connection and translate into English.
Off to one side, she saw the bespectacled redhead, Michelle Renee. “What did she say to you?” the translator asked. “That wasn’t ancient Aramaic.”
“I don’t know,” Lori said. And this was the truth.
* * *
The tall, black-haired man stood calmly in the doorway, while Styx considered the irritating personality of this functionary. It was shortly after 5:00 AM in Bureau headquarters, and the staff had been up all night. A bleary eyed Kylee Branson, the Vice Minister of Doctrine & Faith, had just delivered a monotone report on the status of the search for the four missing UWW aircraft: No new information.
It wasn’t that Branson couldn’t perform his job; on the contrary, he was quite good at it, and fiercely loyal to the privately funded bureaucracy. But he had a condescending manner about him, a way of making Styx feel inferior to him, no matter their respective ranks. Of course Branson behaved that way out of custom and breeding, but at times he seemed to play up his business and familial connections, oblivious to the potential danger this placed him in. The Acting Minister, while he couldn’t fire this entrenched employee easily, had other, even more decisive, ways of dealing with people.
As far as Styx was concerned, Branson’s unquestioned loyalty to the Bureau was his only redeeming feature. Styx appreciated this, no matter the different paths the two men had taken to get here. It annoyed him, though, that Branson was loyal to the Bureau first and only secondarily to Styx Tertullian.
Styx lifted his coffee cup and took a long sip. He’d been pouring it non-stop all night. He reminded himself (as he had several times before) that the relationship the two of them had was an imperfect one in an imperfect world. So be it. He would work with what he had. Worse men could be in Branson’s position.
“This is the point where I should yell at someone for not finding the aircraft,” Styx said, with more resignation in his voice than dissatisfaction. “As our Vice Minister of Doctrine & Faith, some of the failure would seem to fall on your shoulders, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, dealing with the UWW is a religious matter, isn’t it?”
Branson scrunched his brow, and in the haughtiness of his expression it appeared to Styx that he accepted no blame whatsoever. He had, after all, passed on to Styx what he called “the concerns of other Bureau officers” prior to the attack on Monte Konos, and while the man had professed to support the attack, he had done so only grudgingly. Branson was undoubtedly thinking now that Styx had made the military decision on his own, and any failure stemming from such a risky, foolhardy expedition was the responsibility of him alone.
“Well, answer my question!”
“Uh, Minister Culpepper assigned it to Minority Affairs, and uh—”
“I was Vice Minister of Minority Affairs at the time. Do you mean to say that I was responsible for the failure?”
“No, sir.”
“In any event, Culpepper isn’t around anymore, so whatever I say goes. And I want Doctrine & Faith to handle the UWW from now on. Is that
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