by Adam Rakunas
Three grand? Used to be a measly hundred yuan would be enough to pay for a good coverup. I blinked the money to an escrow account, then sent the link to Jordan. “You’ll get it when I get what I want, and you know what I want,” I said. “Now get the hell out of here.”
“What,” said Jordan, grinning through the streaked blood and snot, “you’re sending Union people out of our own office?”
“Out.”
Jordan nodded as she untied her crew. They scooped up the pile of parts and shuffled out of the room. “Man,” Thor muttered as he passed, “that old lady can hit.”
“She’s not that old,” I said, looking at One-Eye, who gave me the bird.
“Is that dinner?” said Banks, pointing at the tiffins.
“Seriously?” I said. “That’s all you can think of?”
“All I’ve had to eat is NutriFood,” said Banks. “Can you blame me?”
“Not really,” I said, realizing I hadn’t had anything since that kumara cake at Big Lily’s. The smells of spilled daikon and burdock were killing me. I handed containers and chopsticks all around, hoping the palm nuts would pass Mimi’s muster. The bottle of Stillson was intact, though a little scraped.
“Is that stuff any good?” asked Banks as he chewed, a yakitori skewer in each hand.
“It’s not bad,” I said. “Nice bite, a sweet aftertaste. A little simple, really, but it’ll go well with dinner.”
“Plying us with food and booze, just like our bosses said you would,” said Banks, tearing the chicken off one skewer with his teeth. He ate like someone who hadn’t seen food in a year. Then I remembered he hadn’t. Jesus, eighteen months with nothing but NutriFood. Hibernation seemed like a pleasant alternative.
–and the Fear reared its ugly head, grinning with icy teeth at the thought of hibernation. Oh, it was so pleasant in there, wasn’t it? Just close your eyes and remember-
I excused myself and did my best not to run into the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face, then gripped the sink, trying to remember what Dr Ropata told me to do: focus on the drain plug, not look in the mirror, and say to myself I am here, I am here. I blinked up the time: ten fifty-two. A little under seventeen hours until six o’clock tomorrow evening. I could do this.
I toweled my face dry, found some glasses, then set them on a table, the picture definition of a perfect Union recruiter. “Twelve years ago, I was in the same position as you guys,” I said, picking up the Stillson. “I was tired, and hungry, and scared out of my mind because I’d just left behind everything I’d ever known. It’s like you’ve just challenged a giant to a fight, and then the giant actually looks down at you.” I swirled the rum in the bottle. “Hieu Vanavutu, the guy who recruited me, did something for me on my first night as a Breach that made all the difference. He poured me a drink. Not a lot, just a sip from a distillery that’s since gone out of business. He wasn’t trying to get me loaded” –I said this to Banks, who smiled and held up his hands in mock surrender–“he was telling me I was like everyone else on this planet. We’re all scared, we all aren’t sure what’s going to happen, but we all look out for each other. So. Let’s have a drink, and get some rest, and–”
I cracked the bottle cap, and the stench of mustard and dead dogs filled the room. I gagged and dropped the bottle, rum spilling everywhere and turning the room into a gas chamber. “Out!” I choked, “out!” We hustled down the stairs, the smell following us. One of the old ladies, the one who couldn’t eat eggplant, stumbled, and I picked her up and carried her out into the street. The air was fresh, but that didn’t stop me from feeling like puking again.
I set the old lady down and asked if she was OK. She gave me an unsteady nod and said, “I think I would like to go home now.”
“Me, too,” I said, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Everyone here? Good. We are now going to my place.”
“Why?” said One-Eye.
“Because I know there’s nothing there that can kill us. Come on.”
We took back streets and alleys, and arrived at my flat a few minutes later. Along the way, I’d texted a konbini run by Freeborn and ordered more food, making sure not to get any rum when they tried to upsell me a fifth of Stillson. Three skunked bottles in a day? Either the Co-Op was getting lax, or someone had started poisoning the cane. Whatever it was, I didn’t have the energy to cope with it now.
