If Howard intended to conceal his shock, he did a bad job of it. “How did you do that? That’s more than our mortgage.”
Kira pulled in on herself. What must they think of her? Irresponsible, foolish girl who’d gotten in way over her head. But maybe she’d avoided this long enough. Maybe there was no cure but to tell the whole story. Get it out there. She took another deep breath. “Well, the year I started college, my dad went in for gall bladder surgery, and he got one of those resistant staph infections. Mom probably wasn’t very good about isolation, and she got it, too. By the time I came home from school, they were both in one of those quarantine things at University Hospital in Iowa City.”
The units looked like the “bubbles” used to protect people with compromised immune systems from the outside world, but in this case, they protected the rest of the world from patients infected by untreatable, ravaging bacteria.
“It went on for weeks, and in the end, we couldn’t even hug to say goodbye.” Kira stopped working. Her heart pounded, and she wanted to run away. She kept talking instead.
“Then they showed me the bill. It was literally more money than I’d ever seen in my life. They took everything—all my parents’ savings and their retirement money, the life insurance, and my college money and everything. They even took the house and some stuff that really belonged to me.” Resentment welled up in Kira’s chest. “The Dickens collection was supposed to be mine. It was from my grandma.”
Diana spoke up. “Even if they cleaned out your parents’ estate, they couldn’t stick you with that bill, could they?”
“No, they couldn’t. But I was at Paget College, which is like thirty-five thousand a year tuition and another twelve for room and board, and I’m flat broke. I mean, nothing but a couple hundred in my checking account, my clothes, and the stuff in my dorm room.” She rubbed her upper arms, as if she could scrub away old indignities. “They had me talk to the financial aid people right away, of course. They offered me a nice break on the tuition, even a little on fees, but the big thing they offered was—”
“Loans.” Disgust tinged Howard’s voice.
“Yeah, loans.” Kira steadied herself. “I understand it looks irresponsible as hell now, but I was nineteen. I’d just lost my parents and my home, and if I dropped out of school, I’d lose all my friends and my future, too. So I signed.”
Diana frowned, as if she were trying to follow the story and keep the math straight in her head at the same time. “So then what happened?”
“I wanted a career in theater, and I wanted an MFA. I believed in myself, I believed in my talent, and I believed that if I did what I loved, the money would come.” Kira paused. At least they didn’t laugh out loud. “There was no one to stop me, and so I just kept going to school and signing loan contracts. Then I borrowed more to live in New York. Even in a walk-up with four other girls and a bathroom down the hall, the bills pile up when you aren’t making anything. I did stuff that was supposed to be good for my career and that paid by exposure.” She shook her head.
Howard scratched the back of his neck. “Even so, I don’t see how you could possibly spend that much.”
“Oh, a lot of it isn’t what I spent. The whole time you’re in school, interest is piling up. Every time you convert the loans and refinance, there are fees. I never had cash, so of course they roll those into the principal. A service, you know?” Her voice was bitter. “Then, when you have trouble, there’s late fees, and penalty interest that compounds, and default waiver charges.” Kira raised her left hand in a helpless gesture. “And then there’s so much. The only way I had any hope of getting out from under it was to consolidate it all and get the interest rate down. And the only way to do that was if I offered a lifetime services contract as security. I knew there were risks, but I could make the payments and the interest rate wasn’t too bad, even for somebody with my crappy credit. I got an office job with a bank, and I thought I could handle it. But the principal was up over three hundred fifty thousand unis.” Kira stared at the floor. “Then, I got laid off, missed a couple payments, and my interest went up over 25 percent. There was no way I could cover that.”
