Текст книги "Regenesis"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

“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?”

“ JordanWarrick 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, window 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 youadvise 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. Wecan’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.”

Hicks’ face was habitually unexpressive, lined with years of grim business. An actual smile flickered in the corners of the mouth. “Good. Not, actually, surprising. What other suggestions, Florian AF?”

“Sera’s personal security doesn’t have the scope or the equipment to take certain steps. You do. We would also be extremely interested to know about any leak of information out of Planys, or into it.”

“We’ve consistently taken steps to find out.”

Over a period of time, then, a long‑term watch. “From before Jordan Warrick came here?”

A grudging dip of the head.

“Planys staff?” Florian asked. “Operatives inside the University?”

“Not all the specialist agents are as far removed as the stations in orbit. We can deal with a nanistics situation. Clearly we have mutual concerns. And we’ve come to a point of mutual interest. You’re very much what I expected. Alpha. No question.”

“Ser?”

“Is your partner outside?”

“She remained with sera. Internal policy.”

Hicks nodded slowly. “You insisted on monitoring that dinner at the restaurant. You consider young Warrick yours and you protect his privacy. Understandable. We agreed to that. But we’d like to have allthe records from that encounter, including anything you know from young Warrick, anything he or his companion may have said in handing you the item.”

Hicks had protested their handling it solo. Clearly he’d had his own observers.

“The younger Warrick is in our wing, ser. His safety is at issue as well as sera’s. We remain extremely concerned about Warrick senior being here. We remain concerned about any leak of the younger Warrick’s activities to Warrick Senior. And might I point out–I doubt Justin Warrick would have been as ready to offer the card to one of your agents.” An interesting thought, a troubling scenario. “You’d have had to search him if you’d wanted it. And I’m very sure he wouldn’t have liked that. Maybe that was part of Jordan’s intention, that Justin get arrested. Jordan didn’t know it wasn’t ReseuneSec doing the monitoring that night. He expected you. And that would have bounced it to Yanni’s office, and then to sera.”

“Interesting notion. But he didn’t give that card to you when you met. He sent his companion back with it.”

“Clearly you don’t need my answers.”

“Actually we don’t, on that one.” He tapped the envelope with the card. “This, however, is not in the form of a petty annoyance from Ser Warrick. It’s very troublesome.”

“You’re certain Director Schwartz didn’t set it up.”

A flat, impenetrable stare. “Not to my knowledge,” Hicks said, which Florian took for a warning. It could mean, Don’t ask. It could mean, No, Yanni Schwartz didn’t inform me of any trap he was setting, and I don’t at all like not being informed. And it could simply mean, There’s a leak somewhere, and I don’t like not having clues.

“Are you sure of your own staff, in Sera Emory’s apartment?”

“We’re all azi, ser. We’re Contracted. A leak there isn’t highly likely. Certain of the staff came from general security.” That was Wes and Marco. “A few elsewhere, from sources that passed clearances. Infiltration is possible, but not likely.”

“My point is, we can’t work at cross‑purposes. You’re eighteen. And there are the two other security agents besides your partner on your staff, am I right?”

“Yes, ser. I am. And there are.”

Hicks made a vee of his hands. Looked at him a moment. “Your predecessor was very good. I knew him… I knew him tolerably well, when I was an assistant to Giraud Nye. We cooperated.”

“Yes, ser.” Time before he had existed was not emotionally attractive to him. There was no resonance for him with his predecessor, such as born‑men expected to exist. And this was a Supervisor, who should know that trait. Florian remained engaged, wary of verbal traps.

“Your predecessor set precedents,” Hicks said, “set up frameworks of cooperation with my predecessor’s predecessor, that lasted into Giraud Nye’s administration of this agency, until the first Ariane’s death and the birth of her successor. And I’m about to invoke one of those arrangements. I can place three squads of my people directly under your authority, as Wing One security, establishing the same sort of arrangement my predecessor had with yourprincipal’s office–two‑way information. A very discreet two‑way flow. It’s not safe for you to keep us in the dark–or–it’s not assafe to have our operations crossing one another at critical moments, and I’d rather prevent that.”

Interesting offer. He did know about the prior arrangement. He’d expected to ask for it himself, once sera took control of Admin. He’d expected to get it without question at that point, whether or not Hicks was still running ReseuneSec. It was a little surprising to have it offered to them without asking.

“You’re worried about Patil and Warrick,” he said to Hicks, but only the dilation of the eyes betrayed Hicks’ reaction. “There’s a leak and you don’t know where it is.”

“Yes. Frankly, yes. And I’m concerned about Warrick and Warrick, the latter being inside your perimeters in themost sensitive area of Reseune.”

