The Debt Collector (Season Two)

by Susan Kaye Quinn

  The Subcommittee on Collection is a working committee, and their technology supports holo-attendance, but that doesn’t mean every member attends every meeting. As I sit in the faux-leather maglev chair, I take a mental roll call. Only four of the nine committee members are in physical attendance, but two are hololinked in. A quorum is required, which means five present to hold a vote and five ayes to actually pass the bill out of committee. I can count on Chairman Lacket to vote against, but the other five are solidly for the bill. It’s so solid, the other three haven’t even bothered to attend. This is just what we’ve worked for: a 5-1 pass out of committee. But I’m not here to pass the bill; I’m here to kill it.

  For that, I’ll have to somehow turn an ally into an enemy in the next five minutes.

  I try not to grimace as I look each committee member in the face, wondering how much destruction I’m going to wreak today with this one act. The Chairman, Senator William Lacket, bitter rival of my father and pro-debt-collection to the core, barely gives me a glance. Senator Linda Baez gives me a nod—she’s linked in, unwilling to miss the meeting even though she’s fundraising downstate. She’s been a fervent supporter of the Lifetime cause ever since her adult son was cashed out in spite of her efforts to forestall the debt collectors. Senator Bill Diangelo is whispering to a staffer, but he’s also a friend of Lifetime, representing an impoverished district where far too many of his constituents are lured into the illegal trades. Baez and Diangelo both sponsored the bill. They’ll be the most ardent supporters—the ones the rest will follow—and the ones I’ll have to work hardest to turn.

  I take a breath to calm my nerves and wait for the Chair to acknowledge me.

  “Now that the consent calendar and mandate bills have been cleared,” Senator Lacket says to the committee and those in attendance, “we’re free to move on to the business of the day. We’ll be going in file order, which brings us first to Senate Bill 1321, Requirements for Medical Needs Transfers. We have a quorum, so after testimony we’ll be voting whether to send SB 1321 to the main Senate floor for consideration.” Lacket peers down at me from his metallic loft. “Our first testimony in favor of the bill is Ms. Alexandra Sterling of Sterling Cybernetics and Lifetime Incorporated. Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Ms. Sterling.”

  I ignore all the sneering in Lacket’s voice. “Thank you, Mr. Chair. But I’ve a correction to make. I’m actually here today to ask the committee to table SB 1321 indefinitely pending new developments in the cybernetics industry.”

  Lacket just blinks. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sterling.” He leans forward in his seat. “Could you repeat that, please?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Chair,” I say, in wonder at how steady my voice is. “I’d like to elaborate as well, if the Chair allows.”

  Lacket gestures to me with open hand. “Please do.”

  “First, I want to say I appreciate the committee staff working with the staff of Lifetime to help clarify the bill. The procedures used to identify which patients would be best served by medical needs life energy hits have long needed to be updated, especially given all the advances in cybernetic implants and other biomechanical interventions. There are certainly cases where cybernetics could easily replace the need for life energy hits.” So far, so good. But that’s our typical intro, nothing new. Lacket scowls, like I’m just playing with him. I only wish.

  I suck in a breath. “But recent innovations in technology have come to light that I think can radically shift that equation. These technologies will change the calculus in such a substantial way that I don’t believe we can safely leave them out of the bill. In short, moving this bill forward at this time will only mean that it will be hopelessly out of date the moment it hits the Senate floor.”

  Lacket arches an eyebrow. “Out of date?” he echoes carefully.

  “Yes, Mr. Chair. As written, the bill will be completely ineffective.”

  “So you’re saying Sterling is no longer in support of the bill?” His voice is cold, hard, pressing home the very thing that I least want to say out loud.

  “Yes.” An invisible knife of guilt, the one I usually have handy for a variety of reasons, gives a fresh twist in my chest. Lacket’s beady-eyed stare shows he knows something has changed. He may not know why I’m imploding in front of the committee, but he’s going to help me all the way to my bitter end.

  I drag my gaze to the other committee members. They’re still in shock.

