Regeneration (23 page)

“She's the exact age, madam. Her recorded birth date is within a couple of weeks of when your daughter was expected to be born.”

Zavcka nodded and let go, slowly.

He blanked the screen and tucked it away. “I can't copy that over to you,” he said uneasily. “I'm sorry, madam—it's for your own protection, you do understand?”

“Of . . . of course I do. Thank you, Mr. Crawford. Thank you so much.” She heard the break in her own voice, and knew she had not manufactured it this time. Brushing at her eyes for further effect, she crossed swiftly from the window to her chair, as though embarrassed to be seen in such a state. “You've already done more than I dared hope.”

Agwé was dawdling, wishing she could manage to look busier, aware of the silent, watchful presence of Qiyem across the project room. They were almost the only members of the day team left and he had finally shut down his workstation for the evening. He'd seen her about to do the same a few minutes earlier, and had come over to ask if she wanted to grab some refreshment on the way home: a drink, maybe a bite to eat. She had muttered something noncommittal about not being quite done yet and sensed that he had now delayed his own departure in response. Now she was both kicking herself for having left him an opening, and feeling guilty at her own reluctance. She knew it must be wrong to rebuff someone who was so solitary, whose reserve was most likely a cover for shyness and loneliness. It was clear that he liked her but he'd always been uneasy about showing it; he'd probably spent
ages
plucking up the courage for this latest attempt to become friends. She suspected that he actually hoped they could be something more, and even though she wasn't remotely interested, she thought she should at least be kinder to him, let him down gently.

But there was just something about him—maybe he was too studied in the way he went about it, too contrived? His line about “on the way home” had annoyed her. He lived downriver in Limedog, while her home was a subaquatic apartment in this very building. Why pretend they were both leaving anyway, when he knew all she had to do to get to hers was turn left instead of right, traverse a few corridors and a flight of stairs? It would be easier to take him seriously, she thought, if he didn't always try so hard. There was an
undercurrent of manipulation in his advances that she disliked—but maybe that was the only way shy, awkward people knew to do things.
I should be nicer,
she thought again.

He'd tucked his tablet away and had put on his coat: dutiful Qiyem, diligently following the official advice to stay out of the river until the authorities issued the all-clear, would be walking home instead of swimming. She sighed inwardly as she watched him crossing the room toward her again, and undocked her own tablet. There was no way to back out, not without looking like a complete hypocrite. Might as well go and have a cup of tea with him; she could try cracking a few jokes, see if he could be unwound sufficiently to laugh at them. Maybe it wouldn't be too bad. He stopped beside her workstation and looked at her with an expression that she thought was meant to be inquiring but instead just seemed uncertain. Her heart sank.

“Are you—?”

“Yep.” She made it sound as sunny as she could manage, shoved back her chair and powered down the main screen. “Almost there . . .”

The tablet vibrated in her hand and she felt the buzz of her earset. She glanced down at the screen to see Gabriel's comcode flashing on it—flashing red, which meant
urgent
. Her surprise was tinged with a faint relief; maybe something really had come up that would save her from a difficult evening.

“Hang on, Qiyem, just let me see what this is.” She flicked to receive. “Hey. What's urgent?”

“Agwé, what have you done?”

“Sorry?” He sounded frantic and angry and—was he
frightened
? She sank back into her chair, feeling alarmed. “What have I done about what?”

“This—You—This vid that's gone up on the TTP stream, you did it, right? You must have, it's from when—”

“The TideFair? Yes, of course I did it. What's the matter?”

“You need to pull it, or change it or . . . or something. Ag, you need to fix it,
now
.”

“Fix what? Don't you like it? I thought you'd be pleased.” She ran through the clips in her head, trying to work out what could possibly
need fixing, growing more puzzled by the second. “There's a great shot of Eve in there.”

“Ag, how could you
do
that?” He was almost shouting at her. She had never heard him sound so upset. “You need
permission,
you can't just—”

“I
what
? Hang on—hang
on,
Gabriel.” She looked up at Qiyem. “I'm sorry, something's happened.” She could hear her own voice shaking; the shock of Gabriel's anger had brought her close to tears.

“What's wrong?” His uncertainty was genuine now, and mirrored her own.

