by Sean Platt
“Costa came to you? Asking about Beau Monde?”
“Indirectly.”
“And what’s your question about credits?”
“My credit balance is already enormous. Getting more won’t make me Beau Monde because I’m already Beau Monde. But what about Nicolai? What if he got the same windfall?”
“Are you considering giving Costa your inheritance?”
“I’m asking how it happens. How Beau Monde status is conferred. I’m asking if it’s simply a matter of wealth. Because Nicolai isn’t the only person who seems to have enough yet hasn’t moved up. Or been moved up.”
“I will inquire,” said Clive, not at all answering the question.
“And for me,” said Micah. “Inquire for me.”
“You’re already Beau Monde.”
Micah gave Clive a long look. He didn’t mean Beau Monde. He meant what stood above it.
“Who makes the decision?” Micah asked instead.
“It’s complicated.”
“There are too many for your group to handpick them all. Even if Beau Monde is the top 1 percent, 1 percent of the NAU is still a lot of people.”
“Like I said, it’s complicated.”
Clive watched him, assessing. Micah watched him back.
“Was that all?” Clive didn’t rise from his chair, but the meeting had apparently reached a stalemate.
“There’s one more thing,” Micah answered.
Clive waited for him to continue.
“My job has been complicated lately, thanks to events nobody’s bothered to inform me about.”
Clive nodded. “Okay.”
“I understand there are limits to what you can share. But we’re all in this together, and we both know a lot of the supposed inter-party feuding is just for show, to energize Shift and make it seem to matter.”
“It does matter,” said Clive.
“In terms of the Senate balance, yes. But for the people, it’s just smoke and mirrors. Putting on a good show.”
Clive looked like he might pretend to feel differently but decided not to insult Micah by doing so.
“Maybe this all happened because you wanted a genuine reaction out of Enterprise. Meaning: a genuine reaction out of me, since the sheets care more about covering me than the president. But what you may be missing is that now that the Prime Statements are over, I’ve been given no direction as to my response.”
“What are you talking about, Micah?”
“Mindbender. You could have told me Carter Vale was planning to dig up that old chestnut. It’s not just my high-profile Enterprise role to consider. I also have a large stake at Xenia.”
“You’re misunderstanding, Micah. Nobody knew Vale was planning to promise a return to work on Project Mindbender — to promise that Directorate members would be able to access it as part of their services package if it ever gets finished. That took all of us by surprise.”
“Vale just came up with it on his own? Totally rogue?”
“Maybe you should ask your brother. He’s unofficial head of Directorate.”
Micah almost laughed. Isaac didn’t know strategy even at peak form, and he was far from his best self now. He and Natasha were somewhere between their normal acrimonious, bitchy selves and a gross version of twisted in love. Micah, who knew the whole story from both ends, was in a unique position to both pity and be disgusted by the couple. Isaac had re-won Natasha’s admiration by saving her from a siege that he himself had caused. Natasha had folded right back into the arms of a man she’d disrespected for years — but she likewise hadn’t backed away from either her decision to shift, her emasculating comeback concert, or her PR campaign with Isaac’s failings at its center. They were two people dancing with knives at each other’s backs. The sex, if it was happening, would probably peel paint. Or cause paint to leap off the walls in embarrassment and shame.
“Isaac doesn’t have any idea what’s happening,” said Micah.
“You’re sure?”
Micah leaned in. “Do you know something?”
Clive leaned back, shrugging.
“So Vale’s proposal was of the blue.”
“As far as anyone seems to know without quizzing Vale, yes.”
“What’s being done about it?”
“Done?”
Micah tried to decide if he wanted to voice his certainty that Panel, like Micah himself, sometimes ordered problems solved in lethal ways. Instead, he said, “Does what Vale said mean anything at all? Are there competing labs looking into Mindbender-type research? Was something leaked from Xenia?”
