by T. C. Edge
I glanced around the room as a few of the ladies spotted me. One or two raised questioning eyebrows, but were quickly drawn back to their work. I resumed my search and found my target - Mr Beecham, currently in his office to one side, speaking to the junior managers.
It was a lucky break, perhaps. I darted forward, keeping low and out of sight of his window, until I came upon my other workstation. After spending the night engaged in something that gave me such joy, it felt profoundly depressing to be planting myself down here for the duration of the day.
"Busy night?"
I looked at Becca, dutifully in position already. Her eyes held a framing of worry and, if I wasn't mistaken, rebuke. There was something of my mother in that look and tone of voice. Please don't say I'd just created another of those...
"Long night," I whispered back with a pant, wiping some sweat from my forehead. "Has Beecham done his count yet?"
She nodded.
"Damn it."
"I tried to cover for you," she said, "but I didn't know where you were. If I'd have known you'd be only ten minutes late I might have come up with something different."
"Right. And what did you say?"
"That you were ill," she said, shrugging. "Couldn't think of anything else. I came to your room and knocked, but you weren't there." Her eyes shifted left and right. "I assumed you were, you know, busy with something. I didn't know when you'd turn up so I just said you were sick."
"And he accepted that?"
"He said the doctor would need to go and verify it, but I guess, yeah."
"OK, OK, I can work with that. Thanks Becs, you're a life-saver."
"Well, don't think it comes free. You know the deal, Paige. I want all the gossip later."
I rolled my eyes playfully. "Fine. You've earned it. And boy do I have a story to tell."
She brimmed excitedly, almost enough to mess up as she packed a deluxe box. It wasn't like her to make mistakes. "A preview at lunch maybe?" she asked. "Just a teaser?"
"I'll think about it," I told her. Some movement to the side caught my eye, as Mr Beecham stepped out of his side office with the other floor managers. "If I'm still in the job, that is," I added.
Mr Beecham said a few final words to the little group as they dispersed. Then his eyes found me, falling behind a frown, and he marched right over.
I fell into character, placing an expression of mild discomfort on my face, and making sure I looked tired and unwell - which, I have to say, wasn't much of a challenge that morning. I glanced at Becca again and spoke through my teeth. "Did you say what sort of illness?" I asked quickly.
"Er, nothing specific," she said. "Just you were feeling sick."
"And you said you saw me, face to face? I need to get my story straight."
"Yeah. I told him you opened the door and were all wrapped up and then told me you couldn't come in. He put me on the spot. It was all I could think of."
I nodded and turned back, just as Mr Beecham approached. That frown held, displaying his confusion, his beady eyes questioning as they looked at me.
"Good morning, Paige, I was told you were sick today?" He looked to Becca. "Did Rebecca get it wrong?"
"No, I did," I said, putting on a slight croak to my voice. "I thought it was worse than it was, Mr Beecham. I decided it wasn't and, well, I didn't want to lose the credits."
"You know the policy, Paige. You cannot risk passing on your illness to the other workers."
"It's fine, really. I'm just tired, that's all." I pushed a weary sounding breath through my lungs. "The Skytube works are still going on, Mr Beecham. The lack of sleep has just built up."
He looked at me closely. My eyes certainly backed up the lie. I hadn't slept much, after all, and was feeling it. A lot of what I was saying, actually, could be considered true.
"You said you were going to get noise cancellers," he said. "I..." He looked around and lowered his voice. His words were for me alone. "I let a few things slip, if you'll recall, to help you buy a pair, Paige. Don't tell me you spent that money elsewhere. Over the weekend, perhaps?" he added with a suggestive, scolding tone.
"No, I did buy a pair," I lied. I sighed regretfully. "But they were faulty. I haven't had a chance to get them replaced yet. I'm sorry, Mr Beecham. I told Becca I was ill but, I can't afford to miss work. It's just fatigue, really. I won't infect anyone."
I smiled at him in as lighthearted a way as I could. I was used to putting on this sort of performance with Mr Beecham, especially in recent weeks, but I could tell that my charms were just starting to wear off. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but eventually he might work out that something wasn't adding up with me.
If that happened, he'd have the authority to recommend me for evaluation. That would involve various types of testing to determine my suitability for the position, as well as medical testing which could very well expose me. I couldn't let that happen.
This had to be it. My last mistake.
"Well, sick or not, it might be wise to have the doctor check you over. You may not be capable of working today if you're that tired, Paige."
"No, I am, I am," I said. "I promise, no mistakes. Not one." My eyes were earnest, pleading for a nod. "I'm told the works are finishing up soon, and I'll get those noise cancellers sorted out. You won't have to come over here again, except to praise me for doing such a good job."
I allowed my face to flourish into a smile, banishing some of the fatigue that clearly clung to my eyes. The lighter expression seemed to do the job, helping convince him that I could perform at my best. He thought things over a moment, perhaps wondering whether to dock me a credit or two for tardiness. In the end, he just nodded and said, "last chance, Paige. One more issue and I'll have no choice. I'll have to put you forward for evaluation."