Kira resumed filling the dishwasher. “I got the call telling me foreclosure was in progress, and I should plan to wind up my affairs and report to a collection point”—she gasped, but steadied herself—“to get a binder installed.” Her hands shook as she put the silverware in the rack. “Then this ex-boyfriend told me about an opening for a gunfighter. Dad taught me to use a gun when I was a kid, and I’d just finished a play where I worked with the armorer, so I thought I could do it. But the main thing was that the signing bonus was enough to get me current.” Kira closed the dishwasher and began the start sequence. Had she added the soap? She opened it to check. She had. She closed it and started the machine again. “I figured I’d have it all paid off after I got my twenty-six matches in, and then I’d be free, but . . .” She fell silent.
“Interest.” Howard’s voice was full of sympathy. “Most people forget about interest.”
“Yeah. I’m always shocked at how much it eats up.” Her shoulders sagged as she continued. “I guess I haven’t always been good about putting vid fees and merchandising and stuff against the loan because sometimes . . .” She shifted her weight. “Anyway, I’m twenty-seven matches in, and I still owe all . . . all that.” She looked back and forth between Diana and Howard. What was she expecting? Sympathy? An idea? Nothing was forthcoming except attention, so she continued. “That bonus for the next six matches helped, but at this rate, I have to fight at least another thirty-two matches. That’s fifty-nine. Nobody can do that. Not even what’s-his-name, the guy who stuck around for all those years. He died on number fifty-six.” Kira leaned against the pantry door. “But how else can I make enough money to keep up my payments? It’s not like I can just declare bankruptcy and wipe this out. If they foreclose, it’s over. You’re one of the Bound.”
“OK, if they foreclose, they control your life, but that only lasts until they’ve gotten enough out of you to pay it off, right?” Diana leaned on the counter.
“Oh no. Once you’re Bound, that’s it. They own you. There’s even this thing where if they sell your contract for more than the loan, the bank gets to keep all that, because it’s ‘surplus earnings.’ You’re just stuck.” Kira’s voice broke. “They can put on all these bullshit ‘maintenance charges’ for what it costs to feed and care for you, and charge that against the value of your work. And of course, they get to say how much maintenance is and what your work is worth. When I could afford a real lawyer, she said she’d never heard of anybody being released unless they were too old or too sick to do anything.” She hung her head. “They get to control your whole life. Where you live, what you get to eat, if you can get married, if you can have kids, everything.” Unbidden, anger flowed into her voice. “When I read my contract, it looked like there were all these protections, but my lawyer says they’re meaningless if the contract holder goes to court and says they ‘impede access to the value of the contractor’s work.’” She quivered. “It really is a lifetime thing.”
Kira straightened up and faced Diana. “I have to get this paid off before things get to that point. That’s why I want the pro fight. I don’t know how else I’m going to get out of this.” She choked out her final words. “I really don’t.”
Diana got off the stool, entered the kitchen, and embraced Kira. Her voice was gentle and motherly. “It’s OK. We’ll find a way through this. I don’t know what it is, but we’ll find a way.”
Kira began to cry. Diana held her until she got the worst of it out. When the sobs subsided, Diana pointed to the dining room table. “Come. Sit. We’ll talk.”
Kira accepted a box of tissues proffered by Howard, and Diana steered her to the table. Diana took a chair across the corner, leaning in close.
“OK, here’s what I know: The pro match is going to happen. The stockholders have to be informed first, and they’re still worki
ng on a public announcement, so don’t say anything about this. And while they haven’t settled on the size of the purse yet, it’s going to be big.”
“Big enough to pay me off?”
Diana sucked at her teeth. “Yes. Big enough. Probably with some left over. Maybe a lot left over.”
Kira squirmed with frustration. “So, that’s what I want.”
Diana took Kira’s hands in hers. “OK, here’s the other thing I know. For a professional, you’re slow. Super accurate, but slow. When you go up against a citizen, it doesn’t matter much. You can outdraw most untrained people. But with a professional on the other side of the Wall . . .”
Kira straightened in her chair. “We could work on speed.”
“We could.” Diana edged closer. “We could also work on other things.”
“Like what?”
