Текст книги "Regenesis"

Автор книги: C. J. Cherryh

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Текущая страница: 43 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

Meanwhile the media had exited the flat‑roofed terminal, a moderate distance away–she was conscious of that onrushing and disorderly humanity in the tail of her eye, but her attention was all for the general, his face, his expressions. His body language exuded dignity, reserve, assessing her, assessing Florian and Catlin…not sure, possibly, exactly who she was–or maybe not sure there weren’t snipers on the terminal roof.

She walked up and held out her hand with absolute assurance. “Ariane Emory,” she said. “General Awei, is it?”

“Sera Emory.” A reciprocal gesture, a large, calloused hand that enveloped hers. The man towered over her, over Florian andCatlin. He was like a living wall, and his hand was warm and strong, force matching her force, no more than that, a sign of basic good sense. “I’m here for the three branches of the service that don’tsupport Admiral Khalid.”

Several things immediately occurred to her; that the Fleet had run Defense since the founding of Union; that Fleet leadership had produced Azov, Gorodin, Jacques, Spurlin, and Khalid, none of whom had been straightforward in their dealings with Science; and that if another branch of the armed services should seize power in that Bureau, it might upend every entrenched structure inside Defense‑as‑it‑was. A veritable earthquake.

Thathad value.

Disorder, however, and professional revenge‑taking posed another kind of hazard.

“General,” she said warmly and by now the media had gotten close, and cameras were going. “You’re certainly welcome. We just had a missile come close to our hospital.”

“No more of those,” Awei said. “A force is in Svetlansk as we speak.”

That could be good news. Or not. “Admiral Khalid has taken Planys Labs,” she said bluntly, “as of this hour.”

“And he’s there,” Awei fired right back. “And not in Novgorod. My service holds the port, the airport, the broadcast stations, andthe power grid in the capital.”

Not hollow wares, then. Bad news out of Planys, but this man had deliberately landed himself where Council was, where the media was…claiming hehad Novgorod. And, effectively, he hopedto have Reseune…at least in the political sense.

“Then you’re here to talk to Council,” she said. Shewouldn’t fall into that pit, negotiating in front of cameras, worse, being seen to usurp what Council needed to be involved in. “Urgently so, I’ll imagine. Florian. Catlin. Advise Admin; buses up the hill; tell the Councillors. Let’s go into the terminal, General, if you please; it’s a more comfortable premises.”

“My pleasure,” Awei said, and Ari aimed him and his aide and her own two right through the ranks of the media.

There were immediate questions, and cameras. One question was: “How many troops do you have. General?” Which not even a fool would answer truthfully. And, “Are you officially challenging Khalid for the seat?”

Awei stopped right there and turned a calm stare on the cameras–no fool at all, Ari thought. Nobodywho’d be maneuvered by questions like that was fit to hold office. This man was laying his life on the line to take control, and he was smart. Maybe he was a man who wouldn’t be at all safe as an ally–if the constitution didn’t make the Bureaus equal, and impose iron‑clad quorum requirements among the Nine.

And stillwatch Defense, she thought, both glad and suspicious of a new presence in the game. And she thought, too, in a sub‑basement of her mind, Let him take on Khalid. Whether he lives or dies trying, we benefit.

Awei said, in that deep, even voice, addressing the media:

“We demand that the Admiral produce Councillor Jacques, alive. We demand that Admiral Khalid answer specific questions from his own service, regarding the murder of Councillor Spurlin. One dead, one disappeared Councillor for Defense–that needs answers. We’re not hearing them, and we remind everyone Admiral Khalid has not yet been seated in Council.”

Thatwas about as blunt as it got. Awei was trying a maneuver, and making his own bid for power–doing it on Reseune soil, no less. It was certainly a nervy try; it went clear to the heart of Defense, for certain. She approved of everything she heard, and her blood moved just a little faster.

“Reseune agrees with that demand,” she said sharply, and cameras refocused on her on the instant. “As of this hour, Admiral Khalid’s forces have intruded into PlanysLabs, onto Reseune territory. Records in Planys, as of this morning, are no longer secure, or safe. Within recent months, two senior Reseune personnel are dead under questionable circumstances, one of them at Planys, one at Novgorod. Furthermore, we’ve reinvestigated the charges against Jordan Warrick. We know he was falsely blamed for the death of my predecessor, and we question whether certain records pertinent to that case will exist past this evening, in the hands of Admiral Khalid’s forces.” Therewas a capper, without claiming anything specific. Let the media digest thatone, if Awei thought he could use Reseune Airport for his own stage and not pay rent, even as a friendly. “At the moment Defense has no Councillor and no Proxy Councillor seated among the Nine; and Reseune is extremely interested in what you have to say, General.”

