Raima cleared her throat. “Good, but Hartford, Ltd., will have to negotiate with the Bureau for your remaining contract. They’ll fight hard, even if it’s only for six months. If we succeed, you’ll be dropped from the Corps.”
Looking past me to her father, Phoebe said nothing. Andrew shifted in his seat. We waited.
“I don’t think life could be much more demanding than what your mother and I dealt with in the early post-depression years.” David spoke only to his daughter. “Like you, we were controlled by the government. Then think about this—being coerced into arranged marriages, given a work assignment and placed out in housing far removed from other people.”
He paused, his voice cracking. “I found out that you would be born by a text message from the Bureau of Human Capital Management. I felt like a working dog.”
His story wasn’t new to me, but the facts he shared were meant for Phoebe.
“Your mother and I were not compatible in any way. The Bureau probably timed your birth because someone knew I had hit the wall. I was ready to bolt to China or anywhere that gave me more space to breathe, to find someone who wanted to be together.” He had her attention. “From what I see your life is worse, and I would give anything to change that.”
The rhetoric slowed our flow, appeared to annoy Raima.
“Every generation of gifted people has its difficulties to overcome,” she said while moving a ring on her right hand with her thumb. “As a nation we have a long history of underappreciating our intellectuals until the big guys saw a way to make a buck from their work. What I need to know before my transport arrives is what it will take to buy Phoebe a new job.”
With the late evening sun highlighting her curls and blurring the edges of her clothing, Phoebe appeared more like a thin column than a living creature. She returned to the window view.
“I would buy myself out of the contract if I could, but that isn’t directly allowed.” One hand raised to her forehead, pressed there briefly. I waited for signs of a new disturbance.
“The contract transfer language is oddly written. Others have said that no matter what an Intellectual Corps member wants to do with their work, all the power in our contracts favors perpetual employment by the Bureau or a chosen multi-corps.” Phoebe turned, leaned against the window, crossed one ankle over the other as she finished. “They say we were bred to work.”
Rising from his chair, Andrew walked to her side.
“Don’t go there, Phoebe.” He spoke as a peer, not a lesser intellectual. They may have had this conversation before as his voice implied he was reminding her of facts already discussed. “There are thousands of us who were genetically engineered. Somewhere out there the next generation of intellectuals is being created. But you chose the status; no one did that to you. Right?”
The way she looked at him told us all that we were now privy to one of their intimate disagreements. “You were too young to understand it was a horrible decision. But you did make it. Noah and I chose a different direction.”
David raised an eyebrow, perhaps surprised by Andrew’s direct words. The emotion between Phoebe and Andrew held me. I read the sadness of a former lover in Phoebe’s eyes. Raima read it also, her own sexuality responding to how close the two stood.
“Can we talk about what holds you to the Corps?” Raima tried once more to turn the conversation. “What do you know of your contract? How are you compensated?”
“We are paid one hundred fifty percent higher than the total compensation of the highest paid researcher, scientist, or engineer in our selected field.” She shared a figure. “In addition I’m paid for speeches, milestone achievements, and something called ‘hardship equities’ on a semi-annual basis, which usually matches my comp. All our living expenses are covered. I don’t know what that is worth.” Her eyes stayed focused on her feet as she answered Raima’s questions. Our daughter was paid dearly for her virtual slavery.
“I don’t spend anything. Everything is in a small bank Andrew suggested. I hoped some day I might find a way to fund something that would give me a way out,” she said without emotion. I understood what she meant because I’d had the same hope when I agreed to become a surrogate at the end of the Second Great Depression. Apparently those who designed essential employee compensation had not learned that the best people would eventually want their freedom and not merely more money.
David, a scientist paid handsomely during his government employment, looked at his daughter as if she spoke an ancient language he didn’t recognize. I felt sheepish about the amount of money I assembled to buy out her contract. Andrew’s smile told us he already knew that Phoebe was a very wealthy woman.
Raima whistled, a low foxy sound. “Woo-eee, woman, you are sitting high on those money bags. Do you have investments or is this all cash?”
“Andrew suggested I find a financial advisor and I did hire one, but typically I make my own investment decisions and use his office for administration. It’s not difficult if you understand the algorithms and a few rules.” Phoebe couldn’t relax. She focused on Raima.
“So a lot of it is liquid, some of it is in my room here and some is invested in both short-term and long-term instruments.” At which point David laughed.
“Are you comfortable sharing your Bureau contract with me?” Raima looked out the window for her transport.
Phoebe followed Raima’s gaze out the window, tapped her fingers against one leg. “The Intellectual Corps agreement is confidential.” She brought her eyes back to Raima. “Milan insisted I use an outside lawyer to review it, but she had to sign a confidentiality statement.”
“And so will I.” Raima had been present for most of Phoebe’s life, provided her with a place to stay in Minneapolis during her school years, and accompanied her to Boston for one set of college interviews. “I’m asking this as Hartford’s legal representative, but you can be assured that your best interests are the only reason this discussion is happening.”
