Twenty-Five
TWENTY-FIVE
“You’ll have to be more specific, Director.” Isako forces her voice calm.
“I thought it went without saying that discretion was part of your assignment. Instead, you demand a personal meeting with Sandbar Uchi and accuse him of murdering his contractor! To what purpose?”
Shit. How did Minto learn about what happened yesterday, and so quickly?
“The Agency informed me that Uchi’s office has filed a complaint over your unprofessional conduct.
” Ire drips from Minto’s artificial voice.
In the background, Isako can hear birds chirping and the burble of water.
The director is calling from her penthouse garden.
Isako wonders idly if the woman ever leaves her office.
“Uchi did murder his atier,” she insists. “I used the Agency’s authority to confront him.”
“And what did that get you?” Minto replies contemptuously. “The Company exonerated him over the destruction of one of his own worksites. Do you think anyone cares that he terminated some useless trac?”
Isako imagines spitting in the jarbrain’s face.
“Sandbar Uchi’s atier orchestrated the cover-up of his client’s role in the Field 93 disaster.
I believe he was eliminated for knowing too much damaging information.
After I met with the director and questioned him, he sent four shadowcons to kill me. ”
That gives Isako’s client a moment’s pause, not out of concern for Isako’s safety, but because shadowcons are expensive and hiring four of them—something Minto probably could not comfortably do herself—is indeed a sign that Uchi’s feathers are ruffled.
“Well, since you’re still alive, they can’t have been very good,” Minto replies.
“It would’ve been a risk to my position if they’d tortured you for information.
Do you have any evidence that could be used to mount an effective campaign against his confirmation? ”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“ Working on it? What can you possibly do now that you’re no longer allowed into SoCon GasPro districts or facilities?”
Good question. What can she do? She stalls. “Rest assured that I’m committed to delivering on my contract.”
Kob mouths, “Ask for something.” Clients always want to feel as if they’re responsible for successful solutions.
Requesting Minto’s assistance in some way, no matter how small, will focus her on next steps rather than on how pissed off she is in the moment.
Isako racks her mind for what she could ask for that would be useful.
The answer is right there.
She knows what to do. She doesn’t need to get into SoCon GasPro at all.
“I need your help to complete the assignment, Director,” she tells Minto sincerely. “Where would Sandbar Uchi have gone for his recorporalization?”
Isako doesn’t know much about the synthtech industry or the Process itself. Most people don’t; why would they? The ultrarich and powerful keep their rites and secrets to themselves. But Savannah Minto would know.
Minto’s thrown by Isako’s unexpected question.
“Elite Renewal. It’s the leading clinic in the Company.
They have the most-sought-after designers and neurosurgeons and the wait just to get a consultation is two years long.
They’re the only provider with eighth-generation synthtech. That’s where he would’ve gone. Why?”
She checks a calendar, does the math on the dates.
“Can you make an appointment for yourself at Elite Renewal next Terrasday? You don’t need to go into the clinic.
All I need is an excuse to enter and ask a few questions.
” She answers her client’s unspoken doubts with assurance.
“Remember, you hired me for a reason. I know what I’m doing. ”
“I certainly hope that’s true.” Minto ends the call.
Kob’s shaking his head, his jaw clenched. “Isa,” he begins.
She holds up a hand to forestall him. The gears in her brain are spinning. She feels like she’s in the relicensing exam, under pressure to do calculations that’ll lead to the correct solution. “One minute. I need to get in touch with my subcon.”
She calls Crater and is oddly touched when he picks up immediately. She did leave their last call hanging shortly before she was nearly murdered. “Didn’t think I’d hear your voice ever again,” the subcon says. “I can’t believe you’re still alive.”
“I’m a bit surprised myself,” she admits. “Change of plans. I need a blueprint of the Elite Renewal synthtech clinic and the most detailed information you can obtain about its security systems and procedures. Can you get it for me by tomorrow?”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. She feels as if she’s pincered between the mounting remonstration of Kob’s stare from across the table and Crater’s skeptical silence in her ear.
“Just because you’ve been one of my best-paying clients for a whole lot of years,” Crater says finally, “I’m going to do this last thing for you.
Then I’m out, you hear me? I had a bad feeling about your assignment from the start, and you just made it ten times worse.
