by Cathy Pegau
Her lips brushed my shoulder. “Do you want to talk?”
“No,” I replied, fearing what I’d say to her if pressed.
“Liv, if what we’ve done is bothering you…” Uncertainty tinged her voice, something I rarely heard from her.
“It was wonderful.” I twined my fingers with hers and brought her hand up to kiss her palm. “I’m just tired.”
Not much of a lie there. I was both mentally weary and physically sated. I lowered our hands, resting them between my breasts.
“Okay,” she whispered. I don’t think she believed that last part, but she seemed willing to let it go for now. “Go to sleep.”
I sighed in relief I hoped she’d take as contentment.
Hardly realizing what I was doing, I turned onto my side, my back to her, and tucked myself against her body. Her breasts pillowed my back, her legs cradling mine. As our body heat mingled my shivering stopped. Her arm and leg tightened around me.
Stupid move. I tried to ignore how good she felt. If I pulled away she’d start questioning me again, and I had no answers to give.
In a few minutes Zia’s breathing evened, becoming regular puffs against my shoulder and neck. I’d give her time to slip into a deeper sleep then ease away from her. If she woke up, I could claim a freakishly small bladder. If she woke up and caught me at her computer…Well, I’d think of something.
I yawned and blinked hard. Nestled against Zia’s warm body in her comfy bed, I fought gritty, leaden eyes as I waited her out. I dug my fingernails into my palm. I played mental word games and tried to recall the lyrics to old songs.
Zia shifted behind me. “I’m glad you’re staying,” she muttered, and kissed my shoulder.
Her breathing returned to its even pattern. I glanced at the bedside chrono. How long would it take? The amber numbers blurred as our breathing became synchronous. My body grew heavy, and my eyes fluttered closed.
Just for a minute, I promised myself.
I should have known better than to trust my promises.
“Liv.”
Zia’s voice cut through the haze in my brain. My eyes snapped open. She smiled down from where she perched on the edge of the bed. I sat up, holding the white covers to my bare chest, and blinked at the pre-dawn, watery sunlight coming through the large windows. Morning.
Damn, damn, damn.
“I’m sorry I had to wake you.”
“‘S okay,” I managed around the dryness of my throat. I cleared it and asked, “What time is it?”
“Too early to be out of bed,” she said with a grin. “But I have to go soon.”
Go? Where was she going? Obviously I wasn’t a morning person.
Zia wore a simple, dark plum-colored dress made for comfort but still stylish, and her hair was in its upsweep. What little makeup she wore was perfectly applied. My brain finally clicked on. She was off to Hudson for a week.
I’d slept through her morning routine, and now it was time to kick me out.
Shit. So much for getting to her computer.
She cupped my cheek and brushed the pad of her thumb over my bottom lip. “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
Unlike me, who would be doing just that. A surge of guilt and pain woke me as if I’d injected a full pot of coffee into my veins. Would Sterling and Willem wait another week for me to get back in here? Not likely. Chances were I’d be gone—or dead—before she returned from Hudson.
I covered the whimper that escaped my throat by pulling her toward me and kissing her like I’d never see her again. Which I wouldn’t, and she wouldn’t know why. When she did find out she’d be furious and hurt. And it would be my fault.
Zia moaned into my mouth. I savored the sound, savored her taste and touch and scent as my fingers caressed her neck. Gently she eased me back and broke the kiss. We both breathed hard, our foreheads touching.
“It’s just for a week, Liv,” she said. “I’ll be back soon.”
“I’m sorry.” That was true. I swallowed and then faked a little laugh. “I’m not usually this…emotional.” I hadn’t been, until recently.
She straightened and smiled. “I wish we had time to talk. Will you be all right until I get back?”
No.
“Sure,” I said. “I just need some coffee.”
“There’s a container of your brand in the cupboard. You got me hooked on it.”
And every time she brewed a pot after today, how bitter would it taste?
