Regenesis

Justin threw a look at Grant. Grant’s face didn’t react, but his eyes moved in a quick warning reaction.

“Probably.” Justin said when Jordan had paid out, “we really had better get on home. I’ve got–”

“I have some things to say,” Jordan said brusquely, “and I’ve had alcohol enough to say them.”

“Maybe too much.”

“Come on.” Jordan said, and he could have a fight now, try to corner Paul and get Paul to quiet the situation, if only by handing Jordan enough alcohol to shut him up, maybe even hitting the bar down the row, where the music was too loud for coherent conversation. It had been pleasant until then. It wasn’t, now. And Jordan’s tolerance with security was already paper‑thin, as it was.

He opted for going to Jordan’s apartment, exchanging a few words in a venue where they could name names, and then going home, before the naming got too specific. Jordan in this mood would only brood about a cutoff from the bar, and get madder, and there was nothing productive in that, not at all. Jordan was frustrated: he wasn’temployed any longer, not since his return from Planys. He had nothing to do but sit and read and work on the low‑level problems Justin handed him, output which Justin read, remarked on, and passed on to Clinical under his or Grant’s name–it gave him a better output on hisrecord, and kept Peterson happier than he would have been, but it wasn’t doing anything for Jordan’s mood or his bank account. Jordan drew a stipend from Ya

And Justin didn’t want another round on that score. Jordan’s situation was on hold until the Reseune board met, that was that. Jordan wouldn’t get his clinician’s certification and his security clearance back until Ya

There’d been some sort of blowup right before Ya

And it wouldn’t be helped by a public scene tonight.

They took the escalator up one, walked over to Education B, where Jordan’s apartment was–not a word spoken until they’d gotten inside and into the living room.

Jordan immediately went to the bar, filled four glasses with ice, and poured healthy shots of vodka. Justin frowned and didn’t say a thing. He took his when it was offered, and went and obligingly sat down in the conversation pit, with Grant on the other end of the couch; Jordan and Paul took the other side.

“So,” Justin said. His plan for a quick exchange and exit was evaporating, but, well, predictably Jordan’s anger would probably give way to a complaint about the certification issue, and the clearance issue, which then would go into known territory–not pleasant, but he owed it to his father to sit through another rehearsal of grievances. “What can’t we say in the bar?”

“That you’re making some bad choices.”

“Professionally, or personally?”

“Both.”

“They’re my choices. Bad or not.”

“You bring me these piddling clinicals…which you get paid for. In effect, I’m working for you.”

“If that’s a bother to you, I won’t bring them.”

“They’re all that’s keeping me sane.” A drink of the vodka. “A damned thin thread, these days. Damn Ya

“I hoped you’d give me a reasonable critique on the other set I sent you,” Justin said. “I’m waiting for it, in fact.” Jordan had had too much vodka to make sense on that topic, Justin was well sure–Jordan had likely forgotten all about it, in the heat of the argument at di

“Piece of crap,” Jordan said.

Well, that wasn’t what he’d hoped to hear.

“In what regard?”

“In what regard…don’t give methat calm‑down routine. Your damn design is out in the ether. Piece of crap, just like that crap you handed me at di

“Sorry, then. I won’t press you for specifies tonight.”

“I’ll give them to you with a broad brush, same issue. Same reason. Same damn problem I fought out with Ari. She didn’t listen. She implemented. Now I see it in my son. Grant, do you agree with this crap?”

“Ser,” Grant said, “insofar as I follow the thread of this argument, I am in agreement with the design, yes.”

“But then, you’re Ari’s design, aren’t you?”

“Ser.”

“Jordan,” Justin said sharply, “don’t pull that. You don’t believe it, you don’t mean it, so just don’t touch it. That’s your fourth glass.”

“You don’t see a problem. You think you’re fucking brilliant, skipping over any substructure, just go straight for the deepsets: it’s the shortcut, everything for the shortcut. And the poor azi you program, pity them–they’re not alphas, they’re not going to figure that’s a leap of flux‑thinking logic, no, you’re going to have theta minds making a leap from a to zed with no supportive structure, no crosslinks, no work‑up in their skill‑set level to encourage any critical thought about their actual performance…”

“Thetas aren’t good at that.”

“Don’t read me basic lessons! You know damned well you’re taking a shortcut.”

“I am. Yes. Admittedly. That’s the whole purpose.”

“And you’re going to have a pack of thetas gone eetee with no recourse but Reseune operators to pull them back to sanity… ifthey can. A batch of smug, happy, wrongheadedworkers.”

“That’s why I come to you.” A little bald flattery never hurt. But it was also the truth. “I see you don’t think it’s a good idea. I respect that. I just expect more specific reasons for your opinion than I’m getting here.”

“I don’t know why I’d bother. You’re getting all your theories from the little darling.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think so.”

“I damned well know so. You think that’s new, that leap of procedures you threw into that last paper? That’s Ariane Emory. That’s Emory, cut and dried. She’d just wave her hand and say, with the appropriate gesture, ‘It will work. It will work.’ Hell! That kind of thinking created Gehe

“But the azi there lived. They weren’t expected to. But she expected it of them. She just didn’t tell Defense. And what she did worked. The fact there’s been other input into the system–that wasn’t in program…”

“Well, that’s the universe for you! Don’t you get it? You can’t anticipate your little program to run forever in a bubble. Something’s going to impact it. Something damned sure did, on Gehe

“There’s got to be a dividing line, between trusting the subject will adapt, and going only by micromanaging little situations, constantly referring back to a Supervisor. We’re so damned conservative with the deepsets…”

“With reason! Have you ever seen a real eetee case? Has your real‑life practice ever gotten the results of one of your damned thought experiments?”

“No. I’m teaching. It’s all theory.”

“At this point.”

“We argue. In point of fact, I know the present Ari would love to hear your objections. She’d be very interested. We could have some good conversations…if you were so inclined.”

“While she’s hot after my son? The hell.” The rest of the vodka went down. “Get me another, Paul.”