Текст книги "Regenesis"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 29 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

“Fine,” was Justin’s answer, very proper, very quiet, and never quite looking at her.

“Justin, you’re not mad at me. Please say you’re not upset.”

He didn’t answer glibly, or at once. “Truthers running?”

“No,” she said. He looked at her then, quite soberly.

“I’m not upset. It’s a beautiful apartment. More than we earn, by a long shot. I just hope we won’t get a hell of a bill one of these days…in the physical or the metaphysical sense.”

“No,” she said. “You never will. Not that I have any control over. You paid it. All those years, you certainly paid for it. What you’ll do in future will pay for it. Don’t doubt that.”

“I want to design sets,” he said. “I’m a designer. That’s what I trained to be. I like doing that.”

“No doubt of it,” she said. “You and Grant–both. You’re going to do pretty well what you want to do. Teach me for another year. Maybe two. There are projects coming. Things on the drawing board that mean I need your advice. What you do–what you do is going to matter in the universe. And you’re notgoing to be wondering when the next security panic comes through. If it does, they’ll be protecting you.”

“That would certainly be a novelty” Justin said.

“No question of that,” Grant said.

“You’ve got what I gave you.”

“Yes,” Justin said, touching his coat pocket. “Does everybody have them?”

“No,” she said, the truth. “Do you like the apartment?”

“It’s not black and white,” Justin said, humor restored, and that made her happy.

“Lessons on Monday next?”

“Lessons Monday next. We still have to search up our office.”

Humor definitely back. She grinned and hugged his arm and Grant’s, and slipped free, happy, finally, because everybody was all right. For once, everybody was.

Then Florian turned up in her path, with a very businesslike look. “Sera,” Florian said.

Catlin was there, too.

And the happiness took a dive. Instantly. Florian’s eyes traveled further down the hall, where it became private, in front of the security office, and she went there with him.

Florian said, “Sera, there was a bombing at Strassenberg.”

“At Strassenberg.” She was utterly floored. “What damage?”

“The precip tower’s down.”

“Damn.” It didn’t make sense. Strassenberg wasn’t a place anybody went. Yet. Except for the construction crew, the transport people, and a handful of sniffer pigs and handlers. “Anybody hurt?”

“Reports are still coming in,” Catlin said. “A perimeter alarm went off. ReseuneSec reports the alarm triggered was between the port and the barracks. Somebody attempted approach. They thought it was a platythere: they scrambled to deal with that. Then the tower came down.”

“No need to disturb the party, sera,” Florian said, “at this point. There is a general shutdown of perimeters, a search in progress, but it’s believed they got in by river, overland, not by using the port. ReseuneSec’s placed Reseune and Reseune Township on yellow alert; they have river patrols out, looking for the landing site. They re diverting flights to Moreyville.”

Strassenberg was several hundred klicks upriver, still in Reseune Administrative Territory. It was a long stretch of river to try to find anything human‑sized–even a small boat. Reseune itself, on yellow alert, sat isolated in the midst of a no‑fly zone, surrounded by hundreds of kilometers of unbreathable atmosphere and antagonistic flora and fauna. The Novaya Volga ran along its shore; it had an airport. Those were the two most likely approaches for trouble to take. Overland was too much work. But–

She saw, down the hall, Yanni and Frank, in process of leaving.

She went that way. Yanni delayed for her at the front door, by the waterfall.

“I heard.” she said. “Yanni, can I help?”

“I’ll handle it,” Yanni said. “Just carry on. We’re not going to make a big thing of it. Natural gas explosion. That’s what we’ll say.”

“It wasn’t, though.”

“Whole damn truckful of explosives by the look of it. You carry on, you and your young people. This is going to take some sorting out.”

“Go,” she said, and by this time cousin Patrick had shown up, tucking a napkin full of something into his coat pocket, one more piece of Admin on his way.

“Ari,” Patrick said, with a little bow, and then he followed Yanni and Frank out, alone–they didn’t wait for him.

“Searches are in progress,” Florian said, “there and here. We’re under a mild alert, nothing that should bother the guests.”

