Regenesis

by C. J. Cherryh

  Switch personae dramatis again—because Jordan was driven, all his life, to be number one, the best, the one who ran things—

  And he wasn’t the best. In his view, Ari had turned on him. But she’d seen a danger in him. Seen how thoroughly one hell of a sex drive overlying a god-complex had blinded what otherwise really was a great mind…

  She’d fixed it in the next generation, hadn’t she?

  This is it. This is all there is. This is all there’ll ever be.

  All there is.

  He’d been seventeen, Justin had, and that had to have hurt, because Jordan had always taught him not to trust Ari; but Justin’s own ambition to be the best had driven him to Ari; and afterward—

  Afterward he’d had that mantra echoing in his skull, and Grant was the one he could trust, forever after, the way Jordan trusted Paul. Justin had come, finally, to a point he could like her. Just—like her; and that was a long, long way for that mindset to come.

  She’d met Justin on the same territory, hadn’t she? She’d been half afraid of him. And then targeted him for her first adult conquest. And shied off again, bluff called. He’d been scared of her. Grant had been willing to fling himself between. But that had been a dose of ice water, and she’d thought about it later and thought—thank God they hadn’t. Wouldn’t that have made a mess of things?

  Liking was good enough.

  Jordan hadn’t been that lucky. Neither had the first Ari.

  I’ve found two of your mistakes, she thought, addressing Ari. One was ever sleeping with Jordan; the other was letting Giraud run and never just having the fight it would have taken and looking into his competency to do what he was certified to do.

  You knew about Denys, didn’t you? Knew damned well he was a genius, and knew Giraud was almost bright enough to handle things. Giraud really was an Alpha Supervisor. He just wasn’t the best one on the planet. When an alpha gets messed up, it’s a question of who can unwind the tangle he can make of his sets, and that’s probably just very, very few, even among those with the license, isn’t it? It’s hard for me to judge—because I’m good; it was probably hard for you to judge. I wonder how often you ever ran into Kyle, or if you ever looked twice at him.

  She looked at Florian, pocketed the com, reached across the table, and laid her hand on his, a little calm-down.

  “I’m not worried about Jordan,” she said. “I’ll Get him. I’ll Get him and not lose Justin in the process. They’ve had a fight about something. But we’ll fix it.”

  “We’re worried about Defense,” Florian said somberly. “Sera, we don’t have resources there.”

  “We don’t,” she said, “but we’re smarter.”

  “They have weapons and numbers.”

  Here and now, Florian meant. Here and now didn’t always figure when she set her thoughts ranging; but trust Florian to pull her back to the real world. Defense, she thought, was her enemy and consequently all Reseune was in danger. Defense was, in the terms of their childhood game, the Enemy, and Vladislaw Khalid…was its modern face.

  What have they got? was one thing to ask.

  And it was always, always smart to ask—How does what we did play out in their eyes? What do they think we did?

  Overthrowing Denys…who had agreements with them.

  Bringing Jordan back.

  Bringing Jordan back, where Jordan, if he weren’t Jordan, might have been moved to tell her things. A lot of things. Jordan had been dealing with Defense before Kyle turned Abban into a weapon aimed at the first Ari.

  She’d assumed Jordan was innocent. But if there was one person inside Reseune besides Ari in those days who could have run a timebomb like Kyle, it was Jordan. Giraud damned sure couldn’t, and Prang didn’t think she could crack what Defense had done and an alpha had worked over for decades…

  Jordan had taken one look at that psych manual and exploded…not because there was anything in it of what Defense had done, but possibly because he knew exactly what Kyle was, and where he had been, if not where he was now.

  “Sera?” Florian asked. The real world. The immediate threat.

  “We’ve got to take measures to defend Reseune,” she said. “We can’t assume we’re safe from physical attack. And not just me. Everybody. The labs. Everything. We don’t know how crazy things can get.”

  “Good,” Florian said, the way he’d used to say when they’d laid plans in the storm shelters. “That’s good.”

