Seventeen #2
Isako hesitates, unsure if she should go after him.
She stays put. She can’t remember Kob ever suffering from migraines before.
Is this something recent, a particular plague of age, like her insomnia and deteriorating arthritic knees?
She remembers the pills Kob swallowed before his meal yesterday and wonders where he gets his medication.
Now that he’s badgeless, he can’t access Company health care; he has to rely on charity facilities or dubious clinics that will accept offscrip.
But the worse his health, the less likely he’ll be able to find a way out of freelancing.
When the waiter returns with a bottle of white wine, Isako drains half her glass.
A call comes in. It’s Crater. She slips in her earpiece. “What do you have for me?”
“I have all the information on Director Uchi’s recorporalization that I could get to easily. I’ll have to break down more walls to access personal medical records, and that’ll take additional time. But I’ll send you what I have so far.”
“You’re a blessing and a pro,” Isako tells him. “Anything interesting so far?”
“Not really. Uchi has a top-of-the-line eighth-generation synthbody that he commissioned six years ago, along with one for his wife at the time. He wasn’t originally planning to go through the Process this year, but with the Board nomination speeding along, he moved the date up to the final Monday of last year.
According to the division press release, he was in the facility for a couple extra days of testing and monitoring given the additional complexity of the 8G model, but apparently everything went smoothly and he was discharged in good health that Freeday. He was back to work three days later.”
Isako pulls a calendar up on her screen and works the dates back in her head. A day after Uchi walks out of the clinic in second stage, his atier dies under mysterious circumstances.
“Did you find anything to suggest concerns about Uchi’s mental stability?” Isako asks.
“Eh.” She can hear the shrug in Crater’s voice.
“Uchi was known for a volatile temper long before he went through the Process. I don’t imagine that the experience of waking up in an artificial body would’ve done anything to mellow him out.
But he’s publicly released the results of his first two postoperative examinations, showing that he’s meeting all the physical and psychological benchmarks for a successful entry into second stage. ”
“What about possible flaws with eighth-generation synthtech?”
“According to available data, 8G is working better than anything that came before it. Sure, there are minor bugs to be ironed out, but nothing serious. Uchi has his third and final postoperative appointment two weeks from now, but I wouldn’t expect anything new and shocking to come out of it.”
So much for substantiating Savannah Minto’s “mental instability” angle with any sort of medical evidence. As if psychopathy was ever a barrier to advancement in the Company anyway.
“You want me to keep digging around for older records?” Crater asks.
“Go back another ten years, but don’t sweat it. What have you learned about Martim?”
Crater’s voice takes a solemn turn. “As far as I can tell, he didn’t contact anyone in his kith, or send money, or do anything else that might suggest he knew what was going to happen.
He didn’t take any time off or visit any health care facilities before he died.
There’s no evidence his performance declined and no disciplinary notes in his personnel file, so it doesn’t seem like he was in danger of losing his contract. ”
It all supports the conclusion she drew from the untouched state of Martim’s apartment. His death was sudden and unexpected.
“I did find two unusual things. Forty weeks ago, Sandbar Uchi visited the Sweetsea and took his atier with him. Just the two of them and a bodyguard, based on the security clearances in the system. It was arranged on short notice and with high priority.”
Getting a personal audience with the Executive is challenging for all but the most senior directors. The timing of the meeting places it shortly before Uchi made his run for the Board nomination. “Any idea what the meeting was about?”
“Nah, the Sweetsea is a black box. Whatever’s said in there is completely off the Companynet record.
No way I’m getting inside that system, not that I’d try.
Way above my pay grade.” At Isako’s understanding but disappointed silence, the subcon adds, “One other thing, though. Martim bought a hell of a lot of secure data storage last year. Way more than any normal person needs to have for personal use.”
Vincent told her that Martim was tasked with cleaning up after the Field 93 disaster. Waterboy said the evidence surrounding Uchi’s culpability in the whole affair went missing. Isako has a pretty good idea why Martim needed the equivalent of a digital vault.
