“Thanks,” Justin said quietly. Two more individuals in security uniform had shown up at the door, and found their way in, people Justin had seen at Ari’s door this evening, people with the com rig and armament of personnel on duty. Her people. He stood there. He didn’t know what to do. He was in the middle of the mess, as clued in as anyone could be without that vital comlink. Meanwhile Grant, unflapped, dropped half his hold on the robe, calmly sorted out the top of it and put it on, tying it this time.

“Young sera, I believe, is more than awake,” Grant said, indicating it wasn’t all a case of Catlin and Florian running things at the moment.

“Your father has answered his phone, ser,” Florian said, “and agents are on their way to his door.”

That was a relief. He hadn’t known how much relief. He was scared for Jordan. He didn’t know why he was. Jordan hadn’t earned it, giving him that card. But he was glad to know Ari’s version of ReseuneSec was between Jordan and anything else stupid. He moved quietly over to the sideboard, out of the way, his own foyer and his living room having become security central in the last few moments. Feigning calm, he started to ask Grant to pour them both a vodka and orange, but at just that moment Ari showed up in the foyer, in a night robe, and with her dark hair in a pigtail.

“Justin?” she asked.

“It’s the card,” he said. “It’s that damned card. I don’t know what’s going on. Patil called, for no apparent reason, except she found out Thieu’s dead and then something happened when she was calling us. We have noidea. Would you like a vodka and orange?”

“I think I’d love one.”

“Sera,” Catlin said to her, “agents have entered Dr. Patil’s residence. They were on watch. They saw no one. But Patil has fallen out her window.”

“Fatally.”

“Quite fatally, sera. It’s twelve stories.”

“Oh, this is splendid!”

Grant had gone after the drinks. Justin stood frozen, rethinking what Patil had said last.

“Anton Clavery,” he said, then. “She gave that name, before–whatever happened.”

“The name is a new one,” Catlin remarked.

“We recorded everything, from the start. It’s all on the system, fast as Grant could get over and push the button.”

“Why would she call you?” Ari asked.

“I haven’t the least notion,” he began, then: “Hell. Yes, I do. She asked if I could get Jordan down the hall. She had my number, not his. She has–had–no concept of where we live, or the conditions he lives in. She couldn’t get through security to phone him.”

Catlin lifted a pale eyebrow, that was all. He suddenly wondered if that last statement was even true, or if for some unfathomed reason, Patil had specifically wanted to go through him–and just gave a wave of his hand.

“It’s all recorded. It’s what she said. I don’t know if she was telling the truth. She was upset. I guess she had reason.” He wanted to ask if Thieu had died of natural causes, curiosity being as natural to him as breathing; but no, he didn’t want to know that. He didn’t want to know anything about it.

Grant showed up with three drinks, poured the fast way, from the autobar unit. It was rescue. He presented the first to Ari, and only then it occurred to him that Ariane Emory didn’t drink things handed to her by people who’d just occasioned a midnight security alert.

But this Ari did, with only a little lift of her own brow. “Can we sit in your front room? It seems we’re all in the way here. It’s become ops. I do apologize for that.”

“Certainly,” he said, and showed her in, past Grant, at the small bar. “Sorry to have waked the whole house.”

“Thieu and Patil. What do youthink?”

Sideways jolt. She was good at that.

And two new thoughts hove onto the horizon, desperate and little likely. “Maybe someone’s tryingto involve my father. Maybe he thought that card somehow involved me in the first place. I don’t know what went through his mind.”

“Would he be honest with you if you asked?”

Because they couldn’t legally use anything but truthers on Jordan, and Jordan could beat those.

“I don’t know. He’s not speaking to me at the moment. Not since–not since that dinner.”

“I think it’s a good moment for you to talk to him. I think it’s a logical moment.”

One thing Ari had was a sense of timing. He could appreciate it–even if he had rather walk barefoot into the wilderness. “I won’t go there with Grant.”

“Grant won’t stay here,” Grant said.

“Dammit, Grant.”

“I take it I have leave to defend myself.”

“Absolutely,” Ari said.

“Ari.” Justin rounded on her with no hesitation. “If anything happens to him–I will neverforgive it.”

“If anything happens,” she said “Florian will be through, that door faster than you can blink.”

“And if I go there with yourentourage, he won’t say a thing.”

“Try,” she said.

Try. He looked at Grant, not at all liking it. He set the drink down, scarcely touched: he was going to need all his mental resources.

“Sorry to desert you,” he said, pro forma, and went back down the hall to the bedroom, righted the damaged table. Grant followed him.

“Sorry,” Grant said, “but you’re no safer in that apartment than I am. Two of us–”

“My own father,” he said bitterly. “You know, among born‑men, that’s actually supposed to count for something.”

“Two CITs are dead,” Grant said somberly. “And, I repeat, you’re not safe.”

“Damn,” he said, and grabbed random clothes from the closet.

BOOK THREE Section 2 Chapter iii

JUNE 12, 2424

0211H

Press of the button. Possibly the minder was set to ignore commotion at this hour. Justin knocked at the door. Forcefully.

“Ser,” Florian said, and reached past him with a keycard. The door opened, and Florian pushed the door open, but Justin put out an arm, barring his way.

“My father. Let me handle it alone. Please. There’s nothing wrong. Reasonable people are asleep at this hour.”

“Call out to him,” Florian said, not giving an inch.

“Dad?” he called out. “Jordan?”

Lights came up suddenly, throwing the apartment into brightness–an apartment like the one they’d had, once, much the same design, dining counter, kitchen, living area, all together…it evoked nostalgia every time he entered it.

“Go,” he said to Florian. “Wait outside. I’ll get better answers.”

“Block the door open until you’re sure,” Florian said, and went outside, leaving him, and Grant, Grant’s foot blocking the door from automatically shutting.

Paul came out first, in his nightrobe, Paul, looking as well‑groomed and civilized as usual. Jordan followed, much the same.

“Dad,” he said, “there’s an alarm on. You know that card you gave me? Patil’s dead. Thieu’s dead.”

Jordan stood there, raked a hand through his hair, didn’t say anything except, “Come in.”

Grant drew his foot from the door. It shut. Jordan was on his way to the couch. Paul was on his way to the bar.

“No drinks, thanks,” he said, and he and Grant sat down.

“I’ll have one,” Jordan said. “How did you get in?”

“Florian,” he said. Leveling with Jordan was the best policy, if it was something that obvious. “Sorry about that, but if they’re killing off people on Thieu’s social list, I wanted to be sure you were all right. What in hell’s going on?”

He had Jordan at rare disadvantage. And with a clank of glasses and two fast jets from the dispenser behind the bar, Paul was rapidly preparing a distraction.

“Dad.”

“Oh, cut the ‘Dad,’ boy.”

“Well, I try. I’m here. Patil called mebefore she died.”

“Florian’s out there?”

“I figured he wouldn’t add to the social setting. Yes, damned right I called security. Dr. Patil was upset. She wanted me to go down the hall and get you. She said she had my number and called me because she couldn’t get through to you.”