by M M Buckner
Farther down the passage, a trio of old men were sharing a pipe and stinking up the air with their ersatz marijuana. In the other direction, a woman was weaving a mesh bag out of plastic cord while two small children played at her feet. A younger woman was braiding beads into her hair. He saw nests built out of crates and rags. People lived here. They seemed to be well settled in.
Qi went on mocking him. “Pretty Gervasia, is that a flower name?”
Dominic drew a little closer to her and whispered, “The truth is, I pity Gervasia. A captain on a ship that won’t move. That’s sad.” He spread his fingers and marveled at his chipped, blackened fingernails. “This whole situation is misguided. These protes need their execs to put things in order.”
“Their Com slavers, you mean?”
“No, I don’t mean slavers.” Dominic shifted to face her. “I mean skilled execs trained in resource management. You know what I mean.”
“Do I?”
Dominic scowled. “Protected employees are certainly not slaves. They have lifetime job security, subsidized food and housing. That’s what the agitators demanded. Management made killer concessions to keep the workers happy, and every prote signs a contract at age thirteen. Nobody’s forced to sign.”
Qi pursed her lips as if tasting something sour. The way she looked at him, he began to wonder if he needed to wipe his nose again.
“Major, why are you picking an argument with me? You’re an exec yourself,” he said.
She tugged the rubber band off of her short braid and shook her hair free. Dominic watched her and waited, but she didn’t answer his question. She seemed thoughtful. As she twiddled the rubber band between her fingers, he examined the sweep of her ebony cheek. Usually he could read people, but this exotic spook had him mystified.
“Nicky, tell me why you keep asking about that Net link,” she said. “You’re here to negotiate, or has our mission changed?”
Impulsively, he invented a righteous-sounding lie. “I don’t know your agenda, Major Qi, but mine is to bring these employees back under Com protection. I intend to find them jobs.”
“Aren’t you the one who set them free?”
Dominic opened his mouth, but Qi kept talking. “Play noble if you like. You don’t care if they suffocate in the dark, as long as they do it quietly. You’re here because they’re making noise.”
Dominic restrained his urge to argue. He could defend the value of stable markets for hours, but at the moment, the thought of it wearied him beyond words. “I made a mistake,” he said. “I’m here to fix it.”
“What mistake, Nick?”
Why did she insist on mocking him? Every news page on the Net had reported his stupid blunder, and the WTO lawsuit accused him by name. Did she enjoy rubbing salt in his wound? He didn’t understand her at all. Without another word, she lay down on the floor, closed her eyes and—to his utter consternation—fell asleep.
“That broadcast is still going out, or did you forget.” The NP’s words made a gnashing sound deep inside his eye. “Every minute it lasts, the markets get more nervous, and the Orgs’ case against our bank gets stronger. How long are you gonna sit there?”
“My guide is resting,” Dominic subvocalized. “It’s a physical thing. Not in your database.”
Qi’s chest rose and fell in rhythmic breathing. She didn’t deserve to sleep that well. Leaning over her, he delicately drew a strand of hair away from her ear. There was her implant. It made a purple square just under her dark satiny skin. If he could get her implant, he could link to the Net and give ZahlenBank his location. But how could he remove it—with his fingernails? Maybe he could hold her down and bite it out. The idea appealed to him.
“Her implant won’t help,” the genie’s voice intruded. “I’ve already scanned it. The chip’s hard-coded to that bastard Gig. You have to find the ship’s Net link.”
Dominic pinched the bridge of his nose. If only he had relocated the miners in the first place instead of giving them this ship! He should have bribed some Pac-Rim operation to take the crew and dependents. ZahlenBank would have lost a couple million deutschdollars. What was that—a month’s salary? He should have paid it out of his own pocket! He hunched over and held his head between his hands. Even now he could still see his father’s look of approval when he suggested the spin-off. The last proud look his father would ever give him.
His stomach growled. He tugged at the ragged shirt Qi had given him and tore off a scrap to wipe his dripping nose. Gervasia said they moved the Net link every day. What if he couldn’t find it? Maybe persuading the miners to give themselves up would be easier. Could he do that? Negotiate with illiterate protes?