“I’m aware of the protocol that existed before my time. But name its details, ser, if you would.”

“Thirty beta‑ and gamma‑class agents, all dedicated to maintaining your security envelope, at your orders, full access to ReseuneSec information, exactly what the first Ari had…with an appropriate clerical staff, and an administrative office sited in Wing One. We could assign supervisory protocols to the Director himself. Or to me, personally, if you’re satisfied with that arrangement.”

“I am aware what specific arrangement the first Ari had with Giraud Nye, ser, and your offer is acceptable if sera is their Supervisor of record.”

“Her youth–”

“My partner and I are alphas, ser, and she’s ourSupervisor.”

“Technically–”

“In actuality, Ser. She has been capable of directing us for a classified length of time, but you may at least conclude it wasn’t yesterday”

Hicks regarded him at some length. “You’re still eighteen.”

“I’m very good at what I do, Ser.”

That got a smile. The best Supervisors could be like that, able to appreciate an azi’s humor. And one had to be wary, not to get sucked in and set too much at ease.

“No buttons available, Ser. She has all mine well‑catalogued.”

The smile persisted. “I’d expect that.”

“I add one more qualification: these agents: their Contracts go to her. Specifically.”

Not outright refusal, but wariness. “That’s notwhat was.”

“That chain‑of‑command may have killed her predecessor. Certainly it was a weakness. My partner and I have studied that arrangement very closely. Their Contracts will be solely to her, ser, or we can’t accept. Also, should we find a problem in any mindset, that agent will be directly dismissed and sent to retraining.”

Hesitation. “I can understand your reasoning. But you weren’t ready to ask for it. You have a lot of responsibilities inside the walls. Yet you don’t feel ready to deal with this increase in scope?”

Supervisor’s question.

“I personally find no great advantage in declining your offer, ser, under the terms I name. You see a need: you made the offer. Should we decline it, we run risks we both foresee, regarding sera’s safety. Should the offer turn out to involve less cooperation than we know we need, we will have to decline it, also for security reasons.”

“You think this office has problems?”

“I have some reservations, knowing a leak of information happened somewhere. We know our own staff. We don’t know yours, Ser. Does the offer stand?”

“It stands.”

“She’ll require their Contracts and their manuals.”

“Pending her approval of this arrangement.”

“If I approve here and now, and I do, the deal is done. Sera will agree.”

A frown. “Irregular transfer of Contracts.”

“My predecessor had similar power. You knew him, you say.”

“Your predecessor was very much older when I knew him.”

“He’s dead now,” Florian said. “My partner and I intend to do better than that.”

A moment of silence. “Quite,” Hicks said. “Quite. Done, then.” He turned to the console, entered a program, and a stick popped up. He passed it across the table. “Valid for every individual in the file. You can reach their Contracts and their personal manuals with this clearance. They’re yours.”

“They’re Sera’s,” he amended that. For a born‑man, Hicks was very easy to work with–plain, direct, and saying what he meant, at least on the surface. Hicks would have the job fairly securely for the next twenty‑odd years–until the next Giraud came of age–if he succeeded in the next few. His office might have problems; so might any office in Reseune, at this point. Sera wasn’t in charge. Other, lesser people made decisions.

And within those twenty years of Hicks’ office, they were going to face the same threats their predecessors had consistently faced, namely a fair number of people wanting power, or having power and intending to hold onto it. Yanni was intent on holding power on sera’s behalf: there was less likely an indication of treachery there, but there were questions, and minds could change, over a decade. The security breach at Planys and Yanni’s dealings with Patil were very likely a case of Yanni trying to ferret out the known problems of a prior generation before Ari had to inherit them, rather than a born‑man trying for power of his own.

But that was an inquiry he planned to make, via the resources which this expanded staff would give him.

At very least Hicks and Yanni and the rest were on their guard–and motivated. If anything adverse did happen in Reseune in the next twenty years, life expectancy for the chief of ReseuneSec would be commensurately short–likewise, the Director’s.

Sera’s life was at issue. Primarily sera’s, most clearly. Any enemy getting power would immediately want a new Ari‑clone to work with, or see all Union space thrown into a power struggle. Certain enemies might think they would like that event. But only the most fringe elements–or Alliance agents from outside Union space–could benefit from losing Ari altogether. Domestic enemies, sensibly bent on unified power, would need to have people on‑staff at Reseune to make sure there was a third Ariane Emory.

Those were the ones to worry about most acutely: their ambitions were far more local. Some individuals with those well‑targeted motives might be inside their perimeters, and Jordan was only the visible problem, the most likely focus of trouble.

