Thirty-Six #3
Leanne would be ashamed of you. His kithmother hadn’t had much time for him, but she’d been a good person.
When Martim was little, she used to take him along with her to Sunday evening Mass and read him stories of the old faith about Jesus Christ, a god born on Earth who, unlike cruel Father Aquilo, was loving and forgiving.
In a household of too many argumentative people living in close quarters, Leanne had done her best to instill a sense of kindness into the children and impart a duty to treat others right.
Just thinking about her profound disapproval in him from beyond the grave was enough to smother Martim’s sense of triumph as he hurriedly summoned a car and leapt inside.
By the time the car got back to SoCon GasPro, Addison had messaged him twice.
Testing him, to see if he stuck to his story, and if he really would message back.
He composed and deleted a reply, then blocked her ID.
He felt guilty enough to be nauseous, worse than he’d felt when he’d handed Rain Kob a list of people to terminate, but pretending to be a nice guy would only make it harder for both of them.
Maybe I’m a shit person , he allowed himself, collapsing back into the seat. He took out the data wafer and turned it between his fingers. But I’m a damn good atier.
In the privacy of his office, he changed out of his bar clothes and into the spare suit he always had hanging in the closet, then set up a workscreen with a device reader and began going through Addison’s files, searching for anything related to the Board of Directors.
He had all her personal information as well—address, birthday, scrip accounts—and his eyes traveled past files that hinted at the details of her life—messages with family and past boyfriends, photo albums, daily planner and journal.
He left all that stuff untouched. It wasn’t what he was after and the least he could do was respect her privacy.
It wasn’t hard to find the information related to the Board—the meeting was next week, so there were several recent messages related to scheduling and other logistical arrangements.
Since Addison was new to the routine, there were several conversations between her and her predecessor and the Board secretary confirming the details.
One such message contained a link to a private folder with the meeting agenda and supporting documents for Minto’s review.
Accessing the folder required an authorized Company ID, but fortunately, he had Addison’s credentials.
She had recently booked synthtech clinic appointments for her boss, so he was also able to find Minto’s ID without too much additional searching.
All the files marked for the review of the Board members were marked CONFIDENTIAL and NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION and were protected against copying and sending, but Crater’s cracking program worked as he’d promised it would.
Once he had the files open, Martim made sure his office door was shut and his calendar cleared and began to go through the documents one by one.
He had to read everything through twice, to be sure of what he was seeing.
When he was certain beyond a doubt of what he had on his hands, he sat in silence for several minutes, staring at his view of the cityhab below carrying on as usual. He tried to wrap his head around what he’d learned but came up blank.
He’d imagined that his extreme sleuthing might yield valuable inside information.
He’d hoped to uncover the key issues occupying the Company’s governing council, determine which members were aligned in support of and against his client’s nomination, and obtain clues that would help him formulate a strategy for securing his client the necessary votes.
He’d been thinking way too small.
Martim’s hands were shaking; he reached reflexively for a sleepstim dispenser.
When he felt calm enough, he walked down the hallway to Uchi’s office.
Ever since his follow-up visit to the hospital, the director had been reluctantly cutting back on his schedule, taking fewer meetings and ending them earlier, but he still refused to take time off, even on a flex-day Freeday when the office was half empty.
Martim hadn’t noticed any difference in his client’s productivity, but at times Uchi seemed tired, preoccupied, or downright irritable.
“Now’s not a good time, Martim,” the director said, from behind his data visor. “I have to get on a call with those bastards in Compliance in five minutes.”
“Cancel the meeting; we need to talk.”
The tone of his voice got his client’s attention. Uchi took off his data visor and gave his atier a searching stare. “What is it?”
Martim closed the office door behind him. “You were right, sir. The Board’s been hiding something. Something big.” He set his screen down on his client’s desk, open to the most damning of the confidential documents he’d pulled with Savannah Minto’s credentials.
“What am I looking at?” Uchi asked, though the blood draining out of his face suggested that he knew the answer. The director began swiping through the files urgently, as if expecting the proof to vanish.
“Long-range signals and communication protocols.” Martim’s words came out toneless with disbelief. “Earth is calling.”