Windswept (36 page)

“Ah, that was good,” said Gricelda, wiping tears from her eyes. “I really needed that.”

“Work for WalWa,” chuckled Madolyn.

“No, dear,
we
work for MacDonald Heavy,” said Gricelda.

“Much different,” said Madolyn.

“Different corporate culture.”

“Different corporate standards.”

“Different corporate goals.”

“Not to me,” I said. “You’re part of the Big Three.”

“But not the part that hurt you,” said Madolyn.

“Maybe not directly,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure that MacDonald and LiaoCon screwed me just as badly as WalWa, because that’s what the Big Three do. They chew up people and resources and shit out value for their Shareholders. And I am
done
with that.”

The twins looked at each other. Gricelda shook her head.

“You don’t suppose anything in the kitchen survived?” said Madolyn, craning her neck. “I could certainly do with a cup of something harsh.”

“Doubtful,” said Gricelda. “And, besides, you really want to have a tipple before our big trip?”

“Definitely,” said Madolyn. “If I’m going to crammed back into that can, I’m going to want to start out snookered.”

“Booze and hibernation aren’t really a good combination,” I said.

“I know,” said Madolyn. “Good thing we’re taking the short cut.”

I looked at her. “There is no short cut.”

“For you, no,” said Madolyn. “But for us, with a cargo this important, we get to jump to the head of the line.”

“Which, by the way, we get to make,” said Gricelda.

I looked at the two of them sitting in their matched chairs, their gloved hands sitting on their knees. Their smiles were small and prim, like a pair of cane vipers that were ready to sink their fangs into your face. “You sound like you’re planning on jumping inside the Red Line,” I said.

“See?” said Madolyn. “I
knew
this one was a quick study.”

“It solves all sorts of problems at once,” said Gricelda. “We save fuel, air, supplies.”

“
And
I get to have a little drinkie before we go,” said Madolyn.

“Plus, it will deal with our little contagion issue.”

“What contagion issue?” I said.

“The black stripe,” said Banks. It was the first thing he’d said since he’d come in contact with the twins. His voice was flat and dead, like someone had zapped his soul with a cattle prod.

“It’s quite virulent, dear,” said Madolyn. “Imagine what would happen if it gets up the cable?”

“The entire economy of Occupied Space would grind to a halt overnight,” said Gricelda. “Or, at least within a month. I haven’t run the numbers.”

“Everyone needs cane,” said Madolyn. “And that’s why we have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

“The only way.”

“The
hot
way.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “You’re going to jump
in orbit
?”

“
Quite
the quick study,” said Madolyn.

“You’ll fry the whole planet!” I said. “The x-ray burst alone would kill everyone, and then all the aftereffects would set the atmosphere on fire!”

“I’d hope so,” said Gricelda. “No idea how far Mr Bloombeck’s little creation has spread.”

“Best for everyone, really,” said Madolyn.

“The hell it is!” I said, clenching my fists. “Who do you think you are to decide that?”

The twins looked at each other and giggled like little girls. “We’re your
owners
, dear,” said Gricelda. “All your talk about independence and solidarity and the Struggle–”

“
Oh
, the bloody Struggle,” said Madolyn.

“–it’s all for naught, because
you
will always need
us
,” said Gricelda. “Your little planet grows cane. The only way you get money is by growing cane. Your entire tiny economy is dedicated to growing and processing cane. Even the pittance you get from your rum, that comes from cane.” She shook her head. “If you have no cane, you have nothing we want. If you have nothing we want, you
are
nothing.”

“Spoken like a true corporate citizen,” I said, then spat on the floor.

“Well!” said Gricelda.

“Loyalty is hard to find,” said Madolyn. “And it’s a shame that it’s so misplaced.”

“We would have followed through on our offer, Miss Mehta,” said Gricelda. “Do you think your precious Union would have done the same?”

“I’m not listening to any more of your bullshit,” I said, heading for the door.

“Then maybe you’d like to listen to some of our truth,” said Gricelda. “Like about how Evanrute Saarien has sold out you, your Union, and your planet.”

“And for such a tiny price,” said Madolyn.

“Not even thirty pieces of silver,” said Gricelda.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said.

