Regenesis

  At this hour of the night.

  Static took over again. They had a few bandit stations that operated intermittently and from non-fixed points in the crisis, this and that Bureau, maybe—God knew what. They didn’t use call signs.

  “We don’t know,” Yanni muttered, “how much of this the opposition intends we get. I don’t entirely trust the transmission.”

  Frank nodded agreement. They were both short of sleep. There was constant harassment, maneuvering of agents around the building, communications that came and went. They hadn’t heard from Lynch, and were supposed to have heard; at the moment Yanni didn’t know whether he was still Proxy Councillor or Councillor for Science, whether Lynch was still alive or as dead as Spurlin and probably Jacques and probably Lao by now, give or take the mechanical support that reportedly sustained her.

  They’d done all they could. They’d sent messages. Bogdanovitch, son of the late Councillor for State, and Proxy for the current one, Harad, had headed upriver by air. Then Harad himself had gone, or was supposed to have gone a few hours ago, last but him and Corain, holed up here in the hotel; young Bogdanovitch carried Corain’s Proxy as well—illegal, but Bogdanovitch didn’t need to show both, they hoped to God, just one of them. The document was signed. The name had yet to be filled in. Could be anybody. Corain’s wife. One of his kids. And they hoped not to get to that.

  A pass by the window showed a sheet of water, nothing of the watchers at the curb. Tempting. Too tempting.

  Easy to assume they could make a break for it. He hoped Harad had made it. He’d wanted to get Lynch on a plane sometime today, let him get to Reseune, because—never mind that Lynch hadn’t voted in the office for years—the point was that Lynch could vote, if he got to the rest of the Council…and if Lynch just quietly disappeared, and dropped off the face of the planet, the Proxy for Science couldn’t name another proxy. It didn’t actually say he couldn’t. But there was that pernicious clause…and other powers not specifically named are reserved to the Council in special quorum.

  Which was what it took to seat a new member, too. Eight of the Nine.

  Now there was a gaping great logical defect in a fairly new constitution, wasn’t it? The founders had been optimists.

  So the meeting was supposed to happen on September 12. But the; hours were fast slipping away in which they could still do something—faster still, if Khalid had dared fire a missile at Reseune Airport. Planes weren’t that safe. Boats on the river wouldn’t be, if the renegade Proxy Councillor for Defense had given orders to prevent them moving…not to mention it was a long river with lonely spots where nobody observed what happened. Barge traffic was still snarled, with all its concomitant problems, but it was starting to move. A number of enterprising citizens had gotten together and cleared a warehouse by taking foodstuffs and distributing them to all comers; so there was room to offload an incoming barge or two, barges had gone out yesterday; but things were getting increasingly desperate in the city, and the mayor was ordering the police to take action to get dockworkers to the docks, failing which he threatened to hire any applicant to take the jobs.

  That wasn’t going to be popular with the dockworkers.

  Fact was, a city could only take so much disorder before things began to break; and patience was the first thing to go.

  A rap came at his door. Frank got up from the chair, and drew a gun that was very rarely in evidence. Yanni went to the door, flicked on the outside vid, and opened it fast. It was Amy Carnath and Quentin behind her.

  “Ser,” the girl said, “Quentin thinks we should move. They’re not out there.”

  “Trap,” Frank said.

  “When is it going to be better?” Amy asked, which was a good question, in Yanni’s estimation. “We go over to the hotel behind us. Frank and Quentin get the cars, and two other cars go out front, while they go around the block, and we go straight over the bridge; and then we all just go hard as we can for the airport.”

  “Planes aren’t safe,” Yanni said. “They’re shooting missiles lately.”

  “Boats are slower,” she said. She was a gawky kid. She’d begun to grow into the lanky, large-eyed height; but at the moment she looked her youth, scared, but willing to try any damned thing, possibly because she didn’t adequately imagine failing. “Quentin and I will do it; we’ll get the car to the front, if you and Frank can get Councillor Corain to the curb.”