I started to get out of bed and remembered I was quite naked beneath the covers. Unexpected shyness sent a flush through my body.
Zia laid a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t get up now—it’s too early. Connor’s waiting for me downstairs.” She kissed me again. “I’ll call from Hudson.”
Rising from the bed, she sashayed to the door, hips swaying beneath deep purple material. She stopped and turned to me, her green eyes glinting. “Don’t worry if you’re late to the office today. I don’t think the boss will mind.”
I forced a smile onto my face.
Zia left the room, partially shutting the door behind her. A minute later the front door closed.
I brought my knees to my chest and pressed my mouth against them, smothering a half-hysterical laugh that threatened to turn into a sob. She had just given me free rein of her flat, had essentially invited me to do whatever I wanted here. The only way she could have made it easier for me to look for the K-73 files would have been to turn on her computer and point them out herself.
She trusted me in her most private ways, and I was about to obliterate that trust with a few keystrokes.
Better get your ass in gear then, Liv, said that nasty voice in my head. It sounded a lot like Willem.
I shoved the voice and the pain away and flipped the covers off. Finding my panties and dress on the floor, I put them on without bothering to shower. Extra time spent in Zia’s flat was not a good idea, because the longer I stayed the harder it would be to leave. Besides, I wanted to smell her on my skin for as long as possible.
I tugged on my boots and went into the living room for my satchel. Amidst the detritus of my life and my personal comm I wasn’t sure I could trust, I found the data stick and pulser. I grabbed the stick. Taking the new comm out of my coat in the closet, I headed to Zia’s home office. I flicked the comm on and tapped in Tonio’s digits. As I waited for him to pick up I considered what I was going to say about Willem and his bugs, and about Sterling.
Tonio answered as I plugged the stick into Zia’s SI and powered up the unit. My comm didn’t transmit an ID, so it was no surprise he sounded as cautious as Mom had last night. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Mom’s gizmo beeped its readiness.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Good morning to you too.” I typed “K-73” into the waiting white box. The unit whirred and searched for files. Part of me hoped it would come up empty, but I knew better. While it worked, I rifled through the desk drawers for data sticks and hard copies.
“Don’t be so damned flip,” Tonio said as I perused pages.
No sticks, and nothing on paper pertaining to the filters. No surprise. Zia was smart enough to not leave evidence lying about for some petty thief to snatch. I’d go through the rest of the office after checking the computer, but I doubted I’d find anything.
“What’s going on? Why Rafikki?”
I swallowed to relieve the sudden tightening of my throat. What if Tonio was with Willem? What if he knew all about the bugs? Only one way to find out. “Is your comm secure?”
He scoffed. “You should know better than to ask, but yes. No one has touched it, and I keep the walls high and wide. Why?”
“Willem has the flat under surveillance.”
There was nothing but the soft hum of the connection for several moments. Was he formulating a cover response or was he as stunned as I’d been?
“That son of a bitch,” he said in a harsh whisper. It was a good indication he was surprised, bu
t was he?
I heard him moving around. A door shut. The sound of the shower at full blast. He had gone into the lav to hinder any audio bugs, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t playing me.
The next words felt like broken glass in my mouth. “Tell me you didn’t know, Tonio.”
“What? Of course I didn’t know.” Another pause. “Did you think I’d let Willem do something like that? Christ, Liv, how long have we known each other?” He sounded genuinely hurt by the accusation.
Relieved, I ran my hand through my hair. “I’m sorry. I had to be sure.”
I told Tonio about my conversation with Natalia. He muttered curses as Zia’s unit beeped and the list of file designations popped up on the screen. There were more here than at the office, and my heart sank as I realized how entrenched she was in the cover-up, though I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Oh, Zia.
I copied them over then opened a file to see if I was getting more than a list of meaningless numbers. I didn’t want to have to confront Sterling or Willem if what I found was as useless as the previous batch. Text, thank goodness. Pages and pages of it. But what I read in the lines of engineering jargon and tables of failure rates sent a chill through me.
