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ENDS IN CARAQUI
    210 MILLION DINARS SAVED BY GOVERNMENT ACTION
     
    Toying with a salad and sipping at a glass of wine, Constantine watches with amusement as Aiah eats. The Keremaths’ kitchen staff are undergoing a screening— no one wants some legitimist partisan poisoning half the new government in one swoop— so the cooking is being done by military personnel, Constantine’s mercenaries. What the food lacks in subtlety and flavor is made up for in quantity, and the vat shrimp with vegetables served on noodles is more than acceptable.
    The Kestrel Room—rooms, in truth— is another example of Keremath extravagance. Wood is everywhere— parquetry floors, parquetry walls, carved, beamed ceilings. And the huge outcurving windows of transparent plastic offer a spectacular view of the city.
    “I have obtained for you a personal plasm allowance,” Constantine says.
    Aiah looks up sharply from her plate, suddenly greedy for more than food.
    “How much?” she asks.
    Amusement kindles in Constantine’s eyes. “A quarter of a kilomehr.”
    Aiah is impressed. “Per year? That’s good.”
    “Per month. Commencing immediately.”
    She stares at him. His smile broadens, turns a little predatory, sharp teeth flashing. “Being a part of the power structure has its benefits, does it not?”
    “I am beginning to see that it does.” She gives the matter some thought. “Is the cabinet so obliging to every department head?”
    “Our job, yours and mine, is the management of plasm. Other departments will not require these allocations.” Constantine shrugs his big shoulders back into his chair and gives a catlike smile. “Oh, it was a splendid meeting, on the whole. Drumbeth backed all my proposals, including your department, and Drumbeth has the loyalty of the army, so the others in the triumvirate have to tread warily when he makes his wishes known.” He toys with his fork, twirling it on the linen tablecloth. “There were some conditions. Allies that want their rewards.”
    “Who, in this case?”
    “Adaveth. You remember him?”
    Distaste tingles its way along Aiah’s nerves. “The twisted man.”
    “The Minister of Waterways,” Constantine says. “He will appoint your second-in-command, though I will have a veto if the individual is entirely inappropriate.”
    Ten percent of humanity, Aiah knew, had twisted genes. Most genetic alterations were for small things, hardly noticeable—boosted immune systems or outright immunity to certain diseases, cosmetic changes, genetic tweaks relating to the strength of the body or the power of the intellect. But Adaveth and his kindred were different: small, hairless, goggle-eyed. Probably intended to be semiaquatic. It gave Aiah the shivers just being around anyone that inhuman.
    “Will he be twisted?” she asks.
    Constantine gives her a sharp glance. “I would not be surprised. That is Adaveth’s constituency.” He pauses, toying again with his fork. “Many of the twisted here were created , by the old Avian oligarchy, for certain tasks. Positions in the civil service are traditionally reserved for them, and many of these have to do with servicing and maintaining plasm connections. Possibly because the workers are twisted, the jobs are low-status, low-pay. But I think they know more about how Caraqui is wired together than anyone, and if Adaveth chooses well your assistant should be invaluable.”
    “I understand the rationale,” Aiah says. But, she thinks, she reserves the right not to like it.
    “ I desire to make use of every opportunity,” Constantine says. “Every untapped resource, every talent, all the ability that has been wasted or suppressed.” His intent eyes burn Aiah’s nerves. “That is why I make use of you , Miss Aiah. Your gifts were unappreciated in your previous life.”
    Aiah holds his glance by an act of will. “I would like to think so, Metropolitan.”
    Constantine smiles, his gaze shifting to the window. “You should learn to call me