There’s a moment of silence. Then two. Then three.
I start talking again. “Don Merkatz helped create a digital space where none of those resources were even necessary. We don’t need food in VR. We don’t need roofs to cover our heads. We can imagine both if we want to, but a digital space only requires a power source and some code. We can hide from our problems while we’re there, which is needed sometimes.
“But Don also understood, particularly late in his life, that reality is still fraught with problems. He wanted to be remembered not just as a man that helped us ignore our problems but as one who helped us fix them, too. That’s why we did what we did. If that means some people who have more resources have to dip into their savings next month, so be it.”
Gwen seems to have found herself again. “Beautifully put. Thank you for coming in this morning, Maverick.”
“Thank you again for having me, Gwen.”
“And now to local news.” Gwen smiles at one of the cameras for five seconds. Then she turns to me and points, her face full of rage.
“I don’t know who you think you are, but there ain’t no way in hell you work for Don or that Michael helped with this. I can see right through you. You’re tryin’ to start a class war. Well, you can just go throw yourself into the street and get hit by a bus, because you’re a dead woman if you think you can manipulate your way to the top.”
“Gwen …”
“This is when you shut the hell up and listen. People with low numbers have them for a reason. We aren’t going to squander what we’re given, and that’s exactly what will happen to all the stuff you just trucked across the country—it’ll get squandered, and they’ll be back askin’ you for more.”
She gets up out of her chair and stomps off. “You’d better back off, leave Michael outta this, and stop robbin’ the rich to feed the poor. No one’s buyin’ it, and Michael will put a stop to it if I ask him. Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, Maverick.”
She slams the door behind her, leaving me all by myself.
“Maverick, you beautiful, stupid girl.”
I dash to the window and open the shade. I can see Norah and Esau standing in a hotel window across the street. They’re smiling.
“Please tell me you got all of that.”
Esau holds up a microphone.
“She never protected the room from outside microphones, only the ones transmitting from inside the room. We got every single word.”
* * *
I stop the recording. Greenstreet is sitting on the sofa, his elbows on his knees, staring a hole into the floor. Eventually, he looks up.
“When did she say this?”
“Not even an hour ago.”
He sighs.
“Senator, I know someone like Gwen Watson doesn’t have you on any kind of chain. Why does it sound like she’s speaking for you?”
“Gwen is the kind of person who decides what other people think and then manipulates them into believing it was their idea all along. She talks out of turn like you and I breathe. It’s how she stays alive. If she loses that, there’s a whole line of people who would shoot her dead.”
“That’s morbid,” I say.
“It’s the truth.” He stands up, walks to the bar along the side of the room, and pours himself a drink. Looks like scotch to me. He swirls it around in his glass as he stares off, lost in thought. I watch as he loses interest in even spinning the alcohol, the motion in his wrist slowly coming to a stop like a machine that’s lost power. Soon the booze is as still as he is.
I can’t handle the silence anymore. “What are we going to do?”
“I’ll talk to Gwen. Make sure this nonsense stops.”
I nod and turn to leave. “I’ll see you in fifteen minutes for the meeting.”
“You look nice in that dress.”
His words stop me in my tracks. I will my feet to start moving again. Mika, who has been standing at the back of the room, opens the door and walks out behind me. Jacob and Esau are outside waiting for us, but I’m barely aware of any of them. The senator’s words are stuck in my mind like leftovers clogging a garbage disposal. My brain is whirring, but nothing is happening.
“What’s wrong?” Jacob asks as we walk toward the conference room the meeting will be held in.
I shake my head and flash a smile. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Chapter 7
I walk into the dimly lit, windowless, mostly empty boardroom. The senator is sitting at the head of the table, and a few of his aids mingle quietly in the corner. Norah told me that, depending on the topic, these meetings could have three people in attendance or fifteen. I don’t know what kind of meeting tonight is, and I’m afraid to ask at the risk of looking stupid.
Norah also said that Don Merkatz was at nearly all of Greenstreet’s legislative assistant meetings. The expectation was that—after Don’s death—I would be invited, too. If I wasn’t, Don’s money would stop flowing into the senator’s accounts. Despite how Greenstreet feels about me, he likes the money too much to keep me from coming.
I was given strict instructions not to bring anyone with me to this particular room, but I’m ignoring that directive by bringing Esau in. It’s a gutsy thing to do. Greenstreet’s all but admitted to killing Sybil Metross for being troublesome. I know I’ve made ground with him lately, but I’m not convinced for one second his opinion of me won’t change in a heartbeat.
But Esau thinks he can hack the mansion’s network with my glasses. It’s worth potentially pissing off the senator if Esau can get his foot in the door. I told him I was capable of turning the glasses on myself, but Esau apparently has labeled me as “person who can’t hit a button” in that robot brain of his. He insisted on being the one to turn them on.
“He can’t stay,” Greenstreet says as soon as I walk in, pointing at Esau. “Why is he even here?”
“My apologies, senator,” Esau says, his voice trembling slightly. “Because Ms. Martinique doesn’t have a sub-dermal interface, her mixed-reality glasses have to be synced with the network manually.”