“I’ll be damned if I’ll bargain with protes,” the NP said, as if reading Dominic’s mind.
“Why rule out options?” Dominic said. “Maybe I could talk them into—”
“Son, where did you get that soft-headed streak? You didn’t inherit it from me!”
Dominic suppressed his impulse to react. When Qi rolled onto her side, he noticed how her hip curved up from the graceful saddle of her waist. What am I doing here, he asked himself. I’m a banker!
Sometime later, she nudged him awake. When he sat up and rubbed his eyes, she leaned against him and laced her fingers through his. He felt as if he’d been drugged.
“Nick, do me a favor. Look at that wall, and tell me if you see black spots in your vision.”
He blinked in bewilderment, then looked at the wall. “Spots, no. But…”
“Tunnel vision?” she asked.
“Now that you mention it, yes.”
“Me too. This air doesn’t have enough oxygen.”
“Good God!” Dominic sprang to his feet. He staggered with weakness, and that frightened him more. “Let’s get out of here!”
“Where do you suggest we go?” Qi asked calmly.
He spoke on impulse. “Back to the bathysphere.”
“Hoo-hoo. The bathysphere. You expect that little shuttle can rescue five thousand people?”
Dominic hauled Qi to her feet. “It’s not a joke, Major. We could die.”
She said, “I think you’re getting the picture, Nick.”
CHAPTER 8
* * *
SUPPLY AND DEMAND
“UP. We have to climb,” said Dominic.
“Nope, down. Trust me, Nick.”
“She’s a bloody liar!” the NP shrieked inside his eye.
Qi was already descending a ladder in yet another crowded steel tube, and Dominic could see her blue-black hair swinging through the rungs below. He thought of the bathysphere, docked at least five decks above his head, and the Net link located somewhere above that. But he had no idea how to find a ladder leading up.
“The Net link has to be on the bridge!” he shouted over the hubbub.
“What’s your obsession with the Net link?” she called back. “We have to see why the oxygen’s out of kilter.”
“This is a distraction,” Dominic and the NP said in unison.
Then Dominic subvocalized, “I’ve had enough of this echo effect.”
“Okay, okay, consider me muted,” the NP said.
Qi had already disappeared in the shadowy press of bodies. This tube held three ladders, with barely enough room for people to squirm past each other. As Dominic started down, someone kneed him in the back. He didn’t relish being left alone among all these protes. “Major, wait for me!”
Thick curls of paint crumbled off the metal rungs and stuck to his hands. When he swung out to let some rowdy juveniles pass, his bare leg brushed against the wet, corroded wall. “Delightful,” he said through clenched teeth. Everything looked grainy, like a low-resolution video.
“Your tunnel vision’s getting worse,” the NP said.
“Thanks for the news flash.”
“Be snide if you like. I’m sampling the air, and I read a 12 percent oxygen deficit. This spy girl’s delaying you on purpose. What can a banker do about the oxygen level?”
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“I assume you have her profile in that famous quantronic memory of yours.”
The NP chuckled. “If you ask me, her file’s been doctored. Parents allegedly dead. She signed up with the Orgs at age nine, and the WTO locked her file on grounds of security. Ha!”
“Thin.” Dominic thought about this information as he climbed down the ladder. “She joined the Orgs when she was nine?”
“Ask someone for directions to the upper deck,” the NP said. “Don’t follow her down. She’s tricking you.”
Dominic glanced up the ladder shaft, and for an instant, he thought he saw someone watching him. A dwarfish face with beady black eyes. He squinted for a better view, but the face vanished in the crowd. Had he imagined it? Mucus streamed from his nose, and he began to cough. On top of everything, his head cold was the crowning insult. His foot slipped off the rung, and he plummeted, but fortunately, the landing was just below.
Qi helped steady him. “You okay?”
“Splendid.”
He pressed one hand against the ladder and peered into the shadows above. No dwarfish face. No one in the crowd paid him any special attention. It must have been his nerves. Another coughing jag seized him, and he bent over.
