Текст книги "Regenesis"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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“This comes from Ari,” Justin surmised. “ Memeans Ari.”

“You understand that this entire thread of conversation is classified.” Florian said. “Sera suggests this line of conversation as an assistance.”

“Florian, I can’t lie. I’m terrible at lying.” Begging off, abjectly, and in front of Grant–was undignified. Embarrassing. But survival, Grant’s safety, everything was suddenly at issue. “I can’t do this.”

“You’re a certified Supervisor, ser,” Florian said smoothly. “You’re not lying if you make these representations to this woman. You’re temporarily adjusting her reality, just as you might maneuver one of us for good reasons, to reach a point. If, out of her own reality, she chooses to believe certain things about your motives, that’s hardly your fault.”

“God, Florian, it’s not the same situation. You know it’s not.”

“I’m sure sera will understand if you refuse. But she urges me to say you could do a great deal for Dr. Patil, should she be innocent of any suspicious action–and for Reseune, since Dr. Patil is scheduled for a very sensitive appointment. On my own judgement, let me inform you of one other matter: Yanni Schwartz, on his return from Novgorod, discussed the resurrection of the Eversnow project with sera; within the same hour, Jordan left his apartment on his way to dinner at Jamaica, carrying in his pocket the business card of the woman meant to be in charge of the Eversnow project. Jordan gave you that card in full view of surveillance. Does that make sense to you?”

His heart reached max. He looked at Florian and froze inside.

But he had to ask it. Cold and clear. “What’s my father up to? Do you know?”

“We don’t. We do want to know why that peculiar juxtaposition of events.”

Florian was leveling with him: Justin had that sense. That was a situation both reassuring for his own future and as precarious for Jordan’s as he could conceive. He didn’t know what he’d been dragged into.

“I’m sureyou want to know,” he said to Florian, and picked up his coffee and had a sip to steady his nerves, looking, meanwhile, at Ari’s script for a phone call to a woman who might either be, like him, a target, or someone he wished his father had never heard of.

Nanistics, for God’s sake. Jordan had nothing to do with nanistics. Jordan had had nothing to do with Abolitionists, either, but had once had phone numbers of people who themselves had ties in such dark places, twenty years ago. Jordan’s political contacts had nearly cost him Grant that night. And since that time he had taken nothing at face value, where it regarded Jordan’s correspondents.

Grant sat over at his desk, silent, impassive–he glanced in Grant’s direction and met Grant’s eyes. Expression touched Grant’s face, a nod, support for whatever he opted to do…when Grant would assuredly suffer right along with him if he made the wrong choice or the wrong move.

Grant was an alpha, and there was a limit to how much information anybody could make him unlearn…if anything untoward should happen to his CIT Supervisor. He couldn’t forget that.

“Maybe you should take a break,” he said to Grant.

Grant shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so. You’re going to do it, are you?”

“I don’t want trouble,” he said, “but I don’t want trouble from my father, either. Damn him, Grant. Damn him.” He had another sip of coffee, a larger one. “Florian, I’ll try it. Let me wrap my mind around this note of Ari’s.”

“Sera trusts you more than any other CIT in Reseune,” Florian said quietly. “Her staff willprotect you, ser. Those are our orders. That’s why, of all CITs outside ReseuneSec, you are the only individual wehave informed of the connection Director Schwartz has with this set of circumstances; and you’re the only person we’ve told what connection the Eversnow project has with this woman in Novgorod. We trust you understand how important it is that this goes no further and how closely we are tracking vectors of information. Sera hopes Yanni is conducting his own investigation, that it might involve Jordan, and that this could explain the coincidence of your father’s possession of this card. Her security assumes no such thing. Be very clear that you hold highly restricted information on several matters. You should deal with it very carefully.”

“No question,” Justin said. He had compartments in his head, for things that couldn’t get out, mustn’t get out. He’d developed those containments, oh, years ago. Grant had the same ability. He’d meet Yanni; he’d not let on. He didn’t remotely believe ill of Yanni–but he wouldn’t let on.

He read and reread the script, fixing the sequence in his head–trying to concentrate past a rising sense of panic. No side thoughts. Deep‑think. Internalize the message.

He glanced at Florian, then picked up the phone and input the number, with the script laid out in front of him.

God, he hoped the woman wasn’t in at the moment. He’d just leave a message. He’d say–coherently–

A recording answered. “This is Dr. Sandi Patil’s residence. Input your code.”He cast a troubled glance at Florian, but then the message continued. “Or record your message and state your business.”