  They went up to her office then. They called in Catlin, and Wes and Marco, and they said maybe they should talk to green barracks as well as the ReseuneSec senior officers—who weren’t happy about having a very young azi like Rafael down there in charge of them; but, Catlin said, after Wes and Marco, old green barracks instructors, had gone down and explained there was a danger, and that Rafael BR was under expert advice and orders, then ReseuneSec’s seniors had been a lot happier.

  There were cases spilling over to Alpha Wing’s attention, a fight between two CITs at the port, over a lover in the town. It was the sort of thing Hicks had used to handle, and that Ari would have gladly given him back, but they couldn’t trust him yet with communications, and Rafael had no idea what to do with CIT fools who were themselves warehouse managers and assistant managers.

  So she wrote a letter to the offenders: All of Revenue is in danger right now and Director Schwartz is trying to straighten things out in the capital. You have violated a number of community laws, and if Director Hicks were in charge at the moment you might both be doing community service for months. It’s stupid to fight when it’s the other person’s choice which of you she sleeps with, or neither. A ReseuneSec officer will ask her how she wants things to be. Her word will he final. If I read any of your names again on reports, including hers, regarding this matter, you’ll be in front of a judge and this as well as the next offense will go to trial. Sincerely, Ariane Emory.

  It put her in a fighting mood, and she wrote another letter to all department heads: Regarding the recent call to review atmosphere breach procedures with all employees and all persons under your charge: we will be conducting unannounced drills. Conditions in Novgorod and recent sabotage upriver have made this review’ imperative. Places of public assembly, likewise review your procedures and be prepared. We cannot he sure the first call will not be a real emergency.

  She was just out of deepstudy the next morning when she received, via Yanni’s Chloe, an exasperated message from the birthlabs:

  We hope that Administration is aware that we risk losing work in progress due to security drills. We wish to he made an exception in all except an actual emergency.

  She considered it, looked up the rules, considered lives at stake and wrote, to the labs: Actual emergency is by regulation announced as such. Labs will conduct unannounced internal drills once daily in lieu of ReseuneSec drills. —Ariane Emory.

  She wasn’t in a good mood about that. She wasn’t in a good mood today about a number of things, and her head was muzzy from the deepteach drug, which probably argued she shouldn’t be writing to departments. She asked Florian, via com, “Has Yanni checked in? Has Amy?” and being told that neither had, she keyed up the night’s news. It was the fourteenth of August. And Lao was at death’s door.

  That continued, Lao was rumored to be on life support, which could cover almost anything. Her Proxy was still missing. Other Councillors had declined interviews. The mayor of Novgorod had declined an interview, except that he had canceled all police and fire service leaves. The news services reported panic buying of foodstuffs and water. Parents were keeping children from youth activities.

  Rafael reported, from ReseuneSec, that there had been two robberies overnight in Novgorod, four muggings, one hundred eighteen incidents of public intoxication, fourteen resolved cases of missing persons, one that hadn’t been resolved, some cases of panic buying of foodstuffs, a break-in and looting at a liquor dealer’s, and a case of vandalism in the subway, where someone had painted Free Jordan Warrick on a subwa
y car. The latter had gone through ten stations without being reported, and three more stations before the car had been taken out of service for cleaning.

  Rafael said that older officers called it an uncommonly quiet night. Her own experience, slight as it was, said the night’s activities were usually ten times that, except in a few categories.

  “People are afraid,” she reported back to Rafael. She put that in her population dynamics equations and it came out very simply, that the azi-born weren’t causing any trouble they could avoid and that the CIT-born were worried and expressing it in liquor consumption.

  She twisted her hair up, skewered it, asked herself if she could bear deepstudying Ari One’s notes on military psych one more time, and thought she’d done it enough.

  Com went off. She punched in.

  “Sera.” Catlin. “The scheduled 0800 flight from Novgorod has taken off an hour late. It will land here rather than Moreyville. We’re not getting a passenger list, sera. ReseuneSec has taken notice. We are insisting. They’re just saying they have a Council order.”