Qi had given him that last antiviral tab maybe an hour ago, but its effect was already wearing off. He wanted a drink of water. Or a nice hot cup of caffie with thick foamy creamer and a dusting of spice. And a scone, yes, with bitter black choco chips. How long had they been on this hellish submarine? He’d completely lost track of time.
Slowly the lights flickered back to normal, and as soon as Dominic got his cough under control, he laid his hands on Qi’s shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “Let’s remember why we’re here, Major. The miners’ broadcast disturbs the markets, so we have to stop it. Because the markets feed everyone.”
He felt odd echoing the NP’s words. After a beat, he continued, “We don’t have time to deal with the ship’s infrastructure. Now be a good girl and help me find that Net link.”
“For the last time, don’t call me major.” Qi wet her fingers in her mouth and scrubbed his chin. “Yuck, Nick-O, you’re a mess. Be reasonable. We need time to figure out the politics here so we can negotiate. That’s our mission, right? To negotiate?” She leaned her weight against him and grinned. “Am I right?”
When Dominic didn’t answer, she went on. “The sensible thing is to boost the oxygen level if we can—so we’ll survive long enough to accomplish our mission. Now be a good boy and nod if you agree.”
“Forget her, Dominic. I’ll guide you to that Net link. Climb that ladder, boy.”
Dominic ground his molars with an audible crunch. The idea of a pint-sized computer ordering him around made him want to smash his fist through a wall. He was no flunky. He was Dominic Jedes, president of ZahlenBank. He would decide when to break with Major Qi, and this wasn’t the time. He wanted to figure out her game.
Qi grinned wider. “I see we’re in perfect accord.”
The ship’s respirator was two levels farther down the ladder, and Dominic gripped the flaking metal rungs till his breath came in shallow gasps and his knees felt ready to buckle. Worse, he could barely see. Either the lights were actually dimmer, or oxygen deprivation was clouding his vision. The walls were sweating, yet he found himself shaking with cold. The good news was, his nose was so clogged that he couldn’t smell.
Negotiation. His mind still churned over the idea. Why did the Orgs want him to negotiate instead of simply seizing the ship? Qi could have led an army of cops here the first day. The Orgs could have arrested these rebels, and the markets wouldn’t have skipped a beat. Instead, they seemed to be shielding the miners and making the crisis worse. What was their angle?
“You can bet they have an angle,” the NP said. “It’s some new plot to split up ZahlenBank.”
Dominic gripped the ladder in his fists. “Your blasted nanoquans are reading my thoughts!”
“That would be a sweet trick.” The NP laughed. “No, son, I’m not psychic. We just think alike. That’s what makes us ideal partners.”
We don’t think alike, Dominic wanted to roar. I’m human, and you’re a set of algorithms. When he tried to sub-vocalize, phlegm clotted his throat, and he coughed.
“You okay?” Qi called out.
He backed doggedly down the ladder and said, “Are we there yet?”
Qi kept descending, and Dominic followed. Once again, he sensed someone watching him, and he caught a pair of eyes shining in the dim light above him, a thin face vanishing in the crowd. But it might have been his headache. His cold was merciless.
“Over five thousand runaways,” he subvocalized. “How did they escape our surveillance?”
“They had help,” said the NP. “The Orgs are using them to get at us.”
Dominic agreed, but he refused to second any idea from the genie. He wiped sweat from his forehead. Maybe the Orgs wanted him to die on this submarine—their weird sense of justice.
“You can still back-trace my route to that bathysphere?” he subvocalized.
“You keep harping on that. Trust me, son, you won’t need the bathysphere.”
A moment later, a swarm of insects flew into Dominic’s face, and when he tried to bat them away, they weren’t there. Just imaginary black spots in his vision.
“Steady, boy. The oxygen’s dropped to a 14 percent deficit.”
Dominic hugged the ladder and drew several deep breaths to clear his head. His heart thumped violently. He didn’t want to suffocate in this stinking metal coffin. Finally, he said, “Take me back to the bathysphere. Once the air goes bad, that broadcast won’t last long.”
