Regenesis (46 page)

“Little sera wants miracles,” he said to Grant. “Lunch is going to be in, today.”

“No problem,” Grant said. “Shoot me what you have.”

He shot. Grant took it, and there was silence for an hour, until Grant ran out of coffee.

Grant filled his cup, fuel for the morning.

And into the afternoon.

Grant ordered sandwiches delivered. With cream pastry. Justin devoured his, reading and annotating the while. One set to go, a fairly simple one. He’d been over it twenty times. He’d done all the betas to try to understand the type. He didn’t find a handle on it, anywhere, and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right, it
wasn’t
the level of work that belonged on a Contract she was taking. At first he’d suspected subtlety. Then he’d suspected error. Now he had a different picture. Library censorship. Again.

He said to Grant: “You know what I think? I don’t think Library’s given us all the records yet. Florian thought he had that cleared up. But I don’t think he did.”

“It would answer your objection.”

“We’re two weeks overdue on this. But I’m afraid it’s the fact they’re security. Ari’s going to have to go back to Library one more time on her access. There’s something still we haven’t gotten.”

“It would answer the question,” Grant said. “You’re right, and after the last round, I wouldn’t want to be in the librarian’s shoes. You get to write the memo, born-man.”

J
UNE
7, 2424
1542
H

The azi in question, BR-283, was a nice-looking fellow, Catlin observed that on the monitor, while BR-283, Rafael, was deep asleep—nice face, nice body, dark as Florian—taller than Florian.

But absolutely no attraction here, just an aesthetic note. Rafael BR wasn’t Florian, and wouldn’t be, being a beta—a situation which suited her. Betas took orders. Alphas didn’t need orders, just a goal. Sera had explained the situation to her, as much as, in sera’s judgement, she needed to know, and prime among sera’s instructions was the posited call, every fifteen minutes, while she was on this assignment. She was to beware any food or drink offered by lab staff. She was to disobey any command to leave or submit to detention, herself, but if held, she should not risk injury—just wait for sera to take action…within the next fifteen minutes.

That was advisement enough that sera considered these tapes important to give personally to four of the new security team. The situation itself hardly seemed dicey: walk into the labs with the tape—possibly containing the Contract itself—invoke sera’s name and sera’s order to gain access and order this group to lab, where she personally installed each tape, waving off the assistance of staff.

And it had run for a relatively tedious hour and forty-two minutes, while Rafael BR and the other three of sera’s choosing slept with eyes occasionally open, and occasionally reacted, or smiled, or concentrated.

Contracting didn’t take long. So what else were the tapes? That wasn’t hard to guess. They were probably primary tapes, a slightly amended refresher on the most basic sets. Tapes like that were generally quite pleasant, an hour or so of confirmation, affirmation—a transcendental experience, when a Supervisor offered it to a troubled or stressed azi. In this case it was likely some patch to enable the four to work together under BR-283’s direction.

And since sera had the accesses she did, and she’d signed for them and meant to deliver the Contract tape herself, she was perfectly within her rights to order it, and to order that her own staff carry out the request—for BR-283, and for BG-8, BJ-190, and BB-291, the same, even if the four were listed as ReseuneSec. A note might have gone to Hicks, but Hicks hadn’t intervened.

The other three were in the adjacent rooms, on the other three active monitors, affording a constant view, two of them on the same tape, one on a third, and all, presumably, experiencing primary tape, blissful and content.

They were also all on the same schedule, the tape very soon to run out, by the individual counters. And after that, they would enjoy a little peaceful sleep. Tedious, but she’d stay until they waked naturally. She’d bring them up the hill herself, the core members of the team Hicks had provided, having passed them through a sieve and having assured they were settled, in advance of the others.

More, sera provided her own tape without a ReseuneSec indexing sticker on it: they were ReseuneSec personnel, and the lab had taken a momentary issue with that, and had wanted to call the lab supervisor and Hicks about it, but Catlin had stood fast, maintaining that, indeed, sera did hold the Contracts, was a licensed Alpha Supervisor—there were five such in all of Reseune proper…six, counting Jordan Warrick—and if a Beta tape issued from an Alpha Supervisor’s office, then a Beta Supervisor should accept it and run the tape as requested.

