Thirty-Seven #3
Thinking out loud, he ventured, “Even if the Board decides to reveal the information, the public will be deeply divided about what to do. A yes vote doesn’t mean the Company will contact Earth or end terraforming anytime soon.”
Uchi was shaking his head even before his atier was done speaking.
“Most people are idiots, Martim, you know that. They embrace fantasies of an idyllic past and mindlessly follow those who make grandiose and completely unreasonable promises. Can you imagine if this information fell into the hands of someone like that blowhard Forest Greves?”
Martim had seen the Astrocom leader’s grandstanding and could imagine it easily.
“Greves would have wagefolk abandon terraforming. Why bother working for anything, if the homeworld already has oxygen and water and resources aplenty? That’s what complacent people want , after all—for someone else to magically show up to take care of them.
That’s why reunification appeals to them.
” Uchi banged a fist against the inside of the car door, hard enough that Martim wondered if Thea and the security team in the front of the vehicle could hear it through the soundproofing.
The director had never been one to hold back his opinions, but lately, it seemed he could work himself into a frothing passion as quickly as an accelerating field car. “Isn’t Astrocom still at war?”
“With SatOps, sir.”
“Who’s expected to win?”
“From what I’ve heard, it’s a straight toss-up, but Astrocom’s got a longer history and a bigger war chest.” Not to mention one of the most experienced atiers in the Company spearheading its efforts.
Uchi grumbled, “I’m no fan of Savannah Minto, but at least she’s a moderate.
She doesn’t have big, stupid ideas and she’s about as charismatic as a block of tofu.
See what we can do to tilt the war in favor of SatOps—quietly, though.
Last thing we need to do right now is show our hand in a big-E conflict.
If all else fails, though, at least the risk of catastrophe will be less if Forest Greves is demoted, or better yet, made to resign. ”
Martim hid his expression by jotting notes on his screen. Sour acid began eating at his stomach. He’d been perfectly happy with SoCon GasPro sitting out the Astrocom-SatOps war.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sir?”
His client was giving him that intense, X-ray-beam stare. “You’re doing it again. That look on your face tells me there’s something you don’t like. If you’re having doubts, Martim, now’s the time to say so.”
Uchi’s voice was eminently reasonable in its firm, paternal concern, but Martim sensed the shadowy jaws of the trap.
A scuttling feeling traveled up his spine, a specter of the danger that lay in the crossroads of the moment.
All it would take was a bit too much honesty on his part for Sandbar Uchi to start looking at him differently.
Wondering whether he could truly be relied upon to keep performing, or if he was simply another disappointment in waiting.
Questioning if they had that much in common after all.
Martim adjusted his cuffs and said, “No doubts at all. I’m with you all the way, sir.
I’m just worried about whether we can pull all this off by the end of the year.
In addition to making sure Astrocom loses the war, we also need to launch an aggressive Board nomination campaign and prepare for the likelihood of a swift confirmation hearing—all while blowing up your schedule to accommodate your recorporalization. ”
Uchi’s face sagged, the stern determination melting into a weary vulnerability that only a few people close to him were ever allowed to see.
He shifted his gaze out the window and pressed his long fingers to his temples.
“I was trying to avoid going through the Process this year. Ideally, the doctors and technicians could observe Thea for a longer period of time to determine any potential issues with 8G technology. Also, I…” The director sighed.
“To be honest, I’m not ready. But there’s no avoiding it, not when there’s so much at stake.
I’d rather die in recorp than live to see the Founders’ Vision abandoned. ”
“Don’t say that, sir,” Martim said, alarmed. It had taken time, but Uchi seemed to have fully recovered from his concussion. “You’re young and in good shape to go through the Process, and it’s much safer than it used to be. If Thea could do it, you’ll bounce back in no time.”
Uchi’s throat moved in a thick swallow. He faced Martim again, his eyes glistening.
“We have a lot to do, to protect our division and save the Company. When I hired you, you told me you’d give me everything you’ve got, and that’s what I need from you more than ever.
You’re one of the only people I can trust completely, Martim.
” The director dropped a heavy hand on Martim’s shoulder.
“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that we’re coming up on the end of your Principal contract this year.
I’ve never offered an Exclusive before, but when the time comes, I hope you’ll consider accepting. ”
Martim sat very still, not daring to believe his ears or to reply.
“If all goes well for us, we’ll have many more years to make the world together.
Once I’m on the Board, SoCon GasPro will be in a position to drive the future of the Company.
We could become the undisputed leaders of gas production and create a golden age of terraforming.
” A wistful longing softened Uchi’s normally rough voice.
“It would be our legacy to humanity, Martim. Yours and mine.”
To serve is to live. To live is to die. If Isthmus Isako were in his position, she wouldn’t hesitate to follow the Code, no matter how painful the places it led.
He didn’t want to go there, though. He didn’t want to see Isako made a ronin.
But he was close. So very close to the top. He could taste it—the rarified air around the most elite of black badges. Everything he’d done thus far had been for a purpose, and he deserved to see it through and reap its rewards.
You were made for this.
“I’ll start setting up meetings with the people whose support we need to secure first.” Martim slid on a data visor. “Fuck Earth, let’s get you that Board seat.”