There was a lengthy delay on the other side.
Catlin came to her desk, leaned over, com pressed firmly into her ear, and said, “Geosats are transmitting again.”
They had eyes.
That had gone all right, hadn’t it? Pity they couldn’t have been selective–but the system wasn’t set up that way Alpha could shut down satellites from transmission. But once they did transmit–anybody could use the information.
And about forty seconds later, the airport called Reseune Admin, “ We have regained image.” Likewise at the port.
The outage had lasted about thirty minutes, from the initial action at Svetlansk to the restoration of geosat transmission.
Fleet property had gotten damaged at Svetlansk, no word about personnel. They’d howled in indignation, more than likely.
So had the planet immediately involved…howled, now, and there’d be some consideration of the measures Alpha Station had taken, if she had anything to say about it. There hadn’tbeen civilian planes in the air when ATC’s long vision went out, but there could have been. There hadn’t, however, been guidance for more missiles for a bit, either. So it was a toss‑up. She couldn’t say the Alpha Stationmaster had been wrong; and he couldn’t be in a comfortable position, watching his government come apart, down on the planet, and two halves of Defense starting shooting at each other. They’d gotten into it step by step; for Alpha Station, there’d been a succession of small startling shocks, mostly in the last week.
So Alpha Station had wanted it stopped. She could understand that. Maybe Khalid would be beseiging his own sources up on station, urging Fleet authorities up then to shut the geosats down again to protect his operations at Planys. And maybe Fleet would start agitating on his behalf, or even issuing threats, but Alpha was a power, too, a de facto sovereign state like Reseune Territories, and Khalid couldn’t trump a Council directive.
Hadhim, she did.
She shoved back from the console in the Admin storm tunnels, and spun about to find Florian in the doorway, Florian with a decided grin on his face.
“Yanni,” Florian said, “and Councillor Corain, Amy, and Frank, and Quentin AQ. They’re down at the port.”
Her heart leapt up. “In Novgorod?”
“No, sera. At ourport, the riverside. Rafael’s sending a bus.”
“Are we sure?” she asked.
“Yes, sera!”
She spun the chair about again, and this time punched in every Councillor they had resident. They were immediate on the answer, Harad, deFranco, Chavez, Tien, and, last, Harogo. She said, “Yanni and Mikhael Corain have just arrived at the port. Would you like to meet them in Admin?”
“Finally!”Harad said, and Chavez: “About damned time.”
BOOK THREE Section 6 Chapter viii
SEPT 8, 2424
1621H
Directive control stayed in Ari’s pocket–literally–via her com, which she kept on, with Admin connected, continually. Florian and Catlin were linked into Rafael’s operation, specifically to senior ReseuneSec officers; and to Wes and Marco, who were doing the same, out of Alpha Wing Ops; she was linked to Admin, namely Chloe, and the department heads, who’d gotten the heads‑up from Chloe via Yanni’s office. “Call Councillor Corain’s family,” she told Chloe, afterthought, but one she didn’t want to omit. “Tell them Corain is coming in, but tell them stay to the tunnels.”
Immediately after, she headed upstairs and down the long lower hall in Admin, in close company with Florian and Catlin and two of the regular ReseuneSec personnel.
The Councillors, starting from storm tunnels in Wing One and Ed, reported themselves headed over via the cross tunnels, with their aides–they might come upstairs, if they insisted. Nobody was going to argue protocols with Harad or deFranco, or even Corain’s wife. All Ari’s attention was focused on having Yanni and Corain and Amy across that open space and down in the tunnels as fast as they could get them there, and she listened to the infrequent information from Admin, hoping not to hear warnings, hoping the moderate communications traffic hadn’t helped the opposition.
The bus at least was wasting no time…two buses, it became evident as she reached the locked doors–one bus veering off to Ed, one coming up toward them. “One is a decoy,” Florian said, and Catlin meanwhile called Rafael, signaling the physical lock to be taken off the Admin front doors and left off until she sent word they had the party inside.
Florian swung a door open. The bus came up under the portico, squealed to a hard stop, and its door flew open. Quentin exited instantly and held up his hands for Amy, who flung herself off the bus. Frank came next, with the briefcase, and held out a hand to steady Yanni coming down: and the third and last CIT was Mikhail Corain, looking to be on his last legs–all of them freshly scrubbed, wearing work blues, still damp from decon and reeking of potent disinfectant.
“Inside,” Florian said. “Inside, quickly, ser.”
“Amy, Yanni,” Ari said, and embraced Amy with one arm and Yanni with the other. “Where have you been?”
“In a shipping container,” Yanni said. “Hard on old bones, I’ll tell you.”
“You took a barge all the way up?”
“Only thing we could get to,” Amy said. “And it got stalled. We’re safe. Hid out in sealed cargo, shipped for Reseune.”
“She bought candy bars,” Yanni said, “and water before we tried it. She, bright young woman, had credit chits for the vending machines on the docks; card use, and they’d have found us.” Frank had an arm around him, and Frank didn’t look much better. The guards they’d brought moved to provide support, one to Yanni, one to Mikhail Corain. Young Quentin AQ lent a shoulder to Frank, who looked about ready to collapse in his tracks, but who wasn’t surrendering the briefcase.
“We got boarded,” Amy said. “And stalled forever while they searched things. But they didn’t get down to our container.”
“We’ve got a medic downstairs,” Ari said, trying to move them on, get the whole party back down to safety. They had a whole clinic. It was part of Admin’s storm season routine, to handle decon, or anything else needful, and right now it was five water‑deprived, underweight refugees. And she wanted them moved, before a dozen reporters dug in down at the airport managed to get the news out; she started moving Amy along, her arm about her. It was, by the layout of the older buildings, a fair walk back–not to create a people‑jam near the building entry in the event of an alert; that had been the theory…but it made it a lengthy hike.
The lift had made a trip down and back, meanwhile, and brought up Mikhail Corain’s wile and two ReseuneSec officers. The lady gave a little cry and rushed to embrace her husband.
“In, ser, in, quickly.” Catlin said briskly, and got them in; the rest of them found room; and the lift dropped down again, a far reach to the tunnels–Catlin keyed off the security stop, and it took them straight on down.
Doors opened. More security met them, more of Ser Corain’s excited family, observing enough of the security line to let them exit the lift before they closed around him. Councillors were right behind–Harad, Tien, deFranco, Harogo and Chavez, all there to see with their own eyes.
“Medical,” Ari said, and Florian called them. Yanni had stumbled on the way down the upstairs hall. Corain had family to buoy him up; Yanni just slumped a little, home and safe, and Ari caught his hand and found it cold.
“Yanni,” she said. “Hold on. Medics are bringing a stretcher.”