Two
TWO
The dome on top of Astrocom headquarters is the oldest observatory on the planet.
It’s useless from a practical standpoint, what with the light pollution from the cityhab, the visual distortion of the airshield, and the fact that there are a dozen newer, bigger telescopes in facilities at high elevation points across both of Aquilo’s continents and in orbit.
But the Observatory has historical significance.
It was built by the Founders with its powerful eye pointed back at Earth’s star, back when people cared about where their ancestors came from.
The working museum still hosts visiting school groups, but right now, it’s cavernously empty except for a lone man in a black duffle coat leaning against the railing that surrounds the antique telescope, staring pensively up at the band of night sky visible through the half-open roof.
“I should’ve been the one to do it.” His voice echoes in the emptiness.
“Absolutely not.” Imagine if Wyatt had tried to kill Greves instead of her. Enough wagefolk react badly to dismissal that every director uses contractors for DTE.
But Greves is not like most other directors.
He might’ve actually tried to deliver the notices himself if Isako hadn’t shut the idea down right away.
She managed to protect her client through three grueling years of divisional warfare.
She’s not about to let him be assassinated by an angry wageman just because he wants to be a man of his people in defeat.
But the impulse is what makes him a leader she wants to work for.
“They’re justified in feeling betrayed. I promised a new era of space exploration for the Company and growth for Astrocom. I couldn’t have failed more spectacularly.”
Isako goes to stand beside him but she doesn’t look up at the starry sky.
As far as she’s concerned, there’s no point anymore.
“You believed in what you promised, and you made a lot of people in the Company believe it, too. Just because the Executive and the Board decided not to support us doesn’t change any of that. We did our best.”
“We really did.” He straightens away from the railing.
Even at his full height, he’s nearly a head shorter than her.
They’re a puzzling sight together, a picture of contrasts, and not just physically.
Greves is stocky, handsome, and blond, and what he lacks in stature, he makes up for with hyperkinetic presence, showmanship, savvy, and ambitious dreams. Napoleon complex, maybe.
It works for him. When he gets going about a big idea, he practically bounces out of his chair and waves his arms in meetings, infects everyone around him with animated energy.
At fifty-seven, he’s one of the youngest directors in the Company.
Seven years his junior, Isako is ancient for a contractor.
Greves gives her a wan smile. “We wouldn’t even have had a fighting chance if I didn’t have the best atier on the planet. You’re a pro, Isa. I couldn’t have asked for more.”
She’s not humble enough to deny it.
Because there are contractors, and then there are atier contractors.
Atiers are the best of the best. The elite of the black-badge world. For every hundred general contractors there are ten mid-tier contractors. For every hundred midtracs, there’s one atier.
A good atier can do math in their head, hobnob at a black-tie gala, and kill a man a dozen ways.
Strategist, chief of staff, personal bodyguard, diplomatic aide, you name it.
Brains and muscle in one package. They’re expensive to hire and licensed in strictly limited number by the Agency that selects and trains them starting at the age of sixteen and straps them up with longknives, blistering business savvy, and fearlessness.
The clients who pay handsomely for their services are hard to please—the wealthiest and most powerful directors and the top subdirectors who would do anything to keep an edge. Atiers are that edge. One atier for one client at a time. Company rules.
When war broke out between Astrocommunications and Satellite Operations, Isako did everything she could to deliver victory to Greves.
She advocated for his vision with the Sweetsea, laboring over reports, presentations, and meetings to advance his agenda.
She orchestrated attacks that exposed vulnerabilities in SatOps systems and facilities while defending Astrocom from counterattacks.
She planted agents and saboteurs within enemy ranks.
She terminated three Astrocom techs who were SatOps spies.
She engaged people to bribe, blackmail, and slander SatOps leaders while protecting Greves’s inner circle and gathering support and allies from other divisions.
She sent her client on tours to raise division morale and inspire the wagefolk.
During the three-year conflict, she was nearly killed—twice.
In the end, all for nothing.
“The thing that pisses me off the most,” Greves says bitterly, “is that we were fighting other reunionists. The Executive wanted a consolidation, and we couldn’t get it done peacefully, so we tore each other apart.
The terraformists didn’t have to do anything except sit back, watch, and grow stronger.
You heard about the Board of Directors nomination? ”
“Who hasn’t?” The recent news is all over the Companynet, eclipsing even the outcome of the Astrocom-SatOps war.
