Regenesis

“Landing to the north,” Catlin said as it banked, and it followed that route, rapidly becoming a distinct, swept‑winged shape.

“Gear down,” Florian noted in some relief, and leapt up to the bus deck in two strides. Ari climbed up, Catlin behind her.

“Field gate,” Ari said before she’d done more than grasp a seat back for support. “Onto the field to meet it. Go!”

The driver said, “Yes, sera,” and the bus hummed forward and gathered speed down the drive.

They veered onto the airport road, and Ari didn’t bother sitting down; neither did Catlin or Florian, and the bus wasted no time, heading down to the airport road, past where the crater in the lawn had been…work crews had righted the damaged lamp, earthmovers and bots had restored the area and put back sod, so there was very little but the seams in the new sod to say where the missile had been. The warehouses nearby, which had taken some damage, were getting new facing; those panels were a little brighter than the rest. Reseune didn’t admit its wounds. It fixed things, fast, all back to normal…on her orders, for morale. On principle.

And if Khalid had something to say, and sent some messenger to deliver threats, she’d hear what he had to say. The media could hear it, as far as she was concerned. And it could equally well hear her answer.

“The media can come out to the landing area if they want to,” she said. “This isn’t going to be off the record, whatever it is. We’re not playing that game.”

“Sera,” Catlin said, “you know this bus is no cover against what they have.”

“Reseune itself isn’t cover against what they have.” If they killed her, if they meant to kill her, it was for one reason; to get a new Reseune administration in charge of a new infant Ari–she sincerely believed it; and to get that, if it was war, Khalid would peel back layers of Reseune until they got what they wanted, with missile after missile, with a landing on that broad, bot‑defended shore, and killing anybody in their path.

She couldn’t win a war only on defense. Not against all the hardware Defense commanded.

She got one com call from Councillor deFranco as the bus was passing the gate–likely the landing was being carried on Reseune’s operations cha

“It’s a General Klaus Awei,” she said to deFranco.

“ Awei” DeFranco sounded surprised. “He hasn’t been Khalid’s.”

In a bleak landscape, thatwas interesting information. “I’m there.” she said, because the plane was stopped, and opening up, and their bus was pulling into its vicinity. “Call the others, sera. Tell them follow this on the news. I’m there. Got to go.”

She thumbed off, pocketed the com, grabbed the seat back for balance as the bus braked. Florian and Catlin were right with her as she handed her way to the bus steps, with the black, foreign shape of the military craft in the right side windows.

At the same moment she stepped down onto the ground, someone was exiting the still pinging plane, one man, then a second, both in plain flight gear. She walked ahead, closing the gap, taking a look at Marine General Awei–white‑haired man in the lead, to judge by the collar, lean and not looking like a desk‑sitter. He probably had piloted his way in. The man behind him was of lesser rank, carrying nothing but a sidearm and, a good sign, not touching that. Florian and Catlin were right behind her.

Meanwhile the media had exited the flat‑roofed terminal, a moderate distance away–she was conscious of that onrushing and disorderly humanity in the tail of her eye, but her attention was all for the general, his face, his expressions. His body language exuded dignity, reserve, assessing her, assessing Florian and Catlin…not sure, possibly, exactly who she was–or maybe not sure there weren’t snipers on the terminal roof.

She walked up and held out her hand with absolute assurance. “Ariane Emory,” she said. “General Awei, is it?”

“Sera Emory.” A reciprocal gesture, a large, calloused hand that enveloped hers. The man towered over her, over Florian andCatlin. He was like a living wall, and his hand was warm and strong, force matching her force, no more than that, a sign of basic good sense. “I’m here for the three branches of the service that don’tsupport Admiral Khalid.”

Several things immediately occurred to her; that the Fleet had run Defense since the founding of Union; that Fleet leadership had produced Azov, Gorodin, Jacques, Spurlin, and Khalid, none of whom had been straightforward in their dealings with Science; and that if another branch of the armed services should seize power in that Bureau, it might upend every entrenched structure inside Defense‑as‑it‑was. A veritable earthquake.

Thathad value.

Disorder, however, and professional revenge‑taking posed another kind of hazard.

“General,” she said warmly and by now the media had gotten close, and cameras were going. “You’re certainly welcome. We just had a missile come close to our hospital.”

“No more of those,” Awei said. “A force is in Svetlansk as we speak.”

That could be good news. Or not. “Admiral Khalid has taken Planys Labs,” she said bluntly, “as of this hour.”

“And he’s there,” Awei fired right back. “And not in Novgorod. My service holds the port, the airport, the broadcast stations, andthe power grid in the capital.”

Not hollow wares, then. Bad news out of Planys, but this man had deliberately landed himself where Council was, where the media was…claiming hehad Novgorod. And, effectively, he hopedto have Reseune…at least in the political sense.

“Then you’re here to talk to Council,” she said. Shewouldn’t fall into that pit, negotiating in front of cameras, worse, being seen to usurp what Council needed to be involved in. “Urgently so, I’ll imagine. Florian. Catlin. Advise Admin; buses up the hill; tell the Councillors. Let’s go into the terminal, General, if you please; it’s a more comfortable premises.”

“My pleasure,” Awei said, and Ari aimed him and his aide and her own two right through the ranks of the media.

There were immediate questions, and cameras. One question was: “How many troops do you have. General?” Which not even a fool would answer truthfully. And, “Are you officially challenging Khalid for the seat?”

Awei stopped right there and turned a calm stare on the cameras–no fool at all, Ari thought. Nobodywho’d be maneuvered by questions like that was fit to hold office. This man was laying his life on the line to take control, and he was smart. Maybe he was a man who wouldn’t be at all safe as an ally–if the constitution didn’t make the Bureaus equal, and impose iron‑clad quorum requirements among the Nine.

And stillwatch Defense, she thought, both glad and suspicious of a new presence in the game. And she thought, too, in a sub‑basement of her mind, Let him take on Khalid. Whether he lives or dies trying, we benefit.

Awei said, in that deep, even voice, addressing the media:

“We demand that the Admiral produce Councillor Jacques, alive. We demand that Admiral Khalid answer specific questions from his own service, regarding the murder of Councillor Spurlin. One dead, one disappeared Councillor for Defense–that needs answers. We’re not hearing them, and we remind everyone Admiral Khalid has not yet been seated in Council.”

Thatwas about as blunt as it got. Awei was trying a maneuver, and making his own bid for power–doing it on Reseune soil, no less. It was certainly a nervy try; it went clear to the heart of Defense, for certain. She approved of everything she heard, and her blood moved just a little faster.