You didn’t get into Reseune by water that easily these days. The bots zapped anything small; they reported anything big. The big machines that channeled the wild part of the river–they didn’t let things in easily, either. Somebodyhad gotten to Strassenberg a short distance overland, she’d bet on it. There was legitimate shipping that got close enough to it. You landed, and there were no barriers on the river shore yet, nothing like Reseune.

“Why?” she asked, the big why, but she wasn’t surprised when Florian and Catlin both shrugged an I‑don’t‑know.

“We’re hoping to find out, sera.”

“Understood,” she said, and thought, damn. She knew she had a worried, unhappy expression on her face, and tried to amend it as she walked out into the living room, but maybe Yanni and Patrick hadn’t been too discreet in their departure: heads turned. Conversation, already at a low ebb, died.

“We’ve got a problem,” she said. “Tower blown upriver at the new construction, definitely hostile action, but that stays under this roof. We don’t know why or what. We’re under a mild security alert here: if you’re going anywhere else this evening, use the storm tunnels.”

“Damn,” Amy said, just, “Damn.” And conversation stayed dead for a moment.

“Well,” Ari folded her arms and looked at the rest of her guests. “So we’re stuck here. Anybody want to follow this on the System?”

“Is somebody possibly on the grounds?” Maddy asked.

“Unknown, sera,” Catlin said. “But this wing is secure. Also secure: Admin, Ed, Labs A, B, C, and D. Search of Residencies A and B proceeding. Search of grounds proceeding, cascading alert. All AG notified.”

“Slow,” Ari muttered. She’d had time to hold converse, and they were just now closing up AG? “They can move faster than that.”

Storm sirens blew. Finally. They advised anyone out to get under cover, into the storm tunnels. Lethals might be patrolling the grounds: the little weedzappers, which already had a camera function, turned suddenly nasty and helping defenses target any response. It wouldn’t be a time to be walking around out there.

“Well,” Maddy said with a nervous little laugh. “I’ll stay in the Wing tonight. Champagne, anyone?”

There were takers, most of the party, and staff moved about seeing to it.

“It’s just become a dinner party,” Ari said. “In case any of you had planned on elsewhere after this: we’ll be serving something, and serving late, Joyesse, go tell Wyndham so.”

“Yes, sera,” Joyesse said.

“Catlin, tell Wes put the security screens up.”

“Yes,” Catlin said. Florian was in the hall, checking something, probably conversing with Wes and Marco, maybe communicating with Rafael and company.

The fish tank went opaque, dark blue. Then the other wall came alive with images, some with sunset darkening to night, showing the downed tower from a perspective below the cliffs, some with numbers, and one showing the view from a bot scurrying at turf level across Reseune grounds.

“Ari.” Justin came up at her elbow. “My father. I’d like permission to leave.”

Above all else she didn’t want Justin running around in the dark with the whole complex under alert. No was the reflexive answer.

But she couldn’t hold on to him. Or she’d lose him. She understood that.

“I’m going to be a spacecase until you get back. You’ve got Mark and Gerry with you. Get your father on the phone. Be sure he’s all right before you go anywhere. Security may have moved. Mark and Gerry can pull rank.”

“I–” he started to protest, but the security comment quieted any objection.

“Thank you,” Grant said, and the two of them went for the door, while she advised Marco to have Mark and Gerry meet them somewhere before the security desk.

Amy drifted over to her side, champagne glass in hand. “Something up with Jordan?”

“Not in play,” she said to one of her oldest co‑conspirators. “Whatever’s going on, if it’s Paxers, or if it’s not, Jordan’s a piece worth pinning down. Justin’s just going to tell him we care.”

Amy nodded, took a slow sip of champagne. Quentin was over with Florian and Catlin, getting information, watching the screens, which weren’t apt to change much this far into the emergency. Just the little robot skittering along in the dark, gone to night‑vision.

From Novgorod to Moreyville, even in Big Blue and faroff Planys, that scene was playing. The world was on alert.

Wonder if they knew, Ari asked herself. Wonder if this is specially for me. Another housewarming gift.