The kid from the konbini met us at the front door to the flat, and I tipped him extra to forget the size of the order and how many people were with me. Banks, Mimi and One-Eye had managed to clean up while I’d been at Mooj’s, so the old ladies took turns showering while we ate in silence. They changed into some old coveralls I saved for muck work in the garden, and then I grabbed fresh pajamas and staggered into the bathroom, not even bothering to look at myself in the mirror. I knew I was a wreck.
The hot water was better than sex. All the salt and mud and sweat washed away, along with the last bits of me that wanted to stay awake. The only thing that kept me from falling asleep in the shower was the blast of cold water as the hot ran out. I was too tired to blame my guests, so I just toweled off and got dressed. Everyone was asleep when I returned: the old ladies had curled up on my bed like a pair of cats, Mimi sacked out on the couch, One-Eye on the floor with her back to the wall.
Banks was in the sitting room, staring at the snuffed candle and the bottle of Old Windswept. He turned to me and said, “Buy you a drink?”
“That’s not for company,” I said, grabbing the bottle and holding it up. He hadn’t drunk any, as far I could tell. That meant I wouldn’t have to knock it over his head.
“The good stuff, huh?”
“I said, it’s not for company.” There weren’t many hiding places in my flat, so I just opened a kitchen cabinet and rattled the bottle behind some plates.
“OK,” said Banks. “Sorry.”
“Look,” I said, resting my hands on the counter. “It’s been a really, really long day. I’m exhausted, I have two old ladies–”
“–Gricelda and Madolyn–”
“Sleeping in my bed, and this one” –I pointed a toe at One-Eye–“looking like she’s on guard duty. You are not regular Breaches.”
“There’s no such thing,” said Banks. “Breaches come from every career category, every walk of corporate life–”
“–and stop quoting my own goddamn pamphlets at me,” I said. “There is something seriously weird about all of you, and… you know what? You could all be the heads of the Big Three for all I care. In the morning, I’m finding you all jobs and flats and counseling and pre-chewed acorns or whatever you need, and then I am going back to work, because there are only six of you, not forty. Thanks for not convincing more people to jump ship with you.”
“We were it,” said Banks. “You know how WalWa likes to keep its crews light.”
“I know they don’t let lawyers participate.”
“I was a special case.”
“Special as in ‘exemplary’ or as in ‘polite antique euphemism for mentally retarded’?”
“Well, I am a lawyer,” he said, trying to keep his grin from exploding all over his face.
I exhaled, and the last of my strength went. “Don’t sleep in that chair,” I said. “You’ll tweak your back. Sleep on that one.” I motioned to an overstuffed highback I’d gotten from a moving sale. It was the comfiest spot in the flat, other than my bed.
“Thanks.” He peeled himself from the chair, still looking like a scarecrow, even in new clothes. “Hey, is there a way to read up on the law here? I’d like to know what we’re getting into.”
“You’re not going to sleep?”
He shook his head. “Almost getting killed three times in one day has me a little wired.”
“Here,” I said, tossing him a pad. “You can access the Public on that, or at least the guest stuff. When we get you all signed up tomorrow, you can just use your pai.”
“Assuming we all sign up.”
“Shut
up, Banks.”
“Good night.”
I sat at the dining room table, looking at the candle. The Fear tried to come back, but I told it to fuck off until tomorrow. I put my head down and was out.
Chapter 11
There was something about the way riot armor rustled that woke me faster than cold water. I could hear it in the hall: plates of caneplas scraping against each other, the fizz of priming riot hoses. I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it: the light leaking around the edges of the curtain was bright and sharp, slicing right into my brain. I didn’t need to blink up the time to know that it was early; the city outside was still quiet, which was why I could hear whoever was ready to kick in my door as clear as if they were a herd of elephants at a ballet recital. My back seized as I slipped out of the chair, but I kept it together long enough to grab the cricket bat I kept by the umbrella stand. I glanced around the flat: everyone was still here and asleep, except for Banks. He was gone, and the pad sat on the table next to a fresh candle.