I don’t want any further part in what you’re planning to do. ”
“Do I get a discount at least?”
“No. Go fuck yourself.” A pause. “May whatever God you believe in help you, Quickblade. To serve is to live.”
“To live is to die. Thanks for everything. It’s been a ride.” When she ends the call, she says to Kob, “I need to go back to the Old Warehouse. To talk to Waterboy and the United Freelancers.”
That’s the one avenue remaining to her, the last piece. Working with the terrorists.
Kob turns his back on her and goes to the kitchen. “Eat something first. Breakfast is cold by now.” The tonelessness of his voice makes it sound like a reproach.
She takes a deep breath. Then she sits down across from him, and they eat in silence.
It’s not the comfortable, companionable silence they enjoyed over breakfast on other days.
She misses the quiet delight of that first morning, eagerly devouring the fresh eggs he set in front of her.
This silence, maintained over the crunching of toast and chewing of lukewarm beans, is strained and swollen, awkwardly poised on the verge of breaking, held in place by the hard knot of apprehension sitting at the bottom of her breastbone.
Kob’s face is grim as he shovels food mechanically into his mouth.
She has too much to say to him. Nothing to say at all.
When they’re done, he gathers their empty plates and puts them in the sanitizer. “Let’s go outside.” He pushes aside one corner of the blinds to look out the window. “It’s a nice day.”
“What if we’re being watched by shadowcons?”
“Fuck shadowcons. I want to take a walk.”
They go out for a stroll around the block.
Kob’s right—it’s a nice day. She doesn’t even need a hat or gloves.
Kob wears dark sunglasses that make him look tough but that she now realizes are to protect his Gray’s-damaged eyes.
They pass a tiny community garden—even the poorest of wagemen need to see living things around them.
The warmth of the coming summer is drawing open pearlwort flowers in smatterings of white.
A couple of neighbors raise a cautious hand in greeting, but no assassins emerge to attack them.
Kob’s the one to finally speak. “There has to be another way, Isa.”
“I don’t think there is.”
“Give your client all the information you have, tell her it’s the best you can do.”
“I have nothing worth giving. Whether Uchi outright killed Martim or forced him into suicide is meaningless to the Board vote. Even if I were to parade Waterboy in front of the confirmation panel, there’s no evidence to substantiate any of the things he says.
” She stops and turns to face Kob squarely.
“As for claiming this is the best I can do—that’s a bullshit cop-out, and you know it.
I can do more. I’m going to finish this contract. ”
He takes her by the shoulders, squeezes down with his powerful grip.
“You don’t have to be the one to do it. Plant an operative in his inner circle.
Manipulate the freelancers to act and let them take the fall.
Hell, hire the job out. You’re an old hand at this; you know there are multiple ways to achieve an objective. ”
“None that are going to get the job done reliably on time.” She feels weirdly calm about the whole thing, the poetic inevitability of it all.
“The terms of my contract are clear. Prevent Sandbar Uchi from ascending to the Board by any means possible . Those were my client’s exact words.
We had an understanding about what that might mean in the end. ”
Kob lets go of her. He sits down on the stone wall surrounding the garden and bows his head heavily over his hands. “I can’t come with you, Isa.” The words seem to physically pain him. “I told you before that I wanted to help, but that I wouldn’t become a shadowcon.”
“So that’s how you think of me.”
“It’s what you are now.”
“That fucking hurts, Kob.” She can’t pretend otherwise.
“I’m not doing this for a final payday. I want to make Sandbar Uchi pay for his crimes.
Is that so wrong? He ordered the deaths of the Field 93 survivors.
He found out his dedicated atier had an incurable disease, so he murdered him to eliminate a liability.
A leader who abuses his power, betrays his own people, and covers it all up shouldn’t be on the Board of Directors. He’s evil .”
Kob raises his eyes to her. “And we’re not?”
“We’re not directors. We’re longknivesfolk. The Code is our compass.”
“Don’t recite Agency doctrine to me , of all people,” Kob exclaims. “You know damn well this is personal for you. If you’re determined to go through with it, at least don’t hide your decision behind the Code, not now, not after everything we’ve been through.
Look at us. Look at Martim. Can you say you still trust the compass? ”