Regenesis

No answer, immediately. Then the door opened and let them in.

Jordan was on the couch, looking asleep, give or take the glass beside him. Paul had gotten up, and looked worried.

“Is everything all right?” Paul asked.

“Fine,” Justin said, and let the door shut. “Wake up, Dad. Di

No response.

“He’s had a few,” Paul said.

Well, it wasn’t di

“I’m sorry,” Paul said.

“Not your problem,” Justin said. He walked over to the autobar, looked at the levels in the supply, leaned on his elbows on the counter and thought, Damn.

“If I can fix you something, ser,” Paul said.

Justin shot a look at Grant, and Grant stared back, then gave a nod.

“You sit down,” Justin said then, “and let Grant get you something.”

“I’ve had enough, ser, already.”

“When was lunch?”

Paul looked a little taken aback, looked at the clock on the minder, and failed to answer promptly.

“Breakfast?” Justin asked, while Grant proceeded about his business at the bar.

“We had breakfast,” Paul said.

“He knows what happened,” Justin said.

“He followed it, as much as we knew. The vid came on awhile ago, said it was the all‑clear. Do we trust that?”

“We trust that,” Justin said. “Young Ari’s fine. She’s ru

“I hope so, ser.”

“I know we are.” He watched Grant hand Paul a glass of something clear, water, or vodka, not immediately evident.

“Drink this,” Grant said. “Paul.”

Paul took it. Paul was the soul of politeness and quiet.

“Paul,” Justin said, “sit down. Please. We want to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk, ser. I’m sorry Jordan isn’t able to go to di

“Sit down,” Justin said, and sat down, himself, on the end of the couch. “Sit down, Paul. I want to ask you something. It’s all right. Sit down.”

Paul had known them both since childhood. And he did, slowly, sit down.

“My father’s put a hell of a load on you,” Justin said. “I don’t want to. I want to ask you, honestly, how are you doing?”

“Perfectly well, ser.”

“I’m not ser. I’m Justin. Remember. It’s just Justin and Grant. The way we always were. You used to keep us in line. You’d tell us when we were just a little over the edge. Didn’t you?”

“I did,” Paul said.

“Well, you can tell us now if we are. I don’t want to push you. But I’m pretty good at what I do. So’s Grant. And we all know Jordan’s got a problem.”

Jordan moved. Not coherently. He settled again, and Paul looked back.

“He’s all right,” Paul said. “It was a hard day.”

“He didn’t take it well, what happened today.”

“I know you say it’s all right,” Paul said, “but we don’t think so.”

Justin nodded. “I understand that. I respect it. I’ll tell you, though, I don’t like what I see.”

“I’m sorry, ser.”

“Because you can’t stop him? It’s not your responsibility to stop him. Paul. I don’t know how you could. He’ll do what he wants to.”

“It was just a hard day.”

“Every day’s a hard day,” Grant said. “It’s not your responsibility to stop him. Who’s the Supervisor?”

Paul made a lame gesture in Jordan’s direction.

“So when did you last ask him for help?” Justin said.

A shrug.

“You don’t, do you? Or you do, but you don’t make it clear to him. When’s the last time you did?”

“I don’t know. This is private, Justin, I’m sorry. It’s between him and me.”

“It was December 21, 2405.”

Paul just looked at him, appalled.

“Wasn’t it?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Paul started to get up. Grant reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Listen to him, Paul.”

“The year after you got to Planys. What had you so upset, then?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Dad took care of it then. He handled it. He hasn’t handled damned much since. What changed?”

“I don’t–I don’t know. The isolation. The frustration. Things.”

“Paul,” Justin said, “you know I know what I’m doing. You know I’m family. I’d never do anything to hurt you, or Jordan.”

“I–”

“I wouldn’t, Paul. I swear I wouldn’t. But nineteen years, Paul. Nineteen years without any consideration of your own situation–that’s not fair, Paul.”

“I’m fine.”

“Prove it to me. I’ve got your manual. I’ve read it. Let me take the load off a while.”

Paul shook his head.

“You know better,” Grant said. “A Supervisor is telling you you’ve got a problem. And you know you’ve got a problem. And you know you can’t help him until you get help of your own, Paul. Listen to Justin. One pill. Just take a dose, and relax, and let go for a bit.”

“Jordan won’t trust me.”

“Jordan will cope with it,” Justin said. “At a certain point, Jordan is a born‑man problem, and I’m his son, and he’s my problem. Take the pill, Paul. Just take it, and let’s go back to the bedroom and you can take tape. Your proper tape, nothing wrong with it, nothing more than you’ve ever had. You haven’t had it in a long, long time. Please do it, Paul. Fifteen minutes. So you can help him. Grant needs you. I do. He does. Just take care of yourself this time. Quit self‑doctoring.”

Paul looked at him a long, long moment, muscles tight in his jaw, and on the verge of quivering.

“Just the original tape,” Paul said. “Nothing but that.”

“You’ll know it.” Justin said. “Have you got the dose here?”

Paul shook his head.

“Didn’t think so.” Justin said, and took out his own pill case, and offered Paul one. “Just take it down.”

Paul took it, and put it in his mouth, and started to chase it with the glass. “Not water.” he said.

“Won’t hurt you,” Justin said. “It’ll just hit faster.”

Paul took a large gulp, and set the glass down, got up and headed for the bedroom.

Justin shot a look at Grant. Grant didn’t flinch.

“Tape unit,” Justin said. “That’ll take the data.”

Grant nodded, looking grim.

It wasn’t an honest thing, what they were doing. It wasn’t fair, it was going to make Jordan furious, and it was going, possibly, to save Paul from the misery he was in. He had the datastick, the condensed tape; and he had the tape unit he’d used himself–no question it was up to the job. All he had to do was feed it in: the data conversion would take about five minutes.

“You watch Jordan,” he said. “Give me a short hour.”

“You’re going to do the whole thing?” Grant asked. “Both steps?”

“Second,” he said. They’d talked about starting with a quiet imperative, show up, come to us. But given what was happening in the world, and how Jordan was taking it, their access to Paul wasn’t certain any longer–wouldn’t be as available again, on any relaxed terms. “He may never speak to me again,” he said somberly, meaning Jordan. Maybe Paul. “He may not. But, damn it, if I can’t help him, I can at least do something for Paul, who can.”

Grant reached out, pressed his shoulder, said, quietly “I’ll give you warning. I’ll keep Jordan out of it.”

“Real‑time work,” he said, with his hand on the bedroom door. “I hate it.”

“You’re good at it,” Grant said. “You’ve always been good at it.”

“We’re good at it,” he said. “I hope we’re good enough.”

He went into the bedroom. Paul was standing there, by the bed.

“Just sit down,” he said. Paul would be getting muzzy in a bit, and he’d hit him with a born‑man dose, which was hard, for an azi who didn’t entirely need it, to take in tape. “I want to explain this.”

“That would be welcome,” Paul said, and did sit down, on the edge of the bed. “Why have you got my manual? Did Jordan give it to you?”

“Because we knew something was wrong,” he said. “And no, he didn’t. I found it. I looked at it. I suppose you have.”