Текст книги "Regenesis"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

“Do,” Ari said, letting Callie, for her last time, function as chief of staff. She stood quietly for a moment with Mato and Corey “Well done,” she said to them. “Very well done.”

Bows. The spark of pleasure, the little reserve of beta azi very, very secure in their posts and their place in the house. “Sera,” Corey said, for the both of them.

Florian and Catlin–no need to reassure them at all. But she smiled at them simply because she washappy. It felt like walking a tightrope, selecting new staff, taking Contracts, trying to be sure the incomers, totally vulnerable, felt an instant connection and sense of place. She made eye contact with each and every one, saw their expressions, read them, far easier than reading any CIT in their current state.

“In and safe, sera,” Florian said.

She laid a hand on Florian’s arm, and on Catlin’s, not a calm‑down, just gratitude. She felt physically tired, as if she’d given off an energy that outright exhausted her, poured it into those wide‑open faces on whom she’d rely for her comfort and her safety.

Or perhaps it was the immediate letdown of having been absolutely On all day, waiting for these people, her people, picking what she’d say, and planning the way she’d ease staff about their arrival–those things, and the plain fact it was suppertime.

Callie’s tour would end in the kitchens, Wyndham’s new domain, where Gianni had been working on one of his tour de force desserts to impress the new master chef. They’d have supper together, the new staff and old; and meanwhile she found herself ravenous, a good sign. She’d arranged all the staff to be attending the dinner: the fare otherwise was cold cuts and sandwich makings, and that, with two bottles of imported champagne, was waiting for her and her security staff.

Florian and Catlin, too, had worn themselves out trying to be all things and everywhere for months. Now they wouldn’t have to turn a hand to make a bed or find a midnight snack. Anything they wanted, at any time, always, would arrive, double‑quick. They’d never experienced that situation, not since they were all children together, and they’d had Uncle Denys’ staff waiting on them.

“I’m happy,” she said, hugging their arms tight. “I’m starved. Let’s go have supper.”

“Marco and Wes are on duty,” Florian said.

“They can have champagne, too,” she said. “They can come. It’s not as if our enemies will stage a raid.”

“When better?” Florian asked soberly, but she squeezed his arm a second time.

“I love you both, but let’s take the risk, shall we? Champagne, strawberries, and cold sandwiches. It’s a security picnic in the conference room.”

They were bound to worry. It was what they did. And in the end, they called in Marco and Wes, cued the conference room screen to display the security station main screen, and had their champagne and strawberries.

It was mostly for their sake, for the staff. They’d taken care of her through so much, and they did things that weren’t their duty, doing it.

It was one more step toward that apartment. They’d be crowded for a while, but that wouldn’t last long.

Then things began to be Real.

She didn’t want to think about that tonight.

There was a baby, she recalled, a boy named Auguste GYX, the first baby she’d ever seen in the labs, the first time she really began to think about what Reseune did, and she’d said to herself a long time ago that she wanted to be sure that baby turned out all right…that when his Contract came up, she wanted to take it. And he was something around thirteen, still in training–a gamma, clever at a lot of things. And for some reason, with staff coming in, she thought of him and thought: I want to know what they’re prepping him for. I’ve got the power to do that now. I can write a set for him. I can take the thirteen years and just bend it in a direction I choose, something I can eventually use, something to put him on staff–not have him shipped off to Novgorod and have him supering in a factory where I’ll lose track of him.

I can work with a gamma set. I’m going to call in his manual tomorrow. I can write a program for him. It’d be nice if he liked fish.

Things had gotten quiet. She looked at four faces, Florian and Catlin, Wes and Marco, all quite sober–their notion of a wild staff party was a glass apiece–all gazing at her, waiting for her to say something–or to really look at them.

“This,” she said, “is a point of change. From now on out, we don’t depend on Yanni for many things we now ask of him–including my study tape. Wes, tomorrow I want you to walk over to Library and physically pull a manual for me.”

It involved printout. “Shall I call it first?” Wes asked, meaning should he call Library and have it prepared for him to pick up.

“No. Ask there and wait for it.”