“Of course not,” said Gricelda, pointing at Banks. “But
he
does.”

“That little pai of his, hoovering up information,” said Madolyn. “It’s amazing what people keep in their buffers.”

“All of their dreams.”

“All of their hopes.”

“All of their sins,” said Gricelda.

“
We
saw everything Mr Saarien saw,” said Madolyn. “Plus everything Mr Bloombeck saw.”

“It was a lot we saw,” said Gricelda.

I looked at them, sitting back in Bloombeck’s expensive chairs. They weren’t smiling.

“What,” I said, “did you see?”

“We saw Mr Saarien confront Mr Bloombeck,” said Madolyn.

“What Mr Bloombeck did for black stripe, could he do for cane?” said Gricelda.

“Which he did,” said Madolyn.

“For quite a good price,” said Gricelda, picking up a surviving crystal mouse. It wore a lab coat and sat in front of an adorable scanning electron microscope.

“After all, Mr Bloombeck was quite tired of the pocket change he made from his Contract position,” said Madolyn.

“And who wouldn’t be?” said Gricelda. “A man of his education and experience, and he’s a swing-shift worker at the sewage plant.”

“Not even management,” said Madolyn. “A crime for a man of his talents.”

“He was a grifter and a thief and a small-time con artist,” I said. “You must have seen that, too.”

“We choose to overlook people’s shortcomings if their talents are great,” said Gricelda.

“Which is why we like you,” said Madolyn.

“Mr Bloombeck wanted more in life, and Mr Saarien gave him an opportunity to get it,” said Gricelda. “Within the laboratory above, there are a dozen new varieties of sugarcane that can grow in hundreds of new environments. They are resistant to all known crop pests and infections. And they are all illegal as hell, because they will crowd out the current varieties grown throughout Occupied Space.”

“The Big Three doesn’t like to mess around with a good thing,” said Madolyn.

“And something that they can’t control?” said Gricelda.

“Not a good thing at all.”

“Fine,” I said. “Bloombeck and Saarien were in cahoots. I got that.”

“Then you get the scope of the problem,” said Gricelda.

“And you can see the scope of the solution.”

“I can see that it can’t happen,” I said, heading for the door. There were two sharp
bang
s, and two holes appeared in the wall.

I turned and saw Banks, holding up a smoking pistol. “Please don’t,” said Banks, his voice still and his eyes damp.

“I have to,” I said. “I have to stop this from happening.”

“So do I,” he said.

“Then you’re going to have to make a choice,” I said, reaching for the door again. There were two more bangs, and the doorframe splintered. “Jesus!” I yelled, jumping back. “When did everyone say it was OK to start waving guns around my streets?”

“Since we weren’t getting results,” said Madolyn.

“And
your
streets?” said Gricelda. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”

“And so is your offer,” I said. “I have worked too hard – we
all
have worked too hard to get some kind of solid footing after getting screwed over by the likes of you and your bosses, and I’m not going to help you do the same to everyone else on Santee. You’ll have to shoot me.”

The sisters looked at each other, then shook their heads. “No, we won’t,” said Gricelda, snapping her fingers. Banks thumbed back the hammer on his pistol.

“What are you doing?” I said.

“My job,” said Banks, cocking the hammer and putting the gun to my head.

“Mr Banks works for us, now and always,” said Madolyn.

“And his work can get a little wet.”

“Dirty.”

“Messy.”

“Bloody.”

“Banks?” I said.

“This is my job, Padma,” he said. “I’m supposed to make trouble.”

“You can let go.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” I said. “You start over here. We all do. You don’t have to do this.”

“I do.”

“He does,” said Madolyn. “Because if he doesn’t, he knows we’ll make him do it.”

“He is but a puppet, Ms. Mehta,” said Gricelda. “You all are.”

“Then why don’t you just make me say yes?” I said.

“Well, where’s the fun in that?” said Madolyn.

Banks’s hand was solid as a rock. I hoped it would be shaking or jittering, but he kept his gun steady.

“Well, come on, then,” I said, looking Banks right in the face. His eyes were glassy, but then they focused on mine. He sent me a message:
duck
.

I hit the deck, and the flat exploded in song.

