by Sean Platt
“That’s absurd.”
“It’s a fine line. If you can’t make what you need and have to cut down on your rejuvenation because then you’ll lose your ability to earn what you need. That will cause a need to cut down more. Of course you’ll make less. Because nobody wants to screw an old escort.”
Kai was a bundle of nerves. “Fuck you.”
“I’m offering you a way out of the downward cycle. Right now, I’d guess you’re on the lip of a vortex. One bad month, and you’ll tip down and won’t stop falling until you hit the bottom. Work for me, and the base stipend — not a Directorate dole but something you’ll be able to augment however you like — will set you up for the rest of your life. You’ll command higher fees for your extracurricular assignments, even outside of O, with real rejuvenation treatments. There are things out there you can’t imagine, Kai. You won’t have to give O a cut of your earnings. You’ll orbit in my circle — people who will make your current clients look like paupers.”
“I’m not going to kill anyone.”
Micah snickered and sat back in the chair. He took another puff from his diminishing cigarette. “That’s three times.”
She stared at him, furious. She wanted to hate him. She wanted, in fact, to leap across the small table and claw his eyes from their sockets. But everything he’d said was true, and even the thought of an end to her fear and self-imposed slavery felt like a giant rock lifted from her chest. If only she could get past the idea of killing. If she could just realize that she’d already killed people who’d had it coming. If she did that, she could have access to more credits than she’d ever earned through a lifetime of toil. If only he’d agree to a few guidelines, it might work. Might.
“No kids,” she said.
“Is that a yes?”
“Nobody I know. Nobody who is, within a reasonable degree of obvious certainty, a victim. No one weak or who has otherwise done no harm.”
“You’re an awfully picky assassin.”
“No more than two a year. I don’t want information on them, other than who they are and where to find them. If I recognize someone you assign me, I walk, and you find someone else.”
“One bridge at a time.” Micah leaned forward and pushed the envelope an inch closer.
Kai looked at the envelope. “And I’ll only commit to one year.”
“Five.”
“Two.”
“Four. And don’t say ‘three.’ My final offer is four.”
“What happens after four years?”
“If you want to walk, you walk. But you won’t.”
Kai looked into Micah’s steely gray eyes then at the envelope. Four years wasn’t that long. He was wrong; she would walk. Four years was 4 million credits even without the sideline work. Kai was shrewd and used to living on next to nothing. The surplus, invested correctly, would feed her forever even if she let her rejuvenation slip and allowed herself to grow old.
But because his look was daring, Kai found herself saying, “Why won’t I walk after four years?”
“Because you won’t know until you’re one of us what you’ve been missing. And I know you because you’re like me. Once you see what you can have, you’ll want more.”
“More of what?”
“You’ve heard of the Beau Monde?”
Kai nodded. The rumored ultra-upper class, which no one talked about.
“Stay with me, and you will join it. I promise. And when that happens, you will have more than you could ever dream…and more than that, you will be onboard when the world changes.”
“Changes how?”
Micah took a final puff then snuffed his cigarette. He bent forward then rolled his eyes up to look at Kai. Again, he nudged the envelope forward.
“Four years,” she said. “No more.”
She reached for the envelope.
Micah watched her slide her finger under the flap, preparing to open it.
“We’ll see,” he said.
Kai supposed she could have forced her way into Micah’s office after being denied (she’d gotten into Isaac’s apartment, after all), but even though the whole point was to convey dramatic effect, it seemed so rude to break and enter while the place was occupied. So instead she gripped his secretary’s blouse tighter at the neck, held her another inch in the air, and said, “Tell him I don’t want to wait.”
Kai couldn’t decide what it meant that Micah had a human secretary. A canvas reception program could have done the job better, and having a Directorate employee working for Enterprise’s PR front man seemed odd. But Micah was a complex man with complicated motivations, and it was entirely possible that he had a secretary specifically so he could have someone to yell at. Maybe it was his way of keeping his boot on the opposing party’s neck, abusing them in a distant sort of way by forcing one of their own to do his bidding.
“I told you,” said the dangling receptionist, “he’s in a meeting!”
The woman had light-blonde hair, looked midforties, and was decidedly homely. Kai wondered at that, too. Micah had never come onto Kai despite her attempts through the years, and she’d never seen him express significant affection or lust toward the bits of arm candy he’d brought along to formal occasions. And here he’d gotten himself an ugly secretary. Kai had never outright asked Micah if he was gay or asexual, but she strongly doubted both. It was far more likely that he had tons of sexual energy but somehow channeled it into other sorts of powers. Release, to Micah, would require a loss of control.
“Wake him up,” said Kai.
“I said he’s in a meeting.” The woman had a nameplate on her rather uninteresting Beam desk. It was Julia. Under Kai’s small but powerful fist, one of Julia’s blouse buttons broke away.
“Wake him from this ‘meeting.’”
“I don’t know what you’re…”
Kai rolled her eyes, interrupting the woman’s protests. “Say ‘canvas.’”
“Canvas!”
Julia’s desk chirped. Julia opened her mouth out of habit, but Kai answered first.
“Tell Micah Ryan he has a visitor.”