At very least, she didn’t want a request on file before she had the GYX general manual in hand–there could well be more than one GYX in progress, and even Wes didn’t need to know which GYX she was interested in until she had that particular file in hand. It wouldn’t remove it from Library, and anyone interested could still get it, with the sort of clearance, for instance, that Hicks or Yanni had–but once she duped that manual in‑house, and began to write changes on that program–she would have her GYX’s particular record, and Yanni wouldn’t. He could find out what tape they’d run down in labs, but he couldn’t find out any oral Working she’d done, and he wasn’t good enough, she’d bet on it, to look at the tape list and immediately know what structure she was building or what her GYX was destined to be.

She had the individual manuals on Theo and Jory and the rest. Those came with them. And thoseindividuals would see changes very soon that weren’t on the lab records. She’d prepare tape of her own creation, and when she was through–they’d be hers, no one else’s, ever. That was the way the system worked.

Justin could pass on that, too, but she’d done more than population dynamics in recent weeks. She’d studied set‑alteration and deep inhibition as well as integrations. And she’d taken a look at some of the first Ari’s set designing, on the Gehenna project.

It wasn’t just history of that project she’d been after. She hoped she could spot a deepteach bug in the azi she’d taken in–that she could spot it, correct it, and have that azi absolutely trustable. It wasn’t brain surgery. In many cases it was plain language, like what the first Ari had instilled at Gehenna: this is your world. Your world–deeptaught in those azi minds–without any reference to the born‑men the military had sent out there deliberately to fail, mess up the planet, and die.

The military had thought they were simply giving Alliance a poison pill, knowing they’d take Gehenna and Union wasn’t in position to. But the poison pill the military hadn’t counted on, in their own planning, had been letting the first Ariane Emory know that herazi were destined to become an embedded, dying and miserably poor population on a planet the Alliance was going to claim. Ariane Emory didn’t dothat sort of thing to herazi, no. She gave them the planet and told them to survive and take care of it. And survive they did–becoming foreign and odd in the reckoning of what was human, but they lived. They succeeded.

The first Ari had, as best she’d ever been able to discover, given her Florian and Catlin, and Yanni had given her Wes and Marco, and she’d taken Callie and all the rest.

There were going to be, very soon, some deep‑sessions for certain staff, not for Florian and Catlin. They would be quiet, refreshing sessions, with some very specific instruction keyed to theirsets–instruction which could make them very devoted, or very dangerous, depending on her skill at intervention.

“You are my first staff,” she said, “and the core of my staff. What you say, I will always hear. And I rely on you for loyalty and intelligence.”

Heads dipped. Eyes fixed on her. Supervisor. They heard that as they’d hear tape, and they drank it in.

“You are special,” she said, “and your decisions matter. The secrets of this house stay in this house. This is for Marco and Wes: if you have to trust someone and you have to make a judgement outside this house, trust Justin Warrick.”

Again, solemn nods–just a little resisting flicker from Florian and Catlin, who’d been excluded from that last sentence. Wes and Marco were absorbing it all–deepstate, as azi could do without the deepteach drug, as almost now, she could do, her concentration could go that deep. And onlywith their Contracted supervisor would azi accept instruction at that level. She looked at Wes and Marco, saw their pupils dilated, a sign of deepstate, which said something on its own.

They were hers. About Florian and Catlin, she had no question at all, never had.

She’d doubted herself at times, which, she thought, was only healthy to do, but now that she’d begun to focus on real things, on taking over, she began to think–I have to. I have no choice, do I? It’s life or death. My staff has to be mine. Especially my security.

BOOK THREE Section 1 Chapter v

JUNE 6, 2424

2122H

She had someone to turn down her bed that night–spooky, at first sight. She wasn’t used to that, not since Nelly had left her. She assumed Joyesse had done it, or ordered it. She put on her nightgown–unaided–draped yesterday’s clothes over the chair and started to go to bed.

But the computer in her room suddenly showed a unique flasher on an otherwise dark screen, a flasher that lit the adjacent wall red, and her heart picked up its beats.

Not a mail notification that blipped quietly in a corner. Log On, it said, across the screen.

She sat down at the counter and did that, no question. And the screen blinked, and became text.

“So you’re making a move toward power,”Base One said in the first Ari’s voice. “And you wonder how I can guess that. Wonder instead who else can guess it, and act appropriately.”

It wasn’t really Base One doing the thinking. It was the first Ari, who’d set certain criteria, and when she met them, things turned up. This one had. And it sent a chill down her back. No good trying to talk to it. It had something to say, and it would say it come hell or high water.

