Forty-Five
FORTY-FIVE
It’s only midafternoon by the time Isako returns with Kob to his place. Seems impossible. Standing outside Elite Renewal in the early hours of the morning, she thought this would be her last day alive. Instead, it’s as though this one fucked-up day is never going to end.
The little yellow walk-up feels almost like home. Maybe because every time she comes here, she’s injured and exhausted and a complete mess on account of fighting for her life, and this third time is no exception. She’s just glad not to be back in that sad little room near the clinic.
As soon as Kob opens the door and they step inside, a wave of physical and emotional fatigue crests over her. She feels like dissolving into tears just to make all that’s happened feel real.
One look at Kob’s face puts off her plans for a personal meltdown.
His eyes are scrunched tight in pain, and a sheen of sweat stands out on his creased brow.
Back in Martim’s apartment, his command of the situation and his rock-solid presence made it easy to forget about the disease chewing away at his nervous system.
Kob lowers himself gingerly to the sofa and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes with a groan.
“Mother in Chains,” he mutters, cursing his own weakness.
Isako goes around the apartment closing blinds to cut the light.
She fills a glass of water and brings it to him along with the pill cases on the counter.
He palms two of the big white suckers, a small pink one, an oblong orange one.
His hand trembles as he takes the glass from her.
His throat bobs as he downs them in one go, but when he sets the glass down, he seems a tad steadier.
“Thanks.” He wipes droplets of water from his beard with the back of his hand and gives her an embarrassed smile. “I hate you seeing me like this,” he admits, lying down. “I always wanted to seem on top of my game when I was around you. Ever since we got matched up in atier training.”
She reaches for his glass of water and drinks, finding it suddenly harder to swallow.
“Do you remember the name of our instructor?” he asks with unexpected urgency. “The short fellow with the cauliflower ears and the mole on his left cheek.”
She searches her distant memory. “Kelp something. Brant? Brandon?”
“Kelp Brennen.” Kob sighs with relief. “I can see his face, but I lost the name there.”
She shakes her head in amazement. Kob’s diminished memory is still better than the healthy memory of nearly everyone else.
But she can see it bothers him, these early signs of erosion.
For all his insistence that he’ll be glad to forget the people whose lives he’s responsible for ending, it must still be terrifying to lose an ability he’s relied on all his life, that’s so much a part of who he is.
If he only has two or three years left, at some point soon the decline will accelerate. Then it’ll turn into a steep plummet.
“I won’t let it get that bad,” he says, as if sensing her dismayed thoughts. He closes his eyes. “I may be a freelancer, but I’m not afraid of the Vastness.”
“You’re not afraid of anything.”
“I was afraid this morning.”
Isako thinks about that, feels his words settle between them. “I wasn’t,” she admits.
“You were too busy plowing a path of carnage through the building.”
She shifts uncomfortably next to him. Now that she’s able to think about her aches and pains, they’re proclaiming themselves all over her body.
Of course, there are the traitorous knees, but also the still-tender knife-wound scar from the nightclub, the cuts and bruises from the shadowcons, and a bunch of mystery injuries from the clinic melee: some weird grinding in her hip, lingering tingly weakness from being electrocuted, swelling where she bit through the side of her tongue.
“Turns out that was the easy part,” she mutters. “Do you think this crazy plan will work?”
He cracks an eye open at her. “That depends on your client.”
With considerable misgiving, Isako places a call to Savannah Minto.
Minto’s secretary begins to give her the standard line about the director being unavailable, but Isako interrupts. “Tell her Isthmus Isako has what she wants and needs to speak to her immediately.”
Three minutes later, Minto’s voice comes on the line.
“This had better be really good.” The woman’s mechanically resonant voice vibrates with displeasure.
“I’m about to cut your scripline and leave you to be hunted down by Uchi’s assassins.
I ordered you to sabotage his nomination.
I arranged for you to gain access to the Elite Renewal clinic at the precise date and time you requested.
And what do I see today, splattered all over the Companynet?
A terrorist attack that injures civilians and leaves a synthtech surgeon shot dead!
To top it all off, Sandbar Uchi escapes to safety, issues a fiery and defiant condemnation of anti-terraformist violence, and comes out looking like a fucking hero to his people.
