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Jul. 2nd, 2005 05:48 pmIt's been nearly two months. Two long months, during which he's reestablished a normal routine. He goes to work during the day, and to all the necessary meetings. Together with Regan -- returned to the estate from Sihnon now, her health suddenly and remarkably improved after he had traveled there for a quiet visit and even quieter discussion -- they attend dinner parties, charity events and society balls. The whispers now have turned to discussion of the rising star that is Gabriel Tam, secure and confident once again. There's even talk that he might be a good candidate for the Council, in time.
And if there are still occasionally darker mutterings about the kuángzhĕ de children of the family Tam, well, there are those who will always prefer scandal and secrets, and anyone in the public eye has always had to deal with such. Whenever someone asks about his son, Gabriel tells them frankly that there comes a time when grief must be abandoned, although never hope; perhaps someday Simon may yet come to his senses and come home.
He never mentions River, and after the first time, no one else does either.
In the evenings, he devotes himself to long hours in his office, on the dedicated source box that was once his son's. "You'd have access to any heaven-knows-what that filtered in from the Cortex. I absolutely forbid it," he'd said then. He finds it ironically fitting that he's using that same access now to sift through every piece of information and rumor he can find, researching -- looking for "gunslingers," looking for answers. Occasionally, as he works, he'll glance at a single picture that stands nearby in a frame -- a laughing young girl and her older brother.
I'm sorry, băobèi.
He has never been a stupid man. Willfully blind, he'll admit that now, at least to himself -- but never stupid. Stupid men don't succeed in business, after all; they don't hold seats on the right Boards, they don't have the proper social and political connections.
Gabriel Tam is not a stupid man.
Perhaps this is why it's so frustrating that he hasn't really been able to find anything.
* * * * *
It's late; Regan has gone to sleep hours ago. He sits at the desk in his office, absently watching the Cortex patterns flickering in the background behind the latest search results. This set includes a selection of advertisments about guns and ships for sale, a variety of listings about cowboys, an essay on the works of a writer from Earth-That-Was named Dorn and another on the complex imagist poetry of Jia Lir -- all sorts of evidently useless information that he knows he'll be reviewing anyway, just in case.
Scientia potentia est, after all. Knowledge is power. The Academy's motto it may be, but there's a lesson to learn from it -- he can't afford to overlook anything now, not even the smallest possibility.
As he stares blindly at the terminal, something flickers in the lower righthand corner, among the randomly cycling patterns. Just a flicker, but it draws his eye to an oddly stylized symbol. Gabriel touches it, and suddenly a message opens in the middle of the screen.
Mr. Tam:
Your research has been observed. If you wish to find true answers, you must first answer our questions. If you do not, you will never hear from us again.
Gabriel stares at the screen. Is it a threat? Or just a warning? River's voice echoes in his mind, a soft whisper of memory: "Got the note. Didn't answer it. Reported the second one. Gave up." His lips tighten, and he keeps reading.
How did one such as you come to hear of "gunslingers?"
Here is how you are to answer: if it was told to you by one of your Alliance associates, you will wear a red tie tomorrow. If you found or were given a book that mentioned it, wear a blue tie. If you received a message similar to this one, wear a black overcoat. If you heard of this from your son, wear a white shirt. If none of these options are correct, carry an umbrella.
You are to tell no one of this. There will be no second chance this time.
After he finishes reading it, the message remains on the screen for a few seconds -- ten? twenty? -- and then disappears, and the terminal shuts itself off. He looks blankly at it for some time, then leaves his office without speaking-- and without reactivating the terminal.
When Gabriel Tam departs the estate the next morning for his office in Capital City, he is wearing a white shirt and a white silk tie.
And if there are still occasionally darker mutterings about the kuángzhĕ de children of the family Tam, well, there are those who will always prefer scandal and secrets, and anyone in the public eye has always had to deal with such. Whenever someone asks about his son, Gabriel tells them frankly that there comes a time when grief must be abandoned, although never hope; perhaps someday Simon may yet come to his senses and come home.
He never mentions River, and after the first time, no one else does either.
In the evenings, he devotes himself to long hours in his office, on the dedicated source box that was once his son's. "You'd have access to any heaven-knows-what that filtered in from the Cortex. I absolutely forbid it," he'd said then. He finds it ironically fitting that he's using that same access now to sift through every piece of information and rumor he can find, researching -- looking for "gunslingers," looking for answers. Occasionally, as he works, he'll glance at a single picture that stands nearby in a frame -- a laughing young girl and her older brother.
I'm sorry, băobèi.
He has never been a stupid man. Willfully blind, he'll admit that now, at least to himself -- but never stupid. Stupid men don't succeed in business, after all; they don't hold seats on the right Boards, they don't have the proper social and political connections.
Gabriel Tam is not a stupid man.
Perhaps this is why it's so frustrating that he hasn't really been able to find anything.
* * * * *
It's late; Regan has gone to sleep hours ago. He sits at the desk in his office, absently watching the Cortex patterns flickering in the background behind the latest search results. This set includes a selection of advertisments about guns and ships for sale, a variety of listings about cowboys, an essay on the works of a writer from Earth-That-Was named Dorn and another on the complex imagist poetry of Jia Lir -- all sorts of evidently useless information that he knows he'll be reviewing anyway, just in case.
Scientia potentia est, after all. Knowledge is power. The Academy's motto it may be, but there's a lesson to learn from it -- he can't afford to overlook anything now, not even the smallest possibility.
As he stares blindly at the terminal, something flickers in the lower righthand corner, among the randomly cycling patterns. Just a flicker, but it draws his eye to an oddly stylized symbol. Gabriel touches it, and suddenly a message opens in the middle of the screen.
Mr. Tam:
Your research has been observed. If you wish to find true answers, you must first answer our questions. If you do not, you will never hear from us again.
Gabriel stares at the screen. Is it a threat? Or just a warning? River's voice echoes in his mind, a soft whisper of memory: "Got the note. Didn't answer it. Reported the second one. Gave up." His lips tighten, and he keeps reading.
How did one such as you come to hear of "gunslingers?"
Here is how you are to answer: if it was told to you by one of your Alliance associates, you will wear a red tie tomorrow. If you found or were given a book that mentioned it, wear a blue tie. If you received a message similar to this one, wear a black overcoat. If you heard of this from your son, wear a white shirt. If none of these options are correct, carry an umbrella.
You are to tell no one of this. There will be no second chance this time.
After he finishes reading it, the message remains on the screen for a few seconds -- ten? twenty? -- and then disappears, and the terminal shuts itself off. He looks blankly at it for some time, then leaves his office without speaking-- and without reactivating the terminal.
When Gabriel Tam departs the estate the next morning for his office in Capital City, he is wearing a white shirt and a white silk tie.
