Regenesis

Downstairs, down again, the two of them took the storm tu

The route was particularly convenient for them: the storm tu

Their office was dark. Em and the staff had properly locked up and gone home on schedule, to residences down in the town–the shuttle buses, a whole new fleet of them, ran a heavy service right at 1610h, the whole fleet lining up at the curb ten minutes after shift change. Em and the staff likely had mentally dumped the day’s business and joined the outpouring, blithe and free for their own pursuits of the evening.

Their employers, however, didn’t enjoy the luxury of such precise hours–especially not on teaching days.

Justin reached for his keycard, but Grant beat him to it and opened the door–walked in through the foyer that was Em’s office, into their own slightly less tidy i

Fifteen sheets, file done, and the program asked him what program should apply.

He used his keycard again and told it, aloud, “Code Y10, Class alpha through mu. Read to D3, run Integrations. Output results to Base One, code Y10.”

“Voiceprint accepted.”

For about a second, thanks to his keycard and that spoken code, it hadn’t been his own computer talking: that had been Base One itself, in a significantly different tone. It always sounded so human.

Then it was gone. His own computer, with far lower clearances, said, “Done.”

“Thanks, computer, endit.”

“Well,” someone said. It was his own voice. Or nearly so. He turned, his heart giving a little thump, and saw his father standing in the i

“Hey, we’re closed for the day.” Half a joke. His father wasn’t supposed to be here. It took a security clearance to get through that door, in an office that dealt with actively working psychsets andone special student’s study projects. Jordan Warrick’s security clearance was entirely nuked. Gone. Non‑existent. And Em would have stalled, held him in the outer office. Nobody being there but them, they’djust left the i

“I figured you were.” It wasn’t only Jordan who’d come in, it was, of course, his companion Paul as well, whose accesses had also been nuked. Jordan walked all the way through into their i

It had been. Before the first Ari died.

“You changed the paint,” Jordan observed.

Justin was still off‑balance. He looked around him, foolishly, remembered it had once been a slightly different shade. Twenty years ago. “I suppose it is different. Still green. I didn’t even question it.”

“Probably security took the walls apart.” Jordan gave a look around him, and Justin snapped the briefcase shut, sealing up the last item exposed. “Probably a whole new set of bugs.”

“Possibly,” Justin said. He worked with his father in off hours since Jordan’s return, in the living room of Jordan’s apartment. He brought a different briefcase with him when he did.

Jordan asked him: “What are you working on?”

“Today’s a teaching day.” He used his handprint to open the safe, and put the briefcase into it.

“Her.”

“She’s the only student I’ve got.” He shut the door and sealed it, feeling much more comfortable after that door was shut. Grant, meanwhile, had gotten to his feet as Paul came all the way into the office. “I hate to say it, but you know you two are pushing it with security right now.”

“What’s life worth without a little excitement?” Jordan sat down on Grant’s desk edge. “You look tired.”

“I am, I think.”

“Want to go out for a coffee?”

“I’ve had way too much coffee today. Bar?”

“Sure,” Jordan said. “Got an idea?”

“Abrizio’s.” It was downstairs in Ed A, it had been there forever, never mind the new decor, and he thought Jordan would be comfortable in his old habitat.

“Great,” Jordan said, entirely cheerful, and cast a wistful look around. “A lot’s changed. I’ve been to that bar. I liked the old color. Red. You remember.”

“Everything changes.” His memory had holes in it, back then. Significant ones. He didn’t mention that. He’d shed the briefcase. He picked up one that didn’t matter.

“Have you gotto take that thing?”

“I suppose I don’t.” He set it back on the floor, and nodded toward the door, anxious to clear the room and lock up before they drew down a set‑to with Security.

He didn’t quite make it. Three agents were standing outside, ReseuneSec, black‑uniformed and somber. Just standing. Watching.

Offer a guilty excuse? Security knew where he’d come from, who’d walked into his office, and by way of the bugs Jordan predicted existed, they’d know exactly where they were going next. He could ignore them. But it wasn’t in his constitution to do that.

“Off work,” he told them cheerfully, “off to the bar.”

“Ser,” one said, stony‑faced and solemn.

It didn’t make him feel any better and it wouldn’t stop them from reporting. The report to their headquarters had likely been simultaneous with Jordan’s arrival in the office. But it didn’t make him feel worse.

“I dropped by, actually, to invite you to di

“Sounds good,” Justin said, not mentioning the known fact that he couldn’t reciprocate–living where he did. Jordan didn’t mention it either.

“That design question you posed Friday,” Jordan said, “I think I’ve got an answer for you.”

“I’ll be interested.” They’d collaborated long‑distance while Jordan was over on Planys, a cooperation permitted and not permitted by turns, largely by the whims of the Nyes. Now the papers flew back and forth much faster, and they traded notes on the house system, sometimes hourly, when he was in his Education Wing office.

“I sent you a memo this morning,” Jordan said.

“Sorry. I didn’t pick up my mail.”

“That’s all right. You’ll get it tomorrow. This is a therapeutic break.”

Another turn in the hall. They took the escalator down among a handful of clericals and educators. A scatter of noisy kids, likely residents from upstairs, played tag in the planted garden below the escalator, down among the stone benches. Beyond, on the right side of the mall, a small cluster of neon lights advertised a bakery, a florist, a shoe shop, a casual clothing store, and, farthest in the limited view, Abrizio’s Bar and Grill. The little mall was at storm tu

Inside the little bar was dark, neon, and had a reasonable level of music and conversation–one table was left, midway down, and they claimed it, pulled back the worn, still‑comfortable chairs that had given up all pretense of authentic wood, and sat down.