  “With rapid changes in the industry happening daily,” I say, my voice hiking up a little, “I don’t think it’s in the best interests of your constituents to tamper with the medical needs processes we’ve already established. Those processes have a long history of serving the people well.” Lies, lies, all lies. Every bit of it could have been written by Collecting for Humanity, my father’s bitter rivals, who stand for everything in opposition to Lifetime’s goals.

  I know it. The committee members know it. But they’re just now figuring out that I’m switching sides.

  “Serving the people well?” Diangelo asks, his face finally turning red with outrage. “Your father seemed to think the people whose life energy is cashed out every day are not served well.”

  I place my hands beneath the table, so I can clench them without anyone seeing. “I was speaking of course about the majority of the constituents who are served by the system.” I meet his angry stare and try to keep from trembling. The reporter edges into my field of vision to the left, angling his ear-mounted camera to get a good shot of me. A sick feeling rises in the back of my throat.

  Senator Baez frowns. “Are you saying that all the work we’ve done on this bill has been derailed by one new technology innovation?” There’s not as much venom in her voice—only because she hasn’t figured out what I’m doing yet.

  I turn to Baez, trying to soften my tone, but it still comes out harsh. “It’s not just one technology. There are new innovations every day. It’s not reasonable to capture them all in the bill.” Which hardly even makes sense. I’m completely making things up now.

  Baez’s eyes go wide as she finally figures out I’m killing the bill. Her bill. “As co-sponsor of SB 1321, I think, perhaps, we can table it temporarily until the next session, after we’ve had a chance to—”

  “Table the bill?” Lacket’s cutting voice interrupts her stumbling.

  She’s so startled she actually stops speaking with her mouth hanging open.

  He continues in a normal tone, “This bill has been before the committee numerous times, in various forms, over the past two years. I think we are well beyond the appropriate time to vote it out of committee.”

  I grit my teeth. Lacket’s going to push the corpse out of the gurney, but I’ve already committed the murder. He turns to me with a look that dares me to retract my prior statements. But of course I wouldn’t have made them in the first place, if I was going to take them back.

  “I’m glad to see Ms. Sterling has come around to my position at long last,” he says with a voice that creeps up my back. “As I’ve said before, I believe this is the exact wrong time to be restricting the use of life energy, especially when it comes to medical needs transfers. Our world grows more complex every day. Even Ms. Sterling’s own corporation is an example of the good things that high potentials can bring about in our world, and the dizzying pace at which they can do it. It is imperative that we provide them with every opportunity to do exactly that. When a high potential suffers, we all suffer. Medical needs transfers should be the very last thing we are restricting them from accessing. The benefits of providing that critical care to those most able to improve the world brings benefits to all our constituents.”

  Diangelo is working up to a full rage. He rises half out of his chair and jabs a finger at me. “Ms. Sterling! As co-sponsor on this bill, I would very much like to hear from you exactly which technologies have suddenly made this bill irreparably out of date. Especially considering Mr. Sterling, your father, was the one to craft it.”

 
; And there it is: the hot stab of accusation I was waiting for. No one knows that I wrote the bill. And now that I’m in charge and trying to kill it… the evidence is all too damning. For all the world can see, I’m betraying my father the nanosecond he is in the grave.

  Diangelo is waiting for my reply. Of course there is no innovative technology that has changed things. But there’s no way for him to know that, either.

  “I’m sorry, Senator,” I say, my voice as cold as I can make it. “That’s Sterling corporate confidential information.”

  Lacket jumps in. “Of course, we won’t ask you to reveal corporate secrets here, Ms. Sterling. We trust you to know your company’s own laboratory. And your own best interest.” He can’t hold himself back from the dig. The victory stab through the heart.

  I keep my face stone-cold.

