Twenty #2
“You gave no indication to the Agency that he was underperforming. Why not just let his contract expire and send him back to the Agency? Give him a chance to work for another client. Martim was young, not even thirty years old yet; he could’ve—”
“He was a drug addict.” For the first time, Uchi looks visibly uncomfortable.
Apparently synthtech is now advanced enough to capture the small facial twitches of aggravation and disgust. “He was buying illegal shit and using it regularly while on the job, for years, right under my nose. The Agency would revoke his license for policy violations, if it knew. Do you think he could’ve been hired by another client with prohibited drug use on his record? ”
They all know the answer. She thinks about Vincent in the Epic Vibe. About the white injection pen on Martim’s bedside table. She can feel the weight of Kob’s gaze on her. She knew this was a possibility. She just refused to accept it. Wanted to believe something else.
“He resorted to using because of you . The things you made him do, the pressures you put him under.” With dismay, she hears her voice rising.
This is not going how she intended. She hoped to unbalance Uchi, to provoke him into revealing weakness.
She’s the one showing weakness. “You could’ve granted him permission to resign, you could’ve at least given him that much respect for his service to you, not just… nothing .”
Uchi goes so still that for a moment, he seems like any other jarbrain, his body frozen in a momentary glitch that makes apparent his inhumanity.
Then his face twists and he throws up his hands.
“That junkie didn’t deserve a nameplace or resignation bonus!
I honestly thought I’d finally found an atier worthy of an Exclusive contract.
I was counting on him to aid me through the Board confirmation process.
But he turned out to be just another big disappointment. ”
He seems genuinely aggrieved. Somehow, that makes it worse.
As useless as it would be, Isako wants to surge over the red line in the carpet, wrap her hands around the jarbrain’s throat, and squeeze. “Martim gave you everything he had for three years and you didn’t even acknowledge his death.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m squarely in the public spotlight these days. The last thing I need during a Board confirmation is for anyone to shine a light on a key member of my leadership team buying and abusing illegal substances. The details would be a sordid distraction.”
“So you pretended nothing happened.”
“The timing was terrible and would’ve given ammunition to my opponents.
If the Agency’s that upset about the delay, my office will file the paperwork this month and make a statement later— after I’ve been confirmed to the Board.
” Uchi spreads his hands as if offering a middle ground. “That’s what I planned to do anyway.”
“I don’t believe you.” Kob’s words come out so flat that Isako half turns toward him.
He’s been conspicuously quiet, but his presence is impossible to ignore, and when he wishes it to, his baritone voice is capable of chilling the air in a room.
“You’re omitting the fact that Dragonfly Martim was responsible for sanitizing your involvement in the Field 93 disaster.
He had crucial evidence erased and the survivors terminated on your orders.
When I last spoke to Martim, he was fearful for his career and for his life. ”
Uchi blinks, once. “I beg your pardon?”
“You had reasons to want Martim out of the way.” Kob sounds certain. “I’ve worked for clients all over the Company, over many years. Nearly all of them could and would overlook a drug infraction if it served them to do so. You’re obscuring your true motives.”
Uchi stares at the big longknivesman as if he just opened his coat to reveal a vest of explosives.
“ You’re the ones hiding your motives.” The change in demeanor is rapid; the man goes from smug and controlled to outright menacing in his pointed displeasure.
He levels a finger at Isako. “After years without contact, you chose this time to unexpectedly check up on your former apprentice. After disappearing from contract work, Strikebreaker suddenly makes a reappearance. What convenient timing. Am I supposed to believe that it stems from a sudden concern for your colleague’s welfare?
Or the far more likely truth —you were sent to dig up dirt in SoCon GasPro and fuck up the vote in order to keep me off the Board. ”
Uchi rises from his seat, leaning over his desk with all of his intimidating height.
“The Agency wants you to find out if I’ve been recorped with all my marbles.
Or the spaceheads hope you’ll drum up false outrage to sabotage the confirmation process.
Either way, I see you for what you are—desperate ronin working for desperate masters, trying to stand in the way of your betters. You can’t and won’t succeed.”
Isako realizes she’s made a terrible mistake.
Her client would be furious. Kob was right: Savannah Minto doesn’t give a shit about Martim or the Field 93 victims. She sent Isako here to pry into Uchi’s vulnerabilities, to form a plan to block his confirmation to the Board, to keep the terraformist bloc from gaining more political power.
Not to face Uchi down in his office only to learn what she should’ve known already—that Martim dug his own grave.
He did so the minute he strapped on the longknife and signed his contract.
Isako’s jeopardizing her assignment and failing client duty, yet even with that nauseating awareness sitting rancid in her stomach, she can’t help the words that come out of her mouth.
“A cruel lord who doesn’t care about his own people doesn’t deserve to be leading the Company.
You say SoCon GasPro is making the world. What kind of world are you making?”
Uchi scowls at her angrily—and with regret.
“Time is running out for both of you. Don’t waste what little you have left by setting yourselves against me.
” He sits back down and swivels his chair away from them, sliding on a blue data visor and starting to tap through notifications.
“The fifteen minutes I promised you are over. You’re no longer welcome in SoCon GasPro.
I’ll give you twenty-six hours to leave my division.
After that, I make no promises for your safety. ”