  It could land at either airport. It had the extra stop if there were passengers with a Reseune destination. Council order. Yanni might be aboard.

  Possibly Amy, on Yanni’s ticket.

  Somebody was coming in, or some message was. And the airplane wasn’t talking to security.

  “I may be going down to the airport,” she said to Joyesse and Del, and went to her room and put on a light blouse and a beige suit—media lived down at the Reseune airport, the ones with clearance to be here; and if it was a wave of more media coming in she was prepared to be exercised about it.

  Nerves. She got the reports from Catlin, told Catlin to advise her when it was within half an hour of landing.

  When it was on approach, Catlin and Florian showed up in full kit, reported a car would meet them at the side exit of Alpha Wing, which was right by Wing Security—an exit which didn’t even, to this day, have a road connected to it.

  She went downstairs. Florian and Catlin were talking to ReseuneSec; and there was no use speculating. If it was Yanni coming in, he didn’t want his presence on the plane advertised, and there could be very, very good reason for that.

  She saw the plane coming in as they came the last bit down to the shoreline road, down beyond the first AC barns, saw it touch and roll to a stop. Novgorod Air, it said on the side. Not Reseune One, which was sitting idle at Novgorod under round the clock guard; not even ReseuneAir, which was also sitting idle; its fleet consisted of one of the three planes here, one at Novgorod, one at Moreyville, and they were all idle, lacking ordinary traffic this week.

  “Sera,” Florian said then. “It’s not Yanni aboard, nor Amy. Two passengers show the name Corain.”

  BOOK THREE Section 5 Chapter xvi

  AUG 14, 2424

  1122H

  They kept the media away, used the restricted arrival lounge, and the handful of passengers that debarked and walked to that area were an older woman—Emily Latu, ReseuneAir security informed Florian, and Florian relayed it: Emily Latu, wife of Mikhail Corain, her adult children Rebecca Latu. Rebecca’s spouse Andrew Gaines, and three children; and Alexander Corain, spouse Morag Westfall, and babe in arms.

  It was beyond a disappointment. It was ominous. Ari stood looking at the arrivals with a chill about her heart, then bestirred herself to walk toward Latu, as Florian indicated her to be, and to offer her hand. “Sera. Welcome to Reseune. I’m Ariane Emory.”

  “Sera Emory.” Latu looked to be on the brink of tears. “My husband wanted us to come here. Councillor Schwartz said we’d be safe here.”

  “You’re very welcome. Is your husband all right?”

  “Yes,” Latu said, “yes.”

  “And Yanni Schwartz?”

  “As far as I know, he is. Lao’s dying. Nobody can find her Proxy. Defense is walled up in their Bureau, and it’s just scary. It’s scary in the city. My husband—my husband sent this.”

  Latu offered a datastick. Ari took it, gave it to Catlin.

  “He doesn’t want publicity about your being here,” she said. “Is that so?”

  “He said—he said go ahead and talk to the media once we’re safe. That they’re trying to call Council into session. Without the Information Proxy they haven’t got a special measures quorum. They’re hoping to get hold of Edgerton. Everybody says he’s in the city—that Trade actually knows where he is.”

  That was hopeful news, actually. There were legal maneuvers. Yanni was still trying that.

  “What is the information you gave me?”

  “My husband—my husband has a message for the city. For everybody. If you can get it out.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said. Not knowing what Corain had said, she wasn’t going to run Corain’s family past the media, not yet, not now. She said to Catlin, “Get cars for them. Get them up to Wing One, our old apartment.”

  “Yes,” Catlin said, and talked to ReseuneSec.

  It wasn’t the arrival she wanted. And when she played for herself, on her handheld, what Corain had sent, it took on a far, far more ominous character.