A soft female voice — the voice of Micah’s true assistant, who rendered the fleshbag in Kai’s fist redundant and useless — said, “Who may I say is here?”
“One seriously impatient bitch.”
There was a pause, and Kai realized it was registering her vocal pattern from Micah’s records. Three seconds later, the canvas said, “One moment.”
Micah’s office door opened. His usually perfect hair was disheveled from the skull cap on the high-end immersion rig he’d been using to “meet” whomever he’d been meeting — something Kai knew because her heat map had told her he was alone in his office. The device Micah had been using would be like Isaac’s rig: something Kai should know because she belonged to the Beau Monde instead of only knowing because she’d been kept out of the Beau Monde and tortured on one by Micah’s men.
He looked at Kai then at the secretary. He seemed completely unconcerned with all the holding aloft and rudeness in the air.
“Kitty. What a pleasant surprise.”
“I’d like to talk.”
“Of course. Can you please release my secretary?”
Kai looked at Julia, considered apologizing, then set her down without a word. Maybe she should say something, and maybe she shouldn’t, but Kai was an annoyed killer, and the woman had made the mistake of being in her way. She should be thanking Kai for not doing worse. But instead, as the woman settled back behind her desk, she tugged at the place where her button had popped off and glared at Kai with scorn. Kai knew the look. It was indignation. Indignation lit the eyes of so many Directorate do-nothings. People like Julia loved to sue others for perceived injustices and never seemed willing to take responsibility for their own actions. Luckily, lawsuits seldom left the starting gate in Enterprise. People called it a party of wolves, but at least wolves solved their problems without tattling to Mommy.
Once they were in the offic
e with the door closed, Kai composed her face, trying to decide whether or not to sit. It was moot. Micah dominated their meetings no matter what she did, no matter how confrontational she felt. And now they were on his turf, making it all the more pointless to try for the upper hand. Symbols of Micah’s power were everywhere. The far wall seemed to be entirely absent. The painting of Christ on his geometrically rendered cross set the room’s mood. Micah himself, hair now back in place and wearing an elegant suit that must have cost tens of thousands of credits, was pulling one of his outrageously priced cigarettes from a box and parking it between his handsome lips. She had an odd moment of long-overdue déjà vu, suddenly aware of how little had changed between them in twenty long years. Which, of course, was why she was here in the first place.
“What can I do for you?” said Micah. His tone sounded almost amused. It put color in Kai’s cheeks. She felt her hands scratch at her faux leather pants, wanting to clench.
“I did what you wanted,” she said.
He looked at her, seemingly curious. Kai realized she was going to have to say it aloud. The thought made her suddenly nervous. What might Micah know that she wasn’t giving him credit for? He’d always been three steps ahead of her…but then, the years had also taught her a few tricks.
“I killed Doc Stahl for you,” she continued.
“You did. Thank you.”
“I assume you remember my objections to doing it.”
“I do.”
“To say I was ‘conflicted’ is an understatement.”
“A bit.”
“I thought you were a son of a bitch. A piece of shit. I considered running. I tried to figure out if there was a way I could kill you instead.”
Micah sat behind his desk then leaned back in the chair and casually lit his cigarette. He looked like they were discussing gardening or the local sports team. “Interesting,” he said.
Kai watched his maddening smile, feeling long-buried resentment percolate through the rocky defenses she’d erected over the years. She’d never pretended to be psychologically healthy; she knew she was broken inside and had merely found ways to cope and bury all that she could. Layers of crap seemed to be coming back: her hard life as a teen, horrors witnessed and perpetrated, the sense that her youth had been stolen like a wallet, and then the way she’d filled the holes in her person with the spackle of artificial youth. The weight of Kai’s due was upon her, and here was this man, mocking it. He’d saved her after she’d already saved herself. He’d made promises that were never delivered. He’d turned her from a defensive killer into a cold-blooded assassin, responsible for mopping his filthy messes. He’d paid her well, but promises once made had been repeatedly broken — and worse, some of the promises weren’t even offered although they should have been because he’d kept Kai in the dark, treating her like an idiot toy.
She’d swallowed too much of her rage. She felt resentment everywhere, all over her body. So she crossed to Micah’s polished desk and planted her hands on its top, tired of playing the obedient little girl.
She forced her face to hold its composure. “I want what I’m owed,” she said.
“What are you owed? I believe I’m current.” He chuckled.
“Don’t fuck with me, Micah!”
He’d used a heavy table lighter to spark his cigarette. It was antiquated, probably close to two hundred years old. She picked it up and threw it hard at his head. Micah dodged, the lighter hit the back of his chair, and then, blessedly, his composed complacency was gone.
“I see,” he said. His steely eyes were on hers, holding them like he would a crazy woman’s with a loaded gun. “Start over, Kai. I’m listening.”
“Doc was a friend of mine.” She fought to keep the edge in her voice, afraid that her tone might somehow betray her deception. “You didn’t just kill him. You made me do it. And what was the promise you made?”
“That it was either him or both of you.”
