He’ll be okay, she told herself. He just needs to stay put until Stenner thinks he left with me, and he’ll be fine. A hundred million will last him the rest of his life, probably.
If he has the sense to do that instead of, oh, calling Stenner when he finds I’m gone or some dumb shit.
Rosa sighed. She’d have to leave him a message telling him what to do, and she’d really not wanted to do that. Stupid notes — she never knew what to say.
Fuck it.
She composed something short and, she hoped, clear about what the kid should do next.
“Seymour, set that to deliver to him in the morning.”
“Yes, Miss Fuentes, but if I might say this is a —”
“Shut up, Seymour.”
Rosa shouldered her backpack, popped three shrimp in her mouth from the buffet and washed them down with half a beer, then made her way to the suite’s door.
The hallway outside was quiet.
How did a place always seem to get quieter late at night, no matter how quiet it was during the day?
She hit the button for the elevator and waited.
“May I assist with something, Miss Fuentes?”
“Shit!”
Rosa jumped, spinning in place to find Frederick behind her. The butler was as impeccably dressed as ever, despite the late hour.
“What the fuck do you do, Frederick? Just lurk in the hallway all night?”
The butler smiled slightly.
“My rooms are just there off the service corridor,” he said, nodding past the elevator, “and sensors alert me if someone leaves their suite.” He nodded to her backpack. “Are you leaving us, Miss Fuentes?”
Rosa sighed.
“Look, I know what it looks like —”
Frederick raised an eyebrow and Rosa began to wonder if she really did want a butler. They were apparently some judgmental little shits.
“I do,” she said, “but it’s better if me and the kid split up. This Stenner guy —” She sighed. “I’m the one who has what he wants, so he’ll be concentrating on me. Once I’m gone, he’ll think the kid’s with me still … probably. Just —”
Rosa turned and jabbed at the elevator button again, wondering what was taking the damn thing so long.
“Keep him here for a few days, will you?” she said over her shoulder. “By then I’ll be a ghost and Stenner can chase me all he likes — and the kid will be fine if he lays low.” She frowned. “Maybe put him in touch with a money guy, if you know one? He’s going to need one.”
Frederick raised an eyebrow. “I see.”
Rosa clenched her jaw. Nope, no more butlers. Judgmental. Little. Shits.
“And not a word about seeing me leave to the kid, you got that Frederick? Not a word.”
“Of course, Miss Fuentes. My lips are sealed.” The butler nodded to the elevators. “Mr. Stenner almost certainly has people watching the Waldorf exits, Miss Fuentes. You’ll be followed as soon as you leave.”
“I figured. I’m good at losing people.”
Rosa had been running from, and losing, people who were chasing her for one reason or another all her life. From shopkeepers who way overreacted to a piece of fruit or a can of beans, to creeps who saw a young girl on the streets as an opportunity, to school truant officers who needed to get one more body in a seat for the month to get paid, to — well, she supposed she’d be running from the kid now, too. He’d probably look for her, but she’d lose him. She’d been chased and running alone most of her life — it had been stupid to think that would ever change.
Frederick nodded past the elevators toward where he’d said his rooms were.
“There’s always the service exits, of course.”
It turned out there were a lot more than service exits.
There was a whole set of service corridors and compartments — or, really not, service at all, Rosa supposed, but the real station. The station for the people who lived and worked there full time, and not for the visitors and transients.
Not as opulent as the rest of the place, but kind of … homey.
Bright colors, the occasional set of plants under a UV light, corridors that were narrower than the public areas, but that opened up occasionally into little parks and play spaces for kids. The walls were closer, the ceiling lower, and the construction showed a lot more wear and tear than where Rosa’d gone shopping, but she felt safe.
She at least felt that Stenner hadn’t had anyone watching those exists and corridors, thinking she and the kid would head for a shuttle directly — either back to Earth or on to Luna.
She followed these corridors, up or down a level sometimes, or inward, away from the windows and their great view, into the guts of the station. At every turn, she examined the corridors closely, looking for the one with a bit more wear — the one with the people who had a bit more wear too.
She wasn’t looking for where the Fredericks hung out. Not the public face of the station, who had to be good-looking and personable for the passing tourists.
Rosa wanted the residents the tourists never saw. The ones who fixed the piping and wiring, who cleaned up the garbage smeared around the disposal chutes from the station’s equivalent of uppies.
She found that, and the bars that went with it, along with the girls who haunted such bars, finding it easier to get their wages second-hand, rather than working for the station directly.
“There is a woman at the bar who matches your physical criteria,” Seymour said.
Rosa looked that way. Seymour had a blue highlight around the woman via her lens, and she had to agree it was a good match.
Thanks, Seymour, keep looking.
“Yes, Miss Fuentes.”
Rosa made her way to the bar and took a stool next to the woman — girl, maybe. Early twenties or late teens, long dark hair, skin tone a little lighter than Rosa’s, but the right height and build.
“Hi,” Rosa said, adjusting her barstool.