  Diangelo looks aghast, like I’ve just morphed into a three-headed monster in front of him. As well he should. I’ve just said I’m putting Sterling’s profits over Lifetime’s goals. Something that wouldn’t even make sense in my father’s world: Sterling’s profits helped further the goal of eliminating debt collection. Always. Because the goals of Sterling and Lifetime were perfectly aligned. Now, the good Senators can only assume I’m taking the reins of the company and steering it in a different direction, just like the Sterling Board of Directors wanted. There’s no other way to read it, and I’m sure the board will be in turmoil when I return to LA as well.

  In the meantime, I can see Diangelo computing the new lay of the land for the bill. While he could still vote the bill out of committee without Sterling’s support, getting it to pass in the full Senate without all of Lifetime’s resources behind them would be next to impossible. He pushes back from the table in disgust, gets up, and walks out of the room.

  There goes my fifth affirmative vote. But with Lacket in attendance, there are still the five members needed for a quorum. The motion to vote out of committee will fail 4-1. Or possibly 3-2, if Baez is angry enough to vote against her own bill.

  “Motion to table!” she says in a desperate bid.

  I rise up from my seat. It’s over. Except for the voting, and I don’t need to stay for that.

  “Motion fails for lack of a second,” Lacket says in his Chairman voice.

  I turn my back on them and stride away from the table. I ignore the reporter ogling me, angling for a shot with his ear-mount camera. I keep my eyes glued on the door like it’s some kind of sanctuary out of the disaster I just created. Right before I reach it, I catch a glimpse of Wyatt sitting in the back row, dead center. His look for me is pure horror and disgust.

  I don’t blame him one bit.

  “All in favor, indicate aye on your console—”

  Lacket’s voice dims as I shove open the door and hurl myself into the hallway. I’m stumbling blindly, blinking back tears and hoping I can escape before Wyatt overcomes his shock and seeks me out. I stride toward a door that might be a restroom, but when I throw it open, it’s a stairwell.

  And in it stands a tall, dark-haired man in a black trenchcoat.

  Zachariel.

  I stumble backward and almost go down with my stiletto heels. I manage to catch myself on the now-closed capitol hallway door.

  “Why are you here?” I ask Zachariel, my voice gravelly with fear. My heart is lurching around inside my chest. I brace my back against the door and hold out my hands. “I did what you asked.”

  He quirks up an eyebrow at my defensive pose, then holds up a palm—not to threaten me, just to show me his embedded screen. “And a fine job of it, too. Remind me never to try to out bluff you.” His screen is streaming the reporter’s recording of the committee room. They’ve already moved on to the next bill.

  Zachariel swipes it closed.

  I suck in a breath, straighten my suit, and try to regain some composure. A debt collector can’t just stroll into the capitol—it’s not like they don’t have security downstairs—but whatever inside resource he used to get up here without clearance, he’s not here to attack me. Maybe.

  “So, you’re not here to kill me, then?”

  He smirks. “I already told you: you’re too beautiful for that.” He eyes my trim power suit with appreciation. “And I have to say, red works for you.”

  My cheeks heat up, and I’m surprised at my reaction. I tell myself it’s just the hyped-up tension from the testimony: all my emotions are raw, at the surface.

  “So your name is Zachariel,” I say, pointedly ignoring his remark. “That’s a mouthful. You look more like a Zach anyway.”

  He lifts an eyebrow, holding back a smile. “But that’s nowhere near as menacing.”

  The flush in my cheeks cools as I realize: he was lurking outside the committee room to see if I would carry through on my promise.

  “Is that what you’re doing here?” I ask, looking him over in his dark trenchcoat and boots. “Menacing me? Making sure I keep my word?”

  He folds his arms across his chest. “Actually, Moloch did send me here to kill you.” He tips his head to me. “If you didn’t manage to hold up your end of the bargain. I’m glad I don’t have to follow through with that.”

  I frown because I think he actually means it: that he’s glad he doesn’t have to kill me. Which intrigues me. When we first met, he didn’t hurt me; then he argued with Moloch to save my life; and now he’s glad I’m not forcing him to be Moloch’s enforcer. But why? And even more strange: why is he telling me he doesn’t want to kill me?