I cannot, in fact, think of any outcome less useful in achieving your objective! ”
Isako grimaces at her client’s tirade, largely because she can’t disagree.
“I admit it was overdramatic, but the attack by United Freelancers was a necessary distraction so no one would notice me breaking into the restricted area of the clinic,” she explains, somewhat honestly.
“It worked as I’d hoped. No one suspects I’m connected to the bombing.
While I was inside, I found proof to substantiate my suspicions about Sandbar Uchi. ”
A pause. She has Minto’s reluctant attention. “And?”
“Sandbar Uchi’s recorporalization had major complications. If the truth came out, it wouldn’t just destroy his chances of being confirmed to the Board of Directors, it would end his career.”
Stunned, exultant silence. “What did you find?”
“Are you sure this is a secure line?”
“Yes, of course.” The director can’t hide her excitement now. This is big . Maybe as big as she hoped.
“Good. I need an armored car waiting on the corner of Pine and London Street at fourteen hundred the Sunday afternoon of 9-week. An offnet vehicle with a trusted driver.”
“Why?”
“I’ll be bringing Director Uchi to meet with you. Right after the confirmation hearing.”
“What?” It’s satisfying to hear Minto flustered.
“Director Uchi wishes to discuss the potential for a mutual understanding. One that might lead to a beneficial working relationship between the two of you.”
“You spoke to him about this?”
“Today, in fact. He’s aware of what I know and understands the compromised position he’s in.”
“Give me details , atier,” Minto demands.
“Trust me, it’s better he gives them to you in person. We can’t be certain of complete privacy even on a secure line. As your atier, I recommend you take this meeting.”
Isako imagines Minto’s preserved old brain racing around inside its synthetic casing. Just as Kob anticipated, her covetous thoughts are turning from Uchi’s downfall to Uchi’s usefulness. Holding damning leverage over the leader of SoCon GasPro… that would make Savannah Minto very, very powerful.
“I’ll have the car waiting for you,” Minto promises.
“Do you guarantee Director’s Uchi’s safety, since the two of you will be meeting on SatOps grounds?
” When her client exudes a suspicious silence, Isako explains, “After the attack today, he’s paranoid about anti-terraformist assassination plots.
SatOps is a known reunionist-leaning division, so he wants assurances you would take maximum precautions. ”
“So long as Director Uchi is my guest, of course, I guarantee his safety,” Minto says, with a touch of righteous disdain.
“Satellite Operations certainly doesn’t condone or tolerate violent extremists.
Differences between terraformists and reunionists must be debated and solved by Company leaders in a civil manner, never by disorder and revolt. ”
“I’ll pass along your assurances. See you soon, Director.”
Kob lifts his head from the sofa after she ends the call. “Sounds like that went as hoped.”
Isako stops recording. It’s not exactly against Code to record confidential conversations with one’s own client, but it’s certainly questionable.
Isako figures it’s one of the less questionable actions she’s taken lately.
Who knows if Minto will honor her assurances once she finds out it isn’t really Sandbar Uchi she’s parleying with.
But as long as everyone else still thinks Martim is the director of SoCon GasPro, she’ll at least hesitate to let him come to immediate harm, especially if there’s evidence of her promising him safety.
“Jarbrains protect their exclusive little club,” Isako muses pessimistically. “They’ll be furious that a contractor is trespassing in it and might decide nothing’s more important than punishing the crime and making an example out of the perpetrators.”
“As long as they’re furious at Uchi instead of his atier, Martim’s got something to bargain with. He’s a bright kid, remember. No one knows SoCon GasPro better than he does at this point.”
Martim’s back in Uchi’s office by now, taking Uchi’s calls, holding Uchi’s meetings, issuing the statements and making the decisions that Uchi would make.
He hasn’t just been playing the part, he’s been the director of Southern Continent Gas Production for nearly two months.
The act hasn’t been flawless, but the fact remains that the division’s been operating as usual, producing tonnes of greenhouse gases each day.
And he’s doing it all under the pressure of a pending Board hearing while adjusting to second stage in someone else’s body. She can’t imagine it. As an atier, she doesn’t think she could’ve pulled off what he’s doing, even when she was his age.