“I don't know . . . There's a problem with a vid I made . . .” Gabriel was ranting in her ear, something about Eve. “I . . . I think I've screwed something up. I need to work out what it is. I'm sorry.” She was already sliding her tablet back into the dock, fumbling in her haste. When she glanced up again, Qiyem was still standing there, looking worried now, and a bit lost.

“Should I stay?” he asked.

She shook her head, feeling her lips tremble, not trusting herself to speak. He watched her for another moment, then turned on his heel.

In her earset Gabriel was still going on about his sister, how his sister could not
be
on a public stream, how she had to take the vid down, take it down,
take it down now
! Bewilderment wrapped around her like an old fishing net, and the sound of Qiyem's footsteps walking away no longer felt like an ordeal she had dodged but a refuge she would gladly,
gladly
have escaped to.

The morning came up choking, drenched in a fog so thick it was as though the sun itself were drowning. Gabriel, watching through the windows overlooking the back garden, saw the weak silver-gold radiance of dawn on the horizon fade into a pale gray glimmer that settled on things without illuminating them. It seemed to him that as the minutes went by it grew darker outside instead of lighter—or maybe that was just his mood. He hadn't slept, and he felt cold and tired and upset with himself. His head was as thick and muddled as the air outside. The cranial band was already in place and on standby; he didn't think he could deal with any thoughts but his own at the moment.

“It's fine,” his father said as he came up beside him, one big hand heavy on his shoulder, a mug of coffee in the other, still gruff with sleep. He yawned. “Don't be so hard on yourself. It was only onstream for—what? A couple of hours? It's unlikely any harm's been done. Just be glad”—with a glance over his shoulder to make sure Eve was still safely upstairs with Gaela, getting ready for school—“
she
didn't see it. Then there'd be hell to pay.”

“There will anyway. Her friends or teachers might have seen it, it'll come up . . .”

He stared into his empty mug, unseeing. “It's not just that—I messed up, Papa. I really . . . I went overboard with Agwé. I flipped out, I was shouting at her . . . and it's not her fault. She couldn't have known. She must think I'm a complete lunatic.”

“Ah.” Bal nodded his understanding, and sipped. “So that's what's grinding at you. I thought there was something else.” He grimaced at the first bitter hit of coffee. “Listen, I like Agwé. She's sharp. She did a good job on the edit too—most people probably won't even notice the change.”

“She did a great job, especially considering how upset she was. She's my best . . . We're really close, but of course she doesn't know about Eve so she thought it would be fun, something we'd all like. She did it to be
nice,
and I went nuclear on her.” He drew a deep breath. “I need to apologize today, try to explain, but I don't know what to say.”

Bal was gazing thoughtfully out the window himself now, the steam from his mug rising into the air as though the mist from the garden had snuck inside to warm itself up.

“You want to tell her.”

“Yes . . . well, I mean, I wish I could. But I don't want to make things worse—I don't ever want to do anything that . . . that compromises Eve. I know we have good reasons for not telling anyone other than those who've known from the beginning. I just—I wish I didn't have to go in there now and lie to Agwé, not on top of being so horrible to her yesterday.”

“I wish you didn't either, Gabe, but that doesn't mean we can make an exception.” His father's face was impassive, but there was speculation in his tone and Gabriel realized that he was considering doing exactly that. “Do you trust her?”

“Yes.” He did, absolutely, but that conviction just made him feel worse. “I don't know whether she trusts me anymore, though.”

“Let me have a word with your mother when you and Eve are both gone, okay? We'll message you.” An affectionate touch
on his cheek, an amused, understanding glint in his father's eyes. “No promises.”

It was shockingly cold, as though autumn had decided to skip ahead a few months and sample the full, stinging bitterness of midwinter. The temperature and the clinging, cough-inducing darkness subdued even Eve, although by the time they met up with Uncle Mik and his boys at the school gate she was back in full chattering flow. Apparently it had needed no more than an afternoon's play and pandering to return him to her good graces, but Gabriel was weighed down by the irony that while he was being a good brother and mending fences with her at home, he had failed in his greater duty to protect her from the world.