Kingmaker he might intend to be, silver‑haired veteran clearly on old‑fashioned rejuv. He might be backed by a sizeable and formidable division of the service–and maybe he meant to be king, himself, disregarding the constitution as freely as Khalid.

On the other hand, Awei was here. Vice Admiral Tanya Bigelow, the candidate for Defense Proxy that Reseune had backed, hadn’t taken the initiative to get up here–if Bigelow was still alive or able to move. That was a fact worth noticing. For proof of any considerable opposition to Khalid’s takeover, they had nothing but one plane and a Marine general who had yet to demonstrate what, exactly, he commanded. And if Yanni showed up in the interim, backing Bigelow or some other candidate in Defense, therewas a potential embarrassment.

But she couldn’t wait to consult anybody, and there was suddenly a momentum going, where the media was concerned. Khalid had troops inside Planys, which the media couldn’t get visuals on; and Reseune had had a missile launched at them out of Svetlansk–which they had been able to get on camera for the whole immediate universe to see. Guess which was more impressed on public awareness. Now this man came screaming in out of the blue with a challenge and an offer; and she could prime the media and shove things into motion–if nothing else, throw a momentary obstacle into Khalid’s hitherto cascading rush to power.

Kingmaker in Defense. Awei might be–or not. History was full of actions like Awei’s, and some of them died, and some of them fell, soon after.

The smart ones didn’t try to use anybody smarter than they were. Let him figure in the next few hours that that was what he had just met. She could support him…if Klaus Awei was smart enough to figure who’d just settled the mantle of legitimacy about hisshoulders in front of the media, and whose support could make his survival in his bid just a little more likely than any other claimant. She read people pretty damned well–and Klaus Awei, for all his larger‑than‑life presence, already knew he was taking a chance. He’d known exactly where media exposure and significant images could be had, and if he was telling the truth, he had control of the Novgorod vid apparatus, which meant word would get out much wider than it had been.

He hadn’t established himself in Novgorod and tempted Councilinto coming back to the capital and appealing to him for rescue, which argued good manners–or suggested his base might be small and fragile down there, if it existed at all. Or it could argue he wasn’t going to go for political process at all: he was a military man, commanding an organization that moved fast: forces already in Svetlansk, he’d said, while he was here, taking the publicly political option.

He had a real chance, if Council backed him‑‑and if media simultaneously got the word out.

“What’s this about Jordan Warrick?” a reporter yelled then, and Ari turned, slowly, solemnly, with the cameras all going, and all other questions silent. “What about Jordan Warrick?” the reporter repeated, exactly the side issue she’d wanted.

“A covert operation wanted my predecessor dead,” she said. “Now the same people would like to see medead…along with a lot of other people that stand in their way. The general has come here, I gather, driven by conscience–and if it’s not proper for Reseune to say how Defense should manage its internal business, I can at least say I’m in favor of protecting the independence of the Bureaus, with respect for other Bureaus’ territory andproperty, and the right of allUnion citizens, to elect a candidate in their Bureau and see that candidate liveto take office.”

That created three and four more questions, about on the level of: Are you talking about Spurlin, young sera? Then, more important, a question she wanted: Have you had any word from the Councillor for Science?

“I hopefor it,” she shot back and, seeing the good general was not accustomed to the shouted‑questions kind of news conference, which was absolutely her element, she made a gesture of invitation toward the terminal. “The Councillors are on their way down, or they’ll be in touch fairly soon. Wait and we’ll give you a news conference.” And to Awei alone, “General, there’s a private conference room, and I imagine you and your companion would appreciate a cup of coffee, at the least.”

“Coffee,” Awei said. It had become a steady march toward the terminal doors. Florian and Catlin’s presence meant questioners didn’t get that close, or press up against them: the reporters that had covered Reseune for years had long since understood that about ReseuneSec and azi bodyguards. They knew the distance, knew it to an exactitude and kept it, shoving each other rather than infringing on that imaginary line that triggered armed reaction from security.

