Her new apartment, over their heads at the moment, would more than protect her–it would innovate. It would be all angles, and surprises like light, and living things. It would inspire her, and inspire her visitors, with things that had never existed in Reseune. Denys’ old apartment, where she had grown up, was a boxy put‑together of the ubiquitous Reseune cream‑colored walls and recessed lights, just boring, boring, boring–with the same color walls in every room. Oh, it had real imported wood, yes, and all sorts of luxuries like hand‑knotted carpet, and bric‑a‑brac and china. She’d sent the whole lot to storage so that Denys Two, if he one day existed, could have it all intact when he grew up–but, God, that some mentor had to teach a little boy to like that stuffy decor!
And Ari Senior’s apartment, where she lived now, had luxury, a lot of it, and it had its graces, but it was all linear, archway into archway, brown travertine and polished floors that would skid with you if you didn’t watch the rugs, and it had sat vacant for nearly a decade and a half with Base One gone dormant, an interregnum in which someone very, very clever and skilled–like Abban, like Seely–could have gotten into the place or at the place in some clever way they had never detected, with things as small as a human hair. Illicit surveillance might not have waked up yet, because Yanni might not have full use of Base Two–which might have plunged into partial dormancy itself, awaiting some event to bring it live…some event like a young Abban logging onto System.
That wasn’t going to disturb her life. Not in Alpha Wing.
“This way” Sam said, and they followed Sam onto a construction lift. It lurched into action and lifted them up and up a narrow dim shaft to the highest level of the building. “This is your front door,” Sam said, lifting the safety bar to let them out, and waving them toward a single gap in the white, angled walls around them. Light beyond that door was getting in from somewhere up here. It had to be her design, her sun‑shaft somewhere aloft, bouncing light from panel to panel.
Herapartment, this apartment, was going to be a lot of glass, and lights, and living things. Herhome was going to have fish, a whole wall that was a real tank, not just a projection of virtual fish. They were going to get them all the way from Earth’s tropics–well, via the public aquarium at Pell, which was shipping them to Cyteen, which would immediately ship them down to her.
So when you sat in the living room, there would be that living wall to watch on one side, and when you were in the entry hall, there was going to be a waterfall, with real rock going down to a stone floor, with a clever trick, an air wall, Sam’s idea, to prevent the spray from getting beyond the rim of the pool.
And upstairs in her office, which was going to be right next to her bedroom, there would be living plants behind glass…she’d wanted real birds. She’d had to reconsider that, because anything you imported down to the planet that was ever capable of reproducing had to be clean, with a natural barrier between it and freedom on Cyteen, and had to be considered for the ecology they’d started to restore. The water and the sea were already a mess, that was one thing, and for another, if the tanks ever breached, the fish couldn’t walk across the lawn to get to the river. So they were all right.
So no birds. Just fish. But she could do real science with what she kept. She could do so many things…she could breed fish and get them to a public aquarium in Novgorod, where people could come and enjoy them, and know something about Earth in the process, and something about living next to an ocean.
And instantly, as they walked beyond the second wall, just short of where the security installation would be, she recognized the recess for the water‑pool, just the way she’d drawn it, and saw the straight, bare form for the rock, slanting away and up and up on the left.
Everything was white and dusty from the pour. But a glance all the way up showed a series of white planes, and the sun‑shafts and pressurized windows she’d asked for must already be in here, too: real daylight came into the area. There was a balcony above that overlooked it all. There were recesses here and there for the electric lighting that would brighten with a vocal command, once System was in. Beyond, in the open plan dining room, was the section of arched roof for the projection that would show the real sky, just the way it was outside–so when it rained, it would cloud over, and when it was night, there would be stars. She wanted all the contact with the planet she could possibly get, living under the umbrella of the weathermakers and precip towers as they did, and being forbidden windows that really looked out on the world.
It would feelopen. If it worked, they were going to do the same sky‑dome in the big hall of the general public residencies. She was going to fix Reseune. It was going to be a place people wanted to be, before she was done with it. It wouldn’t be the same old utilitarian box‑shape and domes, not after her.
It was all Sam again. Sam had taken her rough sketches of years and years ago and played with them in his own computer for years. Sam had lately run it all through the big computers and ended up with real measurements that were going to meet regulations and make design sense, and Sam said he was working with architects who were with him and excited about what he was doing. She’d pulled strings with Yanni to get Sam time on systems at night, and Sam had pulled shift and shift. Give him shapes and he could figure the real building down to the joins and conduits. Give him charge of the logistics, and he had a fine grasp of what had to be scheduled when, right down to dealing with the bot programmers and giving clear orders to the azi workers andthe CITs.
More, Reseune Construction wantedhim when he was done. They told him he was already official on staff, never mind the regs and his lack of a degree and his age–he’d done his time in tape‑study that hadn’t been recorded, but they wanted him. The head of architectural design in RC, the same architect she’d aimed at Strassenberg itself, she’d hired to do the job here, too, and asked him to mentor Sam; but within the first month, RC’s chief architect had just de facto turned Sam and two of his best people loose to handle everything on‑site here while he concentrated on the more esoteric technicalities of the precip towers at Strassenberg.
Fitz Fitzpatrick was the man’s name. Florian and Catlin had investigated him top to bottom, the only CIT besides Yanni to be trusted with the knowledge of what was going on here. He was actually an uncle of Amy’s; and the relationship between Fitz Fitzpatrick and Sam was absolutely the happiest of all the string‑pulling she’d ever done.
And here was the result of it. The planes of the walls evolved one into another as they all walked through. “That’s my fish wall!” she exclaimed, spotting the deep recess, delighted, and Sam beamed and blushed a bit.
“The glass is here. That was big. The build for the tank will be among the last. I’ll be looking to experts’ specs on that.”
“I’ve got the data you want,” she said. She was seeing a tank filled with water, where now there was only white. “I want to learn it myself, but I’m going to be Contracting a specialist in salt aquaculture to actually do the running long‑term. He’ll help you set it up. His name’s Chris BCN‑3. He was supposed to be on the Beta Station production tanks. He’s seventeen, still taking tape, but he’s getting info on Earth exotics and he’s through enough already to help you, this week if you need him: he’s going to be supering all the watery technicals–with a couple of assistants if he turns out to need them.”