Regenesis

Wilkins‑Teague. Freckles and curious mixed‑color eyes, mostly green. Ari had only rarely met the name of Teague, more often the Wilkinses. Definitely not one of the Families of Reseune, not at all common names in the CIT lists, which repeated a great deal. But Maria had never even had a security reprimand, not from her very outdoor childhood. And she didn’t wipe her fingers on her skirt.

Sam made his way across the room to pay his respects officially, did so: “Ari, you know Maria.”

“Of course,” she said. “So glad you’ll be a neighbor, Maria.” And Maria blushed brighter than Sam and said, softly, with, God help her, a kind of little curtsey. “Thank you, sera. Thank you so much.”

“My pleasure,” she’d said. “Anyone Sam likes is all right. I’d be jealous if Sam wasn’t my brother. You’ve got a good one in him.”

“I know I have,” Maria said, and hesitated over an offered tray of pricey imported cheese and crackers while Sam asked Ari matter‑of‑factly how the tank plumbing and water system was working.

“Fine,” Ari said. “Absolutely not a glitch.” Which showed where Sam’s mind was today, besides Maria. He was looking around, up and down, seeing all the forms and the conduits and the works of the place, and he just wanted everything he’d done to work right, all the switches and all the plumbing.

She loved him tremendously for that. And Maria had finally taken a peppery piece from the tray and now looked as if the taste wasn’t at all what she wanted. Ari pretended not to notice, and Sam, with finesse, simply took it in his big hand and ate it on his way, hooking Maria’s arm, as it proved, to show Maria the workings of the electronic glass, which switched on and off in the next moments.

Ari wended her own way over to the olders. “How do you find your apartments?” she asked in general.

“Big,” Ya

“But is it all right?”

“Nice,” was Ya

She was amused. “There’ll be maintenance, Ya

“You don’t need my beetle, now, do you?”

She kissed him on the cheek. “It’s in my study,” she said, “holding down my important papers, right along with Giraud’s butterfly. And I will never, never in my life think he’s superfluous.”

“Go on with you,” Ya

She laughed, moved on, and snagged Justin’s arm next–in such a happy mood she went up on tiptoe and kissed Justin’s cheek, next. “You’re a dear,” she said. Justin had tried to turn, but she held fast.

“A dear, am I? That old?”

“Not nearly too old,” she said, and caught Grant’s arm on the other side, and walked them both to the waterfall hall, where there was a bit more room, and the sunset sky overhead. “I absolutely meant what I wrote in the note. I want my lessons. I need them, understand, I really desperately need them right now.”

“Is my father behaving himself?”

The designs Jordan was doing, Justin meant. “He’s dropped a bug in. Naturally. It went back. Naturally. I’m sure he’ll clean that out and add another one.” It was fu

“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 ru

“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 gri

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–