But he didn't have time to dwell on it much, for they had to hand the children over to Terissa and make haste to Sinkat; as predicted, Sharon had scheduled a conference for first thing.

“We think the best chance of keeping you out of it in public is to make sure Pilan and the rest of the senior team are told about your role in private,” Mikal told Gabriel as they walked. “Otherwise I suspect they'll start poking around and asking lots of questions—asking
you
lots of questions, about what you did or didn't notice.”

Gabriel winced. “They'll do that anyway.”

“Maybe, but this way it won't be in front of others, which is what'll probably happen if they aren't told. If I'm there in the room while Sharon's onscreen, and we're both saying that we think you handled your discovery in an appropriate manner—which you did—and we ask them to cooperate in keeping Herran's and your involvement quiet, it makes it a lot harder for anyone either to give you a hard time or to go gossiping indiscriminately.” Mikal grinned. “Besides, Pilan already owes you, doesn't he? Here's where you get to collect.”

Pilan, Lapsa, and the rest of the executive team were suitably stunned to learn that they had been the target not only of a biological attack but of a coordinated propaganda assault as well. They were even more shocked to discover that they were only now finding out about it.

“I don't understand,” Lapsa said, perplexed. “How could we not have known this was happening?”

“We did,” Gabriel told her. “We've all known how much negative commentary and innuendo and scaremongering there's been on the streams. People have been talking about it and messaging me and coming over to my workstation to complain for
weeks,
it's just that we all thought the chatter was being generated by lots of random streamers. Now we know that was part of their plan. I think,” he amended hastily, catching sight of Sharon's face on the screen and realizing that this would probably count as
amateur sleuthing
in her book, “it was organized to look
dis
organized.”

“That does appear to have been the case,” she confirmed, deadpan.

“And when did
you
realize it wasn't random?” Pilan growled.

“While you were in the hospital,” Gabriel replied promptly. He had been rehearsing this one. “You and almost everyone else here. Before that, I'd assumed it was just what it looked like: a bunch of unconnected bigots saying nasty things about gems—you know, the usual. Then, when I noticed how many avatars were being used, I thought maybe a few trolls had gotten together, or maybe they'd been put up to it by one of the pressure groups. I had no idea it was going to turn out to be this big.”

“When Gabriel shared his concerns with me, neither of us had any way of knowing these activities were connected with the toxin, or the earlier sabotage attempt,” Mikal interjected smoothly. “If we had, it would clearly have been an urgent matter for the police. I found it very disturbing, but on its own it didn't sound like it'd be something for which you'd divert resources away from hunting down terrorists. I discussed it privately with Sharon to get her advice, and you initially felt the same too, didn't you, dear?” Sharon raised her eyebrows at him. “It was only as the police investigation progressed that she realized there might be a connection between the terrorists and the situation Gabriel was dealing with.”

“That's correct,” said Sharon briskly. “And I must stress that it was still just a suspicion at that point; it's what we've learned over the last twenty-four hours that makes us certain the smear campaign and the terrorist activities are linked. It also indicates an even more
sophisticated conspiracy than we'd expected—a fact the press will no doubt jump on immediately.”

She leaned forward and stared directly out of the screen at them, mouth set in a firm line, her manner grimly serious. “It also raises concerns for Gabriel and Herran, if they become associated with the discovery. I don't know how these people—or their supporters, if they have any—would react if they knew who was responsible for the police closing down this side of the operation. I'd like to think they've got bigger problems at the moment, but we can't be certain, and so I must ask you
all
to help us maintain confidentiality. For Gabriel and Herran's safety.”

Murmurs ran around the table as the significance of Sharon's words sank in. The half-dozen pairs of eyes focused on Gabriel went from some combination of surprised, impressed and mildly reproachful to overwhelmingly protective, and he squirmed in his chair, embarrassed.

“Surely you shouldn't be here at all?” said Lapsa anxiously. “You should take some time off—come back when it's all over.”

You are going to be such a good mother,
Gabriel thought.
You sound just like mine.
Aloud he said, “Thanks, but we think that would probably just attract attention.”

