Windswept (38 page)

“What you saw was the future,” said Saarien. “One that will ensure that we will endure in the Struggle against our former masters.”

“By wiping out all the cane in Occupied Space?” I said.

“Not all of it,” said Saarien. “Just the corporate controlled cane.”

“Which
is
all of it,” I said. “Even if you had nothing but your stuff planted on Santee, do you know how many people you’re going to hurt? How many powerplants run on industrial cane? How many food delivery trucks, ambulances, police cars all run on cane diesel?”

“And they will continue to run,” said Saarien. “Like you said, you saw the stacks.”

“There’s no way you’ve made enough molasses to run this planet,” I said. “You’ve only been working with Bloombeck for, what, six months? Seven?”

Saarien shook his head. “I think I’ve said far too much.”

“If you really believe in the Struggle, then you won’t do this.”

Saarien smiled, and I had never wanted to hit him as badly as I did right then. “It’s
because
I believe that I will. As long as the Big Three tell us what to grow and how to grow it and how much we’ll get for keeping their rotting corpse of a civilization running, we will never be free. This is the ultimate blow for liberty, Sister Padma, and if you truly believed, you’d have asked to join me. Instead, you’ve blocked me, every step of the way.”

I’d like to say that Saarien’s smug tone and unflinching certainty gave me superhuman strength, more than enough to tear my way out of the chair, rush him and beat him to death with his own arms. But I just looked at Banks, who had a small dribble of blood coming out his nostril. Wash’s eyes were closed, and his breathing grew ragged. I turned back to Saarien and said, “You don’t know a goddamn thing, Rutey. All this time you’ve run Sou’s Reach and howled for more Contract Slots and more money and more influence, you have never understood what it’s all about. You don’t get it, and you never will.”

“There’s nothing to get,” he said, “nothing except a few gas cans and a match.”

“This won’t end with me,” I said. “Even if you get your cane up the lifter and out into space, you think people won’t remember what you did? You think the Union’s just going to sit back and let you get away with murdering me?”

“How will they know it’s murder when there’s no evidence?” he said.

“I’ve got enough to tie you with all of this–”

“I will be
running
this place,” said Saarien, laughing. “Everyone will be too busy panicking about how to eat to care about investigating any fires on the lifter terminal. And when I step in with a solution, you will just be a memory. The Union won’t care about you, not when
I
am the Union.”

“You really think that?” I said. “You don’t think all the people who do the working and living and dying, they might have something to say about it?”

Saarien smiled. “I think it’s funny that you’re choosing now to think about them.”

“They won’t,” I said. “I think the Union will find you out and fight you. Everyone will see how you don’t care about the people, just the cause, and you’ll be stopped.”

He clapped three times, slow and steady. “Bravo for the brotherhood of man.”

“It’s the brotherhood of the fucked-over,” I said. “And our own people, one of these days, are going to realize how full of shit you are and feed you to the wolves.”

“Not while I’ve got the guns and the dinner plates,” said Saarien.

The door opened, and a trio of goons entered the room carrying red fuel cans. “Praise God!” called Saarien, the syrup returning to his voice. “Now you will see the power of virtue triumph over vice!” He uncapped one of the cans and kicked it over; cane diesel spilled on the floor, splashing its way toward us. I turned away, but the overpowering stench of the diesel made my head fuzz and my strength drain.

Saarien rummaged through the desk until he found an emergency kit. He pulled out a flare and struck it. The office’s light, already hellish from the fluorescents, turned bright red as Saarien approached us. “Pour those two cans on them, and watch,” he said. One of the goons nodded, picked up a can and swung it at Saarien’s head. He went down, the flare flying away and landing on diesel-soaked paperwork. As it ignited, the goon wound up and flung the can at the other goons. They froze, wondering what to do with the diesel splashed over their armor, and our rescuer unslung her riot hose and sprayed their helmets. The stench of rotting vanilla clashed with the sharp diesel as both goons swatted at the hardening and expanding foam. With a few swift kicks, the remaining goon booted the other two out the door, firing a few extra squirts of foam after them.

what the hell is going on?
Banks and Wash both texted.

“You’re still good for that thousand yuan, right?” said the goon, flipping up her facebowl. It was Jilly.