I nodded and yet refrained from showing any overt gratitude for the favour.
"OK," he said more loudly, "now back to work." He leaned in. "And no more mistakes."
I let out a long, drawn out breath as he turned and walked away, and turned my attention right back to the boxes. I started packing immediately. I wanted to not only make no mistakes, but bring in a good personal quota today.
"Close one," Becca said quietly, as I set right into my work. "You have a real way with him."
"My luck won't last forever, Becs," I said. I looked up at her. "You will look out for me today, won't you? Make sure I make no mistakes?"
"Of course. That's the bargain."
"Thanks," I said, smiling sweetly.
"So..." She glanced around, as though wanting to find out immediately what had happened to me, but realised this wasn't the time or the place.
"Later, Becs," I said. "Let's just get through the day first."
"The Skytube line," Becca said, nodding as we sat in my unit, munching on some chocolate that formed the other part of our deal. "That's what did it."
I looked at her from my chair, a little confused at first. "What do you mean?"
"The reason you slept through," she said, sitting on my bed and leaning against the wall. "You're used to hearing the Skytube works starting early in the morning. Your body clock is accustomed to it, so you wake up on time for work. You know, like clockwork. This safe-house is further away in the district, so it won't have disturbed you, right? Your body clock was messed up."
"I guess so," I said.
"Probably has something to do with, well, everything else as well," she added quickly. I'd caught her up on everything by now, so she was fully informed. "I mean, all that drama. I can't believe you tried to face a Reaper alone." She shook her head and blinked a few times. "I...I might never have seen you again, Paige."
"No no, don't go doing that," I said.
She wiped her eyes and sniffed. "What?"
"That. Crying. I have my mum for that, for making me feel guilty. Not you as well, Becs."
"OK, first, I'm not crying. I have something in my eye." She brushed a section of wavy, mousy brown hair from her forehead. "And se
cond, I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I'm just saying, you might have been killed. What came over you to do that?"
"Anger," I said. "History. It felt significant to me. It was like, I represented the Variants, and he represented those trying to hunt and kill us. I felt compelled to stop running and turn, Becs. That was it. Enough was enough. I dunno, it's like that's what's happening with the VLA as well. They have their backs against the wall, and they have no choice but to stand and fight. It seems like they're gearing up for something big."
"Like what?" Becca asked. "You think they're going to try to overthrow the Controller or something? Take control of the city for themselves?"
"I don't know if it's that big," I told her. "The Controller's too powerful for that. I don't think the VLA have the numbers. Sounds like they have their work cut out with Mantis and his gang alone."
"And this weapon that Ford mentioned to you? Mantis has information about that, right?"
I shrugged. "So he says. I don't know really. I haven't been told much."
"Well you should be, damn it," she said, sitting up on the bed and slapping her hand down on the blanket. "If you're designing tech for them, the least they can do is tell you what's going on." She seemed to have a thought. "You should hold them to ransom" she said, nodding. "Only work if you're given all the details. Full clearance."
I grinned. "Chill, Becs. I'm brand new. I can't be expected to be brought right into their inner circle. They have to learn to trust me first."
"Come on. They all knew your dad. They can trust you."
"I'm sure they can, and do. But, still. Whatever they have planned for Mantis, it's probably not too smart to go spreading around quite yet. Anyway, sounds like they're still deciding how to get him. I'm not sure there's much more to tell."
"Well, why not just storm his hideout or something? How many gang members does he have. What did you say they were called again?"
"Bugs."
"Right. How many of them?"
"Hundreds, apparently."
She raised her eyes. "Wow, OK. And how many members are there in the VLA? You know, proper soldiers who can fight?"
I shrugged. "No idea."
"No idea at all?"
"Honestly? Not really. If I had to guess, I'd definitely say less than Mantis has. Maybe they've got hundreds of members, but actual soldiers?" I shook my head. "I don't know, could be as few as dozens, or as much as a hundred or more. I honestly don't know."
"Right. Well, that's something you really should know," Becs said. "I mean, especially if you're going to help manufacture weapons and armour and stuff like that. You need to know numbers, right?"
I nodded. She was right on that point. "I'll ask him next time," I said.
"And when is next time, exactly?"
"Tuesday, he told me. Tuesday night at some point, after work."
"Tomorrow? OK, perfect. I want to be there too. I want to meet this guy."
"Becs..."
"No, come on. I can help. I can...I don't know, maybe I can ask some of the tougher questions that you don't feel comfortable with? Take some of the pressure off you."
"Well, to be honest, I don't really feel pressure with Ford. He's been very open with me. We just haven't got to certain things yet. I don't think he's necessarily trying to purposely hide things from me or anything."
She looked at me, not seeming so sure. I rather liked it, actually. She had my back. It was good to have someone I trusted implicitly in my corner. "Either way," she said after a pause, "I'd like to meet him officially. It can't hurt to get a second opinion on someone, right? Maybe I'll see something that you've missed?"
I knew Becca well enough by now to know that she was quite good at forcing an issue. Eventually, she'd wear me down and get her way on this. And, frankly, I was being fully candid with her by this point, so there seemed little reason to deny her.