It beeped. He was in the clear. She wasn’t in. Thank God. He could get her to call him back, and ask what he wanted, which created a far easier information flow. He could envision that. He knew how he’d handle it.

“This is Justin Warrick, Jordan Warrick’s son. I–”

Someone picked up mid‑word. “Patil here.”

It disconcerted him. He scrambled for a recovery. “Justin Warrick, Dr. Patil. My father is Jordan Warrick, in Reseune. He gave me your number, suggested I call you–he’s busy going through the lab certifications right now–” Lie. Complete lie. “But he gave me your business card, and I assume he wanted me to call you and pay my respects.” He saw Florian nod approval of the tack he was taking. “I’m sure he’d want to convey his own.”

“I’d heard Jordan Warrick was back.”Dead silence then. He was supposed to say something inventive. Fast. Possibly you became curious,the script said.

“I’m sure he’d want to express the same from Dr. Thieu, out at Planys,” he said, and decided against the curiosity gambit. “I understand you’re a friend of his.”

“Former student. Colleague.”

“So I understand.” The script said: You wish to warn Dr. Patil that there is some concern here because of her relationship with your father.And his effort wasn’t going well. There was chill, clipped response from Patil–interspersed with equally chill silence. “Look. Let me level with you. My father’s a bit of a hothead. I’m sure you know that. He’s picked a fight with Reseune Admin. Admin’s cut off his contacts for the next couple of weeks. You understand? I had this number, last thing he gave me before he picked a fight that’s got me worried. I don’t know what your relationship was with him, or is, but I know your reputation is impeccable, and I know he’s prone to pick fights that sometimes have fallout.”

“If you’d come to the point, ser.”

“I thought I should call, and apologize if my father’s caused you any inconvenience. I hope he hasn’t.”

“I don’t know your father. I know of him, in common with most people who remember the last administration. I’m aware he was at Planys. Dr. Thieu mentioned him as an acquaintance, that’s all. Thank you for your concern, but it’s misplaced.”

“I’m afraid you don’t understand.”

“I understand that I’m a very busy woman with no possible connection to your father’s problems. I don’t know how he came by my card or why he gave it to you, but–”

She was going to hang up. He grabbed for the strongest word he could think of. “Murder, sera. Murder of Ariane Emory.” And improvised. “He didn’t do it. They sent him to Planys for something he didn’t do. I know that for a fact. He wants the matter reopened, which isn’t–isn’t exactly what Reseune would like to see, for various reasons. So I’m pretty sure they’ll be asking Dr. Thieu, probably you–”

“Look. I have absolutely no knowledge of your father or his case.”

“I’m sure Dr. Thieu has put you current with it, at least.”

“Not a thing.”

“Dr. Patil,” You feel that you can be of use in that matter because of your connections with me.“Forgive me, but he gave me this card with your number right before he put himself at odds with Admin, and I’m sorry if I’ve been forward in calling you, but I felt I owed you a warning.”

“And I tell you I don’t know him.”

Time to back off. “I understand.” As if, finally, he could take a hint. “I apologize for the inconvenience. I feel I need to bring this matter up with Admin, to be on the level with them–I know young Emory. I know her quite well. Her influence isn’t to discount–should you find yourself crosswise of any investigation. She’s mentioned your name. She doesn’t want you inconvenienced.”

“Where are you calling from?”Sharp tone. Very sharp tone.

“From Reseune. From my office. Which is also my personal number.”

A small silence. Then, more quietly: “I appreciate the advisement. My respects to your connections. Good day, ser.”

Contact abruptly broken. He drew a long, shaky breath, and looked at Grant, and looked at Florian.

“Well‑handled, ser,” Florian said. “Very well handled.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Ari’s name.”

“Sera authorized it in her note,” Florian said. “The call is recorded, as I’m sure you know. It will go no further than sera’s security.”

“I appreciate that,” he said, feeling his stomach upset. He didn’t know who he’d just betrayed. He was sure, at least, it wasn’t Ari. That part made him–and Grant–personally safe, as long as he was in Ari’s wing.

Outside was another matter.

“Sera’s thanks,” Florian said, and held out his hand. For a moment Justin had no notion what he wanted. Then he realized the paper with Ari’s instructions was on the desk, and he gave it back. Florian folded it and tucked it away.

“The card, ser.”

He’d forgotten that. He handed that over, glad not to have it in his possession. Florian pocketed that, too, bowed, with a “Good day, ser, Grant.”