“I’m good for a lot more than that if you get us out of here,” I said.

Jilly found a pair of clippers in the desk and snipped all of our zipties. I sprang from the chair and gave Jilly a hug, then we helped Wash outside, where a waiting cargo van puttered away. “I got a ride in with a police boat, and then I saw this thing just sitting around. Had the armor and everything, so I figured, why not play dress up?” Jilly grinned, then scratched her neck. “Hope it’s easy to come off. This shit itches.”

“That’s part of the joy of being a goon,” I said as we put Wash in the back. Banks cracked into the van’s first aid kit and got to work tending to Wash. I sprayed anesthetic on my wounded calf, sighing as the pain vanished. Black smudges of smoke puffed out of the doorway; in a minute, the fire would turn the can into an oven, smothering anyone left inside. I’d cleaned up after one can fire six years ago, and the results were enough to turn me off barbeque for months. It was a horrible way to die.

I counted to five and saw no sign of Evanrute. “Goddammit,” I said, and hobbled into the can, Jilly following.

Saarien was still where we’d left him, which was now on the other side of a low wall of flame. He was on his feet, but his eyes were closed and his mouth was moving. The bastard was
praying
. Jilly grabbed a fire extinguisher next to the door (dependable Wash, always keeping up with safety codes) and got ready to spray when I blocked her with an arm. “Rutey!” I called.

He opened his eyes and smiled. “I knew you’d return. You believe in the Struggle.”

“I believe you’re going to get roasted alive,” I said.

“So, you’re going to let a righteous servant of the Union perish?” said Saarien.

“Which one of us started the fire in the first place?” I said.

“I was doing the Union’s work.”

“And I’m here to do mine,” I said, picking up one of the gas cans and flinging it into the flames. The fire surged as diesel spilled out, and Saarien shrank back from the heat, his smile fading. “You’ll burn for this!”

“I think you’ll go first,” I called over the roar of the fire. “How much?”

“What?” he yelled, his arms hanging slack.

I took the fire extinguisher from Jilly and aimed it at the fire. “How much is it worth to you to get out of here alive and uncooked?”

He laughed. “You think my faith is that weak? You think I’m going to cave to your worldly bargaining?”

“Not yet,” I said, fiddling with the pin on the extinguisher’s handle. “A few more minutes, though, I think you’ll warm to the idea.”

It may have been the firelight, but his face turned a deep red as he yelled, “You bitch! You blackhearted bitch, I will call down every one of my sisters and brothers and–!”

The flames bloomed as they caught the edge of Wash’s desk, and Saarien yelled, “Fifty thousand yuan!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “that sounded like a number, but I couldn’t hear it.”

“Fifty thousand–!”

“Yeah, I can’t hear numbers that low.”

Saarien gritted his teeth. “A hundred thousand!”

I shook my head and headed toward the door. An overhead lamp popped, and a shower of sparks flew towards Saarien. He batted at the flames, only to have the desk catch fire, too.

“A million!” he yelled, and I stopped.

“I think you can do better,” I said.

“Three million yuan! It’s all I’ve got!”

“I don’t want your money,” I said.

“Then take Sou’s Reach!” he said, tears streaming down his face.

“I don’t want your Ward,” I said.

“The refinery! The cane! Take it all!”

“I don’t want any of that.”

“Then, what – Jesus,
what
?” Saarien sobbed.

“What are you doing with all that molasses?”

“Jesus, Padma, put out the fire!”

I shook my head. “Why are you sending all that molasses up the cable?”

“They’re samples!” cried Saarien. “There’s enough to run every planet in Occupied Space for a few months, so the Big Three would know I was serious.”

“Why would they give a shit about that when the black stripe is just here?” I said.

“Because it’s not!” cried Saarien. “It’s going up the cable with everything else from Santee.”

“You’ve been contaminating your cargo?”

“Yes!” he said. “We thought we could transfer spores through rum, but the distillation killed it. Just left the stench.”

“So the skunked rum can’t affect any crops?”

“No,” cried Saarien.

“Then what about the body in the freezer? And the bodies at the sewage plant?”

“You already know that was me!” yelled Saarien.

“I want to hear you say it,” I said. “Tell me why. Use your words.”