“Relax, Micah. He’s dusting off an old idea and throwing research appropriations at it. They’ll spend trillions trying to make a square peg fit a round hole, and then they’ll give up while Xenia’s progress on the real Mindbender continues unimpeded. It’s a pipe dream.”
“Do you think he believes what he said? Vale, I mean?”
“Vale is as bright eyed and naive as they come. I imagine he still believes in the Tooth Fairy.”
Micah sat back, feeling heavy. Clive gave a little wave, dismissing it all as c’est la vie.
“Spice of life. And to think, we were so sure Enterprise would take the Senate this year.”
“You don’t think we will?” It hurt to hear Clive say it, even though Micah had more or less calculated the same thing. Whether Panel had orchestrated Vale’s announcement or not, the idea of suffering another term of Directorate Senate majority — especially after he’d spent months believing the opposite — felt like a ton of bricks on his back.
Clive laughed. “Of course not. The Senate will remain Directorate. Vale has pulled the most precious of tricks. He’s given the population something they can both aspire to and believe. The Mindbender pipe dream is real enough to have a kernel of far-fetched truth yet lofty enough to inspire the lowest people to new heights. As far as they can climb to heights, anyway. Starving Enterprise will shift to Directorate so they can be a part of it. Only those who truly deserve to be in Enterprise will stay.” The last should have been both self-evident, but Micah took it as an insult to his party’s promise.
Clive saw Micah’s annoyed expression and stood. Micah, sensing the meeting’s end — without conclusion or anything learned, of course — stood as well.
“It’s fine, Micah. Don’t worry about Vale. Don’t worry about Mindbender. Or Shift. Or the Senate. We’ll adapt. We always do.”
“We?” Micah wasn’t sure what the pronoun referred to.
“Your future is in good hands. I’ll just say that.”
Micah felt like Clive was tossing him a bone. Part of him wanted to reject the platitude because it felt like pandering, and Micah Ryan didn’t need pandering. But the simple sentence still made something inside him stand at attention.
Your future is in good hands.
Clive didn’t wink. But it was close.
Micah suppressed a smile. He nodded briefly instead, shook Clive’s offered hand in what seemed to be parting, and turned toward the door.
“Micah,” Clive called from behind him.
Micah turned.
“You asked about Beau Monde. About status for Nicolai and…” he gave a tiny little smile, as if he knew something, “…others.”
“Yes?”
“There’s too much information for that to be a handmade process. You’re right about that. But it’s controlled. It has to be.”
“So it’s AI. AI makes the decisions.”
“AI proposes candidates, but they must be greenlit. And even AI must follow an algorithm. A lot of it is about wealth. But there is more.”
Micah watched Clive, waiting for more.
“Maybe you could tell me what you’re talking about,” he said.
“That’s not something I’m at liberty to discuss,” Clive said. “But if I were you — in your unique, in-between position, on the cusp of something but not quite inside — I’d follow the wealth to find your answer.”
“What the
hell does that mean, Clive?”
“Talk to someone who works with credits and exchange. Who writes conversion algorithms. The kind of person who might be able to write the rules for AI then greenlight or veto its suggestions.”
Wheels turned in Micah’s head. Something was almost clicking.
“And in unrelated matters,” Clive went on, “I imagine I’ll see you soon, at Craig Braemon’s pre-Shift event.”
Chapter Three
“Say it again, Dom,” Omar said, holding his mobile next to Dominic’s mouth.
Dominic looked down at the small rectangular device then up from Omar’s long, ostentatiously dressed arm to his ostentatiously dressed torso. Omar was wearing a suit that Dominic, who didn’t know or care for colors, would have called brick red. Although Kate, across the trio of chairs in a revealing dress that showcased her assets above and below the waist, had already called it mauve.
Atop Omar’s ostentatiously dressed torso was his smiling head. Against his dark skin, Omar’s overly bleached teeth looked like Chiclets — a gum or candy (maybe both) that Dominic remembered Grandy used to carry. Omar was grinning wide enough to show off a handful of those Chiclets.