“Well, there are some big citizen matches coming up. If you keep shooting reliably, I can get more of those for you. Big purses will help.”
Kira muttered, “Maybe.”
“Not just locally. TKC is stretched thin right now, and there may be some travel. When Higgs and Grafton retire next month, you’ll have the best record in the region. That makes you an easy sell for a big purse. Plus travel bonuses.”
“Travel would be OK.”
“You could do it more often if you’d accept an alternate second for the trips. That way, they only have to schedule around one of us being gone.”
Kira shook her head. “No. I don’t want anybody but you standing on the field with me.”
“Not even Claire? She’s good, and she likes you.”
“They hired Claire already?”
TKC management had addressed their run of bad luck on the dueling field by shaking up their roster of seconds. Diana convinced them to hire Claire away from First Trust.
“They’re still haggling over seniority points and vacation, but it’s going to happen.” Diana continued her pitch. “We could also set up a lockbox to send your other earnings straight to your creditors. I’ve had clients do that. It can make a huge difference.”
Kira waved in Diana’s direction. “But we’re still talking about a year or so, right?”
“Probably. Hard to say until we dope it out with real numbers. But maybe we can whittle it down enough you could carry the balance on a second’s salary. Maybe even a ward’s.”
Kira looked out the window. “Do you really think my luck can hold that long?”
Diana paused, then spoke slowly. “I think the odds of your luck holding against a bunch of citizens are better than the odds of your luck holding against another professional.”
“Does your friend the AI agree with that?”
Diana’s fingers tapped on her forearm. “It’s very difficult to assess the outcome of a single match. The error bars are huge. But against most of the United Re stable, you’re better off taking your chances with a bunch of citizens.”
“When do we know who it is?”
“Normal rules between corporations are that they announce their choices simultaneously. Once we know, it’s too late to do anything about it.”
Kira folded her arms and looked down, turning inward. Her voice was soft, barely audible. “OK, we’ll try it your way and see how it goes.”
Diana squeezed her shoulder. “Good girl.”
Chapter 23
Kira adjusts her grip on the pistol and sneaks a glance at the sidelines. Both Diana and the ward are focusing on her. She has to get the pistol to her mouth fast and pull the trigger before the ward understands what she’s doing and stops her with his stun rifle. On-field suicide isn’t covered in the rules, but the ward will probably decide to intervene immediately and parse the nuances later. Diana stands upright and frowns, as if she’s guessed Kira’s thoughts.
When you’re down, you can quit, keep doing what you’re doing, or do whatever it takes.
Is taking her own life quitting, or doing what it takes?
No question how Don Myers will spin it. He’ll tell everyone that if he’d been selected as TKC’s champion, he would have at least taken the shot on the company’s behalf instead of wasting it on himself. Each commentator will have five explanations for the True Meaning of her death before her body stops twitching.
And then there will be Niles. He’ll mug his way through the post-match press conference, unharmed and full of fake modesty. He’ll close with one of his infuriating little smirks and some quip about hysterical females on the dueling field.
Well, fuck all THAT!
A surge of anger takes the edge off Kira’s agony and sharpens her focus. There has to be a better way out of this, a way to go down swinging.
Her right side isn’t helping her—too much pain, too many tremors, and not enough stability. Kira transfers the pistol to her left hand, swings her blood-soaked right leg behind her, and faces Niles sideways. Shifting weight to her left leg, she extends her gun arm and locks her wrist, keeping her elbow slightly loose. She cups the pistol grip like a C-clamp, disengages her thumb, and brings her right fist to her chest for stability.
No doubt there’s pandemonium in the commentary booth. Surprise, motherfuckers! I’m not right-handed.
There it is. The sights move in a nice, even circle, centered on the side of Niles’s chest. Even under the best circumstances, hitting the heart from the side at this distance takes a lot of skill and a little bit of luck, but it’s still her best shot. A near miss could still sever his spine, puncture the trunk artery, or rip a big enough hole in his lungs to make breathing impossibly difficult. She thumbs off the safety, brings the front sight into sharp focus, and gives the trigger a slow, smooth pull. The recoil is perfect, and Niles staggers.