At the doors, she called back to them almost cheerfully, and with real affection, she knew no few of them, had known them for years, “Give me about an hour. I’ll talk to you. I promise!”

It took half an hour for Council to get down to the airport–deFranco and Chavez were the first to arrive, in no more than ten minutes, if that. Ludmilla deFranco met them in the conference room, quite forth rightly shook Awei’s hand, and asked about conditions in Novgorod; Chavez started to pour himself a cup of coffee and didn’t get to carry it back to the table himself. Airport hospitality staff arrived in the room with a far more elaborate and finer coffee service than what the machine provided. They swept recyclable cups aside, poured coffee into fine china, and saw the general and the Councillors seated at the conference table with a full choice of cream, sweetener, sugar, spice, and wafers; the same for her, who sat at the far end of the table, and the same for the general’s aide, who stayed standing, but who did take a cup of coffee.

“We have order in Novgorod,” Awei had said, in answer to the former question…which might be an hour by hour situation, Ari thought, knowing the conditions that had kept Yanni and Amy pinned down; and she didn’t know where they were. They could have gotten loose, could be somewhere in military hands…of either side.

Asking Awei, however, was asking a large predator for help, opened bidding for that help, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that at this point.

“What is your position, General,” deFranco asked, briskly stirring spice into her coffee, “since, as Councillor Corain said in his report, nothing at this point will induce the Council to seat Admiral Khalid?”

“That’s not a concern,” Awei said.

Encouraging, Ari thought, but letting the hearer fill in the blanks. She didn’t let her eyes dart, didn’t give visual cues what she thought, any more than she could help. She signaled to Catlin and said, very quietly, as Catlin moved close, “Report on the general,” and then listened to Awei and deFranco exchange several more questions.

“What is the situation at Novgorod,” deFranco asked, then, “besides orderly?”

“We’re trying to get citizens back to work, which means safety down on the docks and safety for transport moving through the city–in some neighborhoods, that’s a problem. We’re getting a little resistence from Fleet MP’s assigned to the docks and elsewhere; we’re negotiating that at higher levels. A Council directive would go a long way toward improving that situation. Which brings us to the specifics: I have a short list of resolutions that we’d like to see passed.”

We. Always the undefined “we.” Ari wished deFranco would eventually ask who “we” was. She didn’t want to do it.

Councillor Harogo and Councillor Tien showed up at the door at that point, with four ReseuneSec agents for an escort, three men and a woman who likewise took up station with Florian and Catlin. Ari stood up. The others did. There were more handshakes, more exchanges, politeness with very little substance in the questions. Lastly Harad came in, State, looking cautious, but willing to welcome the general.

Coffee, all around, except Harad: tea for him, with cream and sweetener. Awei’s aide, who was listening to something, much as Florian and Catlin were doing, moved close to Awei and said something Ari was sure ReseuneSec would manage to pick up; she couldn’t hear it. It might just be an advisement to the general that someone was monitoring. It could be business going on elsewhere in the world.

“We have a quorum for ordinary business at this point,” Harad said. “Shall I chair?”

“Seconded,” deFranco murmured; it wasn’t strict protocols, in Ari’s estimation, but nobody objected. Harad asked, “Who’s recording?”

“I’m sure Reseune is,” Tien said wryly, “and probably the good general, but I’ll keep notes, for the record.”

“Those present,” Harad said, and they proceeded to an informal roll call–leaving out Information, a fact which Ari noted, and didn’t take in the least as a slight. Where Council’s quorum stood, the five for ordinary business, and the eight for special business–that was something Harad didn’t give away for free. They mustered the basic five without her, and she didn’t say a thing, just sat with her chin on her hand, and trusted records were being kept.

“We’ll dispense with the reading of the last session’s business,” Harad said, and proceeded on to the general’s list, first being a Council resolution on the situation on Novgorod docks, requesting the Fleet’s military police to withdraw to quarters; a second resolution giving General Awei provisional authority to arrest and detain inside the city of Novgorod; a third, Council condemnation of the missile attack on Reseune.

Nice politics. Ari made a note, signaled Florian, and said, “Give this to deFranco,” and Florian quietly walked to the other end of the table and did that.

It suggested a fourth Council resolution, condemning the intrusion of Defense personnel into Reseune Administrative Territory property at Planys, and requiring the release of all arrested personnel and surrender of all confiscated materials.

It took very little arguing of specific language, and, her little test, and probably something at least deFranco noted, the general quite readily supported it.

