Dying For Space

by S. J. Higbee

  “That’s right, Elizabeth,” Number Two leapt in turning to a sullen Norman. “It’s gratifying to have someone of her generation credit all your hard work, William. Isn’t it?”

  In the pent silence, voices from beyond the room chattered as if everything was normal while everyone trapped around the table was riveted at the spectacle of George encouraging Norman to be Mr Reasonable. Is it going to work?

  His face spasmed as if the effort was physically painful. “I’m aware that Elizabeth is mindful of what the P’s represent.” He couldn’t resist a sour look in my direction, however. “Pity she had to give all that bilgecrud about our troubles with the journos there.”

  George turned to me. “Elizabeth?”

  Oh this is peaking, this is. They set up the whole journo circus with the dregging statue and when it doesn’t go the way they want, it’s my fault. Just for a change. “If I’d tried to make out that everything was glossy, I reckoned the journos would’ve started reaming us. And with the mood of some of the troopers there, I didn’t think that was the way to go.” As I caught Norman’s eyes narrowing, I added, “I probably misjudged the whole thing. Sorry.”

  Norman moodily hacked away at his brekkie, merely grunting at me.

  Not completely forgiven, then. But at least a full-scale tantrum has been avoided. I picked up my spoon and started eating. But my appetite had gone. I pushed my bowl away and took a long pull of coffee. All the nonsense with the statue had blixed my schedule. I had a meeting with Diana in fifteen mins. By the time I’d made my excuses, negotiated my way past security and ridden to Procurement, I’d barely make it in time.

  It didn’t go according to plan. When I told Diana that Norman wanted her to be the new Director of Procurement, she sagged into the new chair in Rick’s office, her face bleaching to the colour of my uneaten porridge. “How can I possibly fill Rick’s shoes? No. Absolutely not!”

  And no matter what I said, she kept repeating that she’d sooner leave than take the post. When she started weeping, I knew I was beaten. I retreated to my workdesk, dreading the conversation with Norman in his current mood.

  However, my failure to persuade Diana to take the post appeared to cheer him up. Watching his satisfied smirk on the screen made me wonder if he’d expected her reaction. “So, it’s simple. You become the new Director of Procurement and maybe Mrs White will consider being your Deputy.”

  My turn to look gut-shot. Me as new Director? That’s star-crazed. “No one down here is going stand for me taking over from Rick!” They still speak his name in hushed tones. When they’re not wringing their hands and wishing him back.

  His beaming grin showed no sign of his former ill temper. “Let’s do this, Lizbeth. I’ll be down with you as soon as to officially announce you as the new Director.”

  “This is not—ˮ I protested. Then stopped as his screen blanked. Clearly, he was on his way.

  Do I warn everyone he’s coming? In the end, I decided not to, otherwise it would look as though I’d set up the whole wretched charade to my workmates, whose loyalty and co-operation I’d need if Procurement wasn’t going to tip into a sodding black hole with me at the helm…

  The guards flung the doors open and the General swept into Procurement, suddenly filling the empty space with his huge presence. He bore down on me and threw an arm around my shoulder, whispering in my ear, “Courage, my girl. I wouldn’t give you the job if I wasn’t sure you could do it.”

  “Thank you, Father,” I muttered, feeling anything but grateful.

  Give him his due, Norman was in full charm mode and by the time he’d finished presenting me as the new Director, everyone was smiling and clapping. Riona threw her arms around my neck, squeaking through her tears that Rick would be totally stimmed if he knew I was his successor. I suspected that he’d probably have laughed wryly – or buried his head in his hands on learning of Bernal’s fate. When everyone else lined up to congratulate me, I felt trapped inside some sense-vac’d dream. They’ll soon decide that I’m a pointless waste of space and air, once the General has retreated up to Ground level.

  He patted me on the shoulder, giving a thoughtful look at the recs stacking up on the display board – a new idea, courtesy of Finley – before making a short speech about how much the P’s appreciated all our hard work and left as abruptly as he’d arrived.

