“ The hell! The hell I am! And the hell I can’t!”
“It’s the next generation, dad. They don’t know you. Just produce. They’ll learn who you are.”
“ Who I am? Damned right they will!”
Jordan broke the connection, right there.
Grant lifted a well‑controlled eyebrow. “Breakfast?”
BOOK ONE Section 2 Chapter iv
APRIL 26, 2424
1302H
Message from Hicks, director of Reseune Security, to sera’s security: Consultation urgently needed.
It might involve the card–if Hicks was running an operation at Yanni’s direction, they’d gotten in the middle of it last night, and Hicks was probably quietly furious at their having swept it up.
They could say no. They could hold onto the card and force Yanni to request sera to order them to release it; but a feud with Hicks wasn’t profitable. Hicks had agreed when they’d outright insisted on their monitoring the business with Justin and his father, and relaying what they found to him; and the interview seemed, overall, a reasonable request.
“I’ll likely be a while,” Florian said, while leaving the security station.
“All secure here,” Catlin said. “I’ll hold things down. It wouldn’t be good to annoy ReseuneSec if we don’t need to.”
“No,” he agreed. “It wouldn’t.”
He took the card with him, carefully protected in an envelope–its disposition dependent on what he heard from Hicks: maybe he would turn it over, maybe not, and Hicks would not lay hands on him, not if Hicks wanted his career. He headed out, downstairs, out of the wing and over to Admin, to an office that supervised his kind, but not him, not Catlin, and no one else inside sera’s apartment.
ReseuneSec was operationally directly responsible to Yanni Schwartz these days. Hicks had succeeded Giraud Nye in the post, and hadn’tbeen implicated in Denys’ attempt on sera’s life–in fact Hicks had stood down, done his best to keep things calm and safe for most of Reseune, and taken neither side, while sera’s people and Denys’ people shot at each other in the halls of Wing One. So Hicks had kept his job. Yanni said he was a good man, and since they trusted Yanni–so far–they trusted Hicks–so far.
Over to Admin, upstairs to the executive level, down the corridor from Yanni’s office. The ReseuneSec offices were a busy place, even at this early hour. The anteroom was full of people in suits, people in uniform. If he had to wait, he had things he could do in the interim.
He went to the desk. “Florian AF, Sera Ariane Emory’s bodyguard. The director called.”
The receptionist immediately lost the preoccupied look. “Ser. You’re expected.” He stood up and personally escorted Florian down a carpeted hall straight to the director’s office, past cameras and other devices–no matter all the waiting CITs back there.
That was gratifying, on sera’s behalf. It made a good impression–so far.
“Florian AF.”
A man with dark hair, dark good looks, and a gold bar indicating a colonel’s rank, intercepted him and the receptionist both.
Kyle AK. Alpha azi. Hicks’ aide.
“Ser.” Kyle AK outranked him. And might prevent him, but he would notdo business with a substitute. He eyed Kyle AK with a certain reserve, just stared at him, at a dead stop, and the receptionist retreated.
“The message was from the Director,” Florian said. “I’ll seethe Director.”
“To be sure,” Kyle AK said smoothly, and opened the door that said Adam Hicks, Director, Reseune Securityin gold letters.
He walked in with Kyle AK, facing a silver‑haired, square‑faced man at a desk.
Suit, not uniform. That was Hicks, CIT, and never trained in green barracks, not an expert in actual practice, only in administration. He’d gotten the services of Kyle AK, a very highly trained alpha, former Fleet service. And it was widely suspected that Kyle AK was and had been the source of no little policy and no few orders in ReseuneSec…but it was the born‑man who held the office and signed the papers.
“Ser,” Florian said. “Florian AF. You called sera’s office.”
Hicks got up from his chair and offered his hand across the desk, again, proper behavior. “Florian AF. A pleasure. Have a seat.”
“Ser,” Florian said, placing hands in the back of his belt and continuing to stand, post‑handshake, as Hicks sat down: he had reached a decision. “Jordan Warrick surreptitiously passed a calling card with a contact number to Justin Warrick. The younger Warrick volunteered the card to me when I intercepted him on the quadrangle, and made no further comment. I think you’ll know that from my report.”
“Do you have the card with you?” Hicks asked him.
“Yes. May I have your word, ser, we’ll have the benefit of your investigation? This regards a person under sera’s authority.”
“Agreed. Absolutely agreed.”
Florian reached into his jacket front and pulled out the envelope. Hicks took it and laid it on the desk in front of him.
“What do you know about the card?” Hicks asked.
“The number, ser, belongs to a Dr. Sandur Patil, University of Novgorod.”
Hicks’s face betrayed very little. He was good, in that regard. “Researcher and professor. Did the Director brief you who she is?”
“Scheduled for promotion to a directorship at Fargone. Yes, ser. Director Schwartz said so, in conversation with my principal.”
Hicks nodded slowly. “How far did he brief her?”
“Perhaps farther than he briefed you, ser, so I shouldn’t go into specifics.”
Momentary silence. A perusal by very cold, very opaque eyes. “You know about Eversnow.”
“Yes, ser. We do.”
“You got this card from the younger Warrick.”
“It was given, Ser. Volunteered by him.”
“He got it from Warrick Senior.”
“We observed that he did, ser, unless cards were switched. We didn’t search him. Justin Warrick has been honest with us.”
“Your personal recommendation on the matter. Florian AF?”
He drew a breath. “We’ve pulled Justin Warrick into sera’s wing, to prevent further contact. That was our immediate action.”
“Is he aware of what’s on the card?”
“The card was given him without explanation. He wasn’t observed reading it. He volunteered it to me, and we ran the address on it. We didn’t, however, run the data strip. It seems to us that needs to be done in lab.”
“We’ll do that,” Hicks said, “with precautions.”
“Sera will appreciate notification of the contents, whether or not it immediately concerns her security.”
Hicks’ jaw clamped. He was a man not in the habit of letting go of information without knowing parameters in advance. But slowly he nodded. “We appreciate your turning this over, Florian AF.”
“Sera will take action based on the contents, ser. We will keep your office apprised.”
“Sit down,” Hicks said. “For God’s sake, sit down.”
It seemed Hicks had something specific to discuss. Florian moved over to the chair and did sit down, leaned back, and looked at the man on the level. It was a worried look on the other side of the desk. A CIT with what seemed to be a problem.
“What’s your opinion on what you’ve found?” Hicks asked.
“First, that Jordan Warrick may or may not have known what was on the card. Second, Justin had no idea, and was uncomfortable with the possession of it in the circumstances. Third, Dr. Patil may or may not know that her information was traded.”
“What, in your opinion, was Warrick’s motive?”
“We have no current theory, except to say he wants his son closer to him and we want him farther away. Closer in the metaphysical sense as well as the physical.”
“His loyalty, you mean.”
“The younger Warrick isn’t amenable to his father’s past politics. He avoids that topic. He has no political leanings of his own.”
“Everyone born a CIT has a political leaning.”
“His is definitely not toward the Centrists, then, ser. His beliefs run counter to theirs.”