The pair left the mayor’s office and walked out to the upper–levels of the Bridge, passing several extra security officers stationed throughout the halls. Another one of his morons, bless his little voting heart, had run through the place shooting people in the face yesterday. Kinsella had thought it pretty funny, more so when he had found out that no one had gotten seriously hurt. Still, a pretty shocking lapse in security. Thorias had taken the matter very seriously, resulting in a city hall swimming with thick–necked security officers. Their presence comforted the mayor. Although he doubted anything drastic would need to be done, it was nice to know when heading into a meeting like this that the men with guns were on his side.
§
From her stomach, Stein peered down the length of the crawlspace to the room at the far end. It was hard to be sure without checking her terminal, but if that was a pump room, she would definitely be able to get water there. She listened carefully for any noises that a group of heavily armed men might make.
She had heard someone speaking a few minutes after she’d found her hiding spot. Not close enough to make out any words, but it was a safe bet the voice belonged to one of the two security officers who had been chasing her. The voice never came back, but if she heard them speaking once, that meant they’d been bold enough to come into the crawlways after her.
So, she stayed put, worried they might be waiting nearby for her to come out. There was also the small matter that she didn’t have anywhere to go. Minutes passed, then hours, while she shivered and quaked and, with no one else around to see, cried. Sleep may have come, possibly multiple times — she wasn’t sure. There was little difference between consciousness and unconsciousness anyways; if she dreamed, it was about hiding in awful little spaces.
During her periods of probable wakefulness, she mostly thought about Bruce. She never should have asked him to do something so stupid. It was a pointlessly risky plan she’d come up with, and she should have known he was incapable of turning those down. Pointless risk was in his blood, might very well be there in place of his blood, shuttling around oxygen and bold dares to his organs as necessary.
“Check this out,” he had said, surprising her in the back row of the classroom. She’d looked up from her terminal, annoyed at his sudden interest in her. This was usually the first step in a chain of events which ended with her punching someone in the groin, or more rarely, sleeping with them and then punching them in the groin.
She squinted at him, trying to dredge up the name attached to the big doofus. It was her second and final crack at this school thing, and she didn’t know anyone in her class. But, eventually it clicked; Bruce was the kid’s name. She turned away from him. Definitely one of the situations that ends with a punch to the groin.
Oblivious, he gave her a big thumb’s up and turned to face Ms. Sallans at the front of the room, who was stressing something extremely important about the Zhang neo–dynasty. Ms. Sallans turned her back to the class for a moment, zooming in on something on the front display. Suddenly, Bruce sprang out of his chair, moving swiftly to the front of the room, almost completely silent. He snatched Ms. Sallans’ terminal from her desk and retreated to his desk just as quietly. A faint trill of laughter rose from the room, but no sudden outbursts. The class was familiar with Bruce’s antics.
Stein watched from the corner of her eye as Bruce messed around with the terminal. As soon as he picked it up, it would have locked out all of Ms. Sallans’ content, so she wasn’t sure what he could do. He finished what he was doing and flashed another grin at Stein. The teacher had turned back to face the class but hadn’t noticed her terminal had gone wandering. Masking his smile, Bruce raised his hand. “Ms. Sallans? Was that where the March of the Thousand Equals happened?”
Ms. Sallans shook her head. “No, that was in Chengdu and wasn’t until much later. I’m surprised you know about that, Bruce.”
Bruce frowned and furrowed his brow. “Oh. I thought it was right there. Can you show us?”
“Sure,” Ms. Sallans said, turning around again, zooming out on the map. Like a ghost, Bruce slid to the front of the room again, replacing the terminal on her desk. “So, we’ll talk about this more tomorrow, but the March of the Thousand Equals was down here. That was organized by Yao–sen — Zhang’s right hand man — and it was basically these thousand guys demanding the right to larger data caps and then getting lased from orbit.”
Having retaken his seat, Bruce nodded energetically. “Ahhhhh,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.