That implied a certain knowledge of the inner workings of Reseune–where the fact of so many relocations into Alpha Wing had, in fact, created quite a stir, and quite a lot of gossip.

The storm sirens still blew. Not a physical storm in the offing–but a storm, all the same.

BOOK THREE Section 3 Chapter vi

JULY 3, 2424

1934H

Two security were in the lower hall, black‑uniformed, rattling with full kit, including seldom‑worn helmets, and on an intercept. It didn’t make quiet company, but they were earnest types–Mark and Gerry, their names were. They hadn’t had time to introduce themselves formally–two lanky, tall azi, a lot alike: Mark, a serious fellow and Gerry a little less so: Justin actually recalled their files; but both were deadly serious at the moment.

“Ser,” they called him, and they said “ser,” to Grant, too, keeping their pace with no effort at all.

“We’re going to Ed,” Justin said. “My father lives there. I want to be sure he’s all right, considering what’s going on.” He had his ordinary pocket com. He punched the fast‑response buttons as they exited the lift toward the security station, and let it ring.

And ring.

“Brilliant,” he said to Grant. “He’s not home and he’s not answering.”

“Probably out at dinner,” Grant said.

“Ten thousand‑odd people are probably caught out at dinner.” They reached the desk and Justin showed his keycard. “Sera’s direct permission,” he said. “Out to Ed, personal.”

“Yes, ser,” the guard said. “Stay to the tunnels.”

“Absolutely.” They went out the door, into the familiar storm‑tunnel level of Wing One, and took an immediate left, Mark and Gerry rattling along behind. The sirens were intermittent now, as they were during a storm. The main corridor as they came out of Wing One and into the area of Admin was full of traffic, people generally in a fair hurry, one direction and the other, most trending the same direction they were going, which led, as the rim of a great box, through the Ed tunnels and over to the Residencies and the Labs. Anybody from the Township was going to have a long wait for buses or a long hike, via the Labs, to the second tier of storm tunnels and shelters…and there were people with children, one upset lost child–the father came and swept the lost boy up out of the bewildering traffic just as they came in range: the father and his partner had four others in their group, and tried to urge them to more speed.

“It’s all right,” Justin said as he came up with the harried father. “It’s a precautionary alert. No rush.”

Others heard, shouted out, “What’s going on?” and Justin yelled, “Precautionary alert. Damage upriver is all.”

He didn’t know if he made a dent in the distress, but a little further on, just as they were leaving Admin, Yanni’s voice came over the general address:

“ This is Director Schwartz. The alert is downgraded to level three. Those with indoor business are advised to pursue it with attention to level three cautions. Repeat…”

That calmed things, afterward. People caught their breath and quit trying to buck the flow. People began to walk normally, and to talk, and to ask questions, particularly of Gerry and Mark, who just said, repeatedly, “We’re on duty, ser. We can’t stop.”

Justin made another try on the com. “Dad? Answer, dammit.”

And a second one, after the next intersection. He wasn’t used to this much exercise. His legs were burning. “Dad? Come on, answer.”

“ What in hell’s going on?” the question came.

“Where are you?”

“ Abrizio’s.”

“Right below you. Coming up.” He was vastly relieved. And he had two large, heavily armed azi in tow, who weren’t going to help his father’s nerves at all. “Mark, Gerry, you’re on my tab. Just go in, after us, order soft drinks and sandwiches, sit, and have dinner until Grant and I leave.”

“Ser,” Gerry said, “we’re on duty.”

“This isyour duty, to look inconspicuous and not have my father create a public furor, which is bound to cause me and sera trouble. Just do it. You’re doing personal security at the moment. My rules apply.”

“Yes, ser,” came back, from both, and meanwhile they reached the escalator and rode it up, this time, to the concourse level of Education.

“He’s going to notice them,” Grant said. “They won’t stay that far back.”

“I’m sure he will.”

