Regenesis

“We’re go.”

“We’ll handle communication with our own people at Fargone. There’s a freighter going out on the twenty‑fourth.”

“Skip the freighter. No Alliance transport.” Freighters were that, Alliance merchanters, plying the routes between Union stations. “We have a courier. It can leave after the vote tomorrow.”

Low mass, big engines, faster by a classified number of days–especially if the courier was ready to launch. And no Alliance snoopery, though if they black‑boxed it, there was no likelihood Alliance would snoop at all. Ya

“You were that convinced she’d do it,” Spurlin said.

“I thought she would, yes,” Ya

“Her Paxer constituency really isn’t going to like her taking a Reseune post. Domestic security had better take hold and look sharp when that news breaks.”

The Paxers, the peace party, had fallen on hard times after the War. They weren’t the threat they had been. They’d had a spate of bombings. A certain number of their intellectuals showed up at Patil’s public lectures. So, shadier and more violent, did a few of the Rocher Party, the Abolitionists. But it was a public forum, the Franklin Lecture Series, sponsored by a Centrist‑leaning agricultural processing consortium, and as much as Patil’s speeches usually generated web chatter, she didn’t participate in the fringe‑element chat. She more or less politely dealt with everyone who actually showed up; but she had a sharp ma

“ReseuneSec is going on alert when Patil’s acceptance of a post goes public,” Ya

“My office will be on it,” Spurlin said. Spurlin’s specific office was system defense. He was a post‑war admiral, never in combat. Khalid had that advantage, that he had fought against the Mazia

“I’m pretty confident he’ll go with us on this,” Ya

Spurlin had no sense of humor. At all. “Your man at Fargone. The azi…”

“CIT,” Ya

“Ex‑azi. Emory’s man. Is he up to handling the security aspects of this? And what will he be telling the girl?”

“I have less doubt of Ollie Strassen than I do of anyone else involved in this undertaking, ser. And he doesn’t communicate with young Emory, never has. We have very efficient management out there. Check your records.”

“So now you have a program.”

“We will have a program.” Ya

A brow lifted. Spurlin looked marginally happier with that thought: the military fairly well ran Beta, and that was insystem, definitely familiar territory, familiar cha

“And you get a planet,” Ya

“ Humanitygets a planet,” Spurlin said. That was the theory. Humanity couldn’t live on Pell without supplementals, and the fungi were lethal over time. Humanity couldn’t actually live on Cyteen–if the weather‑makers and the precip towers ever failed, they were all dead in a day. Humanity did toodamned well at surviving on Gehe

And not the only such planet, hereafter: once they’d proven the case and established the precedent for terraforming a marginal world, once they’d gotten past the emotional nonsense that bacteria counted as life on a world, young Emory wouldsee the benefit.

That meant activation of the Arks, a use for the stored genetics. A new Eden.

A reserve Earth, in case the unthinkable ever happened.

“I have Patil’s name on the contract,” Ya

That didn’t make Spurlin happy, but Ya

“I wouldn’t expect it to,” Spurlin said, and, as if the admission were physically painful, added: “Good. We’re happy We can back this.”

If we’re elected, was the unspoken context. And Science was backing him as far as it dared. “Thank you, ser,” Ya

“I take it you’re going to call on Jacques, upstairs. Give him my regards. And Khalid.”

There it was. The direct challenge.

“I’ll of course send the proposal up to station,” Ya

Meaning Jacques was all but an afterthought, and the face to face he’d chosen had been with Spurlin, not Khalid. That had to please Spurlin.

“Good luck in the vote,” Ya

There was a little flicker from Spurlin’s eyes, a little consideration of that point, in the long‑term realities of Union politics, that Councillors could be challenged every two years, and narrowly rejected candidates often came back repeatedly–if not this time, then next. Ya

“Pleasure,” Spurlin said.

“Mutual,” Ya

No trail of documents–no outside witnesses. There would be a vid record, to be sure–Defense was rife with bugs–but he now had to go upstairs and explain to Jacques, who would actually cast the vote, that there was an understanding, and thank you so much for your help getting this far. Jacques’ permanent retirement was a few months away, resignation from the military–given a sinecure of a corporate position. That had taken a little maneuvering, but Khalid would have beaten Jacques hands down, and no few people had moved to see Jacques step down fast and first, to make Spurlin look as attractive as possible.

Subordinates would work out the details from this point on, and settle such things as a launch time for the military courier, bearing orders for Ollie Strassen, but not, of course, anticipating the formal vote in Council.

Those orders, on a datastrip, he did leave with Spurlin, in a sealed envelope. The envelope, that old‑fashioned precaution, wouldn’t in the least stop Spurlin’s people from getting into it, but it would occasion them just a little hesitation–a point of satisfaction, just to tweak their sensibilities–and they wouldn’t learn a damned thing once they did. What he’d told Ollie Strassen in that message, he’d told Ollie in plain words, because Ollie had his training, had gone CIT, and, ca