  It was beyond weird, moving my stuff from my workstation into Rick’s office, while Diana was clearing her things out of Rick’s workdesk.

  “I wish you’d take over, instead,” I muttered, while we danced around each other, packing/unpacking our various items.

  Diana looked across at me. “There’s ite-codes and equipment lists you still need to learn, sure. And they’ll slow you up till you’ve got them sorted, but we’re all here to help. Thing is, I watch you dealing with suppliers and know that I could be here another ten years and I’d still never be able to get the kinds of deals that you cut. You’re a natural for the job.”

  I felt my face flush. “That… means a whole lot, coming from you. I—” Never got to tell her how much I valued her help.

  A priority Incoming from Axil was warning that we were running low on a major stockline ite of ammo, which meant we had to double-check delivery times to ensure that we didn’t fall below the Permitted Minimum before the next batch arrived. What with that and confirming the details of Mrs Heston’s upcoming visit, the rest of my morning slid by, leaving me with no headspace for a drooling child sitting in a small room somewhere in this complex.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  The next month and a half was a blur as Christmas came and went. In many ways, my duties hadn’t changed very much. In between taking my share of the urgent recs, I still mainly dealt with suppliers and in that regard my shiny new title was a help. People I needed to reach were far more inclined to interrupt their busy day to talk to the Procurement Director of the Peace and Prosperity Corps. However before my promotion, I’d been mostly left in peace to get on with my own work, whereas now folks lined up for a chat, thanks to that ‘Director’ title. So I suddenly needed an assistant to deal with them.

  I discussed the matter with Diana in early January. We’d already established I wasn’t good with newbies in those early, desperate days after Rick’s death when we’d seconded a couple of temporary adminites from Personnel. I wasn’t patient enough when they made the inevitable beginners’ mistakes, being far too inclined to complete a task myself as they fumbled their slow way through it. Therefore, we decided to ask current Procurement staff to apply for the post of my assistant and I was gratified that Riona and Finley were both interested.

  During her interview, Riona, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, mentioned being my Bernal, which had Jessica tutting in disapproval. Riona and me usually met up a couple of times a week after work for a drink together, before I made my way back to my room or the meat-suite. While I enjoyed her company, I certainly wasn’t about to have cosy lunches in my office, or spend time I didn’t have during office hours doing friend-chatter.

  In contrast, Finley was all business and we discussed exactly how much I’d want to delegate. Towards the end of his interview, Finley let slip that he didn’t expect to get the job as Riona had announced the post was hers due to our friendship. I didn’t hesitate in immediately appointing Finley.

  When Riona re-entered, she was grinning expectantly. “When do I start, boss?”

  My fingers snarled the material on my combat fatigues under the desk. “I’m sorry. Finley got the job.”

  She sank into the chair, looking stricken.

  “I-I’m not sure we’d work well together. Being friends. And I need someone who is all business.”

  “I’ve told everyone… I said we were a partnership. That Finley’s interview was to make it look fair…” her voice trailed away as she hiccupped into a hanky.

  “I’m sorry you feel this way,” I muttered, wondering what I’d said to make her think such a thing. Reckon Norman foisted this Direc
torship on me so I’ll blix it up…

  “I can’t stay here, now. You’ve made a fool of me,” she wailed.

  I waited for Jessica to tell me ‘I told you so.’ Which she had. Regularly warning me that Riona’s friendship was all about sweet-sliming around the General’s daughter for what she could get. And I’d ignored her, assuming her comments were fuelled by jealousy.

  “We’d be very sorry to lose you.” Just now, we can’t spare you. Sadly. “As you know, Diana is in the process of hiring more staff, so there will be other prospects for promotion within the Department.”

  Riona stopped sniffing. “You telling me that I’m in line for a promotion?”

  I produced my best version of the Cap’s cold stare. “I’m telling you that Procurement is a growing department and as such, there are opportunities for promotion. I’m not making any promises.”

  “That’s it?” No friendliness, now.

