He’d also gained a new sense: he had actually heard the maternal heartbeat that had timed his life…he heard it when a tech dropped a pan: he couldn’t tell it was different than taste or smell–every stimulus was the same to him, but he reacted, the way a plant might react. His newly functioning joints moved.
His sense of hearing would grow more acute as time passed, but Seely’s would be extraordinary, an asset, in Seely’s future profession.
And something else had changed, radically so, for Giraud. He was solo now. His brother Denys’ sequence number had been active in the birthlab computer until just last week, a soft scheduling that would have let it go to implementation on any given day. That data and that material had gone back to deep storage, the CIT number dumped from lab files, officially disconnected from Giraud’s, so even if he looked, someday, he might find it hard to find his brother until his Base was significantly higher than the lab’s.
Denys might yet be born. There was seven years yet to change that back without deviating from program…seven years had been the gap between the brothers. But for now that data had quietly slipped deep into storage, with no extant string to pull it out. That would have to be rebuilt.
A subsequent generation might change its mind about connecting Denys to Giraud, having both of that set.
This one wasn’t likely to.
BOOK THREE Section 2 Chapter ii
JUNE 11, 2424
2158H
Living next door to Ari had its moments–one of them being about suppertime, when the hall suddenly flooded with ReseuneSec in uniform, and Justin’s plans for dinner out had taken second place to ingrained apprehension. Their door had stayed shut. The mass of black uniforms had, instead, been admitted to young Ari’s apartment, all of them at once.
Well, Justin said to himself, that was unnerving. Thirty was the number of Ari’s own detail, if the records he’d passed on had been all‑inclusive. Had that been thirty? It could be.
And were they safe, for God’s sake? Ari had yanked the initiative back from him, unfinished, said it was all right, he and Grant had been right–
Right? There’d been some sort of problem. He knew there was. Grant agreed. And she went ahead anyway.
“She must have done something,” Justin commented to Grant, who stood at his shoulder to see the minder’s vid image. “She wouldn’t have them all in there, if she hadn’t. Damn, I still can’t find the glitch, and hell if I want to ask her–she’s confident enough, as is.”
The message she’d sent, taking the project back, still rankled. He’d lost sleep on that work. Lost a major amount of sleep. And he still didn’t have an answer, or a real thank you. There had been times, in the last few weeks, when he actually understood his father’s feud with the original.
Grant’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Doesn’t look like a good evening for us to go out,” Grant said.
He ran a capture on the security monitor’s immediate record. “Entertainment,” he said. And dinner out became dinner in.
They popped pizza into the luxury apartment’s very fast oven, and opened a respectable wine while they reviewed the tape… Yes, there were thirty. Thirty who presumably were about to be received and probably instructed inside Ari’s fairly capacious living area…after which they would presumably pour back out into the hall, ready to go on duty.
It was damned certain the thirty, plus the recently acquired domestic staff, weren’t by any means going to fit in that apartment’s staff quarters. So they had to be living somewhere else in the wing, likely downstairs.
“That’s the BR‑283,” Justin said, regarding the tall one with the officer’s silver on his collar. “Classic officer set. Dates from the 2370s. Spooky, how much like Regis he looks.”
“Not spooky,” Grant said with a little laugh. “It would be spooky if he didn’t.”
“I wonder whatever happened to Regis.”
“No knowing,” Grant said. The laugh had immediately vanished.
Dark thoughts. A dark time, a time worth forgetting. The crowd in the hall represented a new age. A new beginning. Regis had vanished, along with the rest of the first Ari’s staff. No one ever saw them again. Rumor had it her Florian and her Catlin had been terminated. No one knew how many others.
Cheerfulness, for God’s sake. The little minx had probably fixed whatever glitch there was in the BR set. Figure howshe’d fixed it inside several weeks of working the problem…that was a question.
“Probably she did exactly what Jordan complained about,” he said to Grant, “and went after the deep set on the BR. Fast fix.”
“That’s one way to get his attention,” Grant said. “It would be logical.”
“Rough on him.”
Grant gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “But it would work. And they’re ReseuneSec. Those are odd sets from the beginning.”
“Cold as hell’s hinges,” Justin muttered, with other unpleasant memories, and tried to shake the mood of that black flood in the hall–his hallway as well as hers. He poured a white wine, poured another for Grant, and reran the tape. “That’s the BB‑19.” Justin said, regarding the thin, long‑faced azi. “I’ve worked with another of that set. A bundle of nerves. Good on details. He’ll likely be scared to death of Florian and Catlin.”
“With probable cause,” Grant said, and, with a pizza wedge for a pointer: “That’s his counterpoint, I’m betting. BY‑10. A lot like the BB‑19. A good combination, those two. One’s detail, the other tends to macrofocus.”
“Males generally get top posts in that house, have you noticed that? Since Florian and Catlin, that’s herpredilection. It was her predecessor’s, too. Not a female in the whole lot.” Flash on that apartment, that time. He’d been, then, around Ari’s age now.
And that night, in the first Ari’s apartment…had there been staff present, besides Florian and Catlin? He couldn’t remember it…didn’t want to remember. He was sorry for Florian and Catlin. He really was. It depressed him to think about it.
“And Theo ended up in authority over Jory on the domestic staff,” Grant said. “ Iwouldn’t have advised that. Jory’s brighter. But they’ll manage. He’ll take advice.”
“You know, Ari is far more social than her predecessor,” Justin said, envisioning that crowd in Ari’s living room–probably being served refreshments and urged to relax–which would make the lot almost comically uncomfortable. No, she actually wouldn’t do it. She knew better. She’d do what wouldmake them comfortable–like brief them, give them information. Those mindsets would like that far better than teacakes, all things considered. But sociality…she’d encourage that, far more than those mindsets had ever seen. “She has a strong inclination to go for company. Not with that lot, but in general.”
“I’ve observed,” Grant said.
“Right from the start. She visited our office. Whenever she got bored, she went looking for people. Cultivated a set of friends. Still does. Denys really didn’t like that habit in her. Of course, Denys didn’t like people in the first place.”
“Neither did the first Ari,” Grant said. “Deviation from the model. Maybe an improvement. Maybe not. I can’t imagine that the first Ari ever had that bent in early years.”
“Our Ari lost Jane Strassen, but she never grew bitter, just took to chasing us. Maybe she’s more people‑oriented because shedidn’t spend her early years wondering if her dear mother would kill her if she disappointed. That’s what they say about Olga Emory.”
“A relationship I can’t imagine,” Grant murmured. “But then, I can’t imagine a mother.” A tilt of Grant’s head. “Just you.”
“I don’t qualify.”
“You absolutely don’t. Which suits me fine.”
They were lovers. They made no particular fuss over it. It was just who they were. There was nobody they trusted more than each other, nobody they loved more than each other. That had been true for years. For a time, in his growing up, if there hadn’t been Grant, he wouldn’t have been sane. If there hadn’t been him–it was equally sure Grant wouldn’t have been what he was.