  “Hell,” he said. “I’ve got files to wipe. I’m not ready for this.”

  “She has a point.” Frank said suddenly. “Make a feint toward State. Two cars that way. Two more toward Lynch. One car gets us all to the airport.”

  “We only have four cars,” Yanni said. “And the hotel bus.”

  “Wouldn’t use it at the moment,” Frank said. “Or the cars they know. We take the executive car from the next building’s garage. Safer.”

  “You’re agreeing with this,” Yanni said.

  “The missile strike,” Frank said, “argues they’re fast losing their inhibitions. They’re feeling omnipotent—that, or something’s made them desperate.”

  Yanni cast a glance at the Carnath girl, said, “Stand there,” and went to the bedroom and threw on what he’d been wearing, casuals, two tees under a sweater. His coat was going to be no protection against the chill. When the weather got like this upriver, they headed for the storm tunnels. To do what they proposed to do, they’d have to hold their breath and make a dash for it through open space in the alley, trusting the downpour to wash noxious life down the gutters, this far in among city towers, building connected to building by overhangs spanning some of the alley, but it was sloppy and cold out there.

  He came back to the main room and started putting on the coat. “Frank, what do we do?”

  “Five minutes for me to brief Jack and Carl, you get Corain out of bed, and get downstairs.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  “Quentin, you take the south stairs. Meet you at the back door.”

  “Yes, ser,” Quentin said.

  “Then go.” Frank said, and it was just that fast. They were into it. Launched. Yanni looked at his watch, then walked over, picked up the briefcase, and laid a hand on young Amy’s shoulder.

  “Here,” he said to her, getting her attention. “You take the official briefcase.”

  He had a gun in his own jacket pocket, courtesy of ReseuneSec. He didn’t plan to use it; he never in his life planned to draw it, but he made sure it was there, all the same.

  He heard a quiet flurry exiting the room adjacent, where ReseuneSec was camped. Whatever orders Frank had given them, they were moving.

  Three minutes. Frank and Quentin would be heading for the stairs.

  Two minutes.

  One. Their guards had left, somewhere. There wasn’t a sound, anywhere near.

  “You stay with me,” he told Amy and waited the precise last seconds before he opened the door.

  They headed out, then. Himself and the kid, out to rouse out Mikhail Corain, if their security moving into position hadn’t triggered Armageddon.

  It hadn’t. At least that.

  They made it down to Corain’s door, rapped softly, then louder, and there was a soft stir inside. Yanni stood against the door, trying to look casual.

  “Mikhail.” he said. “Mikhail, it’s Yanni. Open up.”

  Corain opened the door. Had on only underwear and the shirt he’d slept in. His hair stood on end. He turned an appalled look at young Carnath, and started to excuse himself.

  “We’re going,” Yanni said, catching Corain’s arm. “Get dressed. Now.”

  Corain just nodded, looked anxiously at Amy Carnath, then grabbed his pants off the fat armchair and pulled them on. “Shoes,” he said, searching.

  “Here,” Amy said, and he found them and grabbed his coat. Nothing else. Absolutely nothing else but the coat.

  Down the hall, then, over blue, figured carpet, to the emergency stairs, the same Frank would have used. Hadn’t moved this fast—


  Hadn’t moved this fast, Yanni thought uneasily, since the day Ari had died. Since he’d gotten the advisement, and he’d known every plan he and Ari had ever made was upended, thrown into jeopardy.

  Everything since, he’d improvised. Like this, like their escape. Granted they made it.

  There was a man unconscious, at the bottom of the landing. He might be dead. He wasn’t hotel staff. He wasn’t theirs. He was wearing a rain-spattered coat.

  “God,” Corain said. Young Carnath didn’t say a thing, just stepped gingerly over the fallen man’s leg, and held onto the briefcase.