“Oh shit.”
“What’s the matter?” Tonio asked.
“Hang on. Let me read it again.”
This couldn’t be right. Exeter—Zia—couldn’t be doing what it appeared they were doing. What these very technical, very precise, very alarming reports said they were doing.
“Read what? Liv, what the hell’s going on?”
That’s what I wanted to know.
“Tonio, what do you know about the K-73 filters?”
“I know what you know.” There was uncertainty in his voice. “Why? What did you find?”
What we knew and what I read didn’t completely mesh. K-73s were supposed to be atmospheric scrubbers that made the air cleaner, healthier for workers. Exeter planned to revolutionize deep keracite mining efficiency and safety, but not before it got first crack at a huge piece of the pie. If they used their filters to extract more profitable ore before the competition could, they’d be millions of credits ahead. That’s what Willem and Chaz told us. That’s all we knew, all we needed to know. Until now.
I opened and closed files, reading bits that made my hands shake. Zia couldn’t possibly be involved with something like this. Not her. She wasn’t like that. But there it was, in sharp black and white. “No wonder the CMA is after Exeter.”
“Damn it, tell me what you’re looking at. And what about the CMA?”
I’d have to tell him about my coffee date with Sterling eventually. What I found would support my decision to turn on the Greys and Exeter. Hopefully Tonio wouldn’t think too hard about the fact I’d agreed to work with Sterling before reading the files.
“Listen to this. ‘Prior to initiation of the K-73AL program, miners frequently experienced a range of pulmonary symptoms from coughing and wheezing to restrictive flow disorders. Vital oxygen uptake (VO2), forced vital capacity (FVC) and peak expiratory flow rate (PEFR) were significantly reduced in affected personnel. Prolonged exposure (three or more years of service in mines deeper than five hundred meters) increased the frequency and intensity of symptoms.’”
So the miners were experiencing lung problems. Not surprising. Dust and vapor in an enclosed space was bound to be detrimental. Some of the shorthand designations looked familiar, like the notations in the files I’d taken from Zia’s SI at Exeter. Were the numbers in those first data files the rates mentioned here?
I read part of a less technical passage to him. “This is from Pritchard, the Chief Engineer. ‘The failure of the K-73AL’—what’s ‘AL’?”
“I have no idea.”
“‘The failure of the K-73AL is most notably due to an increase in sublimated vapor concentrations released by deep keracite deposits. Combined with difficulty in maintenance, it is no surprise that a twenty percent loss has occurred.’”
Something in my brain clicked. Pritchard. Loss. On the comm recorded by James, Pritchard had said something about loss being closer to fifty percent. In her conversation with Clemens yesterday she’d been worried about saturation levels. Had she been referring to this report?
“Loss of what?” Tonio asked. “If it’s a failure, why is Exeter being so guarded about it? Why did Willem start this?”
I’d wondered the same thing when I’d overheard Zia, Pritchard and Craig discussing K-73 problems. But as I read on, both Exeter and Willem’s motivations became clear.
“‘External atmospheric cleansers and full body suits have been utilized with limited success. The external units are too bulky for the more narrow passages, and the body suits’ smaller filters become clogged quickly. Remote mining reduces the number of personnel required to be in proximity of the keracite vapors, but the ore properties, particularly its vulnerability to sparks and excessive heat, have made unmanned operations costly.’”
Tonio took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Their robotics couldn’t do the job so they put in people. Not unusual, considering the number of willing workers out there.”
“No, that’s not unusual,” I agreed, “but this is. ‘The availability of correctional mine inmates has reduced company overhead by eighteen percent. Taking into consideration the compensation packages provided to volunteers, the company can still experience positive revenue in the next five to ten years if problems with the K-73AL filters are rectified. However, the loss of revenue from a delay of five or more years, or the inability to develop deep keracite mines, is projected to be in the range of fifteen to twenty billion credits over the next ten to fifteen years.’” I swallowed hard and finished reading the report in a near whisper. “‘The estimated cost-benefit analysis of personnel loss versus revenue gained is within acceptable margins.’”