And left.

Damn, Justin thought as the door shut. And said it. “Damn, Grant. What did I just do?”

“Assuredly what pleases Ari,” Grant said softly. “Which is probably a good idea.”

“I’m sure it is,” he said, which was a lie: he wasn’t sure of anything in the universe at the moment. “I think I just upset Dr. Patil.”

“I don’t think we’re responsible for Dr. Patil,” Grant said. “We don’t know who she is, or what your father wanted.”

“Or what Yanni wants,” he said. “Damn it, Grant, Yanni, of all people. He can’t be moving on his own. I can’t imagine him doing that.”

“In a wide universe,” Grant said, “it’s extraordinary that this woman’s card arrived on that very evening.”

“It’s extraordinary,” he agreed, staring off into memory, that evening, the foyer at Jamaica, that card going into his pocket. Florian, in the dark, by the pond. Grant walking back to hand it over, because he’d known then that his father had handed him trouble, and challenged him to do something besides coexist with Admin.

Now he’d done something, and not on Jordan’s side. Not against him, necessarily, but not on Jordan’s side. His father had challenged him. And he’d picked a side. Committed himself, with a phone call.

Committed himself, when he’d given Grant that card to turn over to Florian that night. He was sure of that. He was one step further into the quagmire, and now a second one.

And Florian emphasized– sera’ssecurity, not ReseuneSec. Why that distinction, he wondered? Was there actually a distinction? Or was there about to be? A schism, in the relations between Ari and the current directorship of Reseune?

“We’re Ari’s,” he said to Grant, still staring into memory, that night, the cold wind. Bright light, and Ari, perched in that chair in his office. And he had to consider where that office was. In it, neck deep, they were–living, now working, in her wing, doing work on, and for, her security. “I suppose we’re Ari’s. If there was ever any doubt of it in my father’s mind, he’s forced me–and we are.”

BOOK ONE Section 3 Chapter vi

MAY 3, 2424

1121H

Major headache, right between the eyes. Deepstudy did that sometimes–especially on too little food, especially when it was tape‑study on population dynamics, which wasn’t a commercial tape, wasn’t paced to be, was just raw notes and data and conclusions dumped into one’s head under the deepteach drug, so the habitual mind wanted to add it up and make it make sense and the critical faculties just weren’t answering the phone.

But the too‑little‑food part was another very good reason for the headache, which was why Ari had scheduled herself to come out of it at 1115h. She still was on the edge of the drug–when she was coming out, she’d told domestic staff just not to talk to her or ask her anything or tell her anything. She was apt to have what they said running around in her head all day, otherwise, and there was already too much running around in her head, psychsets, genesets, this population burst, the other burst added to the Novgorod sets, all of it classified, most all of it done during the War, with the Defense Bureau nagging her predecessor to do this, do that, psych‑design by committee and with no understanding what they were asking. So the first Ari had done what she wanted to do because nobody in the Defense Bureau had the skill to check on what she did.

Her predecessor had, for example, prepped a cadre of azi to survive if some Alliance ship had taken out Cyteen Station and dropped a rock on Reseune itself. They were to get to the weathermaker controls and the precip towers, hold them if they could, otherwise go for the safety domes, take over by armed action, and run things, never mind any plan Defense had laid down. There were some alphas seeded into Novgorod, just for leaven in the loaf. They’d have children by now. Children would have CIT numbers, ultimately indistinguishable from the CITs whose ancestors had come down to earth from the station. If the average held true, the children were probably not geniuses. But she could track them down. A little computer work, carefully shielded, would be interesting–if she had the time to do that research. She didn’t. Her schedule said she was supposed to be doing math tape this afternoon. And she sat, muzzy‑headed, wishing she could take a day off from everything on her schedule.

The door to her study opened, quietly She took a sip of coffee and looked up at Florian.

“Sera,” he said. “He was willing. He did very well. Are you able to hear the report?”

That was a mental shift. A serious mental shift. Florian meant Justin. Willing meant Justin had done what they had talked about last night, she and Florian and Catlin. And she’d told him to report as soon as she was awake. She was intensely curious–too wide‑focused at the moment, but curious.

“Did it work?” she asked, shoving population dynamics and all the equations to the rear. What concerned Justin worried her, on a personal basis, and she didn’t like involving him in operations. “Did you learn anything?”