So it joined the list up for consideration.

Then came a fifth prospective Council action, on Awei’s list, a grant of authority to Awei, with powers of arrest and detention, to investigate the death of Councillor‑elect Spurlin and the disappearance of current Councillor Jacques. It was a simple Council directive, but, Chavez noted, operationally unprecedented in scope. They had, Harad said, the Office of Inquiry doing the same.

Damn it, Ari thought, pass it. Don’t hang us up on territoriality. But she kept her mouth shut.

It hadn’t made it onto the list yet. Then Ludmilla deFranco moved for a twenty‑minute recess. That. Ari had learned, was where Council intended to do some off the record maneuvering.

“Sera.” Catlin came to Ari’s elbow as Council collectively took a rest‑room break. Catlin delivered a set of printout, with her standard request, a summation sheet on top. It was ReseuneSec’s answer to her question on Awei. He had not served in combat, had served at Gehenna during the Alliance‑Union investigation–interesting; had managed the Fargone Hospital facility, which was only partially a hospital, and had more to do with the Defense base at Eversnow– therewas a major caution, considering Defense might have killed her predecessor in an as‑yet unproven relationship to that project.

Awei could be, she thought uneasily, a worse problem than Khalid, if Awei was deeply embedded in the coverup of military activity on that iceball.

She asked herself whether it was a good idea or not to let Awei know she knew certain things–until they’d gotten maximum good out of Awei. She’d watched the man across the table, watched his eyes, and she had at least some confidence she was reading him consistently. That was one thing in his favor.

But he was also old in his business, knew how to keep his face quiet, and clearly, to her observation at the moment, knew how to talk to Councillors who came at him with sharp questions; no fool, not in the least.

She’d have about the first instant to read past that considerable skill at not being read, if she broached her topic with him.

If she didn’t, they could possibly haveAwei and his service running Defense in fairly short order, unless they first used him to get rid of Khalid and then appointed Bigelow, out of the Fleet, to do things as they’d always been done. Council was certainly capable of doing that, and if Bigelow was more energetic than she’d yet showed, who knew? She might turn up as Councillor for Defense and Awei might be assigned back to Eversnow.

He didn’t command all the strings that could be pulled. Council hadn’t been prepared for the blow that had come against it–an outright campaign of assassination and brute force. Defense had those weapons to use. They could still have one sticky mess on their hands.

But she was still the kid. The observer in this meeting. Awei had had a taste of her style out by the plane. But he might not be totally on his guard against a question coming from her.

It had better be a good one. A really good one.

She decided on another cup of coffee, and, the serving staff having come back, now that they were in recess, she moved up close to the general, who was standing by the window having his own cup refilled.

“General.” she said pleasantly, and got his attention. “ Whoin Defense ordered my predecessor killed?”

Fast change in the eyes. Muscle twitch. As good as a truther unless there’d been a psych plant to prevent a reaction. Did he really want to answer that question? He wasn’t at all sure.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but an investigation might be in order.”

He wasn’t lying. But he also kept some thought in reserve.

“Easy to accuse Khalid,” she said. “Possibly it would even be accurate.”

“He couldn’t originate the order, young sera.”

A little surprising, that answer. Accurate. Maybe trying to shift her exes higher up…maybe to Gorodin. But there was more than one way to originate an order, she thought. First, if you were head of Intelligence, you supplied the information behind it and that made the conclusion obvious. Interesting choice of answers, and she didn’t detect guilt in the man, just impatience with her, an awareness of everything going on in the room, in which he thought he had much more at stake, and, still, something still in reserve.

“You’re hiding something,” she said, and thatgot a reaction, quick as an explosion–in the tiny muscles of the iris, in the momentary glitch in the neck.

“You’re a very interesting young woman, Sera Emory.”

“What do you nothave, that you don’t want to let us know about?”

He didn’t get caught this time. He smiled in a very controlled, patronizing way. “I never met your predecessor. Was she this full of questions?”

“Something major,” she answered her own question. “You lack something, and that makes you think you may lose this fight. You’re making your move as early as you can and as late as you dare. For one thing, you don’t control the Fleet, and the Fleet has been in power since Union began. You don’t think you can pry their hands off that power. You have to worry about assassination, for another thing…” She was watching his eyes as she ran through that shopping list, and saw reactions that said she was getting closer. “And you have about twenty‑four hours to make your bid good, which is why you came here looking for Council backing, because all the people currently backing you are going to be in a lot of trouble, real soon, if you don’t gain momentum fast, and you care about that. Good. That makes me feel better.”