“They’re using CCM inmates to test their new filters.”
“And their ‘loss,’” I said, “is all part of the cost of doing business.”
“But if the inmates volunteered, signed consent waivers and were compensated, even if they die we have little to hold over Exeter.” I could imagine Tonio running his hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “They’re lying about some numbers, but is it worth two hundred million credits to keep that quiet?”
The last bit of James’s secret recording of Pritchard and Clemens made perfect sense now. Perfect, disturbing sense. My mouth and throat dried, and I had to swallow twice before my voice would come out above a rough whisper. “They aren’t all volunteers.”
I told Tonio about the snippet of conversation I’d found on the assistant’s computer. A thirty-percent difference between reality and what you report to the VP of Research and Development could be swept under the rug with a little creative math, but “volunteering” inmates and disposing of all those extra bodies required a major cover-up. This was what Willem was after. How much did Zia know about it?
I searched for any reference to higher loss figures and mention of volunteers. Nothing. The information in her files indicated the K-73s were at a twenty percent failure rate, that all test subjects were legitimately obtained and signed the proper waivers. But if she was hiding something darker, something so deadly…
My gut twisted.
No. I couldn’t believe that. Zia was a tough businesswoman and a no-nonsense scientist, but she wasn’t ruthless. She wasn’t cruel. I’d experienced her compassion firsthand. She’d been genuinely upset when she spoke to Pritchard and Craig about the filter replacements, willing to abort the whole program if not for Clemens countermanding her.
But went along with it anyway.
I blinked back sudden tears of anger and disappointment.
“Exeter will fry if the CMA gets this,” Tonio said.
And being the VP of Research and Development who authorized every aspect of the K-73 project, whether she knew it or not, so would Zia. Even if she claimed ignorance—and who would believe her?—there wou
ld be no slap on the wrist, no reassignment, no quiet move to another company. She’d find herself swinging a pick right alongside Exeter’s upper management and the inmates they’d been exploiting.
The twist in my gut became a lurch as I pictured Zia in correctional-facility orange, filthy and worn down by hard labor, harassed by other inmates, assaulted or worse when they discovered who she was and what she’d done to them and their cohorts.
I clamped my hand to my mouth and forced back the bile that raced up my throat. Despite the evidence I couldn’t be responsible for that happening to her.
“I have to warn her,” I said, pulling the gizmo out of the SI unit.
“Warn who? Talbot? Don’t you fucking dare!” The shock and anger in Tonio’s voice didn’t surprise me. Nor did it stop me.
I bolted from Zia’s office and stuffed the data stick into my satchel. “She’s on her way to Hudson. I might be able to catch her.”
If I hurried I could make the Exeter gate at the Hub Station before the charter took off. God, I hoped so.
“Damn it, Liv, we’ll all go down if you do this.”
“I have to,” I said as I shrugged into my coat. “She’s guilty of not sharing the filter technology, there’s no doubt, but maybe she can cut a deal with the Sterling and the CMA about the phony volunteers. I have to give her that opportunity.”
Maybe I was wrong and she knew everything, but I needed to hear it for myself. I needed to give her the chance to defend herself.
“Wait a minute. What about Sterling?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I slammed the door of Zia’s flat and punched the elevator call button. “I have to go.”
“No, Liv, don’t—”
I hit the disconnect then requested the nearest taxi on my comm. My heart pounded painfully against my ribs by the time I reached the ground floor and ran to the door. The bright yellow air car waited at the curb, its lifters keeping it at a quarter-meter hover for ease of entrance. Service was a hell of a lot faster in this neighborhood than in mine.
The man on duty—not Peter from last night—opened the building’s door for me and then the taxi’s. I tossed him my last anonymous chit and told the driver to take me to the Hub Station.