“A pleasure to cooperate with you, ser,” Florian said, and took the datastick, got up and gave a little bow. “If I have the requisite materials in this. I’ll handle the other details.”

“Done,” Hicks said. “And that stick is clean, by the way.”

“Of course, ser,” Florian said pleasantly, with every intention of passing it through protocols, even considering it came directly from the man who saw to the safety of all Reseune. “We can’t say that about the card’s data‑strip. But we’ll look forward to the information.”

“Pleasure,” Hicks said, and looked as if he meant it.

So that was that. Kyle AK was waiting to show him out. Florian walked out of that hall, out through a reception area where the number of waiting CITs had nearly doubled.

Elsewhere in the system, in other offices, a number of security‑trained azi were about to hear a keyword to disturb them to the depths. They’d be notified of reassignment to new specific operations, with special training.

They’d be excited, anxious at the same time, vulnerable as their professions never let them be for any other reason.

It was his job and Catlin’s, and Wes’ and Marco’s, to settle the new security staff in their duty and handle the logistics. They’d have residency in Wing One: they needed to have it. But, unlike their own hand‑picked domestic staff, they’d never come into direct contact with sera, not until he knew them specifically and by experience, and until sera had had a close look at their files.

Patil was a useful first question for them to try their new ReseuneSec access on. The quality of the information that query produced would tell them more about Hicks than about Patil.

Hicks himself might be the more vital question. When people gave things gratis, looking into the origin of the impulse was a good idea.

And when rumor said there was more than one authority inside the office, and that Hicks wasn’t the strongest administrator ReseuneSec had ever had–that fact was worth noting.

In the meanwhile, Florian thought, passing the outside door…in the meanwhile, and with their own careful examination of what Hicks handed them, ReseuneSec’s close cooperation with sera’s staff might prove useful.

BOOK ONE Section 2 Chapter v

APRIL 26, 2424

1538H

After brunch was an extended but less than productive day trying to arrange the backwards‑feeling office–in which they waited, continually on edge, for another call from Jordan.

Damn it.

But at least their current cases had arrived in the paperwork ported over from the Education Wing.

Justin doggedly slogged away at a routine check of a psych record, a fifteen‑year‑old azi up at Big Blue who’d had extraordinary scores in work‑study, a cheerful looking girl with freckles on her nose and a quite amazing ability to troubleshoot problems in a handful of aging bots. It was a mechanical aptitude that had never manifested in the ThT‑382s–possibly because no ThT‑382 had been faced with a broken bot and a looming production deadline. Strong ethic to succeed, strong bond with her CIT Supervisor, who was about as old as the bots, and a deadline.

It was a good combination. Create those desires and skills in the ThT‑382 path and they had a new training route with a fairly complex technical slant. Reseune liked to keep a strong theta presence in a given genepool, good practical sense, good hand‑eye, ability to fix the plumbing before the water rose, as the first Ari used to put it–but more than that, it was a diverse, adaptable geneset. All sorts of things cropped up in the ThT‑382s that were good traits in a population. The mechanical ability was a revelation.

Alpha types–mentally top‑end and having more delicate psychological needs, in order to function at maximum–found employment mostly inside Reseune, very few outside, until a settlement reached a need for higher‑end management, and then only a few, specialized in admin, usually, very few in science, went to that assignment. An alpha closely paired with a born‑man Special–the CIT equivalent of an Alpha–those sets were all at Reseune, or at Planys, or at installations like Reseune Space. His pairing with Grant, Jordan’s with Paul–

God, there was one mortal waste in his father’s situation. Paul and Jordan hadn’t done a damned thing useful in twenty years, and the stagnation had to be killing both of them.

There wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Jordan and Paul were sitting over in his office by now, stewing, not getting anything done not only because they were so far behind it was going to take years to catch up, but because Jordan wasn’t ready to get started catching up. And Paul, who was totally innocent of anything but loyalty to Jordan, was suffering right along with him.

Maybe, if he couldfind a way to work with Jordan, he could fix the situation, get Jordan moving again on something creative.

And maybe that was at the core of what Jordan wanted–come bring me up to speed, give the old man a hand, put us back where we were…before Denys Nye framed me for murder…

The revenge part of it…that wasn’t going to go away so readily. That, he didn’t know how to cure.

Jordan had tried working with Ari Emory. That didn’t work. Jordan could work with Paul, but Paul didn’t work at all while Jordan was emoting, and if Paul was currently trying to deepstudy his own way back to what he himself had been, it was under impossible conditions: Jordan was scattershot at the moment and mad as hell, and Paul was suffering.