They had Abrizio’s in sight: yellow lights were flashing, lending an unwholesome look to the area, but people were moving about in a fair simulation of calm. He and Grant lengthened stride, got a little ahead of Mark and Gerry as they reached the door, came in and advanced a few paces to try to spot Jordan. Things had gotten quiet, just as Paul stood up to make clear where they were. Paul’s eyes were averted to something behind them, and Justin didn’t look: the silhouettes of two helmeted ReseuneSec agents appearing in the doorway, blinking with ready‑lights, could generally put a pall on conversation, or stimulate it, and both happened.

They had Paul and Jordan in view, however, and wended their way through the clutter of tables to take the vacant two seats.

“You’re being followed,” Jordan remarked as Justin sat down.

“The whole damn place is under alert,” Justin said. There was a half‑eaten order of chips and cheese with peppers. It was one of Abrizio’s better offerings. He took a chip with cheese. “Just came from supper and a party. Not real hungry.”

“The same,” Grant said.

“Party,” Jordan said.

“Social evening. The new wing’s open. We’ve moved again. We didn’t plan to.”

“And you just got lonesome for our company,” Jordan said.

“Drop the barbs. I got worried. There’s been an explosion at the up‑river construction. We don’t know if there’s anything going on here, but since you draw trouble the way I did, I borrowed a couple of Ari’s guards and came looking.”

“An attack on the construction. Interesting. And a couple of Ari’s guards in attendance. I should be flattered.”

“It’s nothing. It’s probably just an accident, hit a gas pocket in a dieoff area, something like that. Methane. Blew a new precip tower to bits. Security’s on alert, nonetheless. They’re not letting anybody onto the grounds.”

“We heard the announcement,” Jordan said glumly.

At least Mark and Gerry had taken off the helmets and the lights on their gear didn’t show. The waitress was over there. They were making their order, likely soft drinks. Maybe sandwiches.

“Well, I was going to call you. We’d just had one thing after the other. We took an early supper, headed home from the restaurant to find out we’d been moved–my number hasn’t changed, neither has Grant’s. Office, the whole thing. Then we had a note on the minder we were due at a reception not that long after, so we didn’t actually change for that. Just went. Had a few drinks, so I’m at max. I was going to call you in the morning…”

“We just heard the warning sound,” Jordan said, “and there hadn’t been any advisement they were going to make weather, so we figured it must be a natural storm. Guess not. Methane, eh?”

Sometimes the web of lies he told Jordan just overloaded. Sometimes, if things were ever going to be different, there had to be a dose of truth. “Fact is,” he said, lowering his voice, “it probably wasn’t. Somebody apparently blew up the tower up at the new construction.”

“Somebody?”

“The usual suspicion goes to the Paxers. But that would be major for them, a real break with habit.”

“Logistics.” Jordan had leaned forward, and Paul had too, both of them, just taking it in, and for the first time in a long time, there was no bitter edge. “How in hell did they get through?”

“They needed river transport,” Justin said. “They had to get either up‑river past Reseune or downriver.”

“Out of Svetlansk,” Jordan said, “maybe. Downriver saves fuel.”

“Not much civilization up there,” Paul said, “or wasn’t–last we knew.”

“Mining, shipping, plenty of opportunity to lay hands on explosives. Unless things have changed.”

“Not much to stop them going ashore at the new construction,” Justin said. “No filtration equipment like here. No weir. No bots. All they’d need to do would be get a boat somewhere, load it with something–go ashore in suits, get out again.”

“So what,” Jordan asked with sudden sharp focus, “would anybody at Svetlansk have against whatever’s going on at this new construction?”

And how much to tell Jordan? How many secrets to dance around? He’d gotten a response with the truth, a real change of disposition out of Jordan. He could make Ari mad. But Ari said she wanted to help Jordan. And was thatthe truth?

“Jordan,” he said, “I’m going to tell you something I don’t want to go beyond you and Paul. The new construction is another township in the works. Name of Strassenberg.”

“Strassenberg.” Jordan gave a short, bitter laugh. “My God. She’s building a city.”

But he kept his voice down when he said it.

“Dad, I’m about as close to Ari as I can get. And that’s likely to be a permanent arrangement.” Jordan drew back a little at that, and Justin brought his hand down on Jordan’s, pinning it. “Just listen to me. Permanent arrangement. It’s where I live. I’m not her lover. I’m her teacher. And I’m not inclined to say no.”