  “This is Mikhail Corain, Councillor for Citizens, addressing you not from the Council chamber or from anywhere I wish to disclose at the moment. The murder of one Councillor of Defense and the disappearance of another has left no doubt of the intent of persons inside Defense to stage a coup and takeover of civilian government. Citizens of Union, your Council still exists. We have not given up our lawfully elected posts in favor of murderers and conspirators, nor will we step aside. We call on the Defense electorate to reject all orders from Vladislaw Khalid. Citizens calls for the arrest and detention of Vladislaw Khalid and for the immediate declaration of legitimate elections in the Bureau of Defense. Khalid’s acts are void of authority and Citizens calls on Khalid to vacate the premises of Defense and submit to arrest.”

  It wasn’t a great speech. But it was, given the arrival of Corain’s family, an earnest one. She sent it out over the public address in Reseune itself, for starters. That, for all the department heads that had lately objected to the drills.

  And she sent a copy to the media waiting at the airport. The plane had taken off, on its way to Moreyville before it returned to Novgorod.

  But Mikhail Corain’s speech was headed for Novgorod much, much faster.

  And she hoped to God she was doing the right thing—and that Corain and Yanni both were braced for the fallout from it. It was a declaration of civil war.

  Sitting on it, however, even for a matter of hours—that could have consequences, too.

  The Enemy wasn’t likely standing still, not if things were so bad the Council was sending relatives to safety.

  BOOK THREE Section 5 Chapter xvii

  AUG 14, 2424

  1301H

  “Khalid’s acts are void of authority and Citizens calls on Khalid to vacate the premises of Defense and submit to arrest.”

  “They got there,” Yanni muttered to Frank. “Thank God. Time to move.”

  Frank used the house phone to talk to their guard, which occupied the downstairs of the hotel, simple signal, verbal code. The hotel was down to five other guests, two women who were visiting a relative in the city, and a family from Novgorod who’d suffered an apartment fire, and was keeping very, very quiet under the circumstances. Four businessmen, three from Svetlansk and another from Big Blue, had checked out this morning to catch the flight, the first in two days, that had gone up toward Moreyville and Reseune. Amy Carnath had reported her hotel mostly vacant, and the news said barges were stacking up in the port because dock and warehouse workers weren’t showing up and there was no room to offload. Local groceries reported shortages, while food piled up on barges that couldn’t find a berth.

  That was the condition of the city, as bad a mess as it had ever been during the War. There were rumors, constantly denied in news reports, of Paxer sabotage directed at the precip towers that defended the city, and workers consequ
ently reported sick rather than go into large exposed areas like the docks and warehouses, construction and transport. Companies temporarily shut down operations rather than pay the few workers that did show, and in some families, credit was running short. The city ombudsman had launched a court inquiry as to whether companies would owe back pay, and the city mayor had threatened arrest and confiscation in any shop jacking up prices for necessities like food, water, and medicines.

  It was a damned mess, was what, and it was getting worse. Yanni put on his coat over a tee that covered a bulletproof vest, Frank wearing the same protection under his, and carrying the critical briefcase. They met their exterior guard outside, picked up two more at the lift—the two at the hotel room door would stay there to make sure the room staved secure—and they took the lift down to pick up four more guards at the lot occupying the lobby. They numbered more than before. The ones from ReseuneSec offices across town had come over, and the hotel was an armed camp—in case. Reseune promised the hotel that it would pick up the tab—and that kept management happy about ReseuneSec filling hotel rooms and supervising in the kitchens—the Carnath girl and her azi were, he hoped, on that plane that had carried Corain’s family. He didn’t want the kid involved any deeper, not today, and the last thing they needed was those two getting swept up in some operation—or worse—and needing him to get them out.

  The ReseuneSec locals had a car—several cars—and the hotel airport bus. They used the bus for a decoy and transport for the other guards, and Yanni got into a car with two others and a lot of guns. Frank got into the seat beside him, and they started off with a speed more apt for Reseune’s lonely portside road than a Novgorod street. They whipped onto Central, and sped along about a kilometer toward the white tower that sprawled onto a block off Central, then squealed around a turn and up to the emergency entrance of the hospital, where the hotel bus met them.