“This is Justin Warrick, Jordan Warrick’s son. I–”
Someone picked up mid‑word. “Patil here.”
It disconcerted him. He scrambled for a recovery. “Justin Warrick, Dr. Patil. My father is Jordan Warrick, in Reseune. He gave me your number, suggested I call you–he’s busy going through the lab certifications right now–” Lie. Complete lie. “But he gave me your business card, and I assume he wanted me to call you and pay my respects.” He saw Florian nod approval of the tack he was taking. “I’m sure he’d want to convey his own.”
“I’d heard Jordan Warrick was back.”Dead silence then. He was supposed to say something inventive. Fast. Possibly you became curious,the script said.
“I’m sure he’d want to express the same from Dr. Thieu, out at Planys,” he said, and decided against the curiosity gambit. “I understand you’re a friend of his.”
“Former student. Colleague.”
“So I understand.” The script said: You wish to warn Dr. Patil that there is some concern here because of her relationship with your father.And his effort wasn’t going well. There was chill, clipped response from Patil–interspersed with equally chill silence. “Look. Let me level with you. My father’s a bit of a hothead. I’m sure you know that. He’s picked a fight with Reseune Admin. Admin’s cut off his contacts for the next couple of weeks. You understand? I had this number, last thing he gave me before he picked a fight that’s got me worried. I don’t know what your relationship was with him, or is, but I know your reputation is impeccable, and I know he’s prone to pick fights that sometimes have fallout.”
“If you’d come to the point, ser.”
“I thought I should call, and apologize if my father’s caused you any inconvenience. I hope he hasn’t.”
“I don’t know your father. I know of him, in common with most people who remember the last administration. I’m aware he was at Planys. Dr. Thieu mentioned him as an acquaintance, that’s all. Thank you for your concern, but it’s misplaced.”
“I’m afraid you don’t understand.”
“I understand that I’m a very busy woman with no possible connection to your father’s problems. I don’t know how he came by my card or why he gave it to you, but–”
She was going to hang up. He grabbed for the strongest word he could think of. “Murder, sera. Murder of Ariane Emory.” And improvised. “He didn’t do it. They sent him to Planys for something he didn’t do. I know that for a fact. He wants the matter reopened, which isn’t–isn’t exactly what Reseune would like to see, for various reasons. So I’m pretty sure they’ll be asking Dr. Thieu, probably you–”
“Look. I have absolutely no knowledge of your father or his case.”
“I’m sure Dr. Thieu has put you current with it, at least.”
“Not a thing.”
“Dr. Patil,” You feel that you can be of use in that matter because of your connections with me.“Forgive me, but he gave me this card with your number right before he put himself at odds with Admin, and I’m sorry if I’ve been forward in calling you, but I felt I owed you a warning.”
“And I tell you I don’t know him.”
Time to back off. “I understand.” As if, finally, he could take a hint. “I apologize for the inconvenience. I feel I need to bring this matter up with Admin, to be on the level with them–I know young Emory. I know her quite well. Her influence isn’t to discount–should you find yourself crosswise of any investigation. She’s mentioned your name. She doesn’t want you inconvenienced.”
“Where are you calling from?”Sharp tone. Very sharp tone.
“From Reseune. From my office. Which is also my personal number.”
A small silence. Then, more quietly: “I appreciate the advisement. My respects to your connections. Good day, ser.”
Contact abruptly broken. He drew a long, shaky breath, and looked at Grant, and looked at Florian.
“Well‑handled, ser,” Florian said. “Very well handled.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned Ari’s name.”
“Sera authorized it in her note,” Florian said. “The call is recorded, as I’m sure you know. It will go no further than sera’s security.”
“I appreciate that,” he said, feeling his stomach upset. He didn’t know who he’d just betrayed. He was sure, at least, it wasn’t Ari. That part made him–and Grant–personally safe, as long as he was in Ari’s wing.
Outside was another matter.
“Sera’s thanks,” Florian said, and held out his hand. For a moment Justin had no notion what he wanted. Then he realized the paper with Ari’s instructions was on the desk, and he gave it back. Florian folded it and tucked it away.
“The card, ser.”
He’d forgotten that. He handed that over, glad not to have it in his possession. Florian pocketed that, too, bowed, with a “Good day, ser, Grant.”
And left.
Damn, Justin thought as the door shut. And said it. “Damn, Grant. What did I just do?”
“Assuredly what pleases Ari,” Grant said softly. “Which is probably a good idea.”
“I’m sure it is,” he said, which was a lie: he wasn’t sure of anything in the universe at the moment. “I think I just upset Dr. Patil.”
“I don’t think we’re responsible for Dr. Patil,” Grant said. “We don’t know who she is, or what your father wanted.”
“Or what Yanni wants,” he said. “Damn it, Grant, Yanni, of all people. He can’t be moving on his own. I can’t imagine him doing that.”
“In a wide universe,” Grant said, “it’s extraordinary that this woman’s card arrived on that very evening.”
“It’s extraordinary,” he agreed, staring off into memory, that evening, the foyer at Jamaica, that card going into his pocket. Florian, in the dark, by the pond. Grant walking back to hand it over, because he’d known then that his father had handed him trouble, and challenged him to do something besides coexist with Admin.
Now he’d done something, and not on Jordan’s side. Not against him, necessarily, but not on Jordan’s side. His father had challenged him. And he’d picked a side. Committed himself, with a phone call.
Committed himself, when he’d given Grant that card to turn over to Florian that night. He was sure of that. He was one step further into the quagmire, and now a second one.
And Florian emphasized– sera’ssecurity, not ReseuneSec. Why that distinction, he wondered? Was there actually a distinction? Or was there about to be? A schism, in the relations between Ari and the current directorship of Reseune?
“We’re Ari’s,” he said to Grant, still staring into memory, that night, the cold wind. Bright light, and Ari, perched in that chair in his office. And he had to consider where that office was. In it, neck deep, they were–living, now working, in her wing, doing work on, and for, her security. “I suppose we’re Ari’s. If there was ever any doubt of it in my father’s mind, he’s forced me–and we are.”
BOOK ONE Section 3 Chapter vi
MAY 3, 2424
1121H
Major headache, right between the eyes. Deepstudy did that sometimes–especially on too little food, especially when it was tape‑study on population dynamics, which wasn’t a commercial tape, wasn’t paced to be, was just raw notes and data and conclusions dumped into one’s head under the deepteach drug, so the habitual mind wanted to add it up and make it make sense and the critical faculties just weren’t answering the phone.
But the too‑little‑food part was another very good reason for the headache, which was why Ari had scheduled herself to come out of it at 1115h. She still was on the edge of the drug–when she was coming out, she’d told domestic staff just not to talk to her or ask her anything or tell her anything. She was apt to have what they said running around in her head all day, otherwise, and there was already too much running around in her head, psychsets, genesets, this population burst, the other burst added to the Novgorod sets, all of it classified, most all of it done during the War, with the Defense Bureau nagging her predecessor to do this, do that, psych‑design by committee and with no understanding what they were asking. So the first Ari had done what she wanted to do because nobody in the Defense Bureau had the skill to check on what she did.