“Thanks. Send me everything you have.” She sees Kob returning to the table. “You’ll get the first part of your payment tonight, and an advance on the rest.”
She ends the call as Kob sits back down.
He still seems a bit pale and unsteady, but not in pain.
There’s a glisten of moisture in his beard and in the hair over his eyes that suggests he splashed cold water on his face.
A high-end restaurant like this probably provides customers with several seconds of free water in its bathrooms.
“Are you feeling better?” she asks him.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Luckily, I think I managed to knock it out before it got any worse.” He gives Isako an embarrassed smile as he sits down. “Who were you talking to?”
“My research subcon.” She doesn’t say more about Crater; she has no idea what Kob’s relation is to the hacker—he might be a fellow client, or he might wish Crater dead, or both. “I asked them to dig into Uchi’s medical history.”
“Did they find anything?”
“Only that he seems to be a model jarbrain so far.”
The waiter returns with their meal, setting down a stone platter arranged with delicate morsels of fish—pink and white; raw, seared, baked, and steamed; garnished with citrus and herbs, drizzled with complex and flavorful sauces.
Kob bows his head for a moment over the food and mutters reverently, “Thank the blessings of the Mother that will be free,” then raises his wineglass in Isako’s direction. “And thank Director Minto’s money.”
Isako tries to set aside the awful past few days and enjoy the meal, savoring the flavor of every mouthful of delicate seafood.
Seafood. Amazing to have seafood on a planet without seas.
Aquilo might have large bodies of water, starting with rivers and lakes, in another three hundred years, according to the latest terraforming projections.
Isako’s old enough to remember when eating fish first became a thing.
Not just an eccentric historic luxury reserved for the obscenely wealthy, but something the reasonably well-to-do could splurge on once in a while.
The first fish were cloned from the Genebank for research.
Now there are several species populating ponds in the Company’s ecological test sites.
But devoting water to farm fish for consumption : That certainly hadn’t been imaginable when she was a little girl.
“I don’t remember you being such a devout Sefan,” she says.
Kob chews slowly, eyes half closed in pleasure, perhaps also imagining this to be the last time he’ll eat so richly.
“They say there are no atheists in the airlock,” he answers.
“I grew up in a religious kith but never really embraced the practice. Lately, though, I’ve had a lot more questions that only faith seems able to answer. ”
If this is his way of saying that he’s preparing for his impending death, Isako wonders why the same impulse to turn to religion hasn’t struck her yet. Then again, he’s had quite a while to think about it; she hasn’t.
“You could say I’m grasping for comfort, just like everyone else,” he admits. “Or maybe I’m replacing something I’ve lost. Religion guides us in how to live with purpose, day to day. You still have the Code to do that for you, Isa. I don’t.”
A gloom falls over their meal. “How did your family react to you losing your license?” she asks.
“Not well.” It’s Kob’s turn to drain most of his wineglass. “A long history of atiers in my kith. Several of my relatives are big fans of yours, by the way. Quickblade is a celebrity to them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.” If he’s teasing, she can’t tell. “If you were in the market for a new husband…”
She snorts. “Please.” But she turns away to hide the blush.
“Anyway, as you can imagine, it’s a big scandal, the fact that I’m freelancing.
Most of them won’t even talk to me anymore.
They certainly won’t talk to anyone about me.
If asked, they say that I’m still recovering from being injured in the Utilities Strike.
” He knocks a fist against his bad shoulder.
“The nicer relatives figure I’m going through a phase and will sign a contract as soon as I’ve got my shit together, if I don’t run out of time and get termed first.”
Isako doesn’t mention that she agrees with those relatives, very much hopes they’re right.
Kob reaches over to refill her wineglass, but Isako shakes her head and waves away the offer.
She knows her unfortunate limit now; a second glass would either put her straight to sleep or keep her up all night, nothing in between.
Fucked-up menopausal metabolism. Kob pours for himself instead and leans back in the seat.