“Clearly it pays well.”

“I want to do it. Dad. I get things out of the arrangement…”

“Oh, I’ll bet you do.”

“Listen to me! She’s damned smart, is that a surprise? But I get access to the first Ari’s notes, so you should know money isn’t the game. Neither is sex.” Jordan tried to move the hand and he held it, hard. “Listen. Talk to me about this. I want you to understand me, just once. I’m learning. I missed a hell of a lot during the bad years. Same as you. I’m getting a break, and I’m taking it. I don’t think that’s such a bad deal.”

“Count your change. That’s all I’ll say.”

“She’ll use some of the things I know, yes. But meanwhile I get input in what’s going on in the world, I get some policy input, and that’s important. I get to have a say.”

“Sure. As long as you agree with her you’ll have a major say. Wake up.”

“I’ll have to see how it plays out. I won’t know. But I’m not locking myself away from the chance.”

“You look pretty well locked away to me. You don’t get a say in who you can let in’ the door–do you?”

“Dad. Eventually, yes. This isn’t the time…”

“Bullshit.” Jordan jerked his hand free. “Paul. Have you had enough?”

“We’ll walk you back,” Justin said.

“The hell. With those two over there? The hell you will. Paul. Come on.” He stood up. Looked down at Justin. “You’re rich. You pay the bill.”

“Sit down. Please.”

“No, thanks.”

Jordan headed for the door, Paul in his wake.

Justin got up. Grant did. “Grant,” Justin asked him, “pay the bill.”

“We don’t split up.” Grant said. “If you go after him, we go.”

“Grant, just for God’s sake, take care of it.” He shoved through the narrow gap between two occupied chairs and started to leave, and Grant did, both of them heading for the door, but Jordan and Paul were already outside.

“Hey!” a female voice yelled.

They knew the waitress. Justin stopped, half‑turned to show his face in the dim ambient light. “Justin Warrick, Greta, just put it on my tab. All of it.” He could see their guards on their feet and starting out. He turned, hardly having stopped moving, and got out the door.

A presence at the side caught his eye–two ReseuneSec agents and Jordan and Paul up against the frontage of the bar–familiar sight, but not familiar with his father and Paul involved.

“Hey!” Justin said, and immediately faced a drawn stunner. He raised his hands to show them vacant. Grant did.

And about that time two more on their side came out of the bar.

Guns came next.

“For God’s sake!” Justin exclaimed. “We’re on the same side!”

“Interfering in an arrest,” one of the outside guards said.

“On what grounds?” Jordan shot back.

Justin, hands still lifted, said, “Dad, just shut up!”

“Both of you, up against the wall.”

“Don’t move!” That, from one of their own pair. “Don’t anybody move. They’re under our watch.”

“Where’s your orders?” one of the others asked. “Who are you?”

“Mark BM, special assignment, Alpha Wing.”

“There isn’t any Alpha Wing.”

“There is,” Justin said, “as of today.”

“Shut up,” the agent advised him. “Get over there.”

“Ser Warrick isn’t moving,” Mark said. “Special assignment, Ariane Emory’s personal guard. Alpha Wing. Ser Warrick. Stand away from the wall.”

“Don’t move!”

“Call–” Justin began to suggest, and flinched and shut up when he heard the hum of a stunner.

“We will shoot if you fire that.” That was the other voice from his side. “Gerry GB, Alpha Wing. Call your headquarters.”

Justin stood still. Grant did. They’d drawn a crowd. “Hell of a fix,” he said, and remembered what he had in his pocket. And he didn’t dare reach for it. He found occasion to lower his hands a degree. In case.

“Stand still!”

“This is a warning,” Gerry said. “We are authorized. Call your headquarters.”

“Better do it,” Justin muttered. “Director Hicks is going to be damned mad if you and her security start shooting at each other. Let me get my com and I’ll call Yanni Schwartz if you want to take the chance.”

“I’m calling HQ,” the other agent said.

