Regenesis

by C. J. Cherryh

  “We can walk over there. Nothing’s stopping us.”

  “We could run into him!”

  “So you want to avoid him permanently?”

  “Damn it.”

  “But not damn him?”

  “I don’t know!”

  Grant frowned. “So all across the horizon, very intelligent CITs aren’t acting rationally. Young Ari didn’t do a thing, Yanni didn’t, the elder Warrick makes a stupid move, and the younger doesn’t know what he damns, but he doesn’t want to talk to his genefather at all. What was the card you asked me to give Florian?”

  It bordered on funny, it was so stupid. The idiocy of the situation afflicted his already raw sensibilities. At very least, his universe was not on the same track this morning, and he no longer knew where it was going, not an unusual condition in his life, but not one he liked.

  “Jordan’s likely to be at our favorite lunch haunt on any given day if he’s using that office, and I don’t want the confrontation. So, for starters, I think we’ll walk to the north corridor of Admin for a late breakfast. That won’t be on his route.” He stared disconsolately at the cabinets, finding everything out of sorts. “They’ve color-coded the damn supply cabinets. It looks great. But are we going to remember to put the clips back in the red box? Should we have to remember? Does anyone care?”

  “At least your father won’t be into your notebooks.”

  “Definitely a point in favor of this place.”

  “And it was originally his office.”

  It was. It had been. “Let’s just get out of here before—”

  The desk phone went off. He shot a look at Grant. It rang again. It was Jordan’s ID. He hesitated toward the door, then looked back.

  It went on ringing. He swore, and punched in Speaker.

  “Dad?”

  “Where in hell are you?” came from the other end. “What’s going on?”

  “They moved us. I think we were bugged.”

  “You think we were bugged! Bloody hell!” So much for that piece of deliberate naivete. And more quietly, even gently, Jordan added: “Are you all right?”

  He hadn’t expected parental concern. That ploy hadn’t even been on the radar. It set him back about a beat or two and almost hurt. Not quite. “We’re fine. Dad. We are.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Wing One.” Where Jordan couldn’t come. Not a hope in hell he’d ever get through her security to have a look around this office. “They moved my office.”

  And Jordan had to know that the move was for good.

  “Are you going to protest this?”

  Tell the truth or temporize? Truth was simpler. Kinder, if that mattered. “No, actually.”

  “No?”

  Outrage. Truth, again? Or was it a lie?

  Both wrapped together, both truth and lie, likely. Jordan wanted his son to rise up and challenge Admin, and challenge Ari’s existence. But he didn’t really expect it to happen—for reasons Jordan thought he understood better than the rest of the universe. “It won’t do a damn bit of good if I do. It’s not a bad office here. More room. Certainly more room than four of us and staff jammed into the other one.”

  “Come to breakfast.”

  Now a lie was necessary. Absolutely the polite thing. “Things are in a mess here. I’ve got some unpacking to do. I’ve got to find some things.”

  “Supper, then. We’ll cook.”

  It wasn’t an invitation. It was a challenge to trust. Maybe to come talk about that card he no longer had. And he didn’t trust Jordan, not at all. He wasn’t bringing Grant and himself through Jordan’s doors, subject to whatever they were handed to eat and drink, which might have God-knew-what in it. “I can’t.”

  “Arrested?”

  “Just detained. I don’t know for how long. It’ll ease up. It always does.”

  “Damn it, I’m going to Yanni with this.”

  So they both went through the motions. The pretense of familial affection. The reality of outrage. “Don’t use up your credit with him. This was bound to happen. They’re not going to like us working together. You knew that when you pushed it.”

  “You mean she’s not going to like it.”

  “Look, you’ve got to settle in, start producing again, start your work up…let them see you haven’t lost a beat. That’s what’s important. Get current with things… I understand they’re going to give you that office.”

  “Current!”

  “All right, yes, I’m sure that’s an issue among the younger researchers.” It was, and a painful one, which he used with only the faintest twinge of shame. “Get a new project going. And since you’re in that office alone with Paul, there won’t be any question what’s my work and what’s yours.”