“That was to throw suspicion on you!” said Saarien. “Bloombeck took vat-grown meat and scrambled its DNA to make them be anyone. Now, is that enough?”

I squirted a jet of retardant onto the flames, not enough to douse the whole fire, but enough to bring the temperature down a bit in the can. “Now – I want an apology.”

Tears and snot ran down Saarien’s face as he got on his knees and put his hands together. “I am
sorry
, Padma! I’m sorry I lied to you! I’m sorry I lied to the Union! I’m sorry I stole funding and Breaches! I’m sorry I fucked you over! Just don’t let me die!”

I put out the whole fire. Saarien ran toward us and wrapped me in a sobbing, sooty embrace. I kneed him in the balls, just to get him off me. He staggered back, and I said, “So, about the three mil and Sou’s.”

“What?” he moaned. “You said you didn’t want them!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I won’t take them,” I said, taking him by the shoulder. “You can talk to my attorney about the details.”

We stepped out of the can, Saarien’s face streaked and sloppy. I pushed him into the back seat. “You get all that?” I said to Banks.

“None of it,” he said. “You were out of range, so you recorded everything.”

“Good,” I said, handing him the fire extinguisher. “If he makes any funny moves, hit him in the face.”

Banks nodded, then punched Saarien square in the nose. Saarien’s eyes crossed, and he collapsed in a heap.

“What was that for?” I said.

“He made a funny move,” said Banks, tossing aside the fire extinguisher.

“When?”

“A few minutes ago, when he tried to immolate us.”

I shrugged. “Works for me.” I tapped Jilly on the shoulder. “Get us to safe turf. Don’t spare the horses.”

Jilly eased the van away from the smoldering office. “You really should have a better fire system in there,” I said to Wash.

“I’ll be sure to add that to the lawsuit,” he groaned. “But what about you?”

“Me?” I said, looking at the unconscious Saarien. “I got him to cough up three million yuan and a whole lot of real estate.”

“That’s never going to hold up,” said Wash.

“Maybe not,” I said, “but whatever I can squeeze out of him will be enough to get me back on my feet. We stopped the lifter traffic, which means we get to hang onto all of his molasses, which means we have time to undo the black stripe. We just have to find the can that has Bloombeck’s lab.”

“That’s going to be tough,” said Wash. “There’s five hundred thousand cans here.”

“Then we’ll just look for the one with a hole in it,” I said looking at Banks. He just nodded.

“I have no idea what that means,” said Wash.

“Shh,” I said, ruffling his hair. “Just lie there and be injured. I’ve got this.”

Jilly turned a corner, taking us past a hollow in the stacks of cans. I caught a glance at the lifter and saw that, indeed, the crawlers had stopped. Any other day, I would have freaked out about seeing the halted traffic, but today, I’d never been happier to seem them still. It would take a while for everything to sort out, and to find the can with the Ghost team and Bloombeck’s spores, but we would, and I’d be able to start all over again...

A low
boom
echoed over the cans, and the crawlers began to climb again.

“No,” I said. “No no no no no! Banks you need to call Henry right now and–”

“The line’s cut off,” said Banks. “I don’t know how, but I can’t get any calls up the cable. Or around here, either. It’s like someone’s killed every data tower on the island.”

I looked at the cable, at the crawlers snaking their way to space. “The control center,” I said. “You can pull all sorts of stunts if you run it, and the twins or one of Saarien’s buddies or
someone
has to be there.” I slapped Jilly on the shoulder. “Pull over.”

Jilly hit the brakes. We were next to a motor depot, where a few dozen trucks and vans and their drivers lolled about. A few of them ran up when they saw us with Wash. We eased him onto the warm pavement.

“Get this guy to a doc, or get a doc to him, or something,” I said. “And get on a hardline to shore, tell ’em what’s going on.”

“Padma, we can handle it,” said Wash, rising on his elbows, then groaning and collapsing. I put my hand on his cheek

“All of this crap is happening because of me,” I said, “and I hate leaving a mess.”

“Since when?” said Wash with a smile.

“Since it got my people kidnapped, and you shot, and me saving that motherfucker,” I said, nodding at Saarien. “Do whatever you can to stop that traffic, and keep your head down.” I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and ran back to the van.

“Any reason we’re bringing him?” said Banks, prodding the semi-catatonic Saarien.