  “You’re kind of bad at the menacing part,” I say, just to flush him out.

  He drops his arms and takes two swift steps toward me. I’m already backed up against the door, so I have nowhere to go. He doesn’t touch me, but he places a hand against the door next to my head. My heart is thudding in my ears, but I’m strangely unafraid. Maybe because he’s already tipped his hand? Perhaps it’s the way he’s looking at me with soft eyes instead of dangerous ones.

  “I like you, Wraith,” he says, quietly. “Don’t put me in a position where I have to prove I’m the bad guy.”

  “What would you do?” I ask, not sure why I’m provoking him in this dangerous game. “Drain me right here in the capitol? It would be awfully hard to dispose of the body, don’t you think?”

  He shakes his head and pushes back from our close encounter. He looks annoyed. “Good thing we don’t have to find out.” Then he gestures me away from the door. “Besides, it’s time for us to go.”

  “Go?”

  “You passed Moloch’s first test.” He spreads his arms wide. “And lucky for you, I’m your welcoming committee.”

  I frown. “So he’s letting me join your cult?”

  He drops his arms and gets serious again. “Don’t use the word cult around Moloch—you’ll just rile him. And I said first test. Trust me, there will be more. Gehenna’s not a country club, Alexandra. And I’m not sure you’re cut out for it. But given the alternative… well, I’d rather see you onboard.”

  This time he’s not joking around. I don’t know if he would be the one to kill me, but he seems certain my death would occur nonetheless. “So, what does one have to do to join this… organization?”

  “For that, you’ll have to come with me.” He sweeps his hand to the stairs.

  “All right.” I want to get out before Wyatt finds me, anyway. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going or do I have to guess?” I ask on my way past him, my heels echoing through the marble stairwell.

  “You’ll never guess,” he says cryptically. “And not only am I not telling you, I’ll be blindfolding you along the way as well.”

  I throw him a frown over my shoulder.

  “Have to keep our secret lair secret, after all.” He smirks, and I can’t tell if he’s serious about the blindfolding.

  I swallow, looking forward so I don’t trip and hoping I’m not making a serious mistake.

  The taxi ride doesn’t last long, and apparently Zachariel was joking about the blindfold, but he doesn�
��t speak in the presence of the cabbie, so I keep quiet, too. We pull through an industrial sector at the edge of Sacramento and stop at what looks like an abandoned transport junkyard. It’s the perfect place to stash a body, and I wonder whether Zachariel is going to kill me after all. Maybe a cab ride’s simply easier with a live body than a dead one.

  He pays the cabbie with a black swipe card, then holds out a hand to help me climb from the cab in my tight skirt and heels. I ignore it and give him a dirty look. The last time I was skin-to-skin with him, I was fighting for my life. He just shrugs and waits for me to negotiate it on my own.

  As the cab pulls away, I prop my hands on my hips and study the rusted-out crane arms, bashed-in drone carcasses, and industrial-sized robotic assemblers. There are a few decades-old Metra train cars thrown in for good measure. Everything is enclosed by a ten-foot-high chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, as if the junkyard and the oversized shack in the middle were a medium security prison. Or a body dumping ground for the mob.

  Zachariel taps something into his palm and swipes it past the lock on the chain-link gate. It buzzes and pops unlocked. He pulls open the gate and gestures for me to go first.

  I hesitate. “Cult business on hard times?”

  He gives me an elaborate eye roll, then stretches his arm across the threshold, blocking my path. Which is fine—I’m not in a hurry to go inside—but it brings him a little too close for comfort.

  His gaze lingers on my lips. “I like that smart mouth of yours.” He works his way back up to my eyes. “I like it a lot. But you need to be careful, Wraith. There’s not one debt collector in here who wouldn’t kill you, if you happened to rub them the wrong way. That includes Moloch—I’m really not joking about calling Gehenna a cult. And this bunch are by far the strongest collectors I’ve ever seen. None of them are truly safe to mess with.”