“Correctly identify your allies and your enemies, young Ari. I don’t say friends, because that word is misleading and it can deliver you into a serious mistake. Some people you don’t like are allies and some people you do like are enemies once you choose a certain course of action, and by now you should understand that.”

She did. She had understood it. But Ari Senior put it into words in a particularly cold way that did nothing for the shivers. She wore a thin nightgown in a room cooled for nighttime, and she hugged her arms about herself, because Base One wouldn’t stop once it started, wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t pause, didn’t care about her weaknesses or her excuses.

“Rely on Florian and Catlin. No others.”

There was Justin. Marco. Wes. But, she thought, Elder Ari didn’t know them. But if elder Ari had intended to leave a loophole she would have left it.

“Particularly be cautious about trust. Trust stops reasoning. Look carefully at those you trust. Taking offense stops reasoning, too. You may find a certain person has betrayed you. Limit the offending person so his misdeed cannot possibly repeat itself. Waste no time in regret or sympathy.”

I’m about to do that. I’m ahead of you here, older Ari.

“Assume the worst case where it regards those possessing what you intend to take. Assume violent resistence or clever resistence. Assume sabotage. Once you move, move decisively and pitilessly to protect your own allies. If you have pity, bestow it appropriately, on those helping you. Reward compliance and you’ll be surrounded by the compliant.”

That’s not necessarily a good thing, older Ari.

“…which is not necessarily a good thing, young Ari.”

That was spooky. That was just downright scary.

“You’ll need complete control of ReseuneSec to protect yourself. For the rest, rely on Base One. At need, you can lock anyone out of communication. Your codeword is CannaeCannaeCannae. Input that and the Base you target will only respond to you. You will at that point be able to dispense other codewords, so have them ready, but hand a Base access only to those who are both friends and allies.”

Control on a platter. Elder Ari had set it all up for her, the way elder Ari had had Base One assemble itself out of bits and pieces and come alive. She’d triggered something without intending it or even knowing it existed, and possibly it would just roll on like a juggernaut, without her being able to stop it.

She thought: I don’t know if I want this. I don’t know if I want to lock Yanni out. I’m not ready to do that. Hicks’ people–they could start shooting. Hicks is Yanni’s man, I’m pretty sure. What am I supposed to do about that?

“Key your receipt of this message so the program is sure you heard it. It will replay on demand, should you need to review it. I recommend that.”

She keyed her login. Said yes to the question. And the screen went dark again, shut down.

She hugged her arms around her and stared at it, feeling the cold go numb, the mind–the mind traveling its own starless space.

Joyesse found her that way some time later, and hovered by her, saying, “Sera? Sera? Are you well?”

She knew it was Joyesse. The surface mind still took account of things, but the deeper thoughts didn’t want to be interrupted. She got up, and walked toward the bed, and got in, letting Joyesse draw the covers over her. She shut her eyes, but she wasn’t asleep, wouldn’t sleep, not while her thoughts were going over the dynamic that was Reseune, and the legislature, and the necessity of appropriating ReseuneSec.

She didn’t want to pull the trigger. She didn’t wantto lose Yanni. She didn’t wantto treat Yanni as an enemy, but Hicks had told Florian they were going to have top‑level access and either Yanni was hiding things from ReseuneSec, or ReseuneSec was hiding things from them.

And that wasn’t good.

Hicks was giving them a gift. Did they trust the thirty agents they were getting?

Assume the worst case where it regards those possessing what you intend to take.

I do have to do something. And something we’ve done put Base One on alert. It had a trigger tripped. Something I did, or that Florian or Catlin did, tripped it, and that means Yanni may figure it out, too, or Hicks might.

If it wasn’t us that tripped the alarm–if Yanni’s moved…

It was the middle of the night. She couldn’t call Justin. She shouldn’tcall Justin and ask him to hurry in his assessments on the security sets. That wasn’t the way to get the best results.

Base One, however, could find out how he was doing. Base One could get into any computer in the Wing.

She got up, grabbed a robe from the closet this time, and said, “Base One, on.”

Base One asserted itself in the computer, and turned the terminal on. She sat down. She searched up computers that were active in the Wing and found Justin’s office net with no trouble at all. It was listed as secure, probe‑proof. That meant nothing to Base One, which ran System in the Wing. She simply had a look into the files, and ran a search for recent files involving betas.