Paul was still functioning tolerably well in the crisis–socially speaking. Jordan, being a born‑man and a Special, was not that well‑organized. Jordan was damned pissed, and intent on everyone around him knowing it, intent on everyone acknowledging he’d been wronged, whatever it was that would satisfy him…and by all evidence, nothing ever would satisfy Jordan. His enemies were dead–and reborn–and twenty years of his life were gone. Meanwhile his son, his personal rebirth, had gotten entirely pragmatic about those missing years, and hadstayed current with his work, and was living under the current Ari Emory’s thumb.

That was what was eating Jordan alive.

Well, he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t change it. He wasn’t going to change it at Grant’s expense, no matter what kind of pseudo‑filial impulses surged in his gut whenever Jordan pulled one of his pity‑fests, damn him. No, no, and no, he wasn’t going to divert himself and Grant from a comfortable career doing useful work to go join his father in self‑destruction. Selfish, maybe. But this version of Ari had a certain hold on him, too, and it wasn’t hate.

Memory of the first Ari–even that had had its good spots. One really bad one, but some good ones, too.

Memory of the second–a kid with a gift of guppies, a teenager upset as hell because her first attempt at seduction hadn’t at all worked–

The two weren’t the same. Opposite ends of the age spectrum, for sure, but they weren’t the same.

Isn’t that what the whole program is about? Jordan had asked him.

Yes and no. If and maybe. The kid was brilliant. The kid was sopping up deepteach on science at a phenomenal rate. He didn’t know precisely at what rate: he supposed Yanni knew, but he didn’t, just–her questions were getting scarily top‑level. Her integrations challenged him, taughthim things in a field he’d not had contact with in years. A little love of guppies hadn’t blunted the great genius into uselessness. It might even have unwound some knots and let that phenomenal mind work at full capacity. But you couldn’t tell that to Jordan, who was still dealing with his own devil, his own Ari, and couldn’t see that anything had changed.

Stop everything he personally was doing, detour for a year or so to rescue Jordan from his twenty‑year‑gap?

Maybe he wasa selfish ingrate. Maybe he should spare a couple of years, out of a long life.

And every time he thought about doing it his stomach knotted up.

A couple of years couldn’t make Jordan happy. He could take Jordan off to the wilds up by the new lab they were building and do dedicated deepstudy until he could get Jordan factually up to date, and Grant could meanwhile work on Paul in that isolation–he’d actually thought about it–but what would they have at the end of it? An up‑to‑date Jordan who was never going to accept Reseune the way it was–who’d given him that card, damn him, knowing they were being watched.

Jordan had done it deliberately, knowing he was going to run his son and Grant straight into an inquiry, if–hell, if!–he’d done it becausesomeone in security would have spotted that card–Jordan would have been disappointed if they hadn’t.

It was bait, was what. It was Jordan stirring the pot, seeing what would happen–maybe hoping his son would be stopped, harassed, that the card would be confiscated and gone over by security–and so would his son be, which would throw him into a funk where Jordan could psychologically get at him; or maybe bring Grant running, in distress, right into Jordan’s hands, or maybe get him severed from Ari’s company and put under equal suspicion.

And what was the number? What in hell was Jordan doing? The thing was radioactive. You didn’t want to touch it. The room they were in was bugged beyond a doubt.

He couldn’t stand it.

He couldn’t stand it a moment longer.

“Grant.”

Keystrokes stopped. “Mmm?”

“Did you chance to look at that card?”

“It wasn’t chance.”

Heartbeat bumped. Leave it to Grant. “What was on it?” he asked.

“A number.”

“What number?”

“It had the form of a personal number. I recall it. Do you want me to find out?” Grant asked.

“No,” he said, and made a sudden decision: he didn’t want Grant involved, didn’t want to be on record doing anything furtive. “No, Iwill.”

He windowed up the message function and shot a query out straight to Ari’s security office address. WHAT WAS ON THE CARD JORDAN GAVE ME? DO YOU KNOW?

The answer came back fairly quickly. A CONTACT NUMBER AT THE UNIVERSITY IN NOVGOROD. A WOMAN NAMED SANDI PATIL. DO YOU KNOW THAT PERSON?

He typed: NOT A CLUE.

The answer came back, under Ari’s household ID, no further name telling who he was talking to: SENIOR LECTURER WITH A SPECIALITY IN BIONANISTICS. THERE IS NO APPARENT CONNECTION WITH JORDAN. WHAT IS YOUR THEORY?

His heart began a series of labored beats, old familiar fear, of a flavor he’d known for all the bad years, the twenty years when the Nyes had run Reseune. He typed: IS THIS FLORIAN?

