by Astrid Amara
Gull wandered off to get another glass of water. Don Pryor, the dock communicator, nodded as he turned the earpiece in his head. “They’re all ready for us, Chief.”
“Navigator?” Kulshan said. “We’re moving the next load to Trinity, when you’re ready.”
Tover sat down on the chair.
All good so far. He visualized calm, in his aviary, listening to his birds. He ignored the rapid beat of his heart, the sweat under his collar. He’d done this a million times, he reminded himself. Dozens of times a day, every day, year in and year out.
Gull offered him the second glass of water but Tover shook his head. He worried more water would worsen his upset stomach.
“Helmet first,” Tover told her.
Gull frowned at the change in the routine, but she did as Tover asked. She pulled the helmet down from the ceiling.
The cable connecting the helmet to the amp system was more flexible than the one on the Jarrow ship, and Tover could see muted shapes through the visor. Information flooded the screen about his cargo. He read it all very carefully. Anything to keep his mind occupied.
There was a long pause. He felt sickness rising up his throat and wished they would hurry.
“Navigator?” he heard Gull’s voice. “Your wrists please?”
Tover could see the cuffs through his visor. His heart beat wildly in his chest. He started to breathe more raggedly.
“I’d rather jump without them,” Tover said.
“System won’t work,” Gull told him. “The amps don’t turn on unless they can read your vitals. You know that.”
“Yeah.” Still, Tover didn’t volunteer to put his hands on the console.
Kulshan coughed, and Tover heard Don Pryor repeat that the Trinity base waited for the shipment.
“Maybe we should do this first,” Gull suggested, reaching for the mouthpiece. She placed the edge against Tover’s mouth.
Tover bolted out of the chair, ripping the helmet off his head.
“No. Sorry. I’m not ready to do this.”
The helmet clanked against the ceiling as the cable gave. The noise reverberated through the completely silent room. Everyone stared at him in shock.
Tover backed off the dais. He was sweating profusely and only seconds from vomiting. He didn’t say anything. He rushed from the control deck and pushed past two interns and into the men’s room. He gagged and fought back sickness.
It took minutes to get control over himself, and when he did, he felt even worse.
Welcome home, he thought bitterly.
Rather than waiting around for Cruz’s news story, he now knew he should be spending his time looking for another job.
Chapter Sixteen
Harmony executives gave Tover one week of sick leave.
He rarely left his suite, ordering food to be delivered, spending most of his time in his aviary. He only left for the gym, where he worked out obsessively, forcing his body to perform the way it used to.
The next time Peter Owens checked on him, he seemed contrite, and repeated his offer to assist Tover any way he could.
“You know, it isn’t shameful to admit you might need some help.” Peter avoided eye contact. “We have skilled therapists on the station, and victims of physical assault often need someone to talk to, to work through their issues. I’d be happy to set something up for you.”
Tover blinked. He hadn’t expected Peter to offer something clearly embarrassing for both of them, but the gesture touched him. “Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking. “I think that would help.”
Peter looked relieved, and turned down Tover’s offer of a drink to make immediate arrangements.
The following morning, Tover was escorted to the offices of Delia Yu, psychologist with Harmony’s private clinic and, according to Peter Owens, Tover’s “best bet of getting a handle on things”.
Tover wasn’t sure what kind of handle he needed. He simply didn’t feel quite up to working yet, and he told Delia this.
She was small and thin, but she had a confident expression and looked kind, so Tover answered her probing questions about his incarceration. Like others he had told, she didn’t make much of a distinction between the Pulmon Verde, who had taken him hostage, and the Jarrow, who had been his tormentors. And when Tover tried to explain the difference, Delia swished her tiny hand through the air and stopped him.
“You need to stop compartmentalizing your ordeal,” she told him. “It doesn’t matter which group of people hurt you in what way. What you need to address is the sense of impotence this caused within you and how to feel strong and whole once again.”
They discussed various visualization techniques. And for the first time, Tover admitted to a fellow Harmony employee his terror making orbifolds.
“But you made two as you left the planet,” Delia clarified.
“Yes,” Tover said.
Delia shrugged. “Then it seems to me you can make them when you want to, not when you are being forced to.”
Tover shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I wanted nothing more than to leave Carida, but I couldn’t make one to save my own life.”
“You will be able to again,” Delia said confidently. “You need to positively correlate the experience. And while you do that we will concurrently work on therapies to address your post-traumatic stress disorder. There are several recommended treatments we can pursue. Stress-inoculation training, cognitive-processing therapy, even prolonged exposure, are all ways we can retrain your mind to reassociate. None of these are overnight solutions.”
“I know.”
“They will take months. But we can start today on some basic skills, to help you get through work next week. Anxiety coping mechanisms, preparing for stress reactions, these can have immediate results.”
Tover and Delia spent the next hour discussing stress-reaction strategies, and he left feeling like he had an ally in Harmony, someone on his side.