“Patil claimed not to know Jordan Warrick except by reputation. But she accepted the younger Warrick’s advisement that he has influence with you. I have the transcript. –Is this too early, yet, sera?”

She had a second sip of coffee, blinked at the headache between her eyes, and shook her head. “No. I’ll go over it. I want to. What are the details? How do you read it?”

“He invoked an investigation into your predecessor’s death, as if Jordan was seeking a new inquiry to be opened into that matter–his innocence established.”

She didn’t know why. She didn’t quite like the sound of that, granted Justin had had to improvise. Was it because that issuewas riding Justin’s subconscious, and that was what had surfaced in his mind? She was a little surprised, a little off put. But there was Jordan’smotive to question. He was a son of a bitch. But was he tryingto get Admin’s attention?

“Ser Warrick suggested that she and Thieu might be subjects of investigation because of the card and the connection to the elder Warrick.”

Which was even the plain truth, just a large enough dose of it to make it credible.

But the other matter hit her skull and rattled around unpleasantly before heading through her nerves, just an unsettling, undefined malaise. The question of Jordan’s innocence. Justin–the cause cйlиbre in suspicion falling on Jordan…a political firestorm if that case got raked over again in the media, taking public attention away from her before she’d had time to settle the image she wanted in public attention.

Deepstudy drug. Damn it.

“I ama little muzzy yet. I think I need to cut back the doses. Shouldn’t be lasting like this.”

“Forgive me, sera. You said–”

“I said tell me when I waked. And I ought to be awake. I amawake. I’m just a little disturbed by the direction he went.”

“Dr. Patil was about to end the conversation. He used that matter as a wedge.”

“What did she say then?”

“That she had no connection with Warrick Senior. And they concluded politely.”

“Someone provided her address to Jordan. Either he handed on a card the full significance of which he didn’t know, a total coincidence, or he did know.”

“In our opinion, the elder Warrick knew whose number that card was, and that she is currently important.”

“Do you think that is possibly his motive, that he wants vindication? Florian, whoactually sent Jordan to Planys?”

“Our indications are it was Yanni.”

“That’s what my own search turned up. Yanni held the keys. Always. During Denys’s tenure. Yanni held the keys to Jordan’s sentence. And it was primarily Yanni who protected Justin, when Giraud would have taken a harder line. All these things are true?”

“Our indications are that, yes. But, sera–”

She waited.

“If you’re not prepared to talk, sera…”

“I’m thinking quite clearly at the moment.” What the drug did, besides diminish the ability to reject a fact, was to lower the bars on partitioned information–make cross‑connections easier, if there was a shred of connection possible. It was like momentarily seeing the world from a plane window, disconnected from the land, but seeing all of it, every wrinkle, every canyon, every change of strata, how it all, all, all connected, even if it was too wide to remember once one was back on the ground. “I’m thinking quite clearly at the moment, Florian, thank you. I’m just a little deepstate. I’m sure you understand.”

“I do, sera.”

“I need to do something.” She was aware she was staring straight ahead, her eyes wide open. She knew the look: black centered, unfocused, focused everywhere, and nowhere in the real world. “I like him, Florian. I like Yanni. I really do. But I can’t have him running operations he doesn’t tell me about.”

“Should I take orders from you at this point?”

She was perfectly collected. She slowly moved her head from side to side. “No. You should not. I need about fifteen more minutes to get my head clear, Florian. I need a cold drink. Would you mind going and getting that? That’s a request, not an order.”

“Are you safe to leave alone, sera?”

“Perfectly safe. I’ll sit here and think. I’d like that drink, thank you. Something sugary.”

“Fifteen minutes, sera.”

She wasn’t surprised when, hardly a moment behind Florian’s leaving, Catlin quietly opened the door and came in.

“Sit down,” Ari said, still not focusing on anything but infinity. “I’m thinking a moment, Catlin. I know you’re there.”

Catlin subsided into a chair without a word. And Ari stared off into her thoughts.

Yanni. Yanni was a resource, and a problem. What he had done said nothing about his motives in doing it. Yanni had intervened in the past to prevent further assassinations, of the Warricks, in specific.

Yanni said he had concerns about Jordan in her bringing him back, and was searching for involvement in leaks in Planys, which had gotten to Corain and possibly to others, possibly by the same conduit. One man was relieved of his position. That didn’t mean there wasn’t another.