There they were, in a folder labeled goddess1.

Goddess, was it? Sarcastic, maybe. Justin could be that. It was certain he had no interest in her thatway. He’d made that clear when she was, oh, much, much too young. And he was settled with Grant. She’d be a fool to mess with that attachment, a really great fool.

She read the notes on the people Hicks had sent her. Justin had started with the bottom, the gammas. Number one gamma, passed, number two, passed.

She read far beyond that. He had left the betas for last, and was two individuals from finishing, which meant he might be done tomorrow.

“Sera?” From the door. Joyesse again. “Sera, would you like anything?”

“Nothing,” she said, and Joyesse went away. Ari delved deeper, deeper into her own understanding of sets, and read Justin’s notes, and absorbed his comments, which made sense. He saw, clear as clear, where the sets were vulnerable to a command, and noted push‑button items that just had to be patched, was all.

Easy to do. She knew the way to do it. People reacted–to expectation of good stimulus, like praise; to fear, linked to imagination–imaginative people feared a wider range of things. And some people had an “off” switch that routed an idea to the analytic faculties, and some–mus, which they didn’t birth many of, were like that–you started them on a track and they’d follow it without a second thought. Mus wanted everything to be the same all the time–they were happier when it was like that–unless what they were assigned linked to a desire for an adrenaline rush, which was a whole other problem…

Betas, however, tended to overcheck and hesitate, and reconsider, and given an adrenaline rush, they dithered a second and then acted. These were guards. They had lightning‑quick fuses where it came to threat against their Contract holders. But she also had to defuse their “pause” switch where it came to reluctance to report something as yet unresolved.

Report any anomaly to Florian or Catlin immediately, she’d tell them: they’ll take the responsibility.

And being azi, the new people would do that, once they took that order deep: they’d wantthat contact with Florian and Catlin–they’d be uneasy and unresolved until they got it, and they’d run to get it.

And if there was some buried contrary instruction in the stack, say, one to report to Hicks or Yanni, something that just somehow hadn’t gotten into the records, that command to go to Florian, emphasized with a hard drug punch, would send them into profound emotional conflict–enough to show up, fast, in a very, very upset azi. If you ever feel conflicted, she’d tell them, additionally, report to Florian immediately.

If you can’t find a bug in a set, elder Ari’s tape had told her, just do something to make the conflict show itself– makethe subject react, never mind finesse. Present a quandary, contrary to the direction you suspect the bug to react, identify it–and excise it.

So just give me the files, Justin. Quit fretting. I need to get to work, and I need these people. Whatever’s been done, if it was done, it’s not going to be in any record. That’s what we have to worry about.

Justin thought she was still studying the basics–maybe thought she was out of her depth with these security sets; or he was, which was possible, he hadn’t really worked with the type before.

She had. From childhood. She knew Florian and Catlin. She looked at the possibilities in a security azi tape…

And she suddenly had a picture of how to solve any problem in a security azi set. It was right in the same place in the set that they attached the compulsion. Just conflict it, and get angst in the subject, and then resolve the angst, leaving the subject feeling oh, so much better. In azi, deep set work was so much easier. Deep set stuff didn’t need to be unhooked from all sorts of randomly acquired born‑man thinking, which ran like a bad cabling job; and it didn’t even have to be unhooked from the later instructions: if there were conflicts, they’d show. The azi in question, above delta level, was very likely to report his own conflicts. Azi were so, so elegantly clean. A thought led to very planned places, economical, and ideally un‑conflicted, everything structured and architectured and efficient.

And she wasn’t. God, she wasn’t. Her thoughts skipped all over the place. They tunneled, they ran riot through completely extraneous topics, they hopped from one point to another–pity the programmer that tried to solve her.

But a beta with a buried directive?

Damn if she couldn’t bring thatto the surface, by exactly such brute‑force mechanics as the first Ari said.

And she’d make the tape for the head of her new Security, beta azi he might be, but she could make the instructional tape herself, right to the deep sets, and be sure of him. She’d send Catlin down to barracks, to sit there and personally see he got it.