“Gabriel is right,” said Sharon. “It's been almost a full day since the arrests, I'm required to make an announcement. Plus, the news that we've got more people in custody is already leaking and I don't want anyone thinking the primary targets have been apprehended. We still need the public to remain on the lookout. So the attention of every news and socialstream is about to focus on this story and they'll be jumping at anything that strikes them as unusual. Believe me, I don't like to leave civilians—let alone minors—potentially in harm's way, but pulling Gabriel out might make him
less
safe, not more.”

And that was all it took to deputize the entire executive committee of Thames Tidal Power into feeling responsible for him.

Mikal laughed softly at the look on his face as the others came up afterward to offer praise and reassurance and advice. Gabriel felt less like the efficient, talented, and valuable press officer he knew
himself to be and more like everybody's slightly delicate and overly doted-upon young nephew.

“You two
planned
this,” he managed to whisper accusingly in a momentary interlude.

“After a word with your parents,” Mikal whispered back sagely. “Detective Superintendent Varsi is also your Aunt Sharon, and if she can't keep you where she or they can guard you personally, she's going to make damn sure everybody else is on point.”

So that was why they had decided to let him come in today. He supposed he should be grateful.

“If anything happens and you feel like you need to get out of the office,” said Pilan, his attention back with them as others departed, “head for our apartment. It's air-full, and I'll add your finger ident to the entry panel. Doesn't matter whether we or Agwé are there or not; if you need to go just go. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, feeling wretched but determined not to show it. “Umm . . . Is she around?” Under normal circumstances there would be a slew of messages demanding to know what was going on, but he'd heard nothing from her, nor yet from his parents; he still had no idea what he would, or could, say to her. His own abject apologies had been going out since the middle of the night.

“She went up to college early,” Lapsa told him. “She left just before you arrived. She said there were some assignments she needed to discuss, some professor she had to see. She'll be back by afternoon, I suppose.”

Mikal stayed until after the news broke, more concerned about the fallout than he was willing to admit, and he took the time to catch Pilan up on political developments.

“Sharon couldn't be here in person because she also has to brief the government so they can be ready to respond,” he explained. “Normally it would be the ministers for internal security and communications and their staff, but Jack Radbo's asked to be included. My guess is that this latest turn of events, on top of my backing yesterday and your statement the day before, will have given them all the political cover they need: as long as energy capture in the
estuary stays on track, and barring any major incident, Thames Tidal shouldn't have to worry about outside interference.” Mikal chuckled softly. “Jack liked your piece, by the way. I mean, he
really
liked it.”

“Gabriel helped write it,” said Pilan meditatively, then laughed. “No, scratch that; he didn't just
help
, he worked out
exactly
what I needed, and that's what he produced. When he gave it back to me, it was precisely what I'd've said if I was a hell of a lot better at saying things than I am. And all the time he was doing his regular job and dealing with this too and never letting on.”

“By that point, Sharon had told him he couldn't discuss it.”

“I get that; I'm just blown away by how damn competent the boy is. Were we that together when we were his age, Mikal? I don't think
I
was.”

“We knew different things,” Mikal told him. “Gabriel has been trawling through adult minds almost since he could speak. I'm glad my children aren't getting the education he did, but he's certainly learned from it—he's had to. We're just lucky he's so steady and decent.”

But Mikal was conscious that for all Gabriel's calm demeanor and whip-smart handling of the Kaboom situation, the boy was being stretched to the limit. He sounded strained and he looked exhausted. Part of that was doubtless down to the unfortunate business of the TideFair vid; Gaela had called them about that last night, but by the time Misha and Sural saw it, it showed only an abbreviated glimpse of them laughing with an unseen friend. Eve had been swiftly and neatly excised, and the chance that harm would come from her brief, anonymous exposure was vanishingly small. It was the kind of risk that Bal and Gaela always knew they were running; it was that, or hide themselves and their children away from the world. They were sanguine about it, but they said Gabriel was being very hard on himself.

Mikal was not at all surprised; he remembered the promise the solemn-faced little boy had made, to protect the newborn infant cradled in his mother's arms. Gabriel had looked around at them all—Bal and Gaela, Aryel and Eli, him and Sharon—and known the fear in their minds: of what that baby might become, what others
would make of her if they could. He was just eight years old himself then, but he'd have felt the full weight of adult responsibility, and he would not have forgotten.