by Patty Jansen
Cheers.
“Either they are going to let us through, or we are going to lose our jobs, and then they’ll see the true power of the people!”
More cheers.
The refugees on the other side of the roped-off barrier looked on with the same weary expressions they had worn this morning.
Melati wrestled herself through the crowd. Some people looked sideways at her and raised their eyebrows. But most of them were more interested in watching the proceedings in the hall.
Harto’s voice boomed, “They stop us working. They don’t want us to be successful.”
Melati continued into the low-ceilinged market hall, where groups of forlorn-looking merchants hung around Dian’s soy cube stall.
The number of enforcers at the checkpoint had increased. There were at least twenty lined up behind the barriers, but none had anything to do except the one who scanned her arm. A group of boys with scooters had gathered on the other side to gawk but, from their position behind the checkpoint, they could only hear Harto’s booming voice.
“. . . We demand that StatOp command come out here to explain what is going on. You can ask us as often as you like to go back to our homes, but some of us can’t work. We can’t buy food because we can’t work, and then we have to steal things to stay alive. That is what life is like in the B sector. No ID, no money.”
The audience erupted into cheers.
Ari met her at the entrance to JeJe. His clothes were dirty, his face was pale, his hair less dishevelled than normal. For Ari, the latter was a bad sign.
When she came close, she also saw that he had a new bruise on his cheek.
“Fell down the stairs,” he said before she could ask, and self-consciously ran his hand over his face.
It was probably more likely that he’d been in a fight. He smelled of sweat.
“What’s going on, Ari?”
“That’s pretty obvious. StatOp prevents us working. People get anxious if they have no money.”
“You have ID, and I’ve never seen you work in all your life. Why do you care all of a sudden?”
“They’re my mates.”
“I don’t think any of your mates have ever worked either.” The people in the hall were miners, and they didn’t have anything to do with the sekong.
“Hey, watch what you’re saying.”
“You’re with Harto organising this protest?”
“You don’t need to organise a protest if people can’t work. They get bored, they’re looking for a protest. Anyone who raises their voice will be heard.”
“Don’t deflect the question, Ari. What is going on? Why do you look like you’ve been crawling through the emergency ducts for the past two days.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. Look at this.” She grabbed his hand—scratched and rough. “Even your nails are chipped. What happened to the pretty pink? What are you doing with Harto, or the hypertechs?”
“Stop it, Melati. I don’t work for Harto and I don’t like him and contrary to what you think, the only dealings I have with hypertechs are if they have something I want to buy. I don’t know who they are and I don’t know who their leader is. They hate us.”
His voice vibrated with emotion.
Melati raised her eyebrows and met his eyes. It struck her how he had looked stressed and harassed from before Rina died.
They walked in silence for a bit.
The passage of JeJe was much quieter today and no enforcers were in sight, although a few uniformed members of Harto’s hansip hung about, watching the two of them pass with suspicious eyes.
“So why did you want to see me?” Ari asked finally.
“You can hack into the StatOp databases, can’t you?”
He turned his head sharply to her. Stared at her, one eyebrow raised.
“Well, can you?”
“What sort of question is that? You’ve been telling me how I shouldn’t do this or that illegal thing, and now you ask me this.”
She cringed. By the looks of things, he was in enough trouble already. “I know, but it’s important. It’s to do with Rina.”
“The hansip men are looking at a couple of characters in the hotel who were seen on dockside security cameras talking to Rina. They are New Hyderabad mafia. You were right.”
“Actually, I’m thinking I wasn’t right at all.”
Another startled look.
“I need your help, Ari. I need to check this one record in the StatOp database. Just one. It won’t take me more than five minutes. Can you give me access?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Look, it’s really dangerous—”
“I know, especially for me. You don’t half-understand the stink that will blow up if anyone discovers that I’m doing this.” She shivered with the implications. Severe reprimand, fines, disciplinary action. But Dixon’s permission was going to take way too long.
He frowned at her. “Is it that important?”
“It could be. Much more important than anything that goes on in the station.”
He fingered his lip, his brow knotted.
“Come on, Ari, do this for me. I’ve done so much illegal stuff for you.”
He shrugged. “What do you want to know?”
“I’ll tell you when we get there.”
“Get where?” Now he got flighty again.
“To wherever you can access this material.”
“You got to be kidding, Melati. They’re my friends. I can’t just take you to them, knowing where you work.”
“They’re hypertechs?”
“I told you I have nothing to do with them!” He glared at her.
“Suit yourself, but you’re behaving like an idiot, and if you’ve done anything that doesn’t pass muster, surely this kind of behaviour will attract enforcers.”
He shrugged again.
“All right then, I don’t need to come. Look up one name for me. That’s all.”
“Give me the name, then. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Troy Grimshaw. I want to know where he lives and . . .”
She stopped because Ari was staring at her. “What?”
“No, Melati.”
“What, no?”
“Stay away from that. Just. For. Once. Do what I say.” His voice sounded harangued.
“Why?”