“I want to know.” Jordan said, “on what charges we’re being arrested.”

“Shut up, Dad.”

“I want to know!” Jordan said sharply.

“Because there’s an alert out on you. Detain and hold for HQ.”

“And I want to know who gave that order,” Justin said. “Was it Hicks? I want to see badges, and authorization.”

“Stay put.”

“I’ll find out,” Justin said, seeing he was gaining ground. “You can bet I will, and if I can’t, Emory’s bodyguard will.”

There was a brief exchange on the com. Justin couldn’t hear the other side of it, but he heard, “We’ve found Warrick, ser, in company with his son and two azi–”

“Grant ALX,” Grant supplied, “and Paul AP.”

“Grant and Paul,” the other agent said, and began making signs to his partner, who took a step back. “No. Not actually in detention, ser.” Hand‑sign for “back way off.” “We’ve got a pair in uniform with lethals claiming to be bodyguard from Alpha Wing. Claiming they’ve got jurisdiction.” Moment of silence. “Yes, ser. Understood, ser. Thank you, ser. –We’re to back off,” he said to his partner. “Apologies. You’re free to go.”

“The hell!” Jordan shouted.

“Jordan,” Justin said, and quietly went and got Jordan by the arm. “Just come with me.” Jordan’s cheek was red–contact with the ornate frontage, likely, not a voluntary contact. “Paul. Let’s just go.”

Jordan wiped at his cheek and looked at his hand, and looked venom at the two agents, only slightly less so at Mark and Gerry.

“It’s all right, Dad. We’re going now. Grant, Paul, can you go back in there and settle the tab? Mark, go with them, will you?”

“Yes, ser,” Mark said. And the other two agents, nameless, went on down the mall. Not unreported. There’d been badge numbers, and Justin would bet Grant remembered. Not counting the report Mark and Gerry might file.

“It’s going to bruise,” Justin said, still holding Jordan’s arm, and Jordan shook him off.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are. Thank God they really were ReseuneSec.”

Jordan gave him a stark stare. “Any reason to expect anything else wandering around the mall?”

There wasn’t. But there could be. “You attract cards, remember?”

“No fucking way to run things,” Jordan said. “Damn!”

“Glad I came after you,” Justin said.

“Why did you?”

“Just generally worried,” he said. “Worried about your safety.” The com wasn’t the only thing he had in his pocket. He felt in his pants pocket and found the old keycard. “I can’t bring you into Alpha Wing. But I can get you into Wing One. If there’s anything else afoot–that’ll stop some things.”

“Since when, Wing One?”

“Since it’s mostly vacant, since we have a perfectly good apartment there we still have keys to. You’ll have to go out for meals–I recommend the Admin section. I don’t know if there’ll be sheets, but there’s a bed and I know they left the furniture. Tonight, with things going crazy like this–I just want you to go there, Dad. Come on. You know you’re curious.”

“I know that Wing pretty damned well. I know her apartment–pretty damned well.”

“She’s not in it. She’s in Alpha Wing now. Security there’s still tight, however.”

“Well, it’s tight here! You saw what came of it.”

“If I tell Wing One Security you belong there for a while, I don’t think anybody’s going to bother you. Dad, just do me the favor. Please. I’m begging you. For Paul’s sake. Don’t mess around with this. You’re on somebody’s list, and some stupid order got fired off when the alert went out, maybe an accident, maybe an accident somebody just let happen, but I don’t want you running the risk. Bruises heal. A stunner’s not damned funny.” He pulled the keycard out. Offered it. “Yours, until I get this sorted out.”

“You get us in there,” Jordan said with a shadow of that sour quirk he could take on, “and Security doesn’t nail us twice in the process…and I’ll be very interested to see how it plays with her highness.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

“So nice to have a son who has pull.”

“Come on,” he said. Paul and Grant came out of the bar, mission accomplished, he trusted, and he caught Grant’s eye and then turned to Mark and Gerry. “You understand what I’m doing. I’m moving my father and his companion into Wing One, our apartment there, where they’ll be safe. I want you to advise your command we’re doing it, tell them what’s happened, and say my father would appreciate it if he has sheets, towels, and a bar setup.”