I tiptoed to the side of the door and squared off, cocking the cricket bat so I could score a six off whoever was about to break in. Cops? Goons? Goons and cops? That would be new.
There was a knock. “Du Marque Bakery, with a delivery for Mr Banks?” came a cracking boy’s voice from the other side of the door.
I brought the bat down a centimeter, then stopped myself. “What?” I said, then cursed myself for speaking.
The rustling sound again, and then the boy said, “Yeah, I have a dozen assorted pastries and some coffees and–”
I threw open the door, bat still cocked, and there was a kid in delivery whites with two canvas bags that smelled like baked goods and caffeine and love. Foamed milk spattered his shirt. It hadn’t been riot armor I heard; it was the kid’s cargo. He started and took a step back, then said, “Uh, don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on asking for a tip.”
“Who ordered all this?” I said, putting the bat down and looking into one of the bags; the gorgeous scents of cinnamon and yeast rose up and made my nose very, very happy.
“Mr Banks,” said the kid.
“Who?”
“White guy, really skinny? Said he had to run some more errands, and said you’d pay for delivery.”
I thunked the bat on the floor. “He said what?”
Banks appeared at the end of the hall. “Oh, good! Giesel sent over the food.”
The delivery kid gave me a shrug and held out his hand. I blinked up DuMarque’s Bakery and found a ridiculously marked up bill in my name, but blinked in payment anyway. “Where the hell have you been?” I said to Banks as the kid set down the bags and slunk away. “And what part of ‘Don’t go outside’ did you not understand?”
“It seemed safe enough,” he said, picking up the bags and giving them a smell. “Bread. God, I missed bread. You can’t have yeast inside a seeder, did you know that? Gets into the vents, mutates, does weird things with the engines–”
I put the bat against the wall, blocking his path inside. “Did anything that happened to you yesterday not sink in?”
“Padma, I was out for twenty minutes,” said Banks. “I got up, I was hungry, I saw you had nothing in your fridge except for a few almost-empty bottles of rooster sauce, and I smelled the bakery. How can you not eat there every day? It’s incredible.”
“Don’t change the subject,” I said, giving the wall an extra tap with the bat. “I don’t care what you and the rest of your friends did when you were Indentures. You do not know how this city, how this planet, how anything here works until you’ve worked with me.”
“What’s there to learn?” said Banks. “I’ve already gone through the Union Charter and the Co-Op structure and everything I could read–”
“What if you’d gotten lost and couldn’t find your way back? What would have happened if you’d gotten in an accident? What if one of Jordan’s people had gone out last night and blabbed all about you?”
“What, you don’t trust your own people?”
“I don’t trust any people,” I said, “especially when there are big things like money, jobs, and baked goods on the line. Anyone who didn’t like your face could have pinged your pai, found you weren’t on the Public, figured out that you’re still a Breach, and dimed you to WalWa. You could have been disappeared, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing any of us could have done except light a candle in your memory. Idiot.”
Banks looked at the ground as he trudged inside.
“Oh, knock it off,” I said, following him into the flat.
Banks shrugged as he set the bags on the table, then handed me an almond bialy. He took a croissant out of the bag, breathed in its smell, and took a bite. “You gonna eat that?” he said between chews, pointing at my bialy.
“I’m too angry to think right now.”
“Then can I have it?”
“Hell, no,” I said, taking a bite of bialy and opening a cup of coffee. The other Breaches stirred and shuffled into the kitchen, then brightened up when they saw the food. Mimi and One-Eye bowled over each other to get to the table, and the old ladies moved faster than hungry teenagers at an all-you-can-eat. They tore into rolls and slurped coffee, pausing only to gulp in air before attacking their next helpings.
“Ladies, I know it’s been a while since you’ve had real food,” I said, finishing my first bialy and starting a second, “but you need to eat slower so you don’t get sick. Giesel DuMarques never skimps on the butter.”
“Thank God,” said One-Eye. “I haven’t had butter in four years.”
“Or cream,” said one of the old ladies.
“Or meat,” said the other.