  “That’s it.” I wore my blank parade-ground expression, unpleasantly surprised how much Riona’s pretended affection hurt. ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ It was a saying Norman was fond of.

  However, I wonder. If I’d allowed Riona to flounce out of Procurement that day without stopping her, maybe the final fallout wouldn’t have been so dire.

  *

  Norman had been moodily critical of the ‘atmosphere’ during our evening banquets particularly over the Christmas period. And he had a point – or would’ve done if it hadn’t been entirely his own fault the sparkle had left these formal affairs. Now we were missing Fina’s charismatic beauty and lively wit and Rick’s deft conversational skills, the evening meals were often bleak affairs. Particularly when the General was in snarl-mode, which was far too often.

  Until she left, I hadn’t realised just how often Fina had succeeded in coaxing him out of his grumpiness before it built into something more serious. There was a time when I could do the same thing, but since discovering Violet’s existence I seemed to have lost the knack.

  He’d scowled in my direction on several evenings, cursing in a grumbling baritone about my “shoddy appearance”. I affected not to hear him, and the one time he bellowed that he was “sick of wearing out my eyes on your skinny, scarecrow self”, I invented an urgent call – something not unknown – and rushed out of the banqueting room.

  During that January, a VIP from Sector One visited on a fact-finding mission – a big deal, as Norman suspected that the woman was actually reporting to Earth. For the four days she was at Restormel, we all made a big effort. I’d sung during two of the evenings and Norman bought in professional entertainers for the remaining two nights.

  But the night after she departed, he’d flown into a rage over having to pay “the upswept dreggers a disgusting amount of creds for prodding nonsense, just because you crud-sucking limpets can’t be bothered to make yourselves agreeable!”

  When he’d calmed down, George suggested that Norman’s aides could bring along their various partners, a notion that Norman greeted with enthusiasm.

  I was actually looking forward to the occasion and, for once, arrived early. As I entered the room and picked up a glass of wine from an attendant, Norman appeared by my side. His kiss on my cheek was perfunctory. “Where’s your partner, sweetheart?”

  I blinked. “I was under the impression that your staff were bringing their partners. I didn’t realise I was included.”

  “Of course you are! You’re dining here with us, aren’t you?” His burning gaze slid slowly from my head to my feet. “You don’t even have the good manners to dress appropriately.”

  Oh, here we go, again. If he weren’t so scary, he’d be plain boring. I blanked my face, hoping to shut down these angry thoughts. “I’ve been working since eight this morning and only finished forty-five minutes ago. I can assure you my dress uniform is freshly laundered.” As soon as the words fell out of my mouth, I knew I’d said the wrong thing.

  As his nostrils flared and his lips peeled into the characteristic snarl, I realised I didn’t really care, anymore. Well, that isn’t true. I’d have been a wet-headed reject if his rages hadn’t scared me. But instead of trying to placate him, I mentally shrugged my shoulders and waited for the storm to pass.

  George appeared by his side. “Good evening, Elizabeth. You’re looking tired. You work yourself too hard. Doesn’t she, William?” He put his hand on the General’s shoulder.

  I held my breath, waiting for George to be knocked to the ground. For Norman to start screaming curses at him. It didn’t happen.

  The General’s face spasmed, his eyelids fluttered and he took several deep, panting breaths. “A pity she couldn’t have thought to bring a partner, though. It will unbalance the table settings.”

  “Not a problem.” All crisp efficiency, George gestured to one of the aides rigidly bracing himself for Norman’s outburst. “Please see that the table is reset.”

  The man’s salute to George quivered with gratitude. “At once, sir!”

  While the meal went off without any major trouble, the damage was done. It was one thing for the posse of smart young men surrounding Norman to endure his temper – it was quite another for them to expose their wives and girlfriends to it. Tension pinged off the walls and conversation stuttered, while Norman picked at his food, looking pale and sweaty and took no further part in the limp table chatter.

  *

  “…all but came out and admitted it, this evening.” Elsbeth is almost unrecognisable from the well-groomed girl I’m used to seeing.