“Not that promise,” she hissed. She’d almost forgotten that bit of treachery, and his mind going there now made her want to hurt him. Kai doubted she could kill him — Micah was prepared, important, and paranoid enough to have plenty of safeguards in place at all times — but maybe she could make him feel some of the pain he was owed.
“Advancement,” he said.
She stalked to his side of the desk. He held his ground, body language opened in the other direction, retreating without retreat.
“Yes. Advancement. Advancement into the Beau Monde. Something you promised me when we met, twenty years ago.”
“It’s on the cusp.”
“Oh, it’s always on the cusp. That’s the problem with your promises. They’re like the horizon. You can only pretend to be making progress toward them, but they’re always moving as fast as you are.”
“I’ve taken good care of you.”
“I’ve taken care of myself.”
“You’d still be working for O. Still on the edge, barely scraping by.” Micah’s hands were tipped up on his wrists, almost in apology. His brain didn’t seem to know that he should act more conciliatory, but somehow his hands did. It was a halfway gesture and a more genuine reaction than Kai had seen from Micah’s meticulous composure in years.
“I’d be running O,” she said.
“Don’t act like I haven’t kept promises. Your pay has gone up every year. I’ve been more than generous.”
“Do you think I needed you, Micah? You said yourself that I was the kind of person who would have made it anywhere. If it wasn’t you who’d given me an opportunity, it would have been someone else. You’ve paid me, yes. But so fucking what? I didn’t join you for the money. I joined because of what you said you could give me beyond credits. No matter how big my account balances grow, I’m always a mile away, right? I can’t earn my way to what you and Isaac have. I know you have another level of access to…to everything…that even rich people like me don’t have. Isaac. Do you hear me?”
The way she’d said “Isaac” triggered something in Micah. They’d spent twenty years together, and most of those years had been wonderful. They’d fought, but Micah was the father Kai had never had and was self-aware enough to know it. Girls fought with their fathers, and there were days when they hated their fathers. But they loved them, too.
Micah sighed. He took a step toward Kai, and in the moment, it felt like an act of faith. Kai didn’t need weapons to end lives, and nobody knew it better than him.
Micah’s hand found the outside of her right arm and cupped it. His other arm pointed into the center of the office where there were three chairs in a rough circle.
“Sit,” he said. “Please.”
After a moment, her anger drained as his attitude changed. Micah waited for Kai to compose herself in one of the chairs then brushed his suit jacket and sat across from her.
“What do you know about Isaac?” he asked.
“I’ve been in his apartment.” She felt reckless saying what was tantamount to confessing a break-in, seeing as there would be no reason for her to visit Isaac at home (let alone for him to have his toys out and powered up around a lower-99er), but Kai was past caring. They’d shared blood and life and death, and spreading face-up cards between them was long overdue.
“And?”
“I’ve seen what he has. What he’s been given.”
Micah sighed, conceding her point. They’d had many discussions about Micah’s brother. Isaac had been dragged along by virtue of being a Ryan — son of Rachel, brother of Micah, held up by the hard work of two fighters — but left to his own devices would have accomplished nothing. Yet he had everything that Kai had always wanted, had fought for, and now knew she’d been missing. Kai watched Micah, and saw him sympathize.
“Beau Monde technology,” he said.
“So you admit it.”
“Of course I admit it. I admitted it the first time we met. Every society has had its haves and its have-nots. There is always a gulf. Selfishness drives human behavio
r. ‘All for one, and one for all’ is pretty, but it never works in the trenches. Reality is closer to ‘good enough for you, but much more for me.’ There’s not enough room in the world for everyone to thrive; that’s what nobody is ever willing to admit. Some will always be on the bottom. At each level, some people will want to do better for themselves, and that means leaving others behind. For those at the very top, who hold all the strings, the ability to do better is magnified. We have the ability to not only do better — but to do ‘better and better.’ We know the wheel always comes around, so we know we need to separate ourselves. To insure that there is always more than enough for us, no matter how upset those below us may someday become about it.”
“That’s guillotine talk,” Kai said.
“It’s how things are. Someone always wants something. You know that better than most. You earned your way into O’s highest tier. But what happened? Did you get to settle in? Or did the fight become harder once you were top dog?”
Kai thought. It most certainly had never been easy. Her standard of living had improved without question, but other girls had always reached up from below, determined to drag her down. She lost many former friends — women who apparently believed that misery loved company — and had gained too many enemies. Some had shown their faces, but most had stayed in shadows.
“People like you and me will always want more,” Micah said. “It’s not a bad thing, and you can never let anyone tell you it is. Selfishness drives the world, pushes it forward. If people weren’t selfishly seeking more for themselves, we’d all settle into a Directorate mentality, content to plug in and immerse, watching vidstreams on The Beam, growing fat and stupid. You want for nothing; you have everything. But that doesn’t move society. Our initiative creates wealth and innovations. The slobs behind us will always want what we have once they see it, even though they’ve done nothing to prompt its birth. It’s a persistent human problem with only one solution.”
“Hide it.”
Micah nodded. “Hide it. Keep it a secret. Why not? It’s treasure to keep. We made it. We earned it. We built it. We’re not hoarding; we’re merely keeping what’s ours — and what others don’t deserve to take from us.”