Only when he returned to his room did he realize she’d assumed he would return to work next week. He wasn’t sure if he should feel bolstered by her confidence or worried by her assumption.
CTASA council sessions opened the following day. Delia noted that he seemed more positive than he had the day before, but Tover didn’t tell her why. After his session with her, he skipped the gym and went home to scan net updates for Zoya’s broadcast.
When her new episode became available that evening, he opened it. Zoya looked serious as she discussed corruption in aid distribution to overpopulated colonial outposts, and started in on her investigation into two senators who she blamed for the bulk of misappropriated aid funds.
Tover watched with growing anxiety. It didn’t take long for him to realize the topic wouldn’t switch to Carida, or Harmony, or the terraforming of the planet. He continued to the end of the show and repeatedly checked all newscasts in case he’d missed it. But by the morning, he knew that something had happened. Cruz’s story had not aired. And CTASA sessions resumed their previously established schedule.
It could have been a scheduling error, but Tover doubted it. More likely, something had happened to Cruz or the Pulmon Verde movement. Or else Zoya herself had changed her mind about taking on Harmony.
The need to call Cruz overwhelmed Tover. But anyone who had broken out of containment would have their voiceprint embedded in the network monitoring security. And Tover had no idea what kind of warrants were out against Feo or Chucho or the others.
His fingers hovered over Cruz’s wristpad, which he still wore instead of getting his own. It looked like any basic model of wristpad, perhaps a little low on specs for someone of Tover’s income bracket. But he couldn’t bear the idea of removing it. He conjured Ana’s number, but he was terrified that Harmony could be listening and would punish her if he made contact. As he had several times before, he cancelled the call and rema
ined in the dark as to what could have happened.
As he closed the call feature on the wristpad, he noticed the files icon and flipped through the folders available.
He’d done this the first night he’d returned to the station, but found nothing of much importance amongst the random collection of media files, images and recordings that Cruz had saved. But there was a large folder of mediafiles, all dated recently, days before Tover’s rescue. And it was locked with a password.
For the first time, Tover wondered if this file contained the report Cruz had been working on with Zoya. If so, he couldn’t access it without help, and it wasn’t the kind of thing Harmony tech support would assist with.
The fact that Tover suspected Harmony of malicious concealment of information, along with tapping his calls, told him that he’d absorbed more of Caridan distrust of the company than he had originally thought. And he often thought of the argument he’d had over breakfast with Cruz.
The conversation had rankled him. Now, he searched his system and found a copy of the contract he had signed twelve years prior, as a fresh graduate from the institute, top of his class, recognized for unprecedented abilities in sensing unexplored space.
The contract had no expiration date, nor any mention of a severance package. In fact, there was no mention of Tover leaving at all. At first this seemed encouraging—he could quit at any time.
But there were other terms in the contract which discussed the cost to Harmony of his implants and training, which were seen as expenses absorbed for the duration of Tover’s employment. He wasn’t quite sure what it all meant, so he brought the document with him to his next appointment with Delia Yu.
“I take it you never read this when you first signed it.” Delia sounded a little exasperated as she read over the full document.
Tover shook his head. “I was eighteen. I didn’t think Harmony would screw me over.”
“They aren’t screwing you over,” Delia clarified, scowling, and Tover had to remember she too was under Harmony’s employ. “But there are some specific requirements in here which you might have been able to negotiate had you been a little older.”
“Or had someone actually on my side,” Tover said.
He didn’t miss the look of disapproval on Delia’s face, but she didn’t comment further, reading in silence.
Tover glanced around the calm, quiet space of her office, hoping the space would settle his nerves. But he felt adrift. Even here, in the place that was supposed to relax him, he felt on edge.
Finally, at the end of the document, Delia shook her head. “Tover, I’m not a lawyer, but this looks to me to be a permanent-position contract. By leaving you lose all the benefits that Harmony has given you for the position.”
“I expect that,” Tover said. “But I have savings.”
“I hope it’s a lot,” Delia cautioned.
“It is,” Tover replied.
“Because the section you highlighted means that you are obliged to pay back the costs Harmony incurred in your hiring if you terminate.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
“It means they are protecting their own investments. Which in your case, amount to quite a deal. Do you have any idea what sort of value the implants in your body represent?”
“No.”
“Well, I think it’s best neither of us find out. There’s no reason to lose hope on returning to work completely, Tover.” Delia gave him a nod. “We’ve got three more days to devise ways to get you comfortable in the navport again. Don’t give up yet.”
Tover stared at her. “Can I ask you something? I want you to answer me honestly.”
Delia looked surprised by that. “I’m always honest.”
“Then tell me: if you weren’t in Harmony’s employ and were a therapist looking after my best interests…would you advise me to look for different work?”