  There was just a little silence on the other side. As if his son’s work was going to overshadow his, as if, if it was any good, no one would believe he did it. That was going to sting. And he did it deliberately, knowing how instinctively jealous and competitive his father was. Jealousy had been the core issue with Jordan and the first Ari, that Jordan wouldn’t be second to her…he’d tried to be her equal partner in research, and that hadn’t worked, because the first Ari had been smarter than Jordan, just like the second. He accepted that fact of life, with his Ari. Jordan hadn’t ever been able to. He didn’t know what he felt at the moment, but it was perilously close to unreasoning anger—which didn’t damned well help in a fencing match with his father.

  “That’s the way it is, is it?” Jordan asked. “That’s the concern she has, just so solicitous to have me look good? Pardon me if I don’t buy it.”

  “I don’t either, Jordan, but there’s a certain assumption around the labs that you’re so many years behind the times, that you can’t possibly overcome—”

  “The hell! The hell I am! And the hell I can’t!”

  “It’s the next generation, dad. They don’t know you. Just produce. They’ll learn who you are.”

  “Who I am? Damned right they will!”

  Jordan broke the connection, right there.

  Grant lifted a well-controlled eyebrow. “Breakfast?”

  BOOK ONE Section 2 Chapter iv

  APRIL 26, 2424

  1302H

  Message from Hicks, director of Reseune Security, to sera’s security: Consultation urgently needed.

  It might involve the card—if Hicks was running an operation at Yanni’s direction, they’d gotten in the middle of it last night, and Hicks was probably quietly furious at their having swept it up.

  They could say no. They could hold onto the card and force Yanni to request sera to order them to release it; but a feud with Hicks wasn’t profitable. Hicks had agreed when they’d outright insisted on their monitoring the business with Justin and his father, and relaying what they found to him; and the interview seemed, overall, a reasonable request.

  “I’ll likely be a while,” Florian said, while leaving the security station.

  “All secure here,” Catlin said. “I’ll hold things down. It wouldn’t be good to annoy ReseuneSec if we don’t need to.”

  “No,” he agreed. “It wouldn’t.”

  He took the card with him, carefully protected in an envelope—its disposition dependent on what he heard from Hicks: maybe he would turn it over, maybe not, and Hicks would not lay hands on him, not if Hicks wanted his career. He headed out, downstairs, out of the wing and over to Admin, to an office that supervised his kind, but not him, not Catlin, and no one else inside sera’s apartment.

  ReseuneSec was operationally directly responsible to Yanni Schwartz these days. Hicks had succeeded Giraud Nye in the post, and hadn’t been implicated in Denys’ attempt on sera’s life—in fact Hicks had stood down, done his best to keep things calm and safe for most of Reseune, and taken neither side, while sera’s people and Denys’ people shot at each other in the halls of Wing One. So Hicks had kept his job. Yanni said he was a good man, and since they trusted Yanni—so far—they trusted Hicks—so far.<
br />
  Over to Admin, upstairs to the executive level, down the corridor from Yanni’s office. The ReseuneSec offices were a busy place, even at this early hour. The anteroom was full of people in suits, people in uniform. If he had to wait, he had things he could do in the interim.

  He went to the desk. “Florian AF, Sera Ariane Emory’s bodyguard. The director called.”

  The receptionist immediately lost the preoccupied look. “Ser. You’re expected.” He stood up and personally escorted Florian down a carpeted hall straight to the director’s office, past cameras and other devices—no matter all the waiting CITs back there.

  That was gratifying, on sera’s behalf. It made a good impression—so far.

  “Florian AF.”

  A man with dark hair, dark good looks, and a gold bar indicating a colonel’s rank, intercepted him and the receptionist both.

  Kyle AK. Alpha azi. Hicks’ aide.

  “Ser.” Kyle AK outranked him. And might prevent him, but he would not do business with a substitute. He eyed Kyle AK with a certain reserve, just stared at him, at a dead stop, and the receptionist retreated.