“Sandbar Uchi, of course.” Greves spits the name like a profanity.
Not that it’s any surprise the dapper, seventy-year-old golden boy of the terraforming movement has been fast-tracked into Company leadership.
As the two most vocal rising stars in the ongoing contest of Earth versus earth , Forest Greves and Sandbar Uchi are often spoken of in the same breath.
At least, they used to be.
“The Company really has lost its way and gone over to the little-Es.” Greves’s hands tighten on the railing. “I’m afraid we’re headed for a bleak time, Isa.”
“Political winds change,” Isako points out. “The terraformists have momentum right now, but we can take it back if we play our cards right and make sure you land in a good place.”
“And how’re you imagining that happens, atier?”
“Ask for a position within Satellite Operations as a subdirector. Kiss ass and play meek if you have to. Savannah Minto is old. In another twenty years, she’ll be on her way out and you’ll be in the ideal position to take over her job as director.”
Greves smirks a little. “Beg for a demotion to work under the conqueror.”
“For now. So you can come out on top in the end. If you’re patient.”
“You’d be okay with that? You didn’t sign up to work for a defeated subdirector. Hell, in that position, I probably couldn’t even afford to pay atier rates.”
“Doesn’t matter. An Exclusive is an Exclusive. I go where you go.”
She means it. As far as clients go, Greves is the best she’s had. After they worked together for three years, he offered her a lifelong contract. She asked for twenty-six hours to make her decision. He told her she could take a week.
She went home and slept on it, then accepted the following morning.
That was nine years ago. Choosing to bind herself to a single client for the rest of her career wasn’t a hard decision, not at the time.
A lot of atiers hope for the coveted Exclusive, but few are lucky enough to receive an offer from a client they actually like and respect as a person, much less someone on a seemingly straight upward trajectory within the Company.
Their once promising journey together turned into a downward spiral. But the Code of Client Service might as well be a marriage vow. To serve is to live. To live is to die. In other words, for better or for worse, in victory or defeat, till death do us part.
She’ll die a lot sooner than he will, and then he’ll need a new atier, but she figures she’s got a few good years left. Before her knees betray her, at least.
Greves takes a final look at the sky before he touches the controls to close the observatory dome. It starts sliding shut slowly, blocking out the stars. “I’ll take your recommendation under consideration.”
“Have you heard anything from the Sweetsea? Any hint of what they might do?”
There’s a chance Greves doesn’t even get demoted, simply dismissed like the two hundred members of Astrocom to whom Isako’s been delivering notices. She doesn’t think it likely—he’s too young, has too much potential, is too well liked, at least by some important people—but it’s possible.
In which case, they’re both fucked.
She would appreciate some advance notice if that’s to be the case.
Greves shakes his head. “I should’ve hired you on and given you a white badge years ago, when I still had the chance. I’m sorry, Isa.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” Even if the Board hadn’t placed both Astrocom and SatOps under a hiring freeze during the war, she wouldn’t have accepted the offer.
Regular wagefolk aren’t permitted to carry weapons, much less do the off-the-record work that contractors are necessary for.
“You needed me as an atier,” she reminds him.
“Still do. Must’ve been a monumentally shitty experience to deliver all of those notices to people we’ve known for years, and you didn’t even complain about it.”
What would be the point of complaining? she wonders.
Nothing but misplaced energy, like the wagefolk in the Oxygn Bar blaming her for Wyatt’s death.
Acting sorry for herself certainly wouldn’t serve her client.
She’s been living by the Code all her life.
She can’t do anything about the decisions being made above her pay grade, but she’ll stay professional until the end.
“The last ones to resign are doing so on Freeday at Easthatch,” she says. “In case you want to be there to witness.”
Greves winces. “I don’t think I’ll watch this time.”
She can’t blame him. In their twelve years of working together, she’s never seen him more discouraged by failure or more pessimistic about the future.
She’d hoped for a more positive reaction to her suggestion that he advocate for a reduced role, one that could allow him to climb back up, eventually.
But maybe she’s asking for too much, too early.
Give the man time to grieve the destruction of his division and the loss of his dreams.
“Just think about the idea,” she urges him. “Working in SatOps could be an opportunity.”
The last sliver of starlight vanishes above them. “Take the next few days off, Isa,” Greves suggests. “If anyone deserves a break, it’s you.”