"Fine," I said eventually. "You can meet him, but only for a bit. I also want some time alone with him..."
"Oh, do you?" Her expression became all inappropriately suggestive. "I see. So it's like that."
"Shut up Becca. I just need to discuss certain things in private."
"Quite the reaction," she grinned. "Touched a nerve, have I?"
I had no answer that wouldn't lead to her teasing me further, so decided to stay quiet.
"I couldn't blame you," she went on. "I saw him among that little crowd, after all. Looked delicious."
"Delicious? Please, your love life is as non existent as mine."
"But my imagination is fully active," she retorted, with a smile that belied her rather bookish appearance. "Just promise me one thing."
I sighed. "Yes? What now?"
"If something does happen with Ford, you'll tell me all about that as well..."
The way she said it, and looked at me when she did, had me breaking into laughter. She had an amusing way to her, this sort of incongruous quality with where her mind went, and how she looked, that could be quite disarming. A lot of the things she said were only appropriate for private conversation, and I was the only real friend with whom she could share who she truly was.
In a way, I liked it. I had her fiendish little mind all to myself. She was the perfect person to help balance out the seriousness of my life, with a bit of lighthearted fun and humour when we shared these evenings alone.
But, that evening I had other things to see to. Though I remained rather tired, I knew I had to push through. Ford would be returning tomorrow night, and I wanted to deliver some progress. The previous night, before I'd passed out, had been highly productive. Another night like that, and I might well crack it.
A few hours before bed, I told myself. I looked at the clock as it ticked towards 8 pm. I could work until midnight, and still get enough sleep.
I made the decision and ran with it. And as Becca retired to her unit, so I retired to the safe-house.
And back to the heady delights of my workstation.
16
Becca was pacing behind me, evidently excited. Back and forward she went, scouring every corner of the room again and again.
She'd been like that for the last hour or so, every part of this place so interesting to her. The secret compartments and workstation. The high tech computer and holographic systems that were common in Northbank, but not so much around here. The various parts and tools that I worked with. The network of cameras that had been hacked and added to the security feed. It was a playground for her eyes and imagination as much as it was mine.
"Anything?" I asked, as I sat at my workstation, looking through a magnifier as I fiddled with tiny parts.
She stopped pacing and turned to the screen. "Not that I can see," she said. "Which direction would he come from again?"
"Probably the east. Keep an eye on cameras 14 and 18. He'll be in a trench coat most likely."
"Right. And how are things going there? Getting close?"
It wasn't an easy question to answer really. The process of design was a matter of trial and error and incremental improvements. I might think I was just around the corner from a breakthrough, before finding that I remained a long way off when I ran a simulation and it failed to work.
So far, I hadn't quite cracked the code, but was sniffing a breakthrough any moment.
"I'm always close, Becs," I said in the end.
I put my head down for the next ten or so minutes, glancing at the clock occasionally. It was about half an hour from curfew, and Ford still hadn't arrived. Becca was growing worried that he'd only come after I forced her out. While we had our agreement, one thing wasn't up for debate - she had to be back in her unit by curfew, without fail. I wasn't going to shift on that one right now.
I heard her stepping over towards me, as I continued to work. Her fingers began inspecting the various parts and tools on the table, disrupting my flow.
"Becca, do you mind?" I said, glancing up at her with knitted brows. "Can't you just settle down. You haven't stopped since we got here."
"I can't sit when I'm nervous, you know that." She picked up another tool, an especially dangerous one if used incorrectly, and began examining it casually. "What does this one do?"
I reached out and snatched it away from her, though with some measure of care. "It emits a high intensity beam that would cut your fingers off if you're not careful," I said. "I told you that already."
"Oh, right. The one you use for precision welding. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Just let me work, OK."
She considered my plea a moment, but didn't step away. "What's the rush anyway? You've been so tense the last couple of hours."
"No rush," I said. "I'm just...this is what I'm like when I work. I don't do it with anyone else around usually. I'm not good with distractions."
"Oh, I can understand that," she said, slightly apologetically. "You need to concentrate. Sorry, but it's just fascinating watching you, you know. I don't even know what any of this is. I literally have no idea what you're doing right now. What are you designing again?" she asked, looking closely at the assortment of tiny microchips on the table.
I'd told her already, but I don't think she was listening too closely, distracted by the other wonders of the unit at the time.
I let out a sigh. "They're V-Sig chips," I said, with a slight measure of exasperation. "They hide my Variant signature from the scanners."
"Oh right, like the one I found under your workstation at the warehouse." She nodded. "So you're producing them for other Variants, to help them hide in the system?"
"They can be used for that, yes. But mainly I'm trying to make it so that they can't be detected by ill-tech scanners."
"Oh, right, of course. So you don't have to take it off at work, and can just wear it all the time?"
"Exactly. I'm trying to make it as small as possible so it's harder to spot with the naked eye as well. I might even make some that can be injected into the body to conceal them completely. There are a few things I'm playing with. It's pretty fun."