–CATLIN, SER. MY QUESTION?

–I HAVE NO IDEA WHY HE WOULD GIVE ME THAT NUMBER. I DON’T KNOW THIS WOMAN. I HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH HER FIELD. HER FIELD HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY FATHER’S, EITHER, AS I’M SURE YOU’RE WELL AWARE.

Grant had gotten out of his chair, and leaned over to see the screen. Set a hand on his shoulder. His heart beat harder and harder, the old instincts awake and alert.

–WE DON’T KNOW THE REASON OF THIS CONTACT, SER, OR OF HIS GIVING IT TO YOU. BUT THE RESTRICTED MILITARY NATURE OF THE PROFESSOR’S RESEARCH URGES CAUTION.

Bionanistics. God. Manufacturing? Genetic machines? Experimental, self‑replicating life? Military secrecy?

–I HAVE NO IDEA,he typed. HE’S NEVER MENTIONED ANY SUCH CONTACT TO ME.

–WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE WITH THE NOTE IF YOU WERE WELL‑DISPOSED TO OBEY YOUR FATHER AT THE TIME?

Thump. Thump‑thump. I SUPPOSE I WOULD HAVE LOOKED UP THE NUMBER. MAYBE I’D HAVE CALLED THIS PERSON IN NOVGOROD IF I WERE A TOTAL FOOL AND WANTED TO KNOW WHAT IT MEANT OR WHERE IT LED. I’M NOT A FOOL. AND I’D HOPE MY FATHER KNOWS I’M NOT. I’M NOT INTERESTED IN HIS OLD BUSINESS, WHATEVER IT IS, AND I THINK HE KNOWS THAT, TOO.He added that last sentence and felt like a traitor, for reasons not entirely well‑defined. He manipulated azi minds for a living–and his own motivations eluded him. There damned sure wasn’t any connection of experience with Jordan left for him, nothing but an identical biology. CATLIN, I’M ENTIRELY UPSET BY THIS SITUATION.

–UNDERSTANDABLE,came the answer. SO YOU HAVE NO INCLINATION TO PURSUE THE INFORMATION.

–NONE WHATSOEVER,he answered back.

–BE AWARE THAT INFORMATION OR DEVICES INVOLVING DR. PATIL COULD PASS IN FORMS VERY DIFFICULT TO DETECT. TAKE PRECAUTIONS IN ANY FUTURE DEALINGS WITH YOUR FATHER, WITH THIS IN MIND.

–I TAKE THE WARNING. THANK YOU.

Catlin signed off. He did. He felt sick. He didn’t move. He felt the pressure of Grant’s fingers, and finally got up from the chair, knowing, damn them all, that everything he said was being recorded, watched, parsed, combed through.

“Security’s upset. I can’t blame them. Nanistics. They don’t want the experimental stuff on a planet…particularly the one we happen to live on. Particularly the one the radicals have wanted to terraform for the last century or so. Damn. Damn. Damn it, Grant. I don’t want any part of this. What is he doing to me? What does he think he’s doing?”

Grant shook his head slowly, helplessly. “Logic tells me he wants you involved with him in his situation. Beyond that–”

It hit like a hammer blow. He could have said it himself ten times, even thought it himself, and not heard it quite the same way, but from Grant, in that calm, reasoned way Grant struggled to navigate CIT emotional insanity, it made utter, reasonable sense. Jordan wasn’t azi. Neither he nor Jordan had, as Grant liked to put it, their logic‑set at the foundation of their reasoning. No. They were born‑men, and born‑men grew up by chance, not by tape‑study. Emotions ruled their actions, foundational, and inescapable. Flux‑thinking at its finest.

Jordan had created him out of his own geneset and Jordan had lost him. Lost him to Ari, who had done things to Jordan’s work that Jordan couldn’t counter, and the new Ari was co‑opting him out of Jordan’s reach.

“The government didn’t kill him for killing Ari,” he said aloud, to Grant’s worried look. “they could only exile him. So he figures whatever he does, exile’s the worst that will ever happen to him. He created me. He wants me back. He’s making his best play.”

“To get you on the outs with Yanni.”

“To get us allsent to Planys, where he ranhis own little world.” Things clicked, just clicked, all of a sudden. “It might have been a prison, but he ran it, inside, and Ari ripped him out of it and brought him here to put him under what he sees as close house arrest. He’s not grateful for it, not once he got here and saw the way things are: he’s damned pissed. He wants me to break with Ari. He wants to create a situation. I don’t know who this Patil is, or how Jordan got that number, but Patil isn’t really the game…”