Greenstreet glares at him, but doesn’t say a word.
Esau steps uncomfortably close to me and puts a pair of sleek glasses on my face. He presses and holds a button on the side, taps a couple of invisible buttons that must be appearing on his own display, and nods.
After a few swipes of his hand, the room around me changes. Sort of. Where no one but the senator was before, five people now sit at the table. Words start flashing and scrolling along the far right side of my vision. They look like document names and agenda items.
“I’m finished, so I’ll leave,” Esau announces. He abruptly turns and leaves the room. Based on the speed at which he’s walking, I’m guessing whatever technical voodoo he just performed with my glasses worked.
Greenstreet cocks an eyebrow and frowns. “What’s wrong with him?”
I sneer and wrinkle my nose. “How am I supposed to know?” I lie. “He’s a techie that Amrian sent to help me if I needed it.”
Greenstreet nods and turns his attention to something behind his glasses.
Good. My little hunch worked. Norah had rattled off Esau’s fake backstory to me, but why would someone like me—fake me, that is—know each and every IT guy who crossed my path? So I ignored her, and it paid off.
Take that, you cow.
I turn my attention back to the mixed-reality conference call. Norah prepped me on everyone in attendance, but I wait to be introduced.
“All right, everyone, fill me in,” Greenstreet says.
Okay then, I guess we’re pretending we all know each other.
I gaze around the room. A man and a woman flank the senator, each staring at the others around them like hawks might eye the vermin they’re about to swoop down on and eviscerate. I assume they are “the Sams” Norah told me about: Sam Ndem and Sam Williams. Woman Sam is the national committee chairman, and Man Sam is Greenstreet’s campaign manager. Both are wearing their
gender’s equivalent to a power suit, and I’m almost positive neither of them know how to smile.
“Oh, by the way,” Norah had said before I left, “the Sams are probably responsible for murdering Sybil Metross. So don’t get on their bad sides.”
Great.
A tired woman who looks like she could be Amina’s mom sits to Woman Sam’s right. This has to be Claudia Sarsalari, Greenstreet’s legal counsel. She’s singlehandedly responsible for keeping all the questionable decisions Greenstreet makes swept under the rug or thrown into the river.
I was expecting a more impressive woman by the way Norah, Jacob, and Esau talked about her. Her brown tweed jacket over her brown shirt with her brown skirt and brown shoes do little to indicate that she’s one of the most powerful lawyers in USEM.
“Claudia, any news to share?” Greenstreet asks.
Claudia startles. She makes direct eye contact with me and says, “No, senator. Not at the present time. At least not in the present company.”
Greenstreet raises his eyebrows the way I do when Jacob and Esau start bickering. He turns to Woman Sam. “Sam. Where am I in the polls?”
Woman Sam doesn’t reference any notes. “You are ahead, like you have been for some time.”
“Define ‘ahead’ for me,” the senator interjects.
“As of half an hour ago, most major polls had you between sixty and sixty-five percent of the popular vote.”
My eyebrows go up in shock. Sixty-five percent? That’s a slam dunk. Everyone else seems shocked, too. Including the senator.
“Why the jump?” he asks.
“Vice President Williams endorsed Mingo thirty minutes ago,” Woman Sam says robotically. “Immediately after, Mingo’s ratings plummeted.”
Oh wow, I keep forgetting we have a sitting vice president.
Man Sam speaks up. “Having the endorsement of the most ineffective and reviled vice president in USEM history did exactly what we hoped it would.”
Dread takes hold of my chest. These people are clever and powerful, and they know it. And I’m trying to get the most clever of them assassinated.
I’m having some regrets about my decisions.
Pleased, Greenstreet turns to another hologram. “Let’s hear from Ted.”
Oh, boy. Here we go.
Ted Nguyen is the new CEO of Amrian Enterprises. The man who probably thought he would inherit Don Merkatz’s number when he died and didn’t. Instead, he lost it to a seventeen-year-old girl musician.
Awkward.
He clears his throat. “Thank you, senator. Yes, I have some good news as it relates to business within the state, as well as business relations with companies that will play an important role in your election.”
As he speaks, he nods to and acknowledges each person in attendance. Everyone, that is, except me.
His update is informative and encouraging, but nothing really special. I’m bored in seconds. I scroll through a menu on my glasses with the subtle flick of a finger.
I doze for the rest of Ted’s update and barely start paying attention when the very plain-looking hologram of a woman stands to address the room. Her name is Karen Something-Something who’s giving an update on agriculture, energy, and “general science issues.” Really sexy stuff.
I’m about to fall asleep with my eyes open when I hear her say, “Moving on to the Carvehall issue …”
Please, continue Karen Something-Something.
“Representative Carvehall is still refusing our demand for inspectors to examine his oil platforms off the Gulf Coast.”
Greenstreet grinds his teeth and sneers. “They’re leaking. The whole world knows it. How can he not act?”
Karen shakes her head and shrugs in frustration. “It’s some legal loophole. I’m not sure.”
Greenstreet shifts his attention to Claudia. “Well?”
Without missing a beat, she says, “The argument is weak. It’ll never pass the courts. It’s just going to take time.”