  BOOK THREE Section 6 Chapter iv

  SEPTEMBER 4, 2424

  0821H

  The late Councillor Bogdanovitch’s son, his sister, and Councillor Harad had made it into Reseune Airport together, in an otherwise empty commercial plane out of Moreyville, and took up residence, young Bogdanovitch and his sister in vacant apartments in the Ed wing, Councillor Harad occupying Jordan’s old apartment.

  And beyond that, on following days, things settled back to quiet, much too quiet, in Ari’s estimation. Hicks had transited from close confinement to medical leave, and Ari had assigned a licensed nurse to be living-in, to be sure neither Kyle nor Hicks himself had rejuv issues—if you got supportive treatment fast, so Ivanov had said, you could sometimes prevent a rejuv collapse, so it was important to keep them both under observation while Kyle tried to get his mental bearings and settle down after the shock he’d had.

  Not least—the nurse had a qualification in psych, and kept an eye out for that kind of problem, too. But Kyle couldn’t be questioned as yet. He wasn’t up to it: they had that from the nurse.

  Jordan sent a nice letter saying back pay for the last two decades would be greatly appreciated. Ari wrote back saying there might be tax implications he might want to consider regarding a lump sum payment, but she’d start the procedures and pass it on to Yanni when he got there…

  Yanni. Yanni was her overwhelming worry. Harad had said Yanni was supposed to have left close behind him, and now it was three days after Harad had arrived, with no Yanni, no word from Amy, who should still be in Novgorod. She’d never understood the phrase worried sick.

  Now she did.

  The last she’d heard, Amy and Quentin had been in Yanni’s and Corain’s hotel, and they’d been watched. Nearly under house arrest. She hoped for word from Lynch, of Science, in lieu of Yanni, maybe relaying some word or instruction from Yanni; but that didn’t come. What had come, via Harad and Bogdanovitch, was the news that Yanni had arranged a diversionary move toward Lynch, but that the crew who’d attempted it had swung back to the hotel with three cars cutting them off from that route.

  And that was that—three days since Harad and young Bogdanovitch had been here, safe, and there was no Yanni, no Corain, no Amy, not a ripple out of ReseuneSec in Novgorod, and Amy didn’t answer Maddy’s discreet personal call.

  The situation sent her back to Base One to make sure she understood the constitutional scenario if there was a near-majority vote and there should be a Council seat vacated by disaster.

  Dicey was what it seemed to her: there was a procedure by which the remaining Councillors could unanimously declare a Bureau seat could not be filled within the likely span of an emergency—but the sticky point was that “remaining Councillors” had to include Khalid, who naturally wouldn’t vote to unseat himself…except he hadn’t gotten seated, not officially, and needed a majority of living Councillors to be seated.

  That was an interesting point of law, but it was also a real kink in the situation for Khalid. He’d alienated everybody. He was on a collision course with constitutional law—and that wasn’t a major point with most CITs, who didn’t understand it; but it was a nasty situation for Khalid on the one hand and for the constitution on the other.

  You could think it’s just a document, she wrote to her successor, in the small hours of the morning, but it’s more. It represents a real point of consensus we haven’t got now, and a lot of people were willing to give up things they wanted so they could get that agreement. It was a point in human history where all of Union agreed to a set of priorities, and now we’ll either prove that agreement still binds everybody, or we’ll prove somebody with enough guns can run everything at any given moment; and that means no peace, even for them.

  I never got excited about studying law—until we are a few missile launches away from not having any law at all.

  We’ve got to get that consensus back. That means we’ve got to be able to tell people the constitution still works, and make them believe it. That’s why the forms matter. People have to see things done by the rules. We’ve got to make people feel safe again and make them believe that compromises are going to be binding.

  Unfortunately people in Khalid’s own Bureau haven’t done anything to stop him.

  His Bureau was taking his orders—or, at least, took them far enough to launch that missile. There hasn’t been another. Maybe that means that’s all they had, or all they can get to.

  Maybe it means it even shocked people in Defense.

  It should have. I hope it did.