And when he woke up, he’d know definitely who was in charge and who could cure any angst he felt. Shecould help him. She would be his first recourse, in any case of doubt, because shewas the highest authority in Reseune, and Reseune was the highest authority on the planet, and an azi who had access to her had access to having his questions answered definitively and absolutely. An azi who obeyed herdirectives was always in the right–as any azi wanted with all his being to be correct. Any delivery of information to anyone other than her chain of command was utterly forbidden; any request from anyone outside her chain of command had to be cleared, and any lingering doubt was utterly overcome by the power she had within Reseune. She owned his Contract, and any azi under that authority could be assured, very assured, that he was psychologically safe following her orders.

She took notes. She took abundant notes on the officer’s set, which she had scanned before she sent it to Justin, and for good measure she looked up deepsets for four of the unrelated gamma genotypes with a related program list, for whom the same tape would be quite, quite sufficient. For three others, again program sets related to each other, she could do a minor modification in the directive, but it sufficed. For the newly arrived Theo and Jory–a little different approach, but much the same. Physically, they were easy to get at. Intervening with Hicks’ incoming security team was logistically a little harder, but Catlin could manage. Catlin would go armed, and if the subjects had a psychotic episode–meaning her rewiring had hit a major or a lethal block–Catlin would deal with it, get the individual sedated, and notify her, specifically, that someone had tried something.

Sorry, Justin, sorry you’ve had to sweat this, and I know you hate real‑time work worse than poison. You don’t need to send it to me: I see your notes, and they help me. They show me what I need to do, and it’s in the deep sets, not the things they’ve hung on it.

No wonder it’s driving you crazy. It’s like a birthday cake, icing all over, decorations here, decorations there, all sorts of programs and routines added on, none of it really showing you what’s underneath. We just need to slice right into it, and you’re far too kind for that.

I can’t afford to be. Maybe later, but not now, not in this.

BOOK THREE Section 1 Chapter vi

JUNE 7, 2424

0821H

Early to the office, early to work, mindful of the extra requests, and there was a note from Ari, time‑stamped yesterday at 1701: Justin: I’m really anxious to have your comments on the sets I gave you. Please hurry.

Hurry. Hell. He’d already hurried.

Then another one, time stamped this morning at 0131: It’s not that urgent. Relax.

Haste makes waste,he messaged back. But I’m hurrying. I should have something for you this evening. And when are you sleeping, anyway?

“Little sera wants miracles,” he said to Grant. “Lunch is going to be in, today.”

“No problem,” Grant said. “Shoot me what you have.”

He shot. Grant took it, and there was silence for an hour, until Grant ran out of coffee.

Grant filled his cup, fuel for the morning.

And into the afternoon.

Grant ordered sandwiches delivered. With cream pastry. Justin devoured his, reading and annotating the while. One set to go, a fairly simple one. He’d been over it twenty times. He’d done all the betas to try to understand the type. He didn’t find a handle on it, anywhere, and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right, it wasn’tthe level of work that belonged on a Contract she was taking. At first he’d suspected subtlety. Then he’d suspected error. Now he had a different picture. Library censorship. Again.

He said to Grant: “You know what I think? I don’t think Library’s given us all the records yet. Florian thought he had that cleared up. But I don’t think he did.”

“It would answer your objection.”

“We’re two weeks overdue on this. But I’m afraid it’s the fact they’re security. Ari’s going to have to go back to Library one more time on her access. There’s something still we haven’t gotten.”

“It would answer the question,” Grant said. “You’re right, and after the last round, I wouldn’t want to be in the librarian’s shoes. You get to write the memo, born‑man.”

BOOK THREE Section 1 Chapter vii

JUNE 7, 2424

1542H

The azi in question, BR‑283, was a nice‑looking fellow, Catlin observed that on the monitor, while BR‑283, Rafael, was deep asleep–nice face, nice body, dark as Florian–taller than Florian.

But absolutely no attraction here, just an aesthetic note. Rafael BR wasn’t Florian, and wouldn’t be, being a beta–a situation which suited her. Betas took orders. Alphas didn’t need orders, just a goal. Sera had explained the situation to her, as much as, in sera’s judgement, she needed to know, and prime among sera’s instructions was the posited call, every fifteen minutes, while she was on this assignment. She was to beware any food or drink offered by lab staff. She was to disobey any command to leave or submit to detention, herself, but if held, she should not risk injury–just wait for sera to take action…within the next fifteen minutes.