He licked his lips and glanced over his shoulder. “There is a big thing going on about this man.” His voice was low and he bent closer to her. God, he stank. “A lot of people are trying to find him. He’s not who you want, anyway.”
She ignored the last statement. Ari was just trying to dissuade her. There was no way he would know who she wanted, or why. “He’s definitely on the station?”
“I don’t know! This is dangerous stuff. I want nothing to do with it. OK, I do illegal things, but it’s to do with stuff, not people.”
“Do you know who in particular is looking for him?”
“StatOp, as far as I know. There are rumours that your employers are behind it.”
That was news to her. “Is it why StatOp started checking everyone before we knew of New Pyongyang?”
He shrugged. “Could be. Look, Melati, what does this have to do with Rina?”
“Possibly a lot. I need to know what this Troy Grimshaw looks like, because I suspect I may have seen him with Rina. She might have hidden him. Either he killed her or someone looking for him did.”
He shook his head, still meeting her eyes with that intense expression.
She sensed he was about to change his mind; he looked that desperate. “I only want to know who his brothers are and where they live. You can either get me that information, or I can go and knock on every door in the A sector.”
“Whoa, whoa, that’s blackmail. Don’t try that trick on me, Melati.”
“You use it on me all the time.”
“This is different.” His eyes were haunted. “You could end up like Rina.” His eyes glittered briefly before he took control of
his emotions.
She touched Ari’s arm briefly. “I need to know, because I want those guys to be caught. Just give me the information.”
Ari blew out a breath through his nose and nodded, not meeting her eyes. “All right then.”
* * *
Ari went wherever he needed to go and Melati continued into JeJe.
The corridors were busier than usual, with lots of people standing in groups and talking. Melati caught snatches of conversation.
“. . . and, you know she’s been saying this for years, and no one would listen.”
“Bravo to her—oh, there she is. Melati!”
“Melati, we’re behind you and Harto. We want to keep these criminals out.”
“Melati, Melati!”
There were hugs and pats on the back. Melati tried to point out that things had gotten mixed up and that she didn’t agree with Harto’s brand of politics, but her lone protests drowned in the sea of compliments. For a moment she wanted to believe that Harto’s way of loud protests was the best way. She was angry; everyone was angry. Was she too accepting of the enforcers’ behaviour?
In Uncle’s rumak, she found the way into the kitchen blocked by a number of bags and a trolley with what looked like cooking supplies.
On one side of the pile, his back to the door, stood a man in StatOp maintenance overalls.
Uncle, inside the kitchen, was yelling out, his hands spread wide, “Then what do I do with it? I don’t have any room here. I have to cook.”
“You can’t store it in the service passage,” the man said.
“But it’s only flour. We’ve had it there for years.”
“You still can’t store it in the service passage,” he repeated, punctuating every word. “Especially not the passage behind the wing’s power arteries. Station regulations, which are going to be adhered to from now on, for the safety of the entire station. Think of New Pyongyang.”
“Then tell me where to put all this.”
“Find somewhere. That’s not our problem. If you’re keen to have any more problems, I’m happy to start talking about the illegal modifications to the wiring you’ve made.”
Uncle glared at him as if daring him to do so.
The man said, “Clean it up. I’ll be back in two days. I expect to see no bags and boxes. Not in here or in the service corridors.”
Uncle shrugged and held his hands up. “All right, all right. I’ll find somewhere. Don’t know if you’ll like my solution, but I’ll find somewhere.”
The man turned and walked past Melati back into JeJe.
Melati clambered over the pile to get into the kitchen where Uncle sat slumped at the table. “How am I supposed to run a business with all my supplies sitting in my dining room?”
Melati said, “I’ll help you.”
Uncle heaved a deep sign. “Inspectors! All of a sudden they’re worried about safety. They never worried about that before.”
Grandma looked up at the table. Today, she was peeling eggs. “Don’t worry about it. Get someone to put it all back tonight.”
Melati said, “They’re doing this for the safety of the station, Grandma. Putting it back doesn’t help, and they’re only going to come back and fine you. Why not get together with a few others and rent a commercial storage space?”
Uncle whirled around to face her. “And how much do you think that will cost? I have no money to pay for that.”
Which was true. Also, the refugees would probably be put up in those areas which could otherwise be used for storage.
“We just need to sit tight for a bit.” Melati put a hand on Uncle’s shoulder.
“Meanwhile, we do things the old way,” Grandma said. “You need a loan, we call in the block association.”
Uncle glowered at her and the two of them launched into a discussion about that “circle of gossipy old women” as Uncle loved to call them. You never know where your financial secrets end up, he said.
Blah, blah, blah. Melati had heard it all before. If Ari was perpetually stupid, Uncle forever made a point of showing distress and then not accepting help when it was offered.
Ari came in when most people in the dining room had already left. He sat down at the kitchen table, taking his bowl from Uncle without a word.
“You’re late,” Grandma said.
“I had a job to do,” Ari said and looked at Melati. He tucked into his food, looking even more tired than before. And he smelled worse than he had this afternoon.
