The Caryatids - Bruce Sterling [57]
Radmila even rather liked to watch the old movies. Especially the very, very old silent movies, which seemed less bizarre and abrasive than the other kinds.
The Situation Room was crowded this morning, but the Family-Firm’s games today were grim. The Directors had brusquely abandoned Sergio’s screens. A modern autofocus projector painted the wall with a geolocative map.
This disaster map was busily agglomerating the damage reports from the net, which were flooding in by their millions. The map filtered this torrent of noise, so as to produce some actionable intelligence.
Southern California was measled all over with color-coded dots: scarlet, tangerine, golden, cerulean, and forest green. The map refreshed once each second, and as it did, all the colored dots denoting their small threats and ongoing horrors would do a little popcorn jump.
Politely, Radmila did a star entrance into the Situation Room. They could tell by her gloomy choice of soundtrack that her news was bad.
Glyn was manning the interactive table near the wall. Glyn had the most experience with the Family’s big crisis map, so she was required to drive it. Glyn peered up from her hectic labor. “Mila, how is Toddy?”
Radmila killed her soundtrack and silently shook her head. The Family knew the truth instantly. They’d all feared the worst, but they’d dared to entertain some hope.
Radmila conjured up a chair and had it carry her to Glyn. Glyn groped at her touchscreen, jacked her target cursor around, and stared at the busy projected dots, but Glyn was taking this news harder than anyone. Glyn was twitching all over and on the verge of tears.
Toddy’s heirs sat before the disaster map in their ragged, worried half circle, glumly clutching their control wands. Guillermo, Freddy, and Sofia Montalban were the Firm’s driving forces these days. Buffy and Raph Montgomery had shown up to make a Family quorum.
Doug and Lily were Buffy’s children, while Rishi and Elsie were Raph’s. The Family grandchildren clustered in the back of the Situation Room. They were the younger folk, so it was their business to run out into the field and do sit-reps.
Radmila slid her fingers over Glyn’s pale knuckles. “Let me drive this, Glyn.”
“I can do it,” Glyn said tautly.
“Glyn, take off. Some breakfast would do you good.”
Nobody else seemed to realize this, but Glyn was coming out of her skin. Glyn was always the quiet, self-sacrificing one in the Family-Firm: the one who was always there for everybody else. Glyn was the normal one, the quiet one. Glyn was no star. She wasn’t a Synchronist. Glyn took no interest in Dispensation politics. Glyn never made any big, starry public appearances. Glyn had the lowest public profile in the Family.
Because Glyn was Toddy’s clone.
Glyn had been the biggest public scandal that the Family-Firm had ever suffered. Even the tragic assassination of their governor had caused them less turmoil. It had been an epic Hollywood calamity when the public learned that one of Toddy’s wealthy geek lovers had cloned Toddy. The legal and political fight to get custody of that little girl—away from her so-called parents—had brought the Family years of heartache.
But Hollywood scandals faded, since there were always some hotter, fresher scandals. Thirty years had passed, and now Glyn was a sturdy fixture of the Family, just as loyal and just as welcome as any other adopted child.
But that was not how Glyn herself had felt about that situation. Glyn had never been at peace about that issue; no, not for one single day.
Glyn half collapsed in her command chair. Radmila had never seen such a strange, desolate, bewildered look. At least, she’d never seen that look on Glyn’s face. She’d certainly seen that look on her own.
What was this strange, hot feeling that welled up within her? It felt like love, but it was so dense and heavy and there was so much pain in it. That powerful feeling overwhelming her now: It was pity. She