Delia frowned. “It’s a hard question to answer, since I am in Harmony’s employ.” She sighed. “But I might. I might even now, even though I do work for Harmony. I’m here for your benefit. But at the moment I still think the best thing for you is to conquer your fear of the navport and get back to work. Running away isn’t going to solve anything.”
Tover clenched his jaw.
“What else would you do, Tover?” Delia asked quietly. “You have been a navigator your whole adult life. It is everything you’ve ever aspired to be. You were great at it once, and will be again. I can’t in good conscience tell you to abandon the one thing you excel at because you are struggling with it at the moment. Not yet. We’ll get through this.”
Tover didn’t press the issue.
“Now, on a related topic, but not regarding work, have you been out much since your return?” Delia asked.
“Not really.”
Delia gave him a little smile. “I remember you, at Harmony parties. You were always there.”
Grief rushed through Tover. I’m never going to see Cruz again, am I?
He swallowed.
“You used to love those parties,” Delia said. “And there’s one tonight, on the roof of the Palacio. It’s a celebration for the new XO speed-fleet vessel that is joining the Harmony cruise line, and I think you should go. It isn’t a big affair, but it will be a joyous one, and you need to leave your own head for a time and remember what it was like to have fun.”
Tover almost told her that his presence at all those parties wasn’t because he loved to drink or dance or socialize with sycophants. He went there hoping Cruz would show.
But he didn’t say anything, and she took his silence for acceptance, for she followed him to the door and told him she’d see him there. Tover nodded, still dazed by his realization that he’d never see Cruz again, and walked out of her office.
And into a crowd of reporters.
As the cams followed him and questions were yelled, he tried to recall a time when he appreciated all the attention.
“Navigator! Navigator!” someone yelled.
Tover closed his eyes. He felt the press of bodies around him, his bodyguards reaching for him to shelter him from the crush.
Tover opened his mind to the senses around him. He felt, briefly, Carida, and Lourdes’s home. There were people there, he could sense it, but as far as he knew they could have been peacekeepers.
He then sensed his suite, and before he gave it too much thought, he opened his throat, shouted and jumped.
He leaned against the wall of his bedroom, hungry and tired, but pleased he could do that much. It wasn’t the navigation itself anymore, only the amplification, the navport itself.
He went to the party, as his therapist expected. Alexey Jade seemed delighted to run into Tover, and kept him company. He was pleased enough to grant Tover a favor and look into Zoya Verishnikov for him.
“What kind of information do you want?” Jade asked, popping an olive in his mouth.
Tover shrugged. “Anything you can find.”
“Any reason behind this?” Jade raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to tell your story to her?”
Tover gave him a small smile. “Perhaps.” Let Jade believe what he needed to get the job done.
The party was excruciating. Everyone there fawned over Tover, asking questions about where he’d been and what had been done to him, a gleam of excitement in their eyes as they inquired about how he had been hurt. It was sick, their fascination with his torments. He drank heavily, one free drink after another, but even the intoxication depressed him, and he quickly made excuses and parted. On his way out the door, a young man who worked at the Lizard Lounge and who’d been one of Tover’s casual lovers, offered to come home and keep Tover company.
He considered it for a moment, then dismissed the man. He was far too preoccupied for sex.
The thought brought him up short. He’d changed so dramatically, so quickly. How
could all of the things he had loved so much three months ago—the fame, the attention, the casual sex—now feel like such a burden?
Chapter Seventeen
Alexey Jade showed up first thing the following morning, bringing with him a mediafile on Zoya Verishnikov. He watched Tover eat a large pancake breakfast and presented the most recent offers Tover had received for giving an interview.
“How much is the biggest offer?” Tover asked between bites.
Jade’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “100,000 shares, if you can believe it. The Samantha Show is offering that much for an exclusive interview, as long as they are free to ask any question they choose.”
“No.” Tover poured more syrup over his pancakes. They were a far cry from Ana’s, that was for sure. “Tell them I want 125K and I will determine the topics that can be discussed ahead of time. If they balk, tell them I’m getting a similar offer from one of the other networks, but would prefer to work with them.”
Jade grinned. “That’s ballsy! I like it.”
“Also, I want the money wired into a new account. I don’t want it transferred to my established net account. I’ll give them instructions.”
Jade’s smile disappeared. “You’re not planning on flying the coop, are you?”
“No,” Tover said. “I simply want something of my own.”
“You have a lot of your own, Tover,” Jade said.
“Do I?”
Jade didn’t respond.
“What did you find out about Zoya Verishnikov?” Tover asked, changing the subject.
Jade appeared relieved. He nodded to the mediafile. “Most of what you would be curious about is on the public nets. There’s also some stuff I got from the PR database. Not very interesting. She lives a lifestyle that requires no apologies. She pays taxes, is faithful to her husband, works her ass off for her stories. She commutes between newsrooms on Arland, Carida, Port Matthius and Makati. She has one kid, a young daughter, who is in school in Jurisprudence, on Makati. Dare I ask why you are interested in all of this?”
