“Well,” Maddy said with a nervous little laugh. “I’ll stay in the Wing tonight. Champagne, anyone?”
There were takers, most of the party, and staff moved about seeing to it.
“It’s just become a dinner party,” Ari said. “In case any of you had planned on elsewhere after this: we’ll be serving something, and serving late, Joyesse, go tell Wyndham so.”
“Yes, sera,” Joyesse said.
“Catlin, tell Wes put the security screens up.”
“Yes,” Catlin said. Florian was in the hall, checking something, probably conversing with Wes and Marco, maybe communicating with Rafael and company.
The fish tank went opaque, dark blue. Then the other wall came alive with images, some with sunset darkening to night, showing the downed tower from a perspective below the cliffs, some with numbers, and one showing the view from a bot scurrying at turf level across Reseune grounds.
“Ari.” Justin came up at her elbow. “My father. I’d like permission to leave.”
Above all else she didn’t want Justin running around in the dark with the whole complex under alert. No was the reflexive answer.
But she couldn’t hold on to him. Or she’d lose him. She understood that.
“I’m going to be a spacecase until you get back. You’ve got Mark and Gerry with you. Get your father on the phone. Be sure he’s all right before you go anywhere. Security may have moved. Mark and Gerry can pull rank.”
“I–” he started to protest, but the security comment quieted any objection.
“Thank you,” Grant said, and the two of them went for the door, while she advised Marco to have Mark and Gerry meet them somewhere before the security desk.
Amy drifted over to her side, champagne glass in hand. “Something up with Jordan?”
“Not in play,” she said to one of her oldest co‑conspirators. “Whatever’s going on, if it’s Paxers, or if it’s not, Jordan’s a piece worth pinning down. Justin’s just going to tell him we care.”
Amy nodded, took a slow sip of champagne. Quentin was over with Florian and Catlin, getting information, watching the screens, which weren’t apt to change much this far into the emergency. Just the little robot skittering along in the dark, gone to night‑vision.
From Novgorod to Moreyville, even in Big Blue and faroff Planys, that scene was playing. The world was on alert.
Wonder if they knew, Ari asked herself. Wonder if this is specially for me. Another housewarming gift.
That implied a certain knowledge of the inner workings of Reseune–where the fact of so many relocations into Alpha Wing had, in fact, created quite a stir, and quite a lot of gossip.
The storm sirens still blew. Not a physical storm in the offing–but a storm, all the same.
BOOK THREE Section 3 Chapter vi
JULY 3, 2424
1934H
Two security were in the lower hall, black‑uniformed, rattling with full kit, including seldom‑worn helmets, and on an intercept. It didn’t make quiet company, but they were earnest types–Mark and Gerry, their names were. They hadn’t had time to introduce themselves formally–two lanky, tall azi, a lot alike: Mark, a serious fellow and Gerry a little less so: Justin actually recalled their files; but both were deadly serious at the moment.
“Ser,” they called him, and they said “ser,” to Grant, too, keeping their pace with no effort at all.
“We’re going to Ed,” Justin said. “My father lives there. I want to be sure he’s all right, considering what’s going on.” He had his ordinary pocket com. He punched the fast‑response buttons as they exited the lift toward the security station, and let it ring.
And ring.
“Brilliant,” he said to Grant. “He’s not home and he’s not answering.”
“Probably out at dinner,” Grant said.
“Ten thousand‑odd people are probably caught out at dinner.” They reached the desk and Justin showed his keycard. “Sera’s direct permission,” he said. “Out to Ed, personal.”
“Yes, ser,” the guard said. “Stay to the tunnels.”
“Absolutely.” They went out the door, into the familiar storm‑tunnel level of Wing One, and took an immediate left, Mark and Gerry rattling along behind. The sirens were intermittent now, as they were during a storm. The main corridor as they came out of Wing One and into the area of Admin was full of traffic, people generally in a fair hurry, one direction and the other, most trending the same direction they were going, which led, as the rim of a great box, through the Ed tunnels and over to the Residencies and the Labs. Anybody from the Township was going to have a long wait for buses or a long hike, via the Labs, to the second tier of storm tunnels and shelters…and there were people with children, one upset lost child–the father came and swept the lost boy up out of the bewildering traffic just as they came in range: the father and his partner had four others in their group, and tried to urge them to more speed.
“It’s all right,” Justin said as he came up with the harried father. “It’s a precautionary alert. No rush.”
Others heard, shouted out, “What’s going on?” and Justin yelled, “Precautionary alert. Damage upriver is all.”
He didn’t know if he made a dent in the distress, but a little further on, just as they were leaving Admin, Yanni’s voice came over the general address:
“ This is Director Schwartz. The alert is downgraded to level three. Those with indoor business are advised to pursue it with attention to level three cautions. Repeat…”
That calmed things, afterward. People caught their breath and quit trying to buck the flow. People began to walk normally, and to talk, and to ask questions, particularly of Gerry and Mark, who just said, repeatedly, “We’re on duty, ser. We can’t stop.”
Justin made another try on the com. “Dad? Answer, dammit.”
And a second one, after the next intersection. He wasn’t used to this much exercise. His legs were burning. “Dad? Come on, answer.”
“ What in hell’s going on?” the question came.
“Where are you?”
“ Abrizio’s.”
“Right below you. Coming up.” He was vastly relieved. And he had two large, heavily armed azi in tow, who weren’t going to help his father’s nerves at all. “Mark, Gerry, you’re on my tab. Just go in, after us, order soft drinks and sandwiches, sit, and have dinner until Grant and I leave.”
“Ser,” Gerry said, “we’re on duty.”
“This isyour duty, to look inconspicuous and not have my father create a public furor, which is bound to cause me and sera trouble. Just do it. You’re doing personal security at the moment. My rules apply.”
“Yes, ser,” came back, from both, and meanwhile they reached the escalator and rode it up, this time, to the concourse level of Education.
“He’s going to notice them,” Grant said. “They won’t stay that far back.”
“I’m sure he will.”
They had Abrizio’s in sight: yellow lights were flashing, lending an unwholesome look to the area, but people were moving about in a fair simulation of calm. He and Grant lengthened stride, got a little ahead of Mark and Gerry as they reached the door, came in and advanced a few paces to try to spot Jordan. Things had gotten quiet, just as Paul stood up to make clear where they were. Paul’s eyes were averted to something behind them, and Justin didn’t look: the silhouettes of two helmeted ReseuneSec agents appearing in the doorway, blinking with ready‑lights, could generally put a pall on conversation, or stimulate it, and both happened.
They had Paul and Jordan in view, however, and wended their way through the clutter of tables to take the vacant two seats.
“You’re being followed,” Jordan remarked as Justin sat down.
“The whole damn place is under alert,” Justin said. There was a half‑eaten order of chips and cheese with peppers. It was one of Abrizio’s better offerings. He took a chip with cheese. “Just came from supper and a party. Not real hungry.”
“The same,” Grant said.
“Party,” Jordan said.