Read Online Cyteen: The Betrayal by C. J. Cherryh - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: C. J. Cherryh
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Space Opera, Cloning, Women, Emory; Ariane (Fictitious Character), Cyteen (Imaginary Place)
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Earth.
Cyteen finds such projects of interest too, for the future. But the present emphasis in terraforming and recovery is far more concerned with the immediate problems in large-scale atmospheric changes, and the problems of interface zones, high salinity, and trace minerals in Swigert Bay, at the delta of the heavily-colonized Novaya Volga, which offers the most favorable conditions for large-scale marine aquaculture …
CHAPTER 2
i.
Reseune from the air was a patch of green in the deep valley of the Novaya Volga, a protected, lowlying strip stretching yearly longer on the riverside, white buildings at the last, and the AG pens, the barracks, the sprawling complex of Reseune proper spread out under the left-side window that was always hers. Ariane Emory latched up her papers, quite on schedule as the gear came down and Florian appeared beside her seat to take temporary custody of her personal kit.
She kept the briefcase.
Always.
The jet touched down, concrete coming up under the delta wings; it braked, taxiing to a gentle stop at Reseune terminal as ground crews swung into action, personnel transport, baggage crews, cleaning crews, mechanics, a crisp and easy operation from decontamination to docking that matched anything Novgorod could muster.
They were all azi, all staff born to Reseune. Their training went far beyond what Novgorod counted sufficient. But that was true of most Reseune personnel.
They were known faces, known types, and everything about them was in the databanks.
For the first time in days Ariane Emory felt herself secure.
The Security hand-off had gone smoothly enough, control passing to Reseune offices the moment the word reached Giraud Nye’s office that RESEUNE ONE had left the ground at Novgorod-with no more than an hour’s advance warning. Ari’s movements were usually sudden and unscheduled, and she did not always give advance notice even to him, who was head of Reseune Security-but this was a record suddenness.
“Advise the staff,” he had told Abban, his own bodyguard, who did that, quickly, seeing to the transfer of logs and reports. He called his brother Denys, in Administration, and Denys advised Wing One as soon as the plane was on final approach.
The last was routine, the standard procedure on Ariane’s returns, whenever RESEUNE ONE came screaming in and Ariane Emory settled into the place that was hers, in her wing, in her residency.
The word had come on yesterday’s news that the Hope project had been tabled, and the stock market had reacted with a shock that might well run the length and width of space, although analysts called it a procedural delay. The good news was a tiny piece following, with biographical clip provided from Science Bureau files, that an obscure chemist on Fargone had been afforded Special status: that bill, at least, had gone through. And the Council had wrapped up in a marathon session that had extended on into the small hours: more ripples in the interstellar stock market, which loathed uncertainties more than it disliked sudden reverses of policy. The news bureaus of every polity in Union had held a joint broadcast of commentary and analysis, preempting scheduled morning broadcasts, senior legislative reporters doing their best to offer interpretations, frustrated in the refusal of even opposition Councillors to grant interviews.
The leader of the Abolitionist faction in the Centrist coalition had granted one: Ianni Merino, his white hair standing out in its usual disorder, his face redder and his rhetoric more extreme than ever, had called for a general vote of confidence of the entire Council and threatened secession from the Centrist party. He did not have the votes to do the one: he might well do the other, and Giraud Nye had sat listening to that, knowing more than the commentators and still wondering along with the news bureaus just what kind of deal had been struck and why Mikhail Corain had been willing to go along with it.
A
Cyteen finds such projects of interest too, for the future. But the present emphasis in terraforming and recovery is far more concerned with the immediate problems in large-scale atmospheric changes, and the problems of interface zones, high salinity, and trace minerals in Swigert Bay, at the delta of the heavily-colonized Novaya Volga, which offers the most favorable conditions for large-scale marine aquaculture …
CHAPTER 2
i.
Reseune from the air was a patch of green in the deep valley of the Novaya Volga, a protected, lowlying strip stretching yearly longer on the riverside, white buildings at the last, and the AG pens, the barracks, the sprawling complex of Reseune proper spread out under the left-side window that was always hers. Ariane Emory latched up her papers, quite on schedule as the gear came down and Florian appeared beside her seat to take temporary custody of her personal kit.
She kept the briefcase.
Always.
The jet touched down, concrete coming up under the delta wings; it braked, taxiing to a gentle stop at Reseune terminal as ground crews swung into action, personnel transport, baggage crews, cleaning crews, mechanics, a crisp and easy operation from decontamination to docking that matched anything Novgorod could muster.
They were all azi, all staff born to Reseune. Their training went far beyond what Novgorod counted sufficient. But that was true of most Reseune personnel.
They were known faces, known types, and everything about them was in the databanks.
For the first time in days Ariane Emory felt herself secure.
The Security hand-off had gone smoothly enough, control passing to Reseune offices the moment the word reached Giraud Nye’s office that RESEUNE ONE had left the ground at Novgorod-with no more than an hour’s advance warning. Ari’s movements were usually sudden and unscheduled, and she did not always give advance notice even to him, who was head of Reseune Security-but this was a record suddenness.
“Advise the staff,” he had told Abban, his own bodyguard, who did that, quickly, seeing to the transfer of logs and reports. He called his brother Denys, in Administration, and Denys advised Wing One as soon as the plane was on final approach.
The last was routine, the standard procedure on Ariane’s returns, whenever RESEUNE ONE came screaming in and Ariane Emory settled into the place that was hers, in her wing, in her residency.
The word had come on yesterday’s news that the Hope project had been tabled, and the stock market had reacted with a shock that might well run the length and width of space, although analysts called it a procedural delay. The good news was a tiny piece following, with biographical clip provided from Science Bureau files, that an obscure chemist on Fargone had been afforded Special status: that bill, at least, had gone through. And the Council had wrapped up in a marathon session that had extended on into the small hours: more ripples in the interstellar stock market, which loathed uncertainties more than it disliked sudden reverses of policy. The news bureaus of every polity in Union had held a joint broadcast of commentary and analysis, preempting scheduled morning broadcasts, senior legislative reporters doing their best to offer interpretations, frustrated in the refusal of even opposition Councillors to grant interviews.
The leader of the Abolitionist faction in the Centrist coalition had granted one: Ianni Merino, his white hair standing out in its usual disorder, his face redder and his rhetoric more extreme than ever, had called for a general vote of confidence of the entire Council and threatened secession from the Centrist party. He did not have the votes to do the one: he might well do the other, and Giraud Nye had sat listening to that, knowing more than the commentators and still wondering along with the news bureaus just what kind of deal had been struck and why Mikhail Corain had been willing to go along with it.
A
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