Nemesis (6 page)

Ira rubbed his eyes. ‘Will, we all know he can fly, but he doesn’t follow orders. He stole a
starship
, remember?’

‘A fact that nobody outside IPSO’s inner circle is even aware of,’ said Will. ‘And you know why he did it. She might have been my wife, but she was also your engineer, remember? You worked with Rachel for how many years? And none of us lifted a finger to try to help her.’

‘For the very obvious reason that there was nothing we could do.’

‘And yet she’s still out there, Ira. Frozen in space and probably waiting in cryo. How are you sleeping these days, may I ask? Everything hunky-dory?’

Ira stared tiredly into the middle distance. ‘Not that great, if you must know,’ he said softly. ‘Will, I’m not sure you understand what you’re asking for.’

‘Don’t play with me, Ira,’ said Will. ‘How could I not?’

Ira shot him a bleak look. ‘If there’s one thing you have in common with that kid, it’s your mutual inability to notice the shit happening around you when you’re upset. We’ve been covering for you, Will. Me, Pari, everyone. Since we lost Rachel you’ve been a liability. And that’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to admit.’

Will felt his cheeks flushing. He considered shutting his blush response down but there was little point in trying to hide from Ira. They had too much shared history.

‘First there was that tribunal,’ Ira went on. ‘Then there was the self-cloning fiasco. Then all those “off-the-books” trips out to the edge of the Depleted Zone in humanity’s most obvious starship. How do you think it makes the Fleet look when we indulge you at every turn? We’ve tried everything to pull you out of your tailspin, Will, up to and including hiring the Fleet’s most highly qualified life-coach as your sub. If this mission doesn’t get your mojo back, I won’t be able to protect you any more. Politically speaking, you’ll be on your own.’

‘If this mission doesn’t succeed, it sounds like there may not be a civilisation left to come back to,’ Will retorted.

‘Which is why I’m saying yes.’ When Ira glanced up to meet Will’s eyes, he saw a kind of finality in them – a hardness he hadn’t glimpsed for years. ‘You get your wish. I’ll add him to the plan. Maybe some good will even come of it. Plus the senate hates it when I surprise them. It throws all their predictive modelling off.’

Ira managed a wry smile, then looked wistful. He rose and stuck out his hand. Will recognised the signal to leave and blinked in surprise. He’d been dismissed. He stood, shook his friend’s hand and hugged him.

‘Good luck,’ said Ira. ‘You’re going to need it.’

‘Thanks,’ said Will and headed reluctantly for the door.

‘By the way,’ said Ira suddenly. ‘How did the meeting go?’

Will paused and exhaled. ‘Terrible. I couldn’t keep to the script. That podium’s going to need mending. I think I scared everyone.’

Ira smiled. ‘Good. I was rather hoping you would. There wasn’t much else that could shift them. Your unreliability is at least … reliable.’

Will blinked at the realisation that Ira had played him.

‘It may not sound like it, but I have confidence in you,’ said Ira. ‘I know you can bring me that miracle. It’s what you’re best at. But one last thing, Will – try to enjoy it, huh? You get to go and chase aliens.’

Will saw that sadness again. Suddenly Ira looked small in his enormous office.

‘I’m jealous of you,’ said the Fleet admiral. ‘Make the most of it.’

Will nodded. ‘I’ll try,’ he said.

2.2: MARK

Mark sat at the back of the event room at the Atlantic Environmental Research office, waiting for the meeting to end. Jim Dutta, his boss, had run long with his weekly round-up.

The AER office occupied a slice of New York Supertower Three, high up the east face of the building. The office was, in Mark’s opinion, a dump. The first-generation biofabric walls and floor had come down with tower flu eight years before, leaving them yellowed and blotchy. Nobody had bothered to vax them because the building was overdue for decommissioning anyway, and they lent the air a slightly sour, vegetal smell.

At least the view was decent. That last big storm had cleared the air and there was no sign of