“My principal,” Catlin had reminded the man with some firmness, “
is
Ariane Emory.”

One could watch the thoughts pass through the Supervisor’s eyes—a born-man considering his career options, perhaps. He hadn’t been more cheerful after that, but he’d been polite. And he’d let her insert the tapes she’d brought, giving her access to a whole row of lab beds, clearing two other doubtlessly deserving azi who’d been scheduled for the afternoon.

“This is sera’s business,” Catlin had remarked further, as severely as possible, “and intimately pertains to her household. She will appreciate discretion. Your name is John Elway. Mine is Catlin AC-7892. I will report.”

Reading born-men was possible, when they were strongly conflicted. The man just nodded, and likely had
not
made a phone call to higher levels, even yet.

Twitch of BR-283’s head. Catlin looked critically at that subject, and let it pass. Possibly he’d just met a small alteration in his program. The dose had been heavy. BR-283 probably could have taken the tape without the drug…but he was deep enough that a twitch was unusual.

Twitch became a tic. Jerk of the hands. “Let the tape run,” sera had told her. “Let it complete.”

The subject sat bolt upright, eyes staring, then vaulted off the couch, right into the wall—a wall that assuredly was not there in BR-283’s vision. He rebounded against the couch, fighting for balance.

He was dangerous in this state, dangerous to himself. He hit another wall, hard. His forehead was bleeding.

There was a red button that could call help. Catlin opted not to use it. By the clock, she was due to call base. She touched the com button on her shoulder and said, “Catlin here. There’s been a reaction.”

The micro receiver in her right ear said, in sera’s voice, “
I’m coming
.”

The other subjects were getting to the end of their tape sessions
without
hurling themselves off their couches. There was
one
subject huddled on the floor in a fetal tuck in the corner, one subject in the throes of a psychotic episode from the deeptape he’d been given—and that individual happened to be the officer Hicks had put in charge of the unit. Rafael BR-283.

That said something. And John Elway had not come to assess the progress of the session. In a little bit more, John Elway would have visitors to the section, visitors who would not be prevented. She watched the other azi, walked to the one-way glass and looked at BR-283, who had gotten into a corner the camera didn’t completely reach. He was bleeding down his face, shaking and rocking. It wasn’t a pleasant sight.

It was 1601h, by her watch, when someone came down the hall outside. She drew her sidearm—one never assumed the other side wasn’t prepared to shoot—and faced the opaque door.

It opened, and it was sera, with Florian, a very welcome sight, with Wes for reinforcement. John Elway had come in among them, looking upset, and two of his staff attended, just ahead of Wes, but sera didn’t seem worried in the least about them, only about the business at hand.

Catlin said, holstering her sidearm, “A reaction, sera, in the unit senior.”

“Well,” was all sera said, and sera went to the monitors, on which three azi were quiet, likely asleep; and then went to the window of the first room, assessing the situation. Sera punched that button for communication and said, softly, “Rafael. Rafael.”

The subject convulsed, and knotted himself tighter into the corner.

“This is Ariane Emory, your Contract and your Supervisor. I’ve come to help you. Can you get up?”

Nothing, for a moment. Then a slight response, a leg straightened out of the tuck, folded, knee against the floor.

“This is your Supervisor. Get up, Rafael.”

He moved, unfolded his arms, laid hands on the wall, got a knee under him, and tried to get up.

“Are you all right, Rafael?”

“I can’t see.”

“Yes, you can,” sera said, and Rafael turned his head and stared around him.

“Is that better, Rafael?”

A slight nod.

“I’m your Supervisor,” sera said, in that calm, calm voice she could use—the tone that made Catlin’s own nerves twitch, and brought a silence and quiet from all of the azi present. “I’m your Contract. It’s all right. I have a resolution for you. Are you ready to hear it?”

A nod. “Yes.”

“What you believed true, was true before this. Now something else is true, and I tell you it’s all right. Do you believe me? Do you accept it?”

“I can’t,” Rafael said.