The girl looked up from her drink and frowned. “This is my end of the bar, sweetie, and the other end’s Amber’s, so you’re out of luck.”
“I’m buying, not selling,” Rosa said.
“Still the wrong end of the bar. See Amber.”
“Yeah, look,” Rosa said. “I’m in kind of hurry, so I’ll make this quick — ten thousand credits and a free trip to —” Rosa checked the list of flights Seymour’d booked and found the next departure. “— Paris.”
The girl pushed her drink away and sat back on the stool to look Rosa over. She smiled. “What’d you say your name was, sweetie?”
Rosa groaned as she eased herself into her room.
Coffin.
It didn’t help that the hotel she’d found, a long-stay place for station workers who didn’t have the money, or maybe didn’t care, for a bigger place took the sleep pods’ nickname and thought it would be funny to make that their theme.
The corridor was all dark and somber, with the pod’s doors, stacked three high on either side, painted to resemble wooden coffin lids that opened horizontally.
Hers was a middle unit, halfway down the corridor. The lid flipped open and the scent of too many bodies having spent too much time in too enclosed a space wafted out.
“Three days,” she muttered. Just three days, maybe a few more, then she could be pretty sure that Stenner would have given up on her being on station.
However many guys he had watching and however good his facial recognition software was, it would certainly hit on one of the dozen girls she’d just given free vacations to. Most were going to Earth, but several to Luna, and every one was another chance for Stenner to both waste resource and figure Rosa’d made her way off-station in the confusion.
Once she was confident he wasn’t watching here, she could make plans for her own journey to Mars.
The sleep-pod’s padding was old and worn, picked away in places by idle hands, and scuffed and dirtied by everything else.
She swung the door closed and the lighting came o
n to flicker and give her a headache before steadying. She set a six-pack of quart pouches of beer and a large pizza on the little shelf that covered her feet and legs, slid two to-go containers of pancakes and soy-bacon from a nearby diner into the pod’s little fridge, and settled back to rest for a while.
She could do three days. She’d done three years in Bright Hors, she could do three days here. Between the pizza and the pancakes, with what she’d taken from the Waldorf buffet, she had enough food to last — and better than she’d had at Bright Hors, too. It wasn’t real shrimp, like at the Waldorf, and she was pretty sure the meats on the pizza were just flavored soy, but it would do. The new beer sucked, too — it was some kind of skunky, local brand brewed on the station, but the local market didn’t sell better and she wanted to get under cover quick. She could do three days with crappy beer — that, too, was better than she’d ever had at Bright Hors.
Then it was off to Mars, still with a billion credits.
Thirty
Kid,
Look, I tried to get rid of Stenner, but he can’t be bought and, well, other ways didn’t work out so good either. I think the only way to get free of him is to split up.
He really wants me, because he knows I did the money, so you should be okay.
So I’m running, and he should follow me. You stay put for a few days, then get somewhere and lay low. I sent you a hundred, so you should be set, right? Get your mom and just — lay low.
You’ll be okay.
It was fun.
Thanks for stitching up my ass,
Fuentes
“I don’t get it,” Mason said, looking around the suite, but there was no one to answer or explain.
He’d woken up expecting to find Fuentes back at the windows, either fuming about their situation or grinning that she’d figured a way out.
The breakfast buffet had been filled, which he had to admit was pretty nice — not having to go anywhere or cook, just finding pretty much anything you wanted sitting there when you woke up.
He got some eggs and juice, along with some potatoes he picked the onion and pepper off of, sat down to eat, then this message had popped up in his explant.
“I guess I do get it,” he said, reading it again.
Fuentes had taken off. She might say that was best for both of them, might even believe it herself, but he couldn’t help but think she’d done it because she thought it was her best chance to get away with the money.
She could be right, though — Stenner did seem really concerned about the money, and that meant he’d be following Fuentes. So maybe he would be okay?
That made him worry about Fuentes, though.
If she was running alone and got hurt or stuck in an elevator, who was going to help her?
Mason found that his eggs were cold, but he wasn’t very hungry anymore, so he put the plate through the disposal slot and sipped a little juice. Even that didn’t help.
One thing might, though — Fuentes said he should call his mom and that meant she thought it was finally safe to do that.
Safe didn’t mean stupid, though, so he should really call from a secure connection. His explant didn’t have the kind of security Fuentes’ did, and the auditory stuff still wasn’t working anyway, so he’d need an external line.
“Okay, let’s see if the hotel has a secure call facility.”
A quick call to Frederick confirmed they did — and right in the suite.
Within a few minutes the butler arrived and Mason’s explant was connected through the hotel’s system and it was set up — both the caller and location would be masked and show as coming from someplace in Central Asia, Frederick said. Apparently there were a lot of Waldorf guests who didn’t want anyone to know where they were.
“Everything is prepared, Mr. Guthrie, just initiate the call as you normally would and the secure routing will be automatic.”
“Thanks, Frederick,” Mason said.