“Do you remember our first assignment together?”
“I’m not that senile.”
“I found you very intimidating.”
“ Me? You’re the one they hired to scare the wagemen. Our badges were so shiny back then, they certainly didn’t hire us for our experience or reputation. They brought you on because you looked like you could crack heads.”
“True. And they hired you because you were already the fastest longkniveswoman around. Like I said, very intimidating. Until that one time we were up for fifty-two hours straight and someone passed around a bottle of whiskey. You took three shots and fell asleep on the floor. Amazing thing is that you still had better reflexes than the rest of us the next morning, even hungover.”
“That was stupid. I’d never do that now.”
“Ah, but I’m not sure we’d have become as good friends if I hadn’t seen you with your armor down.
” Kob levels a finger. “To everyone else, you may be Quickblade, paragon of the Agency, but to me, you’re always going to be that one friend I had to pick off the floor and carry to bed.
I was the only one who could pick you up, mind. You were heavy.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Act tough all you like, but I’m going to miss you an awful lot. When the time comes, I’ll be honored to witness. But that doesn’t mean I want to.”
Isako looks down at the napkin in her lap. “I hope you’re not trying to change my mind.”
Kob shakes his head. “Mother in Chains, look at me, Isa. I’m not in a position to judge anyone.
I just think you’re not giving yourself enough credit.
You’re a mother, and a mentor, and a friend on top of being a hell of an atier.
We always say those who resign bequeath a gift to the rest of us.
That’s true when it comes to money and resources—but when it comes to the heart, nothing makes up for losing them. ”
She thinks of Tessa on the watchtower. Of herself as a girl, watching Akio walk away from her without looking back.
It’s late; Isako can feel the wine kicking in, soft fatigue descending over her. Most of the other diners have departed, leaving the two of them alone by the darkened window. She waves down their waiter and is pleasantly surprised when she pays the bill. “It didn’t even cost all that much.”
“What did I tell you? Fish is more affordable these days. I read an article about how culinary researchers worked with Genebank scientists to cross the most flavorful fish that the ancestors were recorded to have regularly eaten, with air-breathing species. Fish with lungs can be farmed far more cheaply.” Kob leaves his coat unbuttoned as they exit the restaurant; the heat generators and streetlights and bustling sidewalk crowds of SoCon GasPro cocoon them in warmth as they walk to Isako’s hotel.
They reach the front entrance of the Summer Suites. Kob stops outside. “Get some sleep and call me when you get up in the morning.”
“Are you going back to your place?”
“Technically, I’m working security at the Epic Vibe tonight.”
“ What? When?” It’s already 2430.
Kob checks the time. “Ninety minutes ago.”
“You… you blew off your job?” Punctuality is practically a part of the Code; that’s how seriously atiers treat it. She can’t remember Kob ever being late even by a minute, much less not showing up when he was supposed to.
“It’s barely what you would call a job. One of the managers recognized me having a drink there one night and was so surprised I was freelancing that he jokingly offered to pay me in free drinks and offscrip tips if I worked as a bouncer and intimidated troublemakers.
You should’ve seen his face when I said sure.
” Kob chuckles, seemingly amused at his own expense.
“I don’t need to go back there. Spending the evening having dinner with an old friend was a thousand times more enjoyable. ”
“It was good food,” she admits grudgingly. “Thanks for the suggestion.”
“See you in the morning.” Kob starts walking down the street toward the tram line.
“Hey,” she calls after him. When he turns around, she says, “It’s late and a long way back to Field Transport. Since we’re going to be working together… The hotel room is plenty big. Do you want to sleep on the sofa tonight?”
Kob is silent for a moment. Then he lets out a big bark of laughter.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, startled into defensiveness.
“It’s only that… I think Sheila was the last woman to ask me that question before we split up for good. The way she asked, it wasn’t optional and it wasn’t meant to be nice.” He walks back toward her and holds open the hotel door for her. “I appreciate your offer a lot more.”