And possibly Yanni had put challenges in front of Jordan before this to find out how he might react. Possibly he was testing Patil herself, who had at least some connections to Jordan, through Thieu. He talked about putting the woman in charge of a world in its transformation, in the most Centrist‑friendly decision Reseune had taken in years: the woman had Centrist backing, a lot of Centrist backing, the same party that had taken up the cause of the Warricks’ plight as a case of political persecution–and called it a power grab by the Nyes.

True. It had been exactly that.

But the Centrists had, after Giraud’s death, attempted a brief but cuddly relationship with Denys Nye, seeing that Denys was not, after all, going to push the Expansionist agenda Giraud had espoused–not because Denys was Centrist, but because Denys Nye was on his own agenda and wouldn’t spend a cred on Ariane Emory’s projects.

Denys Nye was going to continue the one Project, the cloning of Ariane Emory herself, but he was going to keep it, and her juvenile self, under his thumb for at least a decade…the Centrists hadn’t minded.

Meanwhile Denys focused entirely on post‑War economics, on the complexities of Earth‑Alliance‑Union trade, and on those agreements, which pleased the Centrists no end. They might not have gotten their terraforming bill passed, but they hadgotten an administrator of Reseune who was pushing most of their agenda and precious little of Ariane Emory’s–just the Project, which guaranteed, so long as Denys Nye had physical guardianship of the Project, that it wasn’t going to threaten him…in its lifetime.

Yanni’d done the day‑to‑day administrative part through all of both Nyes’ terms, running Personnel, which, in Reseune, was a key post. Denys had been the genius behind the programs; Giraud had kept the lid on dissent and quietly smoothed the bumps in the very short, very defined road Reseune had traveled in the post‑War years.

But Giraud and Denys had each been seduced–Giraud by devotion to Denys, and Denys by the one thing that Denys coveted for himself–immortality. Denys and death hadn’t liked each other. If the Child succeeded, it proved the psychogenesis process was possible. Denys wantedthe Project to succeed, at least until he knew the result.

And meanwhile Denys was busy storing all his own data, and Giraud’s, out in that archive. It was very likely that Denys had double dealt Ariane Emory’s plans by killing her; had double dealt the Centrists by continuing the Project; Denys had double dealt absolutely everybody, all to keep Denys Nye alive for another lifespan…solipsistic bastard. He’d attempted to kill her only when she’d succeeded and he had his result–unfortunately for him, she’d succeeded too well, too fast, and consequently he’d been the one to die, else he’d just have blamed her assassination on another Warrick and started all over again. That would have gained him another twenty years, during which he could bring up his own successor, another Giraud, who would be duty‑bound to bring up him, the all‑important center of his universe.

And Yanni? Yanni had kept his hold on power through both administrations, letting the Nyes run things, mopping up, keeping the Nyes from doing too much damage, while the Project ran, and she grew…

So which side was he on?

Florian came back into the room with the requested glass of orange and put it in her hand. She drank it, absorbing the sugar hit, still staring elsewhere.

“Yanni’s not necessarily pernicious,” she said. “He is bent on his own agenda, and he’s been very clear about that. Getting the Eversnow project going…that’s major. He had Thieu in safekeeping at Planys. But Thieu’s gotten too old; he’s on his way to the grave. So now Yanni needs Patil. He’s saved the Eversnow project. He’s gotten it passed. He’s saved the Warricks, kept Justin sane. I’m not so sure he wanted Jordan out, but he’s got him. He probably wants Justin for his ally. He can’t have Justin. Justin is mine.”

Blink. The thoughts were trying to shred and go away in different directions. She held onto the central problem: Eversnow. “Yanni kept all the first Ari’s projects alive, and he preserved the Warricks, especially Justin. Yanni’s still on her program. Not Denys’. Hers. And that’s not necessarily mine. He’s courting the Centrists. He’s trying to move them onto his agenda, and they’re buying it, seeing him as Denys’ backup, in the years before Itake over. If I did take over sooner, it would disturb them a lot. The Paxers would have a fit. They’ll go back to the underground, blowing things up again. But they’ll do that, whenever I take over.”

Florian and Catlin waited, both seated, neither saying a thing to interrupt her.

Blink. More shreds. Tatters. But the structure stayed. “I still like Yanni. I don’t want him to die. I just don’t want him to do what he’s doing. Eversnow is something I wouldn’t have done and the more I think about it, the more uneasy I get. Yanni sees the job crisis and a new trade route as important–more so than I do. It takes us further from Alliance, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing for humanity at this point.” She thought: Ari set me to watch her projects. Her projects, and this was one. But keeping Union together–keeping humankind from fragmenting: there were already more variables than she could handle–or she wouldn’t have created me. It was already afield‑too‑large problem, just with what we’ve already created, Novgorod, and Gehenna, and the military azi, and Alliance, and Earth. Then pile Eversnow on top of that, as odd as people could get, learning to survive on a snowball. It’s a planet, not just one more star station. Gravity wells breed difference. They don’t communicate with the outside.

