Nineteen #2
“Apparently, you haven’t been made aware of the urgent nature of this meeting.
” She enunciates her words with righteous disdain.
“It’s come to the attention of the Partners that atier Dragonfly Martim is dead.
The Agency received no notice of this from your division.
It is, of course, a requirement that we be informed within five days when a contractor dies or a contract is canceled for any reason.
As Director Uchi ought to know, failure to do so is subject to penalties ranging from removal of favored-client status up to blacklisting. ”
No division would want to be blacklisted by the Agency. Being unable to hire licensed contractors, and thus being without the services of short-term workers and qualified longknivesmen, would handicap any division.
In the case of SoCon GasPro, the threat is largely an empty one.
They’re too big and important for the Agency to blacklist easily.
The division probably has dozens of contractors, possibly even more atiers, working for Uchi’s numerous subdirectors.
The Partners aren’t going to give up that revenue.
But the undersecretary doesn’t need to know that.
Isako only wants her to be concerned enough to bring up their conversation with Director Uchi.
“We realize this is a busy time for the director, but I’m sure you can appreciate that the irregular situation is concerning to the Partners.
Dragonfly Martim was a top atier, and according to all indications, there were no issues with his performance.
Please inform Director Uchi that Isthmus Isako has been sent by the Agency to speak with him about the matter immediately. ”
The undersecretary sniffs, “Of course, Director Uchi values the services provided by the Agency; however, you will simply have to wait until there’s an opening in his schedule—”
Isako cuts her off. “The director’s own bodyguard disposed of Martim’s body and removed his longknife and badge from a crematorium on the other side of the cityhab.
I assume this occurred with the director’s knowledge.
Unless some satisfactory explanation for these unusual events is provided, I will be reporting this information to the Agency. ”
She ends the call.
“Now you’ve gone and done it,” Kob says.
She’s alerted Uchi’s people to the fact that she’s here, digging up dirt, prepared to make a stink. She’s made herself a nuisance and thus a target.
“He’ll rightly suspect you were sent by a rival trying to keep him off the Board,” Kob points out. “After that, we’ll be followed and watched everywhere we go.”
Kob’s right. Maybe it would’ve been better not to show their hand so early.
But she doesn’t care anymore. “He’s bound to find out I’m here, sooner or later.
Constance entrusted me with Agency authority, and I’m damn well going to use it.
I want to catch Uchi off balance, confront him while he’s still adjusting to second stage.
If he’s not completely with it mentally and can’t control his reactions, all the better. ”
She’s never met Director Uchi, but she dislikes him. Hates him, even. She’s not used to hating people, not when they’re simply part of an assignment. She doesn’t even hate Director Minto. But there’s no ignoring her quiet, growing rage.
Kob clears his throat. “Are you sure you aren’t getting attached to this theory because it’s convenient for you?”
“What do you mean?”
He looks at her as if to say she knows exactly what he means.
“Your client ordered you to prevent Uchi’s confirmation to the Board.
She doesn’t care that Martim’s dead. She won’t even care if Uchi was the one who murdered him, not unless it changes the Board vote, and I don’t yet see how it does.
If Uchi can wipe out a gas field and emerge relatively unscathed, what’s it going to matter if he terminated his atier? ”
“If Martim was murdered for covering up his client’s role in the Field 93 disaster, it’s as good as a confession of Uchi’s guilt,” Isako counters.
“It might make more people question the official outcome of the hearing. We could uncover the evidence Martim hid on Uchi’s behalf.
Also, the timing of Martim’s death—right after Uchi’s recorporalization—suggests he could’ve been acting hastily, out of paranoia and mental instability.
That also casts doubt on whether he ought to be elevated into Company governance. ”
“That’s a whole lot of if s and might s,” Kob says. “You’re counting on getting revenge for your apprentice under the guise of client service.”
Isako pushes to her feet. “Do you really consider me that unprofessional? You think I’ve forgotten the Code? Who do you think I am?” She doesn’t mean for her words to come out as hot and sharp as they do.
“I know you’re upset Martim’s dead. A lot more upset than you’re letting on.
” Kob gives her a searching look without moving from his seat.
Quietly, “You know it’s not your fault, don’t you?
You were his mentor. Not his mother, not his client.
You prepared him to pass the licensing exam, but he made his own decisions after that.
He chose to take this contract, and it fucked him over. ”
“It’s not that vastblasted simple, Kob.” She spins away from him toward the window, leans her forehead against the glass. Lets the cool pressure spread into her skull.
“He called me late at night, a year ago.” Sour regret thickens her voice. “He left me a rambling message saying he was having second thoughts about his contract, that he didn’t think he made the right choice, and asking if we could talk about it.”
Kob listens silently.
“I told him to suck it up and stop being such a pussy. Not in those exact words, but close enough. I thought it was what he needed to hear, but it was only what I wanted to say.”
She turns back around and meets Kob’s eyes.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal. I figured he was going through the usual crisis of confidence we all go through with our first tough assignment or difficult client, and I was annoyed by his complaining.
Jealous, even. The war with SatOps wasn’t going well.
Martim had a whole career ahead of him, and I could already see the end of mine.
What did the kid even know about the hardship of client service, anyway?
What had he seen in his two years that was a fraction of the shit we’ve been through over decades?
He hadn’t gone through a war or a merger or a strike; he hadn’t delivered any DTE notices.
Hell, he only knew the pointy end of a longknife because I was the one who taught him.
If he was having a rough time in the edge life, well, yeah—welcome to the fucking club. ”
Isako drops back onto the sofa as if her bones have turned to lead.
“That’s the last time I heard from him. He didn’t call after that.
I meant to reach out, but I was too busy.
Busy fighting a war that I lost. By the time I tried to get back in touch to congratulate him on Uchi’s nomination, he was already dead.
Now I can’t stop thinking: What if I’d just called him back? ”
Kob fills his large frame with air. Lets it out again. “It’s still not your fault, Isa.”
“I had doubts when he was offered a Principal contract in SoCon GasPro. I’d heard that Uchi hires and fires contractors at the drop of a hat, that he grinds atiers to dust. But Martim was so excited to get the contract that I didn’t say anything to discourage him.
He was young and cocky. I was plenty tough on him as a mentor and he rose to the challenge.
I figured if anyone could hack it, he could.
“Maybe I am too invested,” she admits. “Maybe this isn’t exactly the way my client would want me to go about things.
But Director Minto is no fool. I lost a war against her so I know that much.
She sent me here because she’s convinced that Uchi’s unfit, that him being voted onto the Board would be bad for the Company.
I didn’t care at first—I just wanted to get through this last contract. But now I think she’s right.”
A call alert arrives and she picks it up. The undersecretary says, curt and aggrieved and without preamble, “Director Uchi will see you on Monday at seventeen hundred for fifteen minutes.”