Thirty-Nine
THIRTY-NINE
Eight weeks ago
SoCon GasPro entered a limbo of waiting.
After the proclamation of Uchi’s Board nomination, the cityhab erupted with equal parts celebration and dismay.
Heated opinions flew back and forth about whether he deserved the honor, whether it was right for the Board to give the nod to someone so young and controversial, and whether he would face any obstacles in the confirmation hearing or sail through it unimpeded.
All the chatter on the Companynet and in office hallways was just that, though—inconsequential noise.
Nothing more was going to happen until Uchi successfully made it through recorporalization.
Martim did his work, but he hunkered down and waited with the rest of the division.
At last, four days before Uchi was scheduled to undergo the Process, Martim received the summons he’d been waiting for.
He’d taken Thea’s advice and avoided any further confrontation with his client, but the remaining days of his Principal contract were ticking away as inexorably as Uchi’s first stage.
With a heaviness in his steps that he realized was fear, Martim went to the director’s office.
He found Uchi waiting for him. Not multitasking on his visor or reading something on his screen, just sitting in his favorite lableather armchair, facing the door.
His full attention was fixed on Martim as he entered, that X-ray-beam stare every bit as intense as it had been on the day of Martim’s interview.
For years, Martim had seated himself casually in this familiar office, but today, without consciously deciding to do so, he lowered himself zanshin into the chair across from Uchi, back straight, as if they were meeting each other for the first time.
The director didn’t suggest that he relax. At first, he said nothing at all. Martim tried to read his client for some clue as to his fate, but the expression on Uchi’s face was confusing and unlike any of his other moods. Fond yet reserved, pleased but sad, a smile that seemed forced and false.
Martim’s mouth went dry.
Uchi cleared his throat and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I know your Principal contract is coming to an end, and we need to talk about where we go from here. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for us to have this meeting. I didn’t want to delay, but I had to get some things in order first.”
“You’ve had a lot going on, sir,” Martim said.
“Thanks to you. The Board nomination wouldn’t even have happened this year if it hadn’t been for your efforts. Sometimes, I’m amazed by how much I’ve come to depend on you, Martim. Do you want something to drink, by the way?”
“Sure, that would be great,” Martim managed.
Uchi got to his feet briskly and brought over a bottle of premium sparkling water, which he uncapped and poured for both of them.
“The Agency sent you to interview with me as a joke, do you remember?” Nostalgia softened his voice.
“I’m glad they did. You’ve hands down outperformed every other contractor I’ve ever hired. ”
“Thank you, sir.” Martim felt vaguely ill. He accepted the proffered water, took a swallow, and set it down on the table before it could betray his shaking hands.
“As I’ve said before, you’re the only atier to whom I’ve considered offering an Exclusive contract. I still wish I could, really I do.” Uchi sat back down heavily. “Unfortunately, you’re also violating policy. You have been for some time.”
Martim’s anxiety coalesced out of the formlessness of uncertainty into the terror of known reality. So this is how it’s going to go. “What policy violations are you referring to, exactly?” he asked, with a shocking amount of calm. “All of the ones I committed on your behalf, or something else?”
Uchi gave him a disappointed look— seriously?
“You’re smart, but not as smart as you think you are, Martim.
There’s only so long you can hide a drug habit when you’re regularly going out of your way to buy from badgeless dealers.
I’m not going to pull out the evidence and wave it in front of your face, but I have enough proof to have your license revoked by the Agency. ”
In the periphery of his vision, Martim glimpsed Thea shifting her weight in the corner. It was an unexpected, entirely unnecessary motion from a second stager, one that made him glance at her and wonder, with a short, sharp flash of betrayal, what role she’d played in spying on him.
“I was always careful,” he said to Uchi. “I never exposed you to any risk.”
“If you had, I would’ve canceled your contract long ago.”
“I never let it affect my performance. I only started using so that I could get to sleep at night and stay alert during the day—because of this job, this fucking job .” Martim hated how his voice was beginning to tremble.