There might have been a reason besides elder Ari’s health that she let Eversnow drop.

It was hard not to plunge back into deepstate, following that thread. But Florian and Catlin didn’t go away. They waited for something more concrete than her worries. “I’m not sure yet,” she said. “Who, do you think, does Hicks belong to?”

“Possibly to Yanni,” Florian said. “He was Yanni’s appointee in the current office. Giraud Nye’s second‑in‑command when Giraud was alive.”

“Both, then. But he didn’t protect Denys. He just protected Yanni. And he didn’t resist me ousting Denys. Possibly Yanni protected me from Hicks.”

“Likely,” Catlin said. “Hicks and Yanni together would have been a difficult opposition. We met none, once Abban died.”

She nodded slowly. “I have to take over,” she said, half‑numb, and with that wide focus that blanked out the whole room, except them. “I have to take charge. I don’t want to, but Hicks’s gift isn’t enough. I can’t let Yanni go on in the direction he’s going. I like him, understand. I don’t want him hurt. But Eversnow is much too dangerous. Yanni doesn’t see things the way I do. He belongs to the first Ari. And he wouldn’t like it if I started steering from over his shoulder. He’d rather go back to his labs. He should, now.”

“Wait,” Florian said, “wait, sera, until we have Hicks’ people passed through Justin Warrick’s opinion, and installed, and tested. We’re not enough to secure your safety, as is.”

Sobering thought. Honest thought. People like Yanni had beenhonest, at least honest enough not to make an attempt on her life. On her freedom, however–she’d been advised into seclusion. By Yanni. By the agreement of her own security. Now Hicks offered her either spies–or real power, in the presence of some unnamed threat–or in the progress of something Yanni was up to.

Did Hicks himself have an opinion? A loyalty? Unlike with azi, they couldn’t find it in a manual.

“We can wait,” she said, “so long as we don’t alert anyone to our intentions. I don’t want anyone to be killed if we can help it. I want Justin safe. Can we do that?”

“Are you going to tell Sam and Amy?” Catlin asked. “And Maddy?”

The other members of the junior cabal. Her friends, her allies, the kids who’d grown up to take jobs in the real world. She was the only one who hadn’t. Who’d had real power, and laid it down for a time. She was still studying, still growing up. There was so, so much yet to grasp, so much to understand.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. “I may not tell anyone my opinion. Or I may tell them.” She looked at them, finding the blood moving away from her brain. She felt a little lightheaded, but collected, all the same. “I have a headache, still. I’ll be in my room. Go see about these things. Lay plans. Come back to me with a report before you implement anything. Let me know where we are and what we need to do.”

“Yes, sera,” Florian said. He and Catlin got up and opened the door. They left, and she got up, and walked out of her office and down the short hall to her bedroom, in her section, her own safe section of the safe apartment in the sacrosanctity of Wing One, where–theoretically–she controlled her own security. But ReseuneSec guarded the doors of Wing One. ReseuneSec was in the halls. The old lab was dead. Dead as the first Ari. Equipment mostly removed. The place had become a little shabby–she’d laid other plans, a grandiose plan, a notion of gathering what was hers where it was indisputably safe. That was what that construction was, between Wing One and the cliffs. She intended to live there. With people she loved. Yanni had been part of it.

She shut her bedroom door behind her. Locked it. She felt a Mad coming on, though she wasn’t sure yet at what. Maybe at Yanni: she couldn’t trust him enough. Maybe at the people outside Reseune, who didn’t have the sense to know enough to make themselves safe, and the stupid Paxers who were going to make bombs and kill people because they didn’t have any better plan.

She ought to have ReseuneSec track every one of the Paxer leadership before the news got out that she was taking over.

She could have them killed. Every one. She’d have the power to do that. The first Ari had had it. And hadn’t done it, when the first Ari had done so much that was just–things she didn’t want to think about.

She stood in the middle of her own room and looked around her at a place that was safe. She looked at herthings, that, if she owned the whole world, still mattered, her chair, her bed, her dresser, and what was in it, things she shouldn’t keep.