Greenstreet leans forward, places his elbows on the desk, and pounds on his forehead with the butts of his hands. “We don’t have time, Claudia. I’ll be damned if we slide back into the old days when no one cared what we did to the oceans. There are laws. Carvehall has to follow them. Karen and Claudia, I want you both on this. Make the inspections happen. Shut down those platforms.”
I’m a little awestruck. Hearing the fervor in his voice, the passion he has for something that matters, I’m taken aback. This is the very first time I’ve ever felt something close to admiration for Michael Greenstreet.
It’s unsettling.
Karen clears her throat. “We’ll do our best sir, but Carvehall himself is part of the issue. He seems to have disappeared.”
Disappeared?
“Disappeared?” Greenstreet asks the same instant I think it.
“He vanished the day after Sybil Metross’s death. The FBI is trying to determine if the two are connected. His absence in the House is being blamed on fictional family emergencies and medical procedures, but those on the inside say they have no idea where he is.”
Karen is talking, but I’m watching Greenstreet. He’s good at hiding his emotions, so I can’t tell if his lack of expression is because this isn’t surprising news to him or because he’s put on a poker face. Either way, Carvehall’s disappearance is a juicy tidbit of information that Norah will find interesting.
“Regardless, find a way to force those inspections,” Greenstreet says. He turns to the only person besides me who hasn’t spoken yet. “All right, Ken. Take us home.”
Ken oozes superficial kindness. He’s in his forties, but dresses like someone in their twenties. To his credit, his jeans, jacket, and shirt are all the latest style. But he’s old, so it reeks of either cluelessness or desperation.
I could see him being a cult leader or a guidance counselor that’s always wanting to know “what’s under that frown of yours.” Unsurprising, he’s the only person so far who makes eye contact with me when he begins speaking.
“Thank you senator. I want to talk to you about a few things in private …”
Okay, so maybe Ken is exactly like everyone else in the room after all.
“… but I have an update on your housing-for-the-disabled project.”
I try to hide the surprise that must be all over my face.
“So far, we’ve screened more than five thousand potential candidates and have successfully placed well over a thousand. Their average IQ is 70, and most don’t have an immediate family that we can tell. They’re off the streets, on meds, and safe.”
“Excellent, Ken. Any problems I can help with?”
Ken shoots me a glance. “Not after Ms. Martinique’s kind gesture. We were fearful many of those in the program would be short on resources this month. She made sure that didn’t happen.”
Greenstreet smiles. “Yes. Ms. Martinique may be unorthodox in her approach, but I we can all agree that she’s effective. Let’s dismiss.”
Everyone disappears like ghosts. It’s just me, Greenstreet, and his small band of attendants. He stands immediately, nods to me, and exits without a word. His retinue follows after.
I take off my glasses and slump down in my chair. I’m dumbfounded that someone like Senator Greenstreet would do something so kind. Or care that much about something like the environment. He’s always seemed so cold and callous. Nothing he’s ever done or said up until now indicated to me that he cared about anything other than himself.
It’s an act. It has to be. This is the most political politician out there. He’s playing the wolf in sheep’s clothing right now. That has to be it.
Or is it the exact opposite? Is the tough-guy, kill-switch implanting douchebag all an act? Do the things in my ears even do anything? Could he be playing this game so he can get things done?
I don’t want to ask the question. I don’t want to ask the question. I don’t want to ask the question … but I have to.
Is a world where Michael Greenstr
eet is the vice president of USEM really that bad a place to live?
Chapter 8
I am sipping champagne in a ballroom the size of a stadium dressed in a floor-length purple dress that makes my ass look amazing. My hair is done up big, I’m wearing heels without actually having to wear them, and I look stunning.
Full-on VR still trips me out. The first time Esau strapped me into a pod, I was expecting to be dropped into an obviously digital landscape. It would feel pixelated and fake. Getting hooked up was unsettling, too. It’s freaky to lay down in what looks like a coffin for astronauts and have a needle inserted into the base of my spine.
“Aren’t there easier ways to do full VR?” I’d asked. “Like, headsets or something? Why can’t we use those?”
“Because anyone who is anyone has one of these,” Esau had said with a smile. “And being Don Merkatz’s representative, you have to have the best of the best.”
As he’d fiddled with the machine, he’d grinned from ear to ear like an idiot. It had been the first time I’d actually seen him smile for longer than a second.
Esau put me in a meadow simulation that first time. I’ve never been outside the metro area before, and the natural beauty of the space overwhelmed me. I felt soft grass beneath my feet and a gentle breeze against my skin. Bird song and insect noise filled the air. Tiny yellow flowers dotted the ground. The sky was so big, I sat down in wonder and gazed at it with tears running down my face.
It took me a few spins in the pod to get used to the sensation of “being under,” but I feel confident I can get through this evening now without looking like I have no idea what I’m doing.
A mechanical voice that sounds eerily like the one used in public transit starts saying, “The debate is about to begin. Please take your seat. The debate is about to begin. Please take your seat.”
Betrayed: Episode Three of the Sister Planets Series Page 3