Stein couldn’t keep the silent treatment going any longer. “Okay, what was the point of that?” she whispered. He held up a finger to silence her, a gesture which would normally have infuriated her. But she obliged him, if only because she was so curious to see what he had done. She wasn’t the only one, and could feel the tension in the room rising as the class simmered, waiting for something to happen. Ms. Sallans had never had such an attentive class before and enthusiastically continued her lecture. Fifteen entire minutes passed before she sat down at her desk and picked up the terminal to assign their homework. Looking at it, she furrowed her brow for a second and then tapped a command into it.
“FAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRTS,” the terminal bellowed in a robotic voice. The entire class erupted in laughter.
After that, if he had actually tried to make a move on Stein, she probably would have relented. But he never did. Which she found a bit confusing, though she never forced the issue — she had hated every guy she had ever slept with and wasn’t sure the two events, fucking and hating, were unrelated. The pair simply became friends.
More than that, she would realize years later. Bruce became her ballast. Slowed her down, steadied her rocking. She probably wouldn’t have finished school without his voice over her shoulder, and although he was no stranger to intoxicated mayhem himself, it was all quite tame in comparison with her life before she had met him. When she landed the maintenance job a few years later, her case workers assumed it was that opportunity which caused her to calm down. But Stein’s calming process was already well under way by that point, with the help of her fool of a friend.
And now she might have gotten him killed.
Only might have though. Not definitely. She nodded, trying to convince herself. Even if he had stumbled upon a room full of assassins, that would just be rough luck for the poor assassins.
And if he had escaped, he would be hiding out somewhere, probably someplace similar to where Stein was now. Maybe a bit bigger. They did have an agreed upon meeting spot in the event of a “fan hitting the shit” — Bruce’s phrasing — but it was a long way from where she was hiding. Getting there by completely subterranean means was probably possible, but not without her terminal and the maps it contained. And several days’ worth of crawling.
Eventually, her own body forced her from her hiding spot. She found a grate several meters away that looked like it would drain in the other direction and used it as a makeshift washroom. “My territory now,” she muttered. But after the pressure in her bladder subsided, other complaints surfaced. Hunger was there, though not bad yet — she knew intellectually that she could go without food for a long time, and during her chemical–fueled youth, had on multiple occasions gone more than a day without eating. But the thirst was a more pressing matter, which was how she found herself on her stomach, listening to the sounds of an empty pump room.
A minute later she exited the crawlspace, and on shaky legs, stood on her own two feet for the first time in almost a day. She was glad to see that it was indeed a pump room, and that it was, indeed, not full of armed men. After a short search, she was able to locate a sampling fixture on the potable water line and drank from it sloppily as the cold water poured forth. Finally, she turned off the tap and sat down on the floor, exhausted by the effort.
“This is bullshit,” she said, wiping her face on her sleeve and then immediately regretting it, hours spent in the bowels of the ship having not left it suitable for facial application.
She didn’t know what she was doing. Running was a bad idea. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She had gotten paranoid, had spent too much time listening to Ellen’s rants about security officers lurking underneath children’s beds. Security goons weren’t all bad. Hell, she should know. She was almost dating one. She considered for the first time whether Sergei might be able to help her, but quickly decided against it. Let him ruin his own career.
She stared at the room around her. She couldn’t keep doing this, living and pissing in ditches. No, it was time to get up, go outside, and get on with her life. If they arrested her, she would at least get a shower out of the deal. She swallowed, proud of the mature decision she had made, then pushed herself to her feet. She wobbled over to the door and opened it.
From the hue of the street lights, she could tell it was morning. Almost a full day had gone by. She looked around to get her bearings and eventually realized she had traveled nearly seven blocks underground. She looked down at the badly stained knees of her jumpsuit, which told the same story. “Well, let’s see if I can manage a shower and change of clothes without getting arrested,” she said. Turning south, she set out for her apartment, walking as nonchalantly as she could manage. The ship was quiet at this hour, most people sleeping off the effects of whatever they had done the night before.