But he doesn’t fall.
Chapter 24
Chloe shoved the ottoman out of the way with her foot, and eased Kira into the apartment’s recliner. “Sit here. I’ll get a cold pack.” Chloe bustled off to the kitchen area, leaving Kira alone with the numbness on the right half of her face. Was it left over from the punch, or the Long Island Iced Teas? Whatever the source, it was being replaced by a deep, throbbing pain threatening to become much worse. Kira popped the recliner back and accepted the soft, cold, gel-filled bag when Chloe returned. So much for celebrating the second match of her extended contract.
The entrance chime called for attention, and Chloe sprang to the door. Who the hell was she expecting after eleven on a weekday?
“Hey, Claire. Thanks for coming.” Chloe ushered in their friend. Claire wore a wrinkled T-shirt and sweatpants, and her hair was arranged in the loose, two-strand braid she used to keep her extensions from tangling overnight, rather than the more complex French braid she wore during the day. She must have just rolled out of bed. Why had Chloe called her?
Claire set her purse on the coffee table and withdrew a pair of blue nitrile gloves. She snapped them on and stood over Kira like an examining physician. “Care to move that thing and give me a look?”
Kira moved the cold pack, and Claire winced. “Wow. That’s quite the shiner. He must have landed one hell of a punch.”
Chloe must have decided they needed someone with more than basic first aid but didn’t want to involve Diana or the emergency room. Claire was a good choice—seconds got decent trauma training—but Chloe could have asked. Kira wasn’t all that drunk.
Claire bent down and pressed several spots on Kira’s face. Kira flinched, but Claire seemed satisfied. “I don’t think anything’s broken. Teeth OK?”
Kira opened her mouth, and Claire poked with her gloved finger. “It looks good in there.”
Claire straightened up, and Kira put the cold pack back into place. It both numbed the pain and blocked any judgment that might be in her friend’s face.
Claire issued her instructions in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “Get down to the dispensary first thing tomorrow and get a shot of QuickHeal. Get in for an eye exam as soon as the swelling goes down.” Her voice became a little more distant. “When are you off
leave?”
“Diana wants me back at 6:00 a.m. on Thursday.” Kira’s voice sounded ragged and hoarse.
“Stay quiet and keep it on ice until then, go back for a second round of QuickHeal as soon as you can, and the swelling should go down enough that you won’t miss any work.” She leaned down toward Kira again. “What’s that?”
Kira raised her chin in response to pressure from Claire’s finger. In the part of Kira’s vision that wasn’t blocked by the cold pack, Chloe arrived with a mug of what smelled like tea.
“That bruise looks like—”
“He was choking her.” Chloe’s voice sounded pained.
“So why did he stop?”
Chloe looked down. “I sort of drew on him.”
“Did you—?”
Chloe shook her head. “No. He let go when he saw the gun pointed at him.”
“Cops?”
Another shake of Chloe’s head. “No. But we aren’t going back to Ozzie’s any time soon.” She glared at Kira. “I liked that place.”
Claire gestured for Chloe to take a seat on the sofa. “I think I better hear the whole story on this.”
Chloe held out the tea, and Claire pulled her gloves off to accept it. Kira put the recliner upright and tried to focus. Her face throbbed. Exactly what had happened? Most of the evening was shrouded in fog.
Claire remained standing and turned to Kira. “Start right after the match.”
“I debriefed with Diana, got cleaned up, and went to the Lounge.”
“Gunslinger’s?” Claire absently rubbed the tea mug, but her voice was sharp, like Jenkins during an interrogation.
“Yes.”
“So then what happened?”
Kira groped for words. It was so hard to remember, and Claire wasn’t going to let her be vague.
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