He looked at her in some disquiet. “And do you have a conclusion to this observation, Sera? Or is it a fortune‑telling act?”

“Oh, it’s not that hard to say, you came here to get a Council directive, which will make you look a lot more legitimate, you know there’s not a special quorum here, but you doknow there’s an ordinary quorum, which is enough for a directive. You’d probably like a Council resolution to say definitively that there’s no way in hell they’ll seat Khalid, and they might do that, but I don’t think it would look good politically. I’d advise not, if you have that in mind. Better you act as Council’s enforcement, then let Council get together, vacate the Defense seat and appoint a pro tem…assuming Jacques is dead, which seems fairly likely; or in Khalid’s hands, as insurance, in which case Jacques can be gotten out alive, and he could appoint youas proxy–he’ll do what he’s told to do. Am I following this correctly? You’ve got your troops, you’ve got a few important people hanging back, waiting to see how this goes, and whether or not you can outmaneuver Khalid, who’s just taken the other continent this morning because he’s having to jump fast and you caught him a little by surprise. His being there makes logistics a lot more difficult for you to get at him, but you’re after Svetlansk, where possibly you can keep him defending.”

A slow, grim honesty arrived in those same eyes. “say Svetlansk won’t be a problem. Planys, however, is. He’s shifted certain of his assets across the water. He has time, there. He can politic with the station over our heads. Two warships up there, if you want the truth.”

“Reseune hasassets across the water,” she said. “I can getyou precise recon at any time you want it. It’ll be a snapshot, so only ask for it once, but I can deliver it.”

He was still for a moment–more than silent; still, controlled, wary. Then his eyes flicked aside, beyond her, about where Florian and Catlin would be standing.

“Numbers before this morning would be very useful, sera,” he said then. “Placement of forces likewise.”

“Catlin,” she said, knowing Catlin and Florian had heard every word, “provide the general with that information.”

“Yes, sera,” Catlin said.

The clock, meanwhile, had reached straight up, and their twenty‑minute recess was done. While she’d occupied the general, Councillors had been discussing, intensely, and now took their seats with a grim look.

Ari went up the table before deFranco, caught her for a moment for a quiet word before she took her seat. “I think he’s here without wider support in Defense, except his own branch. He’s looking for legitimacy. He’s got forces actively moving in or on Svetlansk. The directives he’s got will give him momentum… mightsway elements of the Fleet, but I didn’t get that from him, and I don’t think he’s remotely counting on it. Call on him to support the Council by armed force where needful. Call on all the armed services to support the Council and defend its premises.”

That happened to be Reseune–and they were in extraordinary danger at the moment, with that plane sitting on its runway, and unproven actions going on in Svetlansk.

DeFranco nodded, walked over, and spoke intensely to Harad, who then spoke at some length to Harogo.

And Harogo, once they were seated, made the motion to consider an amendment to the last‑proposed directive.

They passed the Council directive. The added portion read: support the Council, defend its premises and protect the premises of all Bureaus, cities, institutions and territories, by force of arms where need be.

Awei drew in a large breath, then–satisfied, it seemed.

“Sera,” Florian said. He’d left the room during the last of the session. He had a printout in hand, and handed it to her. “The Planys report.”

It was a single page. It gave a breakdown of Defense numbers at the airport, numbers inside Planys.

“That’s of this morning, sera, at the point we shut System down.”

“Good,” she said. “As far as we know, System remains intact?”

“Likely it does.”

It was earnest of what they could get, when they needed it. She went to the general, who was taking leave of the Councillors, and handed him the paper. “Numbers and locations of non‑Reseune individuals the hour of the takeover. You get Khalid to defend his airport, and his base, and let us know when you need it, ser.”

Awei looked past Ari, directly at Catlin and Florian, whose faces wouldn’t give him a thing.

And back to her, maybe wanting to know a lot more, wondering if he had credit enough to ask it.

“Right before the shutdown,” she said. “Best information we’ve got.”

“Sera, Reseune has air cover while I’m here. But best you get your people and essential operations underground over the next number of hours. We can’t defend against what may happen on the station.”

Up where the weathermakers were. When the atmospheric controls were, and the bulk of the power generation.

Not to mention hostile action from ships that might be in port.

