Regenesis

Di

She didn’t. She had all of her dessert and said she was tired herself, and yawned. That was no pretense and no Working. “You’re the one who’s had the long trip,” she said, “and look. I’m the one yawning.”

“I’m done,” he said. “I’ve got a detailed report for you. I wrote down all the details. Session vids. Dull stuff.” He fished in his pocket and laid a capsule down. “All there.”

“You’re so good,” she said warmly. And meant it, this time in gratitude. Even if she was relatively sure the secret meetings wouldn’t be in there. She pushed back from the table and Ya

“Don’t call me uncle.”

“Grump.” She’d found that word in a book recently. It fit Ya

He returned the kiss, casual, but it made a warm feeling. There was no other CIT who had done that, not since Maman had gone away. Uncle Denys certainly hadn’t.

And she had lately to think–did he dare try to manipulate her, sweeten his Eversnow maneuver, which he had come here knowing wouldn’t be totally to her liking?

But she didn’t want to think that. And he hadbrought her a written report, and the session tapes. She just filed the feeling away…let it go for a while. There’d be changes. There’d be her administration, after his, but it didn’t have to be, yet. He was doing all right: she didn’t likethe Eversnow thing, didn’t likethe new labs, either, but he was being careful about it.

She saw him to the door, his companion Frank joining him there, and Catlin showed up, too.

Ya

“I think he’s all right,” she a

There was no surprise there, just a nod of agreement. Her security had likely monitored the whole conversation. On the whole, the business with Ya

Tonight–maybe it was the sheer relief of getting Ya

BOOK ONE Section 1 Chapter x

APRIL 25, 2424

1901H

Fancy restaurant. Columns of light and coherent fog with a rhythmic sea sound in the background, and a holographic beach shimmering in mirrors that reflected, by some optical trick, the diners but not the columns.

It was a place called Jamaica, Justin hadn’t been here before. And whatever stipend his father was on, it didn’t, he was relatively sure, provide for a place like this. Jordan had called up, after a silence of several days–had asked him and Grant to di

He’d suggested a quiet di

Here.

Jamaica lay on the main level of Admin–that should have warned Jordan about the cost. It lay a short walk from both Education and Wing One, an outdoor walk across the quadrangle or a protected one through the tu

And the late hour? Because, Jordan had said, it was booked to the hilt at prime hours, which must mean the food was good.

It meant other things, too: that it was one of those Admin watering holes and Jordan was two decades out of touch with the changes in Admin. It had gotten pricier, to say the least. Jordan likely had no idea what he’d booked them into.

“Nice place,” Grant observed. “Are you sure he said Jamaica?”

“He’s not going to pay for this,” Justin said. “Make sure the bill comes to us, will you? I’ll keep on the lookout.”

Grant immediately took charge and inquired with the maitre d’ near the desk. There was quiet conversation, a nod, a credit chit passed, a little bow. The maitre d’ moved a little closer to where Justin stood and offered them immediate seating–Jordan hadn’t arrived yet–or a seat at the bar if they wanted to wait for their party; but in that same moment Jordan showed up with Paul, and claimed both them and the reservation.

Jordan looked quite professorial tonight in a tweed coat, quiet brown, a little academic for the milieu. Justin wore green, mild sheen, fashionable among the youngish set–which did fit in here. The maitre d’ escorted them to their table, saw them seated, and promised them a waiter named Edward.

“Well, and how are you?” Jordan asked, as they settled in at their table, two and two, serving assistants deftly maneuvering china, filling water glasses.

“Oh, fine,” Justin said, and the drink waiter showed up extraordinarily quickly for a place like this, crammed as it was with diners. It might be that someone had recognized Grant, whose red hair and vid star looks made him easy to ID. In Grant’s company, people he had never met knew him, in every corridor in Reseune.

But it was Jordan Warrick’s name on the reservation. So it was very possible it wasn’t Grant that had gotten the fast attention. Very possibly it was Reseune Security that had picked their table for them, and bugged it. Thatmight get the maitre d’s quick attention, too, not to have a foul‑up with security reach the ears of the other patrons.

Menus were set in their hands, bound in leather, quite the extravagance, while they eyed each other intermittently’ like fencers and didn’t quite succeed at small talk. There were no prices on the menu. Not one. And Jordan by now knew what they were into, but he hadn’t said a thing.

“Did you come across the quadrangle?” Paul asked.

Grant nodded. “Nice evening.”

“So did we.”

Jordan played the host, sca

He and Jordan could patch things up. They’d not fought, since he’d grown. They didn’t know each other, that was the sad truth. Twenty years of separation from Jordan was a significant time, even in rejuved lives. Jordan had dealt with him in the interim, corresponded with him–not lived in reach of him, that was the problem, and they had to learn about each other all over again. They’d been through the tentative, polite period. A few days ago they’d finally gotten down to honest opinions and somehow, expert as he was in psych, it had just slid inexorably downward.

Which it wouldn’t do here. Jordan knew how to play to a crowd. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself, even if he was likely to try another tag‑you’re‑it attack. It would be subtle, if it came, reserved…unless something really, really jolted him; and they weren’t going to mention the name Ari tonight–if Jordan did, he’d stop it cold. He’d stayed away from the past with Jordan these last weeks. He’d broken the rule, pulled the scab off old wounds in their last alcohol‑fueled debate, and maybe he had to go on avoiding the topic until Jordan did get his license and his security clearance back and had a few months of behaving himself.