“Of course.” Phoebe sat back, removed her data pad. “Let me transfer the documents you need. My actual lab contract is up for renewal at the end of October. They’ve offered extensive incentives for me to sign early, but I want a statement of continued exclusivity, which would forbid the reselling or re-assignment of my work to a third party without my consent.”
I wondered how Hartford, Ltd., could claim her as an exclusive employee. We were an insignificant company globally although we had national security status on the undeveloped water reclamation patents and our labs.
Licking her lips, Raima closed her data pad. “Send me the documents, Phoebe. Tonight if you can. There’s no time to waste.”
“The transport is here.” Phoebe held out a hand toward Raima. “Let me walk you out and we’ll talk.”
In the quiet, I wasn’t sure what to say to my son or husband. Family dynamics were shifting.
“Andrew—” David started. While Phoebe’s voice could not be heard through the windows, we all saw her stumble beside Raima and crouch down near the ground. Andrew made it out of the office building before us and held her as her body became limp.
“For Christ’s sake, this has got to end,” David spat out. “All her work could be rubbish.”
I squeezed David’s arm and bolted from my office. I would tell him later that his comments sparked Phoebe’s rescue strategy.
“Frances is on her way,” Raima said pointing to the estate gates. “What the hell is going on here, Anne?”
I knelt beside Andrew, hoping this crisis would be like the others and Phoebe would soon be released from whatever controlled her. She lay too still in his arms.
I touched Phoebe’s shoulder, felt her breathe, felt my anxiety and anger bloom together, “This is what I was describing earlier. Can you file a medical leave of absence request on Phoebe’s behalf during your ride back to the city?”
<
br /> Raima, queen of self-control, looked unglued in the middle of the unfolding situation. I moved aside for Frances.
Phoebe’s eyes fluttered open. She rolled to her side, hung her head over Andrew’s leg and threw up. “Call my cares, please. She’ll clean this . . .” Another rolling stream came from her mouth. Tears showed in the corners of her eyes as she raised a shaky fist toward her mouth. Andrew held her hand back and dabbed at her face with his sleeve.
“Raima, David said Phoebe’s work is questionable with these awful seizures.” I turned my back on my children, spoke low for only Raima’s hearing. “We’ll buy time for Phoebe. You can tear apart her contract. If Noah’s information is accurate, we’ll throw a wrench in the Chicago labs with the proof that at least one multi-corps is threatening national security work by supporting sabotage within the labs.”
Her eyebrows arched, acknowledging the brilliance of my plan while her mouth straightened with caution. Raima raised a hand with her thumb pointed upwards toward her transport driver. “Annie, you can’t dream of mixing it up in the Bureau labs. They’re a political hotbed with their own rules. Only the multi-corps have more lobbying power.”
Frances and Andrew helped Phoebe to her feet, but she sank again. “Everything’s spinning,” she said. “Vertigo.”
Motioning David to replace Frances, I pulled the doctor into our conversation. “Will you stand as the physician witness for Raima’s filing of a medical leave of absence for Phoebe?”
“I’ve started the forms already, but wanted to talk with Phoebe before I filed a report.” Frances checked her monitoring equipment. “My data pad is in the bag.”
Phoebe would be furious about interference with her work. She and David had been disciplined through their education into an obsessive need to solve scientific mysteries, give their best to the project at hand, and minimize personal issues. The Second Great Depression emblazoned “Work to Live” on everyone’s values beyond their toddler years, but those the government choose for special status seemed even more driven to meet a higher level of achievement.
It was difficult to leave Phoebe in the arms of Andrew, turn my back, and walk with Raima to her transport. My friend and attorney hesitated about driving back at this point and asked if she might stay overnight.
“If this is like the other attacks, Phoebe will be normal in an hour or so, unless another attack happens. It’s nothing any of us can change,” I explained, but saw the mixture of fear and anger in Raima’s eyes that remained focused on Phoebe.
“If we work this right, we can have her on medical leave within a few hours.” Raima turned her back to the threesome. “If Frances has an hour, I know how to get this done.” She dismissed the transport driver, then spoke to me in a low voice “And, I want to talk with you about the whole lab sabotage theory before you take a serious risk.”
Chapter 18
Hana became the symbol of my frustration with the entire Intellectual Corps. Never at Phoebe’s side in the middle of an attack, she lurked at windows and in doorways watching others care for her charge. Knowing she existed in my home made me uneasy.
“If you couldn’t find your way outside to help, I suggest you get the hell out of our way now.” The front hall magnified every angry nuance of my voice. “You are to go to your sleeping quarters until Phoebe requests your assistance. And stay out of the kitchen and foods.”
In Phoebe’s room, I gave my exhausted daughter a sponge bath before helping her into pajamas. She quieted as if keeping her mind clear of thoughts that might trigger another Ahlmet onslaught. When Frances arrived, she ordered Phoebe to bed with light sedation, connected to an assortment of monitors. Without discussion, Andrew established his intention to stay near Phoebe. I kissed the lined forehead above her worried eyes before I left to find Raima.