  I stared at her in shock, finally forced to admit that there was a strong resemblance between us.

  Her hair is scraped off her unpainted face and she’s lost weight. Her brown eyes look huge as she stares back at me. “He’s keeping Joe away ‘out on manoeuvres’ to make sure I do as I’m told,” she says flatly. “If he was a father worth the name, he’d be doing everything he could to smooth things for me, just now.” She slumps back in the seat. “The tabs stop me heaving, but they don’t stop the nausea. Or the constipation. Or the backache. Being pregnant majorly sucks. And being kept apart from Joe makes it all worse.”

  I bit my lip, wishing she’d curse and bang the desk. This exhausted, miserable version of Elsbeth was upsetting to watch.

  “He keeps talking about his plans for ‘my grandson’.” Her face twists as she leans forward and hisses, “He’s a monster. I don’t want the prodder anywhere near my son. I’d sooner die!”

  You do… I shivered, wishing I’d never reopened this wretched journal. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Violet, so I’d returned to find out more about her and hopefully discover exactly where she was being held.

  Why didn’t Rick stack Elsbeth’s journals in chronological order? This section happened near the end of Elsbeth’s life. There must be something here he wanted me to see. Is it connected to Violet?

  I was about to skip forward, when I thought of using the Search mode. It was a risk, but I didn’t have the time to keep trawling through like this. I drew breath to say Violet’s name aloud, and stopped. Fina seemed very sure that Norman’s monitoring equipment wouldn’t be able to break through Rick’s defences. But Rick was the one lying in the grave, not Norman. So I punched her name in manually.

  “…keep thinking about poor little Violet.” Elsbeth’s voice wobbles as tears trickle down her face. She doesn’t bother to wipe them away. “And the look on his face when he told me she had ‘passed away in the night’.”

  What! I felt sick.

  “At least I didn’t cry in front of him.” She hunches forward, looking older. “Pushed her right to the back of my mind, truth be told. Decided it was nothing to do with me. But since being pregnant, it’s like she’s haunting me. After all, it’s my fault she’s dead. If I hadn’t gone running to him with what I’d found out, she’d still be alive. She’d be twelve years old by now. And those weird DNA results…” Elsbeth is tangling her fingers in the lacework across her maternity smock.

 
; I do that.

  “I’d give next year’s lunches to know exactly whose DNA was joined with mine. A female relation, the techie said. Probably a half-sister. And the reason why Violet ended up brain damaged, was that whoever did the job had tried to pick and mix the attributes from both sequences. And botched it.” Elsbeth’s mirthless laugh sets my teeth on edge. “Bet whoever he was, he’s no longer upright and breathing.”

  “Bet you’re right,” I whispered, nauseated. Elsbeth was right about something else, too. He’s a monster. He had that poor little girl put to death to punish Elsbeth for finding her.

  Another thought zipped through my head, turning my guts to lead.

  Everyone talks about the tragic accident that killed Elsbeth, her husband and unborn baby, along with Mrs Norman. Just how accidental was it?

  I rubbed my aching eyes. I’d been scrolling through Elsbeth’s journal entries for four hours solid, when I’d only meant to have a quick, last-minute look for info on Violet. I stretched, feeling guilty. Should’ve visited Larry and the newbie girl who managed to break her spine – this business has flushed my whole evening’s schedule out’ve the airlock.

  I ordered a nightcap and went to bed. But I couldn’t sleep. Images kept buzzing through my head. Elsbeth’s expression as she broke the news of Violet’s death… the change in her appearance… But, most of all, the prickling knowledge that she had died just after announcing her determination to free herself of Daddy Bear.

  Did Norman kill her?

  Lying in Elsbeth’s huge bed, staring at the soothing lightshow on the ceiling designed to lull me to sleep, I strained to make sense of what I’d learnt. Even if he’d decided she was expendable, he’d have waited for the birth of his grandson. It doesn’t make sense, otherwise. To kill the whole family, like that. Wasteful and messy.