Dominic found himself torn. He had two possible responses. He could either try to make Omar eat the mobile or punch his fist through the man’s pristine dental work. Both were appealing options, but he couldn’t likely do both at once.
“Fuck off,” Dominic said.
“Just say it again.” From the corner of his eye, Dominic could see the screen, ready to record whatever he said next.
“Fuck off, Omar.”
“Tell me again how you feel about Dick Grabel. Tell me whether you think he’s competent to act as your number two for security at Craig’s Respero fundraiser. Tell me if you think he can be trusted.”
“I told you, he’s fine.”
“That’s not what you said last time, Dom.”
“I don’t like him,” Kate said.
“How ’bout you, Dom? How do you feel about Dick Grabel?”
Dominic pushed Omar in the chest. He didn’t want to be here. He was in trouble with the Lunis shortage and already had a ping from Austin Smith at NPS that his problems had doubled. The bug he’d left under Leo’s table had led to the arrest of half of the Organa village. He’d already dealt moondust; he was a damned junkie and would run dry; he’d betrayed a friend; he’d stolen dust from DZPD evidence to tide Leo over. Omar forcing himself into Dominic’s life this final time was bad enough without the lowlife’s humiliation.
“Stop it, asshole,” Dominic said.
“Stop what?” Kate asked.
“He’s trying to get me to say, ‘I like Dick’ again.”
There was a bonging from below Dominic’s chin. Omar pulled the handheld back and said, “Got it. Thanks, Dom.”
Omar pressed the mobile’s screen, and Dominic heard his own voice say, “I like Dick.”
“That’s my ringtone now. You wanna try calling me, test it out?”
Dominic rose then grabbed Omar by the collar. Kate raised her hands, waving for peace. Dominic let go of Omar then turned toward the office’s other end. He lasted three seconds then turned back, unsure what to do. You shouldn’t have to deal with immature bullies as an adult, and Dominic wasn’t used to being the one bullied. He’d always been large, gruff, and blue collar — another of Grandy’s terms that was increasingly synonymous with Directorate today. Dominic’s solid performance in school (mostly under and after his time in Leo’s class) had earned him a few names, but Dominic had proved himself to those boys with his fists in the streets. The idea that a two-bit hustler like Omar was getting under his skin now in such a stupid way was infuriating. There was no correct response. Looking away felt like pouting. And as much as he wanted to break Omar in half, his rational side knew that teaming with Omar and Kate was probably the only way out for all of them.
“Maybe you take a step down, Omar,” said Kate. Her voice was feminine and sexy, but her cadence and tone had all the finesse of a brick. Kate conflicted Dominic’s emotions. She was beautiful and alluring, but she moved, acted, and spoke like a man. He wasn’t sure whether he was attracted to her or not — though looking at Kate, it was almost impossible not to be.
“I’m just having fun,” Omar said.
“Maybe we just skip your fun, and you stop being an asshole,” Kate said.
Dominic gave Kate a small nod of thanks. She must’ve taken it for ogling because she covered her cleavage and rolled her eyes.
Omar shrugged, acquiescing. But because he was Omar, he touched his mobile one final time before putting it away and again Dominic heard himself profess his appreciation for Dick.
“Fine then. You want to be business, we’ll be business.” Omar straightened his collar and tipped his eyes toward Dominic’s abandoned chair.
Dominic returned the dealer’s stare, waited for him to sit, then plopped down with a grunt.
“As I was saying before all the humor left the room,” Omar continued, “Dick Grabel, from what you showed me of the roster, seems the logical choice to head up security.”
“I thought I was supposed to head up security,” Dominic said, trying to keep his voice even.
“Officially, Craig Braemon’s event is a goody-goody, PR-friendly fundraiser to provide Respero Dinners for poor people,” Omar said. “But we all know it’s mainly politics. Politics plus its location in DZ puts it under the purview of DZPD. And that means you’re in charge by default, Dom, because you’re captain of Station One, where Quark has its annex.”