  “The message was from the Director,” Florian said. “I’ll see the Director.”

  “To be sure,” Kyle AK said smoothly, and opened the door that said Adam Hicks, Director, Reseune Security in gold letters.

  He walked in with Kyle AK, facing a silver-haired, square-faced man at a desk.

  Suit, not uniform. That was Hicks, CIT, and never trained in green barracks, not an expert in actual practice, only in administration. He’d gotten the services of Kyle AK, a very highly trained alpha, former Fleet service. And it was widely suspected that Kyle AK was and had been the source of no little policy and no few orders in ReseuneSec…but it was the born-man who held the office and signed the papers.

  “Ser,” Florian said. “Florian AF. You called sera’s office.”

  Hicks got up from his chair and offered his hand across the desk, again, proper behavior. “Florian AF. A pleasure. Have a seat.”

  “Ser,” Florian said, placing hands in the back of his belt and continuing to stand, post-handshake, as Hicks sat down: he had reached a decision. “Jordan Warrick surreptitiously passed a calling card with a contact number to Justin Warrick. The younger Warrick volunteered the card to me when I intercepted him on the quadrangle, and made no further comment. I think you’ll know that from my report.”

  “Do you have the card with you?” Hicks asked him.

  “Yes. May I have your word, ser, we’ll have the benefit of your investigation? This regards a person under sera’s authority.”

  “Agreed. Absolutely agreed.”

  Florian reached into his jacket front and pulled out the envelope. Hicks took it and laid it on the desk in front of him.

  “What do you know about the card?” Hicks asked.

  “The number, ser, belongs to a Dr. Sandur Patil, University of Novgorod.”

  Hicks’s face betrayed very little. He was good, in that regard. “Researcher and professor. Did the Director brief you who she is?”

  “Scheduled for promotion to a directorship at Fargone. Yes, ser. Director Schwartz said so, in conversation with my principal.”

  Hicks nodded slowly. “How far did he brief her?”

  “Perhaps farther than he briefed you, ser, so I shouldn’t go into specifics.”

  Momentary silence. A perusal by very cold, very opaque eyes. “You know about Eversnow.”

  “Yes, ser. We do.”

  “You got this card from the younger Warrick.”

  “It was given, Ser. Volunteered by him.”

  “He got it from Warrick Senior.”

  “We observed that he did, ser, unless cards were switched. We didn’t search him. Justin Warrick has been honest with us.”

  “Your personal recommendation on the matter. Florian AF?”

  He drew a breath. “We’ve pulled Justin Warrick into sera’s wing, to prevent further contact. That was our immediate action.”

  “Is he aware of what’s on the card?”

  “The card was given him without explanation. He wasn’t observed reading it. He volunteered it to me, and we ran the address on it. We didn’t, however, run the data strip. It seems to us that needs to be done in lab.”

  “We’ll do that,” Hicks said, “with precautions.”

  “Sera will appreciate notification of the contents, whether or not it immediately concerns her security.”

  Hicks’ jaw clamped. He was a man not in the habit of letting go of information without knowing parameters in advance. But slowly he nodded. “We appreciate your turning this over, Florian AF.”

  “Sera will take action based on the contents, ser. We will keep your office apprised.”

  “Sit down,” Hicks said. “For God’s sake, sit down.”

  It seemed Hicks had something specific to discuss. Florian moved over to the chair and did sit down, leaned back, and looked at the man on the level. It was a worried look on the other side of the desk. A CIT with what seemed to be a problem.

  “What’s your opinion on what you’ve found?” Hicks asked.

  “First, that Jordan Warrick may or may not have known what was on the card. Second, Justin had no idea, and was uncomfortable with the possession of it in the circumstances. Third, Dr. Patil may or may not know that her information was traded.”

  “What, in your opinion, was Warrick’s motive?”

  “We have no current theory, except to say he wants his son closer to him and we want him farther away. Closer in the metaphysical sense as well as the physical.”