I missed standing at Phoebe’s side as her protector and nurturer. No one asked me to step in to those old roles so I left. Waiting for David to come back from Paul’s room, I updated Lao. His news about listening devices cleared from throughout the estate including Phoebe’s room wasn’t surprising. Then I called Milan who still carried legal authority to make decisions about Phoebe’s medical care.
The business suit he wore looked very formal by the day’s standards. The hologram caught him in a hotel suite, seated at a desk with one leg extended on a second chair.
“Milan, this is a difficult call.” Two days of drama layered on Paul’s decline and the Deshomm attempted takeover. I wanted peace.
“Paul or Phoebe?” His expression blended into his generic surroundings. “I’m guessing Phoebe.”
“There have been more serious seizures today. Frances has Phoebs sedated and monitored.”
“Should I make a stop at Ashwood?”
“Raima and Frances plan to file for an immediate medical leave. I think Frances is trying to convince Phoebe that her research could be compromised while these attacks continue.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
“So you are in the Cities.”
“Yes.” He volunteered nothing more. “With security issues on the estate roadways, I’d like to avoid a return trip to the city. Is there a spare bed at Ashwood?”
“Of course.” I sent a message to Amber as I sought clarification from Milan on the next steps. “Do you need to be involved with filing this request?”
“Technically I am the one to grant it, but I won’t do that without working with lab management.” He checked his communication band. “Annie, don’t get ahead of yourself. Frances and I have good sources helping us understand this cohort’s project.”
There was a knock at my bedroom door. “Nap in the transport, I have many things to discuss with you tonight—Hartford, Ltd., and the kids. Including Phoebe.”
“In an hour.” He tipped his head and left.
David, carrying two bottles of Ashwood ale, found me and we headed out for our favorite stroll through the orchards. With rabbits and birds and bugs, we enjoyed the uneven grassy walk. I found more solace under the leafy canopy than by the pond’s side. Paul’s favorite escape had been the grain fields, walking alone under wide skies like in the Dakotas.
“How is the mother of all these big, busy adults feeling?” He raised his bottle toward mine and we tapped glass.
“Like it’s been a long time since we actively parented so many.” Sorting through my feelings felt more like passing through a waterfall than lifting a series of cards from a tabletop. “They’re all in different places—John concentrating on career, Noah in transition, Faith eager to take the next step. Then there’s Phoebe.”
“Annie, you have your hands full with Hartford, Ltd., Let me worry about Phoebe and Faith. I know you’ll be successful with the business plan and that will give our kids options.” He pulled a long drink from his ale. “Sounds like you and Frances are on the same page about the leave. Never crossed my mind. Can they convince her to do it?”
“Milan is on his way.” His head turned my way. “Raima wanted him involved. He does hold power of attorney for Phoebe. Anyway, he plans to stay overnight to see Phoebe and confer with Frances and Raima. And hopefully us.”
A familiar disquiet developed between us. Milan’s government-appointed relationship made both of us uncomfortable. My confidante fell into that zone of a former spouse that a current spouse might not want mentioned, particularly in times of stress.
“David, you started me thinking about a way to get to the bottom of this Ahlmet-Phoebe connection. I’d like to use what we know to ignite an investigation within the Chicago labs about questionable activity among the multi-corps sponsoring Intellectual Corps research. The rules of confidentiality in each project are quite rigorous.” I held back Raima’s caution about challenging the labs, believing David to be more knowledgeable of internal politics in the big agencies.
His low whistle ba
cked up Raima’s skepticism. “Hartford, Ltd., could be destroyed if you piss off the wrong snake in that ugly nest.”
“So we hurry our restructuring and take advantage of the medical leave to define a role for Phoebe.” I dumped my ale, too wound up to enjoy its bitterness. “Then we find a communications agency willing to plant media information about tangled relationships within the lab structure. Phoebe may get some undesired exposure, but in her compromised condition with the right publicist she’d come off very sympathetic.”
Passing our typical halfway point, we turned back. David stopped, wrapped his hand over my shoulder. “Don’t involve the company in this until we exhaust other ways to cut off Ahlmet. And don’t even consider starting a fight on your own.”
From where we stood, our plain old residence could be seen in the midst of a color fan of greens, a quiet oasis in the last of the day’s sun. Figures moved within the screen porch. I leaned against David, absorbing the comfort of his broad shoulder.
“I wouldn’t jeopardize our future, David. But, I will use whatever strength Hartford, Ltd., carries to stop Phoebe’s suffering.”
He sighed, a heavy soul emptying sound. “Of course.” I felt his lips on my hair. “If all goes to hell, there’s always Oak Street.”
It was a sweet joke reaching back to his first gift to me—an old key to the South Dakota house inherited from his aunt thirty years ago. The house had long ago been demolished by the state for public housing. Oak Street was our tribute to the woman who encouraged David to think beyond the Regan ranch before the world went to hell.
The low bullet-gray executive transport approaching Ashwood’s main gate made me curious about what Milan was doing in the Cities. He generally avoided flashy transports, sometimes drove himself. Theoretically these gray transports provide the highest level of security on our roads. He was serious about his night travel concerns.
Leaving Ashwood Page 11