  She put in a once-a-day meeting with the reporters at the airport, who said the broadcasts were having a lot of trouble getting out at Novgorod and they weren’t sure about Planys; but they were still getting out intermittently there and fairly consistently in other places. People were sending bits all over the net, and Defense was trying to block it, but Defense couldn’t stop what other Bureaus ran. So that was doing some good.

  She tried to improve her sleep patterns; she still found herself awake at night and napping on her arms on her desk, after being up at 0500h. She finally took to her proper bed in the thought that if she could sleep at all, at any time, she ought to, no matter what else was going on in the world, and no matter how worried she was about Yanni. But she wouldn’t take a sleeping pill.

  She’d just about gotten to that nowhere state, all the same, when Florian’s voice said, “Sera. Sera, forgive me, but there’s a report Defense has just moved in on Planys. They’ve shut down all communication. We terminated accesses.”

  Damn, she thought.

  But she wasn’t wholly surprised.

  And she had no doubt they’d be after whatever they could get, Library, all of it—but they hadn’t likely gotten anything. System had taken measures, that fast. They had it set up for Planys, for particular operations inside Reseune, for Strassenberg, for ReseuneSec offices in Novgorod: one System-level irregularity, and System needed to be reset from Reseune Admin. One code, out of Base One, and it nuked accesses at any other given base until codes were reset.

  That had happened, probably at the first probe they made into System. She was ahead of them that far.

  She shoved herself up on one arm, and the other, and found the edge of the bed, raking hair out of her eyes and trying simultaneously to ask herself if there was any other thing she needed to think of, if they’d just lost Planys.

  There wasn’t anything to do, was there? They’d known they could lose it, that fast, because a Defense installation was snuggled up against it, and Defense installations had guns and a lot of electronics, and they’d probably spent years preparing themselves to crack System.

  That part hadn’t worked. She felt good about that.

  “Tell Admin,” she said, and Florian called Catlin on com and told her to tell Chloe, while Ari was pulling on her boots. “Tell the Councillors,” she added. That was a new priority on their notification list, but they kept the Council, such as it was, as informed as Admin, where it regarded move’s by Defense. “I’ll be over there. I’ll go talk to the reporters. I’ll take calls from anybody on the ‘notify’ list.” She took a twist in her hair and jammed the skewer in slantwise. Which hurt, but she was in a hurry.

  Joyesse showed up. “Coat,” Ari said. “Please.” And, “Florian? How did they do it?”

  “There were already Defense personnel inside the labs. Fifty more De
fense personnel arrived about midnight local. They took armed possession of the administrative offices and that was that: most people go offshift at 1600.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “ReseuneSec in uniform we’re roughed up,” Florian said as they entered the hall. Joyesse brought the coat and Ari turned and slipped it on. “That’s the last information we have. It may have gotten worse, but they have their standing orders.” Go to plainclothes, offer no resistence, destroy any records you can, those were the instructions. “Physical records they’ve undoubtedly got, undoubtedly some manuals. And the prior codes. They’ll be going over those with every expert they have, looking for some forgotten app they can still get into. They won’t find one.”

  “Good. Then that’s gone by the book.” They reached the front door and Theo let them out.

  “Catlin is talking with Chloe in Admin,” Florian said, and then pressed the com into his ear, intent on something for an instant. He suddenly stopped walking—and nothing distracted Florian. She stopped, there in the hall, among the paintings.

  “Sera,” he said, “there’s a plane requesting a landing.”

  Her heart leapt up in hope.

  “It’s Defense, sera.” Florian was still listening. “General Awei, Klaus Awei, requesting permission to land, courier jet. Air Traffic Control requests Admin advice.”

  “Permission granted,” she said. There was little else they could do; let automated defenses kick in and start something, or let that plane land. Military courier. If it landed instead of shooting, Defense was talking, and talking—that, she could do something with, even if it delivered a threat. “How far off?”

  “How far off?” Florian asked ATC, having relayed her prior instruction; and he reported: “Fifteen minutes, sera.”

  “Get a bus.”