A few minutes later, she reached an intersection, and hearing running footsteps, peered around the corner cautiously. Three security officers jogging down the street, coming right at her. Time to put her very sensible and mature plan to the test. She stepped out into the intersection, smiled weakly, and held her hands out at her sides, giving herself up. “Hey, guys,” she began to say, before she stopped, watching in amazement as all three of them jogged past her. She looked in the direction they were going, watching them move quickly to the south.
“Where’s the fire?” she asked. Annoyed at the possibility that she had just spent a day living in a coffin for no reason, and worried that they might be off to subdue a large man she knew, she turned to follow them.
§
Kinsella stopped in the doorway of the command center. Naval officers at their stations, chattering away in that strange manner of theirs. Numbers and acronyms and pale skin. They were busier than he had seen them before, preparing for the Push. That was something he knew too little about, he ruefully acknowledged. That would soon change, but until now he’d had his own maneuvering to worry about.
Buried in the aft of the ship, several decks above and a bit behind the Bridge, the control center held all the navigational, propulsion, and engineering controls necessary for classifying the Argos as a spaceship and not just an extremely fast rock. As the mayor, Kinsella had every right to be here, but it had never felt welcoming. This was the domain of the Captain of the Argos.
There were a lot of very good reasons why the ship’s naval operations had been kept separate from the civilian government’s direct authority. Sense of tradition. A need for specialized expertise. Speed in decision–making. Kinsella understood all of that and agreed with it completely. Besides, there were extensive provisions for civilian oversight — the captain did ultimately serve at the mayor’s pleasure. What was happening now was really just aggressive oversight.
Most of the naval officers looked up at their mayor, curious expressions on their faces. Kinsella was amused by this, their eyes wavering back and forth between him and the imposing figure of Thorias behind him. “Helot, can we speak for a moment?” Kinsella asked the captain from across the room, speaking in his well–practiced, very serious voice. “Privately.”
From his position on the raised portion in the back half of the command room, Helot’s only reaction was a set of slightly raised eyebrows as he carefully returned the mayor’s gaze. Kinsella’s deliberate omission of the man’s title had failed to provoke him; if anything, the bastard actually looked amused.
“Everyone, please carry on,” Helot ordered his staff. After a moment’s hesitation, most of the command crew put their heads back down to their consoles and continued their work, albeit in a manner Kinsella thought was more subdued. “In my cabin?” he asked Kinsella, gesturing to a door at the back.
Kinsella suppressed a laugh. He had seen the captain’s ‘cabin’ before. Barely more than a closet. These navy cretins did like to cling to their ancient vocabulary. Like it was…something boaty. A life–preserver, he decided after a moment’s consideration. He followed Helot into his ‘cabin’ and sat down in the chair across from the captain’s desk without waiting for an invitation. He got a good look at the Captain’s chair, glad to see that it was dumpier–looking than he imagined.
“What’s this about, Eric?” Helot asked, seating himself in the utilitarian chair.
Kinsella set his jaw and composed himself — he had practiced this next bit a dozen times in the mirror. “Captain James Edward Helot, it has come to my attention that you may be morally compromised to the point that you should no longer hold a position of authority on board the Argos.”
Helot’s expression, still one of modest amusement, didn’t waver. “How so, Mayor?”
Kinsella sneered. Fine, let the fool play one. “Images and movies depicting sexual activities with minors have been found in your possession during a routine network scan.”
“A network scan of my belongings? That doesn’t sound very routine.” Helot asked, barely suppressing a grin.
Kinsella ignored him and continued his rehearsed speech. “The evidence tying you to this filth is incontrovertible and damning. I have not seen the images myself, but I’m told that they do not appear to be historical in nature — and that several appear to have been taken on board the Argos itself. Which, if true, suggests not just a moral lapse, but a far fouler and more serious crime.”