Ah! Sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found thee

Ah! at last I know the secret of it all

All the longing, seeking, striving, waiting, yearning

The idle hopes and joy and burning tears that fall...

I looked up, and the sisters were shuffling around the flat, singing in a beautiful two-part harmony. I looked at Banks, who shot me a cockeyed grin as I got to my feet.

“Did you do this?” I hissed.

He nodded.

“Then what was with the ducking?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never used that backdoor on them, so I had no idea what would happen. They might have gone berserk or catatonic or, um, exploded.”

“Backdoor?”

He nodded. “It’s how we get into your heads. We have all kinds of backdoors built into everyone’s pai, and you can’t close them, no matter how many times you reburn someone’s firmware.” He looked at the sisters. “Even them. I was saving that trick for an emergency.”

“I suppose this counts.” I punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t you
ever
point a gun at me again again.”

He held up his right hand. “I promise. Shall we flee?”

“Oh, we shall.” I grabbed Banks by the shoulders, hauled him toward the door and flung it open.

“Wait,” said Banks, pointing a waving finger outside. I was too busy watching him to see where I was going, and my foot went right into the air, my leg and hip and the rest of me following it out the door into space. I got a hand in the doorway in time to stop from falling fifty meters to the canyons of cargo canisters below.

Ages ago, I had mused that the natural state for a cargo can was to be in motion. They spent most of their lifespans hauled up and down lifters, zipping across star systems, moving from one loading depot to the next. The moments when they sat still and either disgorged their cargo or loaded up with new stuff were brief and infrequent. Even though this can had long served as a home, it was only right that it now moved and swayed underneath a crane. We were just new cargo.

That didn’t keep me from being overwhelmed by the sheer chaos outside the door. It was deafening, the sound of overhead cranes hauling cans, the clanging of cans dropped on top of cans, the echoing, banging clash of cans and cans and cans. If I had screamed, I hadn’t heard myself. I just looked down and saw cans cans cans.

Banks leaned over and grabbed my arm, and I swung the other one into the doorway. I kicked my legs to the side, trying to get myself back in. “Stop moving!” yelled Banks.

“Pull harder!” I yelled back.

“I can’t because you won’t stop moving!”

The can shuddered and swayed, and Banks slid out of the door. I caught the seat of his pants, but he had too much momentum, and we fell. Lucky for us, the crane had moved us over a taller stack, so we only fell a few meters. It still hurt like hell when I hit steel and Banks hit me. I made sure I hadn’t broken anything other than my pride, though my leg still burned as I got to my feet.

The stack with my old flat and Bloombeck’s lab and the unconscious Ghosts was tucked underneath a crane that crawled away on the trellis overhead. Within seconds, I had lost it in the anonymous ocean of cans. I looked around, trying to get my bearings. The coast was behind me, and the cable rose to the sky in front of me. “OK,” I said to Banks, “we’re on the outbound side of the island. Everything around is in the queue to go up the cable, and it looks like your pals are jumping to the head of the line.”

“That means we’re screwed, right?” said Banks.

“Not yet,” I said, looking over the edge and muttering prayers of thanks to the Interstellar Standards Organization for making sure every cargo can in Occupied Space had ladders bolted onto the same side. We clambered down to the ground and started to look for street signs.

“Hey!” someone yelled, and I spun around, ready to run. A man on a recumbent trike pedaled toward us, waving his free hand and shouting, “Oy, you! Get out of my stacks!”

“Up yours, and twice to your mother!” I yelled back out of reflex.

The man stopped pedaling. “Padma?”

It took me a moment to realize it was Wash. I gimped over and hugged him. “I am so glad you’re management.”

He got off his bike and gave us the once-over. “You look like hell.”

“Long story,” I said. “Why aren’t you shoreside? You shouldn’t be out here schlepping cans.”

“We got a rush order,” said Wash, “and I wanted some experienced hands to cover it.”

“Hope you’re giving yourself overtime.”

“Triple time, baby,” he said, then nodded at Banks. “Are you stealing bodies now?”

“You recognize my attorney, Mr Banks?”

Wash’s eyes bugged. “Christ, Padma, what have you done to this man?”

“Why does everyone assume this shit is my fault?” I said.