He wolfed down his food as if he hadn’t eaten for days.
When he finished, he held his hand out to her. Written on his palm were the words Grimshaw 129 and an address in the A sector.
Melati grinned at him.
The look he returned was wary. He mouthed, Be careful.
Melati nodded, rose from the table and left.
Behind her, Uncle exclaimed, “What? She didn’t even eat anything!”
Chapter 22
* * *
MELATI HADN’T HAD any need to visit the A sector for a long time; it was where the Taurus Army tier 1 lived and not even at work did she have an awful lot to do with them. In fact, ISF command was rather distrustful of Taurus Army constructs. They watched with deep frowns while the Taurus Army soldiers did things like discarding their stock names, and having children—though only a select few. ISF didn’t want any of those things to become issues in their force. In fact, the Taurus Army constructs had rights, where the ISF ones didn’t. And that made command somewhat nervous.
The A sector’s layout was a mirror image of the B sector’s, a central corridor with sleeping quarters upstairs and all other rooms at the lower level.
Whenever she came here, Melati felt that the apartments were much bigger, but she knew that was only because far fewer people lived here. Fewer people to make a mess, fewer kids to draw on walls, fewer people to make the place look bad. Definitely no sacks of flour in the corridors, and no illegal passageways into the service tunnels. No chickens there either.
She found the right apartment by number—the doors here still had numbers; in the B sector most had long since fallen off—and pressed the door buzzer, which still worked.
A man opened and frowned. “Oh, hallo?” He had dark hair and dark eyes and the strong profile of a construct worker. It always made her uncomfortable to see how tall these men were.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Melati said, realising how he saw her: a small brown woman in a pretty pink kebaya and pink sarong. “I’m looking for Troy Grimshaw. Is he here?”
His expression turned wary. “What do you know about Troy?”
Melati put on her most innocent voice. “Nothing. It’s just that my cousin used to know him and—hey!”
He grabbed her arm and dragged her into the apartment, letting the door roll shut behind them.
Inside the apartment’s tiny hall, he pushed her with her back against the door and faced her. He was much taller than her, and much broader and older than any of the constructs she dealt with at work. He could do anything he liked.
“Who are you?” His eyes were intense.
“Melati.”
“Do you have another name, Melati?”
“Melati Hermann Rudiyanto.” Her heart was thudding against her ribs. He would know the Rudiyanto name and, thanks to Ari, it wouldn’t be good knowledge.
“Why are you looking for Troy?”
“I’m the cousin of Rina, who worked at the mindbase exchange, and who was murdered and knew him.” She pulled her arm out of his grip. “Really, there is no need to threaten me like that. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
He dropped his shoulders, and a dejected look come over his face. “I’m sorry. I heard about the murdered girl.” Then he met her eyes and said, “I’m Troy.”
What? He looked nothing like the man she’d seen with Rina. “But it says in the mindbase exchange—”
“It says wrong. Someone messed around with the data. I never used the mindbase exchange. Just the thought gi
ves me the creeps. The one who uses it is our brother Jas.”
Melati raised her hand to her mouth. The man she’d seen with Rina was Jas Grimshaw’s body.
“What’s the matter?” His face was concerned. Like her boys, the adult constructs were highly dependent on their brothers.
Melati whispered, “Jas went on a mindbase exchange trip?”
“He did.”
“To Ganymede?”
“Yes.”
“And the swap mind took off with his body. It’s still hiding in the station somewhere.”
That was why the enforcers were turning over the station. They must have been contacted from Ganymede, by way of ISF. She wondered what crime the swap mind was guilty of—aside, that is, from stealing Jas’s body. Something serious, to cause such a manhunt, that was sure.
Then another thought: Ari. He’d been evasive and nervous, and he’d told her Troy wasn’t the man she was looking for. He knows about the mind swap. He, and Rina probably, knew where the man was. She felt like the floor was opening up underneath her. Any moment now, and she would be sucked into space and orbit Sarasvati next to Pak.
“How do you know about Jas?” His voice sounded like it came through a thick sheet of glass.
“I know where he is. His mindbase. Don’t ask me how he got there, but I know where he is.”
He jerked his head at a door behind him. “Let’s go inside. My brothers should hear this. Can I get you a drink?”
Melati followed him into a living room, a little apprehensive. Two other men sat there, both in civilian clothes. One had blond hair, and was tall, like an older version of Esse; the other had the typical construct brown curls.
“These are my brothers. That’s Danno.” He gestured at a man with blond hair. “And Elko.”
“About Jas,” Troy said to them as if that was an explanation. Like her construct boys, they spoke in incomplete thoughts and half-sentences.
One of the men raised his eyebrows. “She doesn’t look like the other guys.”
“She says she knows where Jas is.”
“What? Him, or his body?”
“His mindbase. Wait. I’m going to call the others.”
He disappeared, leaving Melati uneasily facing the two constructs, who both ogled her openly. A little voice inside her tried to tell her to run away while she still could. And then she got angry with herself. She really should forget this silly barang-barang instinct to run and hide.