“Just NutriFood,” said Mimi. “That was rough.”
They all grunted and kept eating.
I left them to their carb binge and walked out on my lanai. The morning haze had burned off already, leaving a few traces of cloud in an otherwise flawless sky. The sidewalks steamed as the sun hit the last of the morning dew. It was going to be a beautiful day, which only pissed me off that much more. I should have been able to take the morning off, maybe enjoy a second bialy, chase down leads on more Breaches. Instead, I was going to have to spend the day begging.
I blinked up a link to the Union Hall’s transport line, and smiled to see Jilly had, indeed, gotten herself a provisional license. The smile disappeared when I saw that Lanny had stuck me with a processing fee, an expediting fee, and a Don’t-Make-Me-Do-Work-Past-Sundown fee. He’d also charged me for Jilly’s new hack medallion, which meant a total of one thousand yuan out of my account. I’d probably get it back in a few months, considering how much hustle Jilly had, but I still wasn’t in the mood to drop that much cash for a kid from the kampong. I texted Jilly through the transport office and told her to get here right away.
I also blinked up the news feed for the past twenty-four hours. There was one mention about the shattered window at the office on Reigert, but since neither my name nor Jordan’s appeared in the article, I shrugged it off. The local busybodies could gossip all they wanted; as long as there was nothing on the Public, it wouldn’t affect me in court.
There was also no mention of the Rose of Tralee’s crew jumping ship. In fact, the colony seeder only appeared in the daily docking manifests, which was odd. A seeder usually got a few mentions on the Public, if only because it stimulated a lot of debate about making sure the Union would have a presence at their destination, or whether sending ships Beyond was worth it, or all the blather that starts in bars and ends up in essays and bad songs. There wasn’t a peep of that.
There was also nothing from Evanrute Saarien. Four years ago, Dolly Jo Bialowsky, a recruiter from Underhill, rescued a group of Breaching air-processing techs before Saarien did. He responded by screaming bloody murder all over the Public, railing about how Dolly was creating schisms within the Union and that competition was the bane of a strong Union and how tradition was the backbone of a Union society, all polite ways of saying “Fuck you, those bodies were
mine.” He wound up taking her to court, and the suit went on for so long that Dolly Jo went broke and had to go back to a Slot herself. I expected the same treatment for me, but Saarien, as far as I could tell, was silent. There wasn’t even a mention of his daily schedule of appearances in Sou’s Reach. Either he was laying low to plot some horrible revenge on me, or I’d thrown him for a loop by calling in WalWa. That meant I had some time.
But not much. I had to get this crew signed on the dotted line, and that meant finding them Slots. Or, rather, finding Slots for Jordan and her buddies so I could fit this lot into the soon-to-be-vacant Slots at the plant. As Jilly up pulled in front of my flat and honked, I waved and went back inside. Everyone had fallen back asleep, except Banks, who was absently chewing on a bagel while looking at the pad. “You know,” he said, “we still haven’t gotten to try any of that rum you talked about.”
“It can wait another eight hours,” I said, sitting down to lace up my boots. “I’m off to get you jobs, and then we can talk about booze.”
“Can I come?” said Banks. “They’re all going to be knocked out for the rest of the day, and–”
“Hell, no,” I said. “You can keep reading and eating.”
“We’re out of food,” said Banks. He pointed at the now-empty canvas sacks.
“Too many carbs,” I said. “See, if you’d stayed put, I’d have made sure you got a balanced breakfast, not an overload of sugar and butter.”
“Then you can show me where to get lunch,” said Banks, smiling. “Please, Padma, I’m going to go nuts in here. I need air. I need space. I need sun.”
The way Banks perched on his seat, coiled and ready to leap up, reminded me of a baby cane viper. They’re cute as hell until they learn that they have poisonous fangs. Still, if he was going to be a lawyer here, he might as well start learning now. Besides, with Jordan and Saarien keeping quiet, it would likely be a safe and boring trip.
“Fine,” I sighed. “Just don’t get in the way.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, hopping to his feet.