Regenesis

“It does.”

“The old co

He hit keys in quick succession, macros for their clearances, and a search into ReseuneSec files.

Analysis of the problematic card itself was in. It did include its microscopic markers–a very nice precaution from Giraud’s time as head of ReseuneSec–which indicated that the office supplies used in the card indeed belonged to PlanysLabs.

“Entirely reasonable for ReseuneSec to assume it was printed in Planys,” Florian said. “Planys markers.”

“Physically reasonable to assume it. But anyone with Planys card stock could print it, here or there.”

An e‑card, never manifest as paper, was the common way for CITs to trade addresses, often arriving as an attachment to a sig line, available for print, available to be shot straight into address files if one trusted the sender.

And for office use, it was common to print a card out physically off the signature line of a letter, including even its chip‑load, if the computer in question had the chip‑write feature. Careful offices tended to prefer physical cards for introductions and follow‑up–but they wouldn’t routinely slide a card from some random visitor into their systems. Some cards had proved to carry more than ROM. Some could be quite malicious–a little matter some offices in the world had discovered the hard way.

Content, however, was disappointing. It was Patil’s academic vita on the card, nothing special. Her bibliography, nothing untoward, in surface appearance. Check of the bibliography against her actual record in file in Ya

“Still possible,” he said, “that Jordan could have brought card stock and paper from Planys. Card stock wouldn’t necessarily be viewed as contraband.”

Catlin clicked keys. “Jordan’s file. List of what they didfind in his luggage’.”

That went to Florian’s second screen.

“ ‘Paper goods,’ ” Florian read. “So we can officially wonder what that encompasses.”

“Or…back to the original assumption,” Catlin said, “Thieu gave it to him and Jordan just walked through customs. Sandwiched in with a stack of blank cards, it wouldn’t show on a quick and dirty scan. But again, he could have printed it here, himself–if he could find a printer that wasn’t micro‑tagged. He doesn’t have access to one.”

“If it came from Planys, Jordan took real pains to get it here and put it in our hands. Ya

“Repro’ed and already returned to him. Dense. Scientific.” Those had flashed to one screen, at least the initial page, which was overwritten with Jordan’s hand notes. There was computer storage. That was huge, encompassing Paul’s personal manual, specifically, with all its files internal to the computer…nothing reliant on Library. Jordan hadn’t had Library access to other manuals. Just that one. Someone must have given him the entire thing, subfolders and all. There were image files. There were more notes, in the peculiar shorthand of design.

“Not beyond sera to decipher. We could ask her if it’s significant. Or if there’s anything embedded in it. I’m sure Hicks has had to refer the notes to experts. I’m sure Paul’s manual would be significant–if sera could find time to look at it.”

“Jordan and Paul’s computers were returned within the week. His notes came with it. His books. He was complaining two months ago about access to his own past publications. We know the files he’s gotten at since he got clearance. Sera might recognize something in that list that we couldn’t.”

“Interesting thought,” Florian said. “Just a second.” He called up that list and ran a filter. It took a moment.

“Well,” Catlin said.

“Every one of those publications has Ari Senior’s articles, as well as some they co‑wrote. Not too surprising, since they worked together.”

“Interesting, though.”

“Topics…” More keys. “Integrations. Nothing at all to do with Patil.”

“Nothing to do with Patil at all.”

“Integrations was the subject of his quarrel with Justin. And integrations isn’t in his field.”

“Justin’s working in that field. He had a quarrel with that, and with the first Ari’s style.”

“Could he have picked the fight as part of a diversion?” Florian asked. “Possibly preparing Justin or Grant for some intervention?”

Catlin frowned. “That would be somewhat beyond us. Certainly outside the question of the card.”

“Except that Justin became the target of it, after they had a fight about the first Ari’s procedures. I don’t see a co

“Or for profit. Profit would be a reason,” Catlin said. “A re‑contact with old networks. Former alliances. Thathas politics in it. That’smore like what the records say of Jordan Warrick.”

An action, not a gesture, something designed to do exactly what it was doing…getting Patil delayed in her move to Fargone. Possible.

And someone, probably Base Two, in Ya

“Well,” Florian said, and flicked up the general ReseuneSec Planys office reports on Jordan Warrick. One statistic leapt out. “Jordan received two thousand eight hundred and fourteen security cautions during his tenure at Planys. Persistent note on his file: Immune. Do Not Interrogate.”

“That’s been the problem all along with him.”

“Ya

“From whom?” Catlin asked. “To whom?”

“Let’s see what ReseuneSec admits it knows about Patil.”

ReseuneSec’s top‑level surveillance of Patil came up easily, creditably meticulous, and ongoing, in Novgorod, within the University where she taught. Her contacts, back inside ReseuneSec files, were all neatly mapped–including letters, some sixty‑three in number, to her old mentor Thieu, and one hundred eighteen from Thieu to Patil, fifty‑two of them in the last half year.

“None to Jordan,” Catlin said. “None from Jordan. As should be. Several from Ya

“Patil’s house sale is pending. Reseune’s buying it. This week. Ya

Meanwhile the list of Patil’s other possible primary and secondary contacts stretched on and on, listed and identified by ReseuneSec agents in the ReseuneSec files, every class of person from senators and councillors to teaching assistants, radicals, vid personalities, her real estate agent, and the home repair technician who’d recently fixed her refrigerator. She’d made numerous net calls on the local Fargone site, investigating housing, amenities, facilities, reasonable in someone contemplating a move there. She’d made a few tries at getting into the restricted Fargone ReseuneSpace site, on a long lag to Cyteen Station, which held that site and others available in its months‑ago state: data arrived at the speed of ships that picked up that electronic load at Cyteen Station via their black boxes, and delivered that load to somewhere else, and on to Fargone–in a sense, if you sent a message that entered Cyteen Station, it eventually reached every civilized star, and was everywhere at once, until deleted as absolutely irrelevant to the locale where it had ended up. There was no such thing as complete privacy on interstation mail, by the nature of black boxes; and that also went for net data, restricted or not: it got everywhere unless it had a gate restriction that didn’t let it flow to any ships but, say, military, or to no ships at all.