Whatever someone had laid into him, it was a hard block.

Sera said, slightly more sternly: “Rafael.”

“Sera?”

“When I tell you something, it’s true. It will always be true. Do you need to see your Contract, to know that?”

“I want to see it,” Rafael said.

Very high beta, strong-willed, not easily overcome. Catlin felt it in her own nerves. This azi was Enemy, and resisting, hard.

Sera said, quietly, “Catlin, unlock the door.”

“Sera, show him through the window.”

“Unlock the door, Catlin. It’s all right.”

She was alpha, and her resistance was harder to overcome than any beta ever devised. But she had to, if sera insisted. Florian and Wes were right with sera while she moved back to the console to open the door. If the Enemy went berserk, they’d hit him with all they had. But—

“He’s security, sera.”

“Do it,” sera said.

Sera’s orders, in that tone, were sera’s orders, off her own deep sets, and Catlin moved and did it, watching the subject the while, her heart ticking up another notch as Florian and Wes moved in, right with sera.

“These are your allies,” sera said calmly. “And this is your Contract.” She took a small reader from her coat pocket, and walked toward the subject, whose leaning against the wall could propel him off it in half a heartbeat, and sera was small and fragile in that reckoning, the subject a head taller, bloody-faced, drenched in sweat, and, at the moment, between loyalties.

Sera calmly held the reader out to him, and he stood away from the wall, took it, and looked at it. Looked for a long time.

It was something, to see one’s real Contract, and read the name on it, for the first time. It was identity, and right, and duty, all those things wrapped up in one. It had to have an effect. Just thinking about it had an effect on every azi in the room, and Catlin moved close to the door, tense as drawn wire, ready to defend
her
Contract if Rafael made a sudden move.

“Do you believe,” sera asked Rafael quietly, “that I’m your Supervisor?”

Nod. Second nod. The eyes flickered. Rafael was processing things. Hard. He shook badly as he gave the reader back. It could go any direction from here.
Any
direction.

“It’s all right,” sera said. “You’re one of us. You’re safe. You’re where you belong.”

He felt for the wall behind him. Leaned against it.

“It’s all right. Come here. Come.”

He got his balance. Sera stood there holding out open arms, and that great tall azi came close and let her take his hands. “It’s all right,” sera said. “You only report to
me
, now and forever. All other claims on you are completely
gone
.
Erased
. You don’t have to do the other thing, do you?”

“No,” Rafael said. A huge sigh came out of him, and he said shakily: “I won’t.” Deep breath. “I don’t have to.”

Not a lie, Catlin thought. That had been a Conflict. Bad one. Something in that tape had reached out and presented this azi an irresolvable contradiction, thrown him into a box to which only an appropriate Supervisor had the key.

And sera had come and rescued him, that simply.

Catlin found her leg twitching. She was that wired up. But Rafael was Sera’s now. Safe. She saw the same subtle shift in Florian’s stance, and Wes’s. Three of them might not have been quick enough, strong enough, to take the man out fast enough, as close as sera had pushed it: they had to talk with her about that. But done was done. It was all right. The other three, down the row, they were sera’s, too, peacefully, with no reactions.

This one—this one had been a spy at very least, and sera had found it out.

“You can come up to the Wing with us,” sera told Rafael. “So can the other three. You’ll make things ready for the rest of your command.”

“Yes, sera,” Rafael said. He squared himself on his feet. Gave a little bow of the head.

“My name is Florian,” Florian said then, “sera’s personal security.” A nod over his shoulder. “Catlin.” And left, “Wes. Wes will walk up the hill with you. Everything will be provided for you in the quarters there, including uniforms. You don’t have to bring anything but yourselves. You’ll prepare the place for the others when they come.”

“Yes,” Rafael said. His face had a different look. An azi knew. He was still somewhat in shock, still rattled, the experience having knocked his defenses flat—it was a kind of openness that might never appear in this azi again. Right now he was fragile, entirely, needing protection. When he got where he was going, when he got an official assignment, and knew where he would be and what he was to do, he’d become what he would be, and not until then. Right now he needed help.