One #2
Maybe it’s the quiet sufferance on Loren’s face; maybe it’s the fact that his daughter and Maya used to go to the same dance class when they were little girls and Isako remembers laughing with him in the theater lobby after the year-end recital about the money they were both wasting; maybe it’s Wolf Wyatt’s body on the floor next to their table. Whatever it is, Isako goes off script.
“I’m sorry, Loren. I really didn’t want to see your name on the list.”
It’s why she left him until the end. She told herself she was giving him the gift of more time, when really, she’s been putting it off, and the days he’s been forced to wait for her arrival have probably been more cruel than kind.
She doesn’t say that part. She’s said more than necessary already.
His stiff mouth sags, like bread deflating.
Loren has the soft, creamy complexion of an officer-class wageman who’s spent his life within the airshield and comfortably indoors, undamaged by the planet’s harsh winds or radiation.
But his voice is rough as gravel. “You know, I hoped Greves would give me the news himself. After thirty-eight years in the division, you’d think I’d earned that much at least. Hell, I was working for him long before he was a director.
” He snorts in self-contempt. “Stupid of me to think he wouldn’t send a fucking contractor, like they all do. ”
“It’s my job, Loren.”
He sneers. “I’m sure you’ve been busy.”
“Not for much longer.” A reminder that she might not escape the purge either.
Some of the anger leaves Loren’s expression.
He pulls Wyatt’s half-empty mug of beer toward himself.
Why not? The other guy’s not finishing it.
Isako has the strong urge to order a drink for herself, but she doesn’t think the lone remaining bartender would serve it to her. Or maybe he’d poison it first.
Lore chuckles darkly. “How old are you, Isako?”
“Fifty.” Fifty-three in Terran, but who uses the unflattering homeworld calendar these days.
“I’m sixty-three,” he says dully. Only two years short of Company-sponsored retirement.
“I’ve spent my whole career in Astrocommunications.
My kithfather did the same. I have ancestors who were Astrocom techs on the Great Ships.
I don’t have any skills that other divisions would want and I’m too damn old to learn new ones.
What chance would I have as a freelancer? I wouldn’t even last a year.”
Isako doesn’t argue.
“Wyatt didn’t hold anything against you, by the way,” Loren says.
“He called you a tough old cookie, said he’d be surprised if he got the jump on you, but he was going to try anyway, because what did we have to lose?
Said he’d rather go down fighting, and if he did manage to take you out, well, that’s one less murdering trac out there. That’s the way he saw it.”
Sad, twisted logic on Wyatt’s part. What wagemen seem to conveniently forget is that contractors can be quickly replaced. Wyatt’s dismissal notice wouldn’t go away if she were dead. It would simply be handled by someone else.
“You don’t see it that way,” she reminds Loren gently.
“I’ve got family to think of.” Earlier, he was staring daggers at Isako but now he blinks quickly and looks away.
His voice turns thick, as if his throat is closing up.
“My baby girl Tessa’s going to have a baby of her own this summer.
My first grandkid. How time flies, you know?
Seems like yesterday that she was running around in a diaper. You have a daughter, too, don’t you?”
“Yeah. She was in the same dance class as Tessa for a year.”
“Oh yeah, I remember that now.” Loren’s face brightens. “What a long time ago. Tessa didn’t stick with dance for long.”
“Neither did Maya.”
“She took to running instead. Was really good at it, too. Tri-division champion in the four hundred and the eight hundred meters. She says the baby’s kicking so much that it’s another runner for sure.
” Loren’s eyes go soft, and he looks as if he’s going to brag some more, perhaps ask Isako about her own daughter, so the two of them can reminisce together, but then he seems to remember where he is, and why they’re here.
He sits back. Blinks slowly to clear away the memories. Closes his mouth like shutting a heavy door.
“Sounds like Tessa grew up to be an incredible young woman,” Isako says.
This is part of the job, too. Sometimes it’s the longknife.
Sometimes it’s sitting and listening. Offering the right words to help people accept responsibility.
The art of DTE—dismissal, termination, and eviction—is only one aspect of a good contractor’s skillset, but an important one, because unfortunately, it’s what many wagefolk think of first when they think of tracs.
“I want to do the right thing,” Loren says.
“I’m not going to become one of those sad sacks on the street, begging or stealing for scrip, using up oxygen and water past my due.
I won’t make my kith ashamed of me like that.
I want Tessa’s kids to have a nameplace they can visit and be proud of.
” He raises his chin and meets Isako’s eyes. “I’ll resign.”
She inclines her head in appreciation. “Thank you for your bequest.”
Loren pulls the screen over, scrolls to the bottom, and hovers his finger over the biosignature box. “I don’t need to read all this, do I? It’s the standard stuff? You’d tell me if it wasn’t, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s all the usual,” she assures him. “Everything will go to Tessa and her family.”
She turns her face aside to give Loren a sliver of privacy as he touches his finger to the screen.
“I guess that’s it, then.” His voice is weighed down with finality, but it’s brisk and steady, almost eager. “When’s everyone else going?”
Isako takes the screen back from him and pockets it. “There’s going to be a group of about a dozen on Freeday at Easthatch. It’s up to you. Some people want to be together. Some would rather go it alone.”
“Are you going to be there?” The touch of plaintiveness surprises her. Not because, beneath the stoic acceptance, he’s afraid. Everyone is. But because he doesn’t hate her. She’s surprised by how much that means to her.
For the first time, she offers Loren a smile.
She’s been told she looks younger when she smiles, which is a shame, as she hasn’t had much reason to smile for the past two weeks.
She’s smiling not only for Loren’s sake, but because she’s finally done .
She can rest for a while. The prospect is delicious.
“I’ll be there,” she promises. It’s the least she can do.
She always did like Dew Loren. Now she respects and envies him. At least he knows . His mind can finally be at ease. All that’s left to do is prepare. She can’t say the same.
Like Loren, she’s too entrenched in Greves’s organization.
If her client is moved to another role in the Company, she’ll go with him.
If not, she’ll be in Loren’s position soon.
Only there won’t be someone sitting down with her to deliver the news.
Contractors aren’t given exit packages. All she’ll get is an impersonal notice that her services are no longer required and that her contract has been canceled.
A couple of Cityhab Services workers in official orange parkas come into the Oxygn Bar and begin maneuvering Wolf Wyatt into a body bag.
Isako doesn’t feel like sticking around for that.
She collects her hat and puts on her gloves; her fingers are cold again.
Her knees twinge in stiff protest when she stands.
Loren reaches out and stops short of taking her by the coat sleeve. “I’m glad it was you after all.” His reddened eyes shine up at her through the yellowish, leafsmoke-clogged air. “You’re a contractor, but you’ve still got a heart, Isako. That’s rare, you know?”
Isako has nothing more to say to that. She goes outside and stands on the sidewalk where the dry air hurts her face. She calls her client. “It’s all done. Where are you?”
A moment of silence before Greves says, “I’m at the Observatory.”