That was advisement enough that sera considered these tapes important to give personally to four of the new security team. The situation itself hardly seemed dicey: walk into the labs with the tape–possibly containing the Contract itself–invoke sera’s name and sera’s order to gain access and order this group to lab, where she personally installed each tape, waving off the assistance of staff.

And it had run for a relatively tedious hour and forty‑two minutes, while Rafael BR and the other three of sera’s choosing slept with eyes occasionally open, and occasionally reacted, or smiled, or concentrated.

Contracting didn’t take long. So what else were the tapes? That wasn’t hard to guess. They were probably primary tapes, a slightly amended refresher on the most basic sets. Tapes like that were generally quite pleasant, an hour or so of confirmation, affirmation–a transcendental experience, when a Supervisor offered it to a troubled or stressed azi. In this case it was likely some patch to enable the four to work together under BR‑283’s direction.

And since sera had the accesses she did, and she’d signed for them and meant to deliver the Contract tape herself, she was perfectly within her rights to order it, and to order that her own staff carry out the request–for BR‑283, and for BG‑8, BJ‑190, and BB‑291, the same, even if the four were listed as ReseuneSec. A note might have gone to Hicks, but Hicks hadn’t intervened.

The other three were in the adjacent rooms, on the other three active monitors, affording a constant view, two of them on the same tape, one on a third, and all, presumably, experiencing primary tape, blissful and content.

They were also all on the same schedule, the tape very soon to run out, by the individual counters. And after that, they would enjoy a little peaceful sleep. Tedious, but she’d stay until they waked naturally. She’d bring them up the hill herself, the core members of the team Hicks had provided, having passed them through a sieve and having assured they were settled, in advance of the others.

More, sera provided her own tape without a ReseuneSec indexing sticker on it: they were ReseuneSec personnel, and the lab had taken a momentary issue with that, and had wanted to call the lab supervisor and Hicks about it, but Catlin had stood fast, maintaining that, indeed, sera did hold the Contracts, was a licensed Alpha Supervisor–there were five such in all of Reseune proper…six, counting Jordan Warrick–and if a Beta tape issued from an Alpha Supervisor’s office, then a Beta Supervisor should accept it and run the tape as requested.

“My principal,” Catlin had reminded the man with some firmness, “ isAriane Emory.”

One could watch the thoughts pass through the Supervisor’s eyes–a born‑man considering his career options, perhaps. He hadn’t been more cheerful after that, but he’d been polite. And he’d let her insert the tapes she’d brought, giving her access to a whole row of lab beds, clearing two other doubtlessly deserving azi who’d been scheduled for the afternoon.

“This is sera’s business,” Catlin had remarked further, as severely as possible, “and intimately pertains to her household. She will appreciate discretion. Your name is John Elway. Mine is Catlin AC‑7892. I will report.”

Reading born‑men was possible, when they were strongly conflicted. The man just nodded, and likely had notmade a phone call to higher levels, even yet.

Twitch of BR‑283’s head. Catlin looked critically at that subject, and let it pass. Possibly he’d just met a small alteration in his program. The dose had been heavy. BR‑283 probably could have taken the tape without the drug…but he was deep enough that a twitch was unusual.

Twitch became a tic. Jerk of the hands. “Let the tape run,” sera had told her. “Let it complete.”

The subject sat bolt upright, eyes staring, then vaulted off the couch, right into the wall–a wall that assuredly was not there in BR‑283’s vision. He rebounded against the couch, fighting for balance.

He was dangerous in this state, dangerous to himself. He hit another wall, hard. His forehead was bleeding.

There was a red button that could call help. Catlin opted not to use it. By the clock, she was due to call base. She touched the com button on her shoulder and said, “Catlin here. There’s been a reaction.”

The micro receiver in her right ear said, in sera’s voice, “ I’m coming.”

The other subjects were getting to the end of their tape sessions withouthurling themselves off their couches. There was onesubject huddled on the floor in a fetal tuck in the corner, one subject in the throes of a psychotic episode from the deeptape he’d been given–and that individual happened to be the officer Hicks had put in charge of the unit. Rafael BR‑283.

That said something. And John Elway had not come to assess the progress of the session. In a little bit more, John Elway would have visitors to the section, visitors who would not be prevented. She watched the other azi, walked to the one‑way glass and looked at BR‑283, who had gotten into a corner the camera didn’t completely reach. He was bleeding down his face, shaking and rocking. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.