Helot looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “If true. Images can be doctored fairly convincingly.”
Kinsella’s nostrils flared. He couldn’t believe this. “Forensic teams have already confirmed they’re authentic, Helot,” he lied. He looked up at Thorias for some sign of support, but the big lummox only stared back at him dumbly. “Look, you’re not going to get out of this on a technicality or charm your way past a jury,” Kinsella said, turning back to Helot. “If these pictures get out, you will go down. Your only alternative is to submit your immediate resignation. In exchange, these pictures need never see the light of day.” Kinsella swallowed, the hard part over. “I will give you a few seconds to think about it.” He sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and laced his fingers over his knee.
Helot sat behind his desk looking at the mayor curiously. Kinsella realized now just how much he hated the man. Even as he worked to push him out of office, he had never thought of him as anything more than a hurdle. But now, looking at the captain, with his infuriatingly calm gaze, Kinsella realized he actually hated the man. He hated his arrogance. He hated his calm self–righteousness. And his face. Kinsella sat and stewed, hating the man’s fucking face.
Finally, Helot spoke. “I was wondering if you were going to spring this little plot of yours in time. I’d honestly have felt more than a little guilty if you hadn’t. Thank you, Mayor. You’ve done my conscience a great service here.”
Kinsella sat up in his chair, leaning forward, blood rushing to his face. “That doesn’t sound like a resignation to me, Captain! You can save your false displays of bravado for someone more easily impressed. If you don’t resign, immediately, this evidence will be sent to every person on board the ship. If I don’t instruct my assistant otherwise in…,” Kinsella checked the time on his terminal to illustrate the point, “…four minutes, this will happen.”
“By assistant, you mean Bletmann, correct?” Helot’s eyes flicked up to Thorias.
Thorias cleared his throat behind Kinsella and spoke, his voice louder and clearer than normal. “He will have been relocated by this point, sir. The entire Bridge should be by now. The mayor would have been as well, but then he asked me to come here with him,” Thorias said with a
hint of mirth. “I thought this might be more amusing.”
Helot’s brow furrowed, and he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hands. “Tough call. We do have some pretty tight time constraints today, Chief. But I will grant that this is pretty amusing. And things have been running ahead of schedule. I think I’ll let you get away with it.” He sat back and smiled.
Kinsella leapt from his chair, back arched, fur on end. “What the hell are you two talking about?” He was furious at Helot, and at Thorias, and at himself for losing control of the situation. He withdrew his terminal and attempted to call Bletmann. These efforts were interrupted by Thorias’ meaty paw smacking the terminal to the ground. Kinsella jumped back, aghast.
“Mayor,” Helot began calmly, “you don’t have any evidence. It was all fabricated. I should know. I’m the one who ordered it.”
Kinsella’s brow creased. He had received the photos from Thorias himself. The security man had come to him months ago with the evidence, and the idea for how to best stick it in Helot’s back. Kinsella had thought — had been sure — the security chief loathed the captain as much as he did. Kinsella looked up at Thorias now and the bemused expression he wore on his face. It had all been an act. “Why?” he asked Helot. “Why would you do that?”
Helot smiled. “To keep you out of our hair, mainly. If we gave you this, we hoped that you wouldn’t do any actual digging of your own.” Helot smirked. “Seems to have worked.”
“Oh? So, you’ve got more important secrets to hide?” Kinsella snapped. “What are you, fucking meat plants instead?”
Helot laughed. “Wow. No.” He looked over Kinsella’s shoulder to Thorias, then down at the desk display. His head wavered back and forth as he appeared to weigh a pair of alternatives. “It’s a long story…”
§
Stein had to hurry to keep pace with the three security officers, moving rapidly south along Europe. She lost sight of them at 10th when they ascended the escalators there, but by the time she reached the escalator bank herself, something else had caught her eye.
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