  “His loyalty, you mean.”

  “The younger Warrick isn’t amenable to his father’s past politics. He avoids that topic. He has no political leanings of his own.”

  “Everyone born a CIT has a political leaning.”

  “His is definitely not toward the Centrists, then, ser. His beliefs run counter to theirs.”

  “So you don’t think his gift of the card to you was simply because he knew he was watched. Do you think he would have turned it in under other circumstances?”

  “Jordan Warrick knew they were watched, ser. He’s always watched.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “In response to your question, ser, if he hadn’t handed it to us last night, he would have likely handed it over sometime today, because he isn’t in agreement with his father’s gesture. He doesn’t favor involvement with clandestine matters. And while he regards his father highly he will equally well wish to avoid any involvement in his father’s actions, where they may cross ReseuneSec. He has had extensive experience with your office, ser, and has no wish to cross your path again.”

  “What do you think is going on with the elder Warrick?”

  “Resentment of past confinement and present limitations. A desire to agitate, possibly to inject new energy into a quiet status quo with Admin. Possibly a third motive. My information is insufficient.”

  “But your information is current in the case of the younger Warrick. You’re quite satisfied that he poses no risk to your principal.”

  “I am very confident of my estimate of Justin Warrick. We wouldn’t allow him in the same room with sera if we were in the least doubtful about his intentions.”

  “What is your estimate of the Patil situation?”

  “I can’t possibly estimate, ser, except to ask if it’s possible Director Schwartz himself provoked Jordan Warrick to do this. The coincidence is extreme, if there is no causality. Both know Patil, ser Warrick secondhand, as best I know, and Dr. Schwartz has met with her—intended to meet with her at the time he last spoke with Warrick Senior. We know there was an intense argument between ser Warrick and Dr. Schwartz on that occasion, before Dr. Schwartz left for Novgorod. We don’t know the content.”

  “It was an unrecorded conversation,” Hicks said. “In that, Florian AF, you and I are in the same situation.”

  Interesting. And there was one, perhaps one, win
dow to ask into that matter. “Ser. This touches sera’s security, considering Justin Warrick was involved, and Justin Warrick and his companion are under her protection. Eversnow was the topic of dinner conversation between Director Schwartz and sera that same evening. An hour later, with no direct contact with anyone we’ve monitored, Jordan Warrick chose to produce a card with a name on it involving Eversnow, in a way he knew would come to the attention of ReseuneSec and sera’s security. Sera went to Director Schwartz regarding the card. Director Schwartz revealed a connection between Eversnow and Patil, and between Warrick and Patil, via a third party. We find this card assumes a threatening character, regarding supposedly secure conversations involving Director Schwartz’s activities, and sera’s security officially calls your attention to that fact.”

  A moment of silence. “Meaning, ser?”

  “Meaning we will act, ser, if we see a problem to sera’s wing or sera’s interests, including the safety of present Reseune Administration.”

  “You’re bright. Tell me, Florian AF, what would you advise we do about Dr. Patil?”

  “Investigate. There’s no information yet. The action doesn’t seem friendly to her interests. But we don’t know with any surety what her interests are.”

  “Facts: the Director met with Dr. Patil in Novgorod. They discussed her promotion to a division leadership in ReseuneLabs at Fargone, involving a covert Reseune development at Eversnow. Jordan Warrick signals us that he knows Patil. Which he does…possibly more than secondhand, for all we can discover. You know what she works on.”

  “Nanistics. Bionanistics of a secret and restricted nature.”

  “Then you understand the difficulty of turning up information. The military has classified much of her work, classified much of what goes on at Planys. We can’t get over that wall. And the nature of what she works on—makes a physical search of her premises problematic and dangerous. If she’s doing something she oughtn’t, or communicating with people she oughtn’t, yes, there is a danger.”

  “I would put forward a suggestion, ser.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Let her leave for the assignment. Then detain her and her baggage once she reaches orbit. That narrows the problem. She’ll either attempt to destroy things before she leaves, or take certain things with her.”