“I told you from the start that I’d give you everything I had.
I did that, and then some. I probably took years off my life so I could do everything you expected of me and more. ”
“That’s why I ignored your infractions. Anyone else would be long gone, but not you.
” The warm paternal look that Martim used to value so highly returned to the director’s face.
“You’re just like me. Once you have your mind set on a purpose, you’re relentless.
You’ll do whatever it takes. You’ll bend and break the rules.
You’ll sacrifice yourself. I wish I could keep overlooking your vices, or better yet, help you overcome them, but unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.
You’re at the end of your Principal contract and I’m at the end of my first stage.
I must decide what to do about this secret you’ve been keeping from me. ”
“And what about your secret, sir? The one you’re keeping from the whole Company?”
To his surprise, Uchi didn’t reply. Merely stared at his atier calmly.
“Those headaches weren’t from a concussion, were they?
” Martim demanded. “What do you have? Multiple sclerosis? Parkinson’s?
Sudexatrine treats neurodegenerative diseases.
It took me a while to find that out, since the drug isn’t approved by Health Services yet.
It’s definitely not on the list of medications you can take when you’re about to go through recorporalization.
Any serious, unresolved health condition or unknown drug interaction dramatically reduces the odds of the procedure succeeding.
” Martim met his client’s eyes and didn’t look away.
“When were you planning on acknowledging there’s a good chance you won’t survive the Process? ”
The director broke eye contact and drained his glass of water. “I wasn’t going to.”
How typical of Uchi, to simply refuse to accept bad news. When presented with unfavorable data or poor odds, he resisted revising targets downward or agreeing to delays, always insisting that their goals could still be achieved with enough resourcefulness, hard work, and sheer willpower.
But the director couldn’t motivate or bully his own body into cooperation. “Wilson found out, didn’t he?” Martim asked. “He realized your recorp might be a death sentence. That’s why the two of you fought.”
“I insisted it was worth the risk,” Uchi said quietly. “He disagreed.”
“He was right,” Martim said. “If you were to die suddenly, it would completely upend the division and stall the terraforming movement. You don’t have an obvious successor.
I would’ve suggested Wilson, but that’s not an option anymore.
Maybe Jagmeet, but there would need to be a long and orderly transition period to get him ready.
The possibility of SoCon GasPro being derailed and maybe even broken up isn’t worth the risk, not even for a Board seat. ”
Uchi gave a sad nod. “I knew that’s what you would say.”
“I’m your atier. Where you go, I go. You should’ve told me the truth.
” Martim picked up his glass of water. His throat was still dry and tight, but this time his hands were steady.
“But you kept me in the dark because you intended to cancel my contract. Even though I’ve earned your trust for three straight years, you wouldn’t want me to leave knowing too much. ”
The director shook his head. “You’re only partly right.
I should’ve told you the truth earlier. But I wasn’t planning to fire you.
I really did think we could beat the odds, together.
” Uchi laced his hands. “But of course you found out, and now you’re in a position to blackmail me.
If I cancel your contract, you could make my health issues public knowledge and torpedo the Board nomination that you personally worked so hard for. ”
“I don’t expect you to retain me,” Martim said hoarsely.
“Just let me finish out the rest of my Principal without reporting me to the Agency. You came to an agreement with Wilson. You knew he wouldn’t betray you, so long as he didn’t have to.
If anything I’ve done matters to you, don’t turn me into a freelancer.
Give me a chance to get another client, and I’ll abide by the Code.
Whether you survive recorporalization or not, I’ll take your secrets to the grave. ”
Suddenly, Uchi appeared on the verge of tears. “This is what I appreciate so much about you, Martim. Your fighting spirit. Instead of arguing or begging, you’re facing me down. You’re determined to negotiate your way out of a career-ending situation.”
“You haven’t given me any choice,” Martim croaked out.
“I’m not going to let you go. Haven’t I said it already? Others are replaceable; you’re not. I need you now more than ever. You see, I’m already dying.”
Martim blinked in confusion. “But there are cures for—”