“Yes, ser,” Gerry said.

He’d tossed the last in. Gerry seemed in no wise fazed by the order. He motioned Jordan on toward the down escalator.

“We haven’t got a change of clothes,” Jordan said.

“Welcome to my ever‑changing world,” Justin said, and turned his head toward Mark. “Mark, my father’s had no chance to pack anything. Can you arrange him and Paul to have clothes, personal kit, that sort of thing?”

“We’re going to get turned back at the door,” Jordan predicted.

But they didn’t. The Alpha Wing keycard got them right through, and the ever‑present Wing One security guards said, “Justin Warrick, ser. We have orders from Alpha Wing. Go on up.”

They rode the lift to their old apartment. Silence aboard, just the thump of the car on its tracks. They got out into a hall as brightly lit as ever, right by their door. “Go ahead,” Justin said to Jordan as they reached the key‑slot. “You’ve got the key.”

Jordan put it in. Opened the door. Their living room, their couch. And a small tray of canapes, and another of vodka and glasses.

“That wasn’t sitting here all day,” Jordan said.

“That’s from the party, pretty clearly,” Justin said. He walked over and turned on the autobar. “Still stocked. Good they brought the glasses.”

“Clearly they’ve got a key to this place.” Jordan said.

“There’s no place they can’t get, actually,” Justin said, and took a look into the bedroom. “Sheets and towels. I imagine your clothes will arrive shortly.”

“Fast service,” Jordan said.

“She approves,” Justin said, fixing Jordan with a level stare. “Or you wouldn’t get the canapes.”

Jordan didn’t say a thing. Just walked back into the hall, had a look at the bedroom, and walked back again. “You’re right. Black and white and grey. A psychotic’s dream.”

“The bed’s not bad,” he said. “Pretty comfortable, actually.”

“What’s the rent?” Jordan said. “Your immortal soul?”

“Call it caretaking. Ari’s moved. We’ve moved. They’re going to be renovating all over the Wing, what I hear; but this place can wait.” He gave a nod toward the adjoining wall. “That was her apartment. Which I suppose you know. We’re across one major wall and a security gate, but not that far away. Assuming you want to stay here.”

“Is there ice?” Jordan asked.

“The bar says there’s ice.”

“Then we’ll stay,” Jordan said, sitting down on the couch. “Paul, all right with you?”

“Fine,” Paul said, and in passing, shot a look of gratitude Justin’s way, just that.

Justin nodded. Looked at Grant, then, and at Mark and Gerry, before glancing back at Jordan. Paul had gone to the bar, was preparing a drink. “Lunch tomorrow, Dad?”

“I can’t afford those fancy places over in Admin.”

“My treat. Just shut up about it. You get those designs done and you’ll have income again.”

“They could fucking pay me while I’m working.”

“Look, there’s a perfectly good office in there. Not like working in your living room. Computer connections probably work.” It was a thought. He didn’t know if they’d gotten that equipment out, and he went back specifically to look. Everything of that sort was stripped. “Your stuff’s coming in,” he reported, coming back into the living room. “Plenty of room for it. I’ll talk to Ari about permanency here.”

“The place is psychotic.”

“You’ve got colored towels. Colored sheets. It’s not psychotic. I’m going to ask for a guard to be put down here. Contact with housekeeping.” He put his hand on the door switch, prepared to leave. “Glad you’re here,” he said. “Don’t let anybody from housekeeping in until you get the guards out there.”

“Oh, thanks,” Jordan said. Paul put the drink into his hand. He lifted it, silent salute.

“And lay off that stuff,” Justin snapped, and hit the door switch and left.

BOOK THREE Section 3 Chapter vii

JULY 4, 2424

0251H

The party ended, late, with all youngers in attendance, those who didn’thave responsibility for the safety of Reseune. Sam made a few calls to check on Fitz and crew, being sure that personnel had gotten out unscathed at Strassenberg–and Ari just keyed into Base One in her office and searched up details Sam couldn’t get.