She had the picture. Awei turned to the several Councillors, who wished him well.

So did she, and said so, before they took it to the media, outside, and provided the literal text of the resolutions.

The resolutions were going onto the airwaves.

The whole world was about to know for certain the Council was behind Klaus Awei’s actions, past and future.

BOOK THREE Section 6 Chapter vi

SEPT 8, 2424

1040H

The first message Justin got said, simply, as a flasher on the corner of the screen of his office computer: Wing Directors: red alert is in progress.

The second, popping up in quick succession, and overlaying it, said: Justin, you’re in charge of Alpha Wing. Call ReseuneSec if you have to find me.

Meanwhile their office vid, up on the wall, had started rerunning the short news conference, on a split screen with the general’s plane taking off.

It didn’t take much imagination to know it was no drill, some threat was imminent, and that meant prepare to head for the tunnels.

“Better shut down the office,” Justin said, feeling a little queasy. “Damn, we’re not getting much outstanding work done, at this rate.”

“Better pack for this one,” Grant said. “Trigger the warning on the List?”

“You know, I hategetting used to this. Yes, fire it off. Our neighbors know the drill better than we do.” He tried to think of what he should pack, what it would take to keep his sanity if it came to several days in the tunnels, and, with no functioning sense of priorities, he gathered up current notes on a non‑classified set. “Take a case or two with you, or we’ll both go crazy.”

“Game, batteries, and motion charger, check,” Grant said. “Still in the briefcase from the last time. I hate getting used to it, too–just as a useful check on my sensibilities. I distinctly recall being told to appeal to my Supervisor if Ifeel stress coming on.”

“Do you?” Justin asked soberly, turning to look at him.

Grant rudely shoved him into motion. “It’s a condition of life, lately. Move. I want to get upstairs and pack some necessities this time. Let’s be practical about this.”

Mark and Gerry showed up in the open doorway; word had spread.

“Ser,” Gerry said, “An alert’s in progress.”

“We know. Thanks. Get on the com.” Justin said, settling his coat on, “call everybody in the Wing and tell them this is a real alert, if they have any doubt of it. All staff to go to the tunnels, prepare for a stay’. When you’ve done that, supply yourselves out of your office for at least a three‑day stay and report to the storm tunnel.”

“Yes, ser,” Mark said, and the two of them went off at fair speed–which left them time to get upstairs in good order and pack a bag between them.

Grant looked a little overwhelmed as they were leaving–again. He cast a look around the room, as if memorizing it, and then looked at Justin with a little sigh as if to say he was ready for most anything.

Grant was Justin’s overriding thought. Grant’s stability, he didn’t question. It was a sensible worry whether they could both get through the next few days alive. He didn’t know everything they were up against, but the thought of the station in orbit deciding just to flip the switch and shut down the towers until Reseune gave up, or Defense landing troops on their very close‑in river shore, troops to break into the tunnels and force their way in–

That wasn’t a prospect he wanted to contemplate. They were Warricks, Grant no less than he was. No question they’d be targets along with Jordan. They always had been. And there wasn’t a damned thing he personally could do about it, but have a short mental list of one bolt hole after another if it got to that.

Planys wasn’t theirs this morning. That news had mixed with the news of the landing; and he wasn’t the only one who’d be upset with that news. He phoned Jordan on his way down from their apartment. “Dad,” he said, when only the message function answered his call, “take this one very seriously. Paul, take care. Both of you.”

They ended up with the lift all to themselves.

Back to the tunnel he’d gotten to know–all the comforts, as far as sieges went.

And settled in to wait.

The galley served modest sandwiches, which Ari’s staff said would be available at any time. They had coffee and fruit tea. Tommy and Mika Carnath arrived, exhausted and short of breath, from across the complex, and said they’d been held up a while, getting back, because they’d had to walk all the way around from the labs. They weren’t letting people traverse the open spaces, and they were too young to rate a seat on the trams. Yvgenia Wojkowski arrived, and said she’d been delayed by a phone call from a cousin in Novgorod asking what had happened, but she had just told her to watch the news. Maddy Strassen came in with her companion Samara, and settled in. The news services, broadcasting in Novgorod, and visible on the general monitor, showed, intermittent with rebroadcasts of the Council news conference and the general’s plane taking off, tranquil views of the city, a small amount of traffic moving on the roads, subways running, mostly empty, on a sunny day.