Omar, as usual, was acting like the mastermind, even though he was just regurgitating what Dominic had already told him, using his own slippery words.
“I don’t see why that’s a problem,” said Kate.
Omar started to respond, but Dominic cut him off. “Anything that funds a nonprofit organization is considered public by DZ law, and that puts it under public protection. Add the strong political presence — the Ryans, for sure, maybe even other figures — we know will be in attendance, and the situation doubles. Police provide security like they would for either of the presidents. The stretch on resources this time of year is a pain in the ass because politicians use pre-Shift to exploit loopholes.”
“What do you mean?”
“They can throw parties and call them fundraisers,” Dominic said. “Anyone here really think an Enterprise stooge like Omar’s man Craig cares about Dinners for poor people?” He shook his head with obvious disgust, as if the Enterprise was the only dirty party. “They invite political allies and get drunk, but the provision lets them do it on the city’s dime. All sorts of city services are forced to support whatever stupidity bigwigs put together as long as they register them properly ahead of time.”
“Directorate thinking,” said Omar, scoffing.
Dominic, whose whole family had been Directorate for as long as the party had existed, gave him a glance before returning his attention to Kate.
“It’s a solid system if it’s not exploited, but of course it’s exploited plenty.” He eyed Omar. “Especially by Enterprise assholes who think the world belongs to them.”
“We’re a party of people who take the opportunities that present themselves. Right, Katie?”
“Police provide protection,” Dominic went on. “For the duration of every one of these things, captain of the Quark-allied precinct — that’s mine, Station One — receives a conditional promotion. For a few hours every other week or so lately, my Beam ID makes me a co-commissioner because it takes a few precincts’ worth of patrolmen to divert and cover the event’s needs, and someone has to be in charge. It doesn’t let me run the city, but it’s still a promotion.”
Kate looked at Omar then back at Dominic. She recrossed her legs. Dominic, watching, fought a spontaneous boner.
“So you’ll head security at Braemon’s event.” Another glance at Omar. “No Dick required.”
“I can’t. I’m supposed to coordinate. It wi
ll seem strange if I’m patrolling Braemon’s apartment like a waiter. Problem is, it’s me who has the access needed to override a few layers of security on Braemon’s canvas, and that means I need to come by at some point anyway. So what Omar’s saying — what I was saying — is that I need to designate someone to head security who fits a specific profile: he needs to be competent enough to run the event without needing to check in up the command chain but incompetent enough that I can get past him without him shouting, ‘Hey there, Boss!’”
“So you’re onboard,” said Omar.
Dominic looked over. Omar’s face had changed. It was hard to believe this was the same person who’d just goaded him into saying “I like Dick” for immature shock value. Now he looked invested. Serious. Willing to talk straight in a way he hadn’t before.
“I already said I’m onboard.”
“I can hear the difference now, though. Now you’re thinking it out. You have in mind how you’ll do this, don’t you?”
“We. How we will do this.”
“See,” said Omar, “I like that even better. We. The three of us, as a team. You through acting like this is beneath you then?”
Dominic wasn’t so sure about that. He still loathed Omar. He still thought the asshole’s crony Jimmy was a hothead who might, however ancillary to the main trio currently in the office, represent a loose end that could get them caught. He still knew almost nothing about Kate, and there was a policeman’s itch about her that made Dominic think there was a secret being kept from him. In his gut, everything about Omar’s plan felt wrong. It felt dangerous and stupid. It felt like he was crawling back into bed with someone who’d repeatedly burned him.
But thinking through the plan — while dodging Omar’s abrasive personality — over the past few days had turned a few frozen wheels inside him. If what Omar said about the so-called Beau Monde was true, it meant there was an elite pulling strings that a fair world shouldn’t permit them to pull. And if Craig Braemon represented a portal to that elite, the good cop inside Dominic wanted to climb through it. Not to join that privileged group but to break it up like a ring of criminals.
