"Alistair," Tav said.
"Yes."
"What are we doing?"
Alistair looked at him. The full amber look, not managing anything.
"I think," he said carefully, "that we are two people who are doing something together that neither of us planned and both of us have been watching happen for nine weeks, and that the nature of what we're doing is clear enough that naming it is almost unnecessary, and the reason neither of us has named it is that naming it changes the operational situation."
"Yes," Tav said. "That's an accurate description."
"And if we named it—"
"Then we'd have to decide what to do with the fact of it," Tav said.
"Yes."
A pause.
"I've decided," Tav said.
Alistair held his gaze.
"It's been decided for several weeks," Tav said. "I was waiting for the analysis to find an exception. It hasn't." He held Alistair's gaze steadily. "The operational implications are significant. Cain's monitoring will register the change in parameters. The Final Directive becomes more likely." "And it's still decided."
Alistair was very still. "Yes," he said, softly. "Same."
The kitchen held them.
The evening light moved through the windows — the amber of the city's streetlamps beginning to claim the space as the daylight gave up. Outside, the city was arriving at its evening version.
"Then we should—" Alistair started.
"Yes," Tav said. Neither of them moved immediately.
Then Alistair reached across the island and found Tav's hand, loosely, with the specific certainty of someone who has made a decision and is enacting it simply.
"The operational situation," he said.
"Will be managed," Tav said.
"Together."
"Yes."
"Starting with whatever Evelyn is going to do when the monitoring data shifts."
"She's been protecting us," Tav said. "I believe she'll continue."
Alistair's grip on his hand was light and certain.
"All right," he said.
The kitchen. The evening. The decision made and confirmed.
"All right," Tav agreed. At 2:17 a.m., Alistair was not in the apartment.
• • •