“Happy to be of service, sir,” the butler said and left.
Mason sat down in front of the speaker and closed his eyes. It was easier to work the explant’s menus that way.
Mason opened his eyes and a computer’s voice on the speaker said, “Routing, please wait.”
A minute later he heard the connect chimes and a woman’s voice,
“Thank you for calling Perigree Corporation, how may I direct your call?”
“Shit,” Mason said.
He stared at the speaker, realizing Fuentes’ language was rubbing off on him and his mom wouldn’t like it — but that wasn’t his mom on the call, was it? It was some Perigree lady. He’d called his mom’s explant and Perigree answered. Perigree had his mom’s explant. Perigree had his mom.
Mason grabbed the speaker and looked for an off button while frantically working his explant’s menu to disconnect.
“Hello? Perigree Corporation, how may I direct your —”
Mason tossed the speaker onto the table as though it burned him.
Call disconnect.
The green letters blinked in his vision, then disappeared.
Mason sat still for a minute, then another, then a third.
He was right on the edge, he thought.
Right on the edge of losing it and not being able to function, which wouldn’t do anyone any good.
He had to think about how to fix things, rather than the problem. If he thought about the problem — that Perigree had his mom, that Stenner wanted the money, that Fuentes had the money, that he had no idea where Fuentes was —
He stopped those thoughts. Never mind the problem, think about the fix. It’s broken, so what needs to change.
It’s not a problem, it’s not people, it’s not confusing, it’s just broken.
What part needs to be replaced?
Fuentes.
First, he needed Fuentes.
Mason opened the door to the suite and peered out.
He was worried about Stenner’s men watching for him to leave, but didn’t really think they’d be in the Waldorf — not with Frederick keeping an eye out for them. Still, it was best to be careful.
He slipped through the door and stood still, looking around.
He really needed to think like Fuentes, which was hard, because she thought so different. She didn’t even think like the model he had in his head for how girls thought, and that was, essentially, random and illogical — Fuentes was even worse than that.
She was random and illogical, while at the same time being greedy, self-centered, and mean — with just enough niceness in the random stuff to keep him guessing.
Fuentes’ mind, Mason decided, must be the worst parts of how regular men and women thought, all rolled up into one.
He was still confused by why he liked her, but he did, and he had to admit part of wanting to find her was because he missed her already.
“May I help you with something, Mr. Guthrie?”
“Crap!”
Mason jumped, spun around, and found Frederick behind him.
“So sorry to have startled you, Mr. Guthrie,” Frederick said.
“It’s okay,” Mason said. “Hey, uh, Fuentes went out and I’m a little worried about her … you don’t happen to know where she went, do you?”
“I’m afraid I really couldn’t say,” Frederick said. “Do you plan to go looking for her?”
Mason nodded. “I think I have to. I mean, I understand why she left, but something new came up.” He didn’t think Frederick needed to know about his mom. “I need to find her and let her know … things have changed.”
“I see.”
Mason hit the elevator call button. “Yeah, I need to find her.” Mason frowned — it was worth a shot. “Do you have any guesses where she went? I mean, if she were to want to hide from … someone?”
Frederick smiled his butler smile. Mason was beginning to recognize that it was different than other people’s smiles in some odd way — he hadn’t figured out how, yet, but it was different.
“I’m afr
aid I really couldn’t say,” Frederick said. “But I will certainly ask one of the bellman to go along with you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Mason said.
“All part of the Waldorf’s service, Mr. Mason,” Frederick said. “I assure you.”
“I really don’t need —”
“What if you have packages to carry, Mr. Mason? Or have need of a restaurant recommendation?” The butler shook his head. “No, as this is your first time away from the suite on your own, we would be remiss in not providing all the assistance possible.”
Mason shrugged. It wasn’t like this was a secret or something — well, Fuentes probably thought wherever she was hiding was a secret, but it wouldn’t be once Mason found her, so one more guy wouldn’t matter. Plus having one of the Waldorf’s bellmen along might make Stenner’s guys less likely to do anything to him.
“I suppose it can’t hurt,” Mason said.
“That Mr. Stenner is almost certainly watching the Waldorf’s exits, Mr. Guthrie, are you sure this is wise?”
Mason had considered that. He figured he’d be followed, but also that Stenner wouldn’t do anything too bad until he got his money. “Yeah, but, well, he wants something from us, so I don’t think he’ll do anything to me alone.”
Frederick raised an eyebrow, then sighed.
“Have you considered the service exits, Mr. Guthrie?”
Thirty-One
“You really don’t have to come with,” Mason said to the bellman, Ralph.
“Mr. Frederick said I was to help you out, Mr. Guthrie,” Ralph said. “So I’ll help you out.”
“I know, but … I’m not really sure where I’m going and I feel bad about taking you away from your job.”
“Mr. Frederick said.”
“Yeah, but —”
“Mr. Frederick said.”
Mason nodded. The guy talked like that was a rule, and Mason understood rules. “Okay.”
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