Light strobed through his eye. “Long enough to screw us! Every second that message goes out, more evidence piles up against ZahlenBank. Do you want the Orgs to win?”
Dominic scrubbed his left eye with his fist. The flash left a bright orange afterimage on his retina.
The NP continued, “I’ll lay odds those prote leaders have a private stash of air, and they’ll hole up and keep broadcasting till they’ve totally fucked us.”
“Why aren’t they already dead?” Dominic asked. “You’re the genius. Give me some answers.”
The NP’s voice dropped a level. “My greater self probably knows by now. I’m an abridged version, remember?”
Again, Dominic silently cursed the major for destroying all his Net nodes. This genie in his eye was useless. Perhaps the markets had already crashed. He’d give a fortune for a market report.
“I’d give a billion bucks for a market report,” the NP said.
Far below, Qi’s laughter echoed like distant, lively music. “Nick, I think we’re there.”
He sneezed and rubbed his nose on his grimy shirttail. On the landing below, Qi was strong-arming the door lever, and when it popped open, he heard the waffling whir of the submarine’s respirator pumps. At least the electricity was still on. Qi made a funny face and beckoned him with a sweep of her arm. His curiosity was aroused. Might as well find out why she’d brought him here. He jumped heavily down to the landing and followed her in.
Dominic had a vague theoretical notion about how a ship’s respirator worked. He knew electricity was involved. Pumps sucked murky ocean fluid into a reservoir, where it was sterilized with ozone. Then by some electrochemical process, the fluid was made to decompose into its various components, breathable oxygen, heavy and light minerals, organic compounds, toxic waste and a limited amount of pure H2O. The ship probably used most of these materials one way or another. As for the oxygen, it was added to freshen up the recycled air supply. Most respirator systems also included microfilters and caustic soda chambers to clear the air of infectious agents and carbon dioxide—when the equipment worked properly.
The respiration process was energy-intensive, and as Dominic studied the tangle of pipes and cables and shuddering pumps, his curiosity mounted. The miners hadn’t received fuel in weeks. No wonder they were experiencing brownouts. He co
uldn’t conceive how they kept the respirator working at all.
Just then he swayed, and the room went black again. He sagged against a column and hugged it with both arms and pressed his forehead to the wet steel.
“Dominic!” The NP sounded frantic. “This isn’t a power outage. You’re losing consciousness. Fight it, boy. My own dear boy, fight it!”
Dominic didn’t want to faint. He could hear the major bounding ahead with her usual lanky energy, and he didn’t want to appear weak in front of her. So he bent over and put his head between his knees and waited for the dizziness to pass.
“Deep, slow breaths,” the NP urged.
Slowly, his vision returned. When he could stand again, he staggered closer to the machinery and pretended to be studying the layout. The pipes were rusty, and fluids pooled on the floor under dripping leaks. He rubbed his bleary eyes with his knuckles. The sheathing on the electrical cables had cracked and deteriorated, leaving long stretches of bare copper wire. This tech was worse than obsolete.
“Qi, I expected you earlier. Is that the banker? Tell him not to touch anything.”
Dominic squinted to see who had spoken. Red hair. Freckles. He recognized the pasty face. The man standing beside Qi was one of the two uniformed protes she’d been talking to earlier. Dominic wondered if that small Asian woman was there, too, the one who’d seemed so familiar. He stumbled forward, and the nearer he came, the uglier the red-haired man appeared. His frizzy mane was cut square above (he ears like a hedge, and sickly freckles spotted his cheeks. For a mouth, he had a straight white slit with no sign of lip. The oddest thing, though, was the glass-and-steel contraption he wore balanced on his nose.
Spectacles, Dominic recalled the archaic word. The man had made himself a pair of spectacles to correct his vision. The two glass lenses were so etched with scars, they obscured his eyes, and the wire framework showed many twists and kinks. Still, the apparatus clung to the man’s face as if it belonged there.
Dominic’s mind was fuzzy. He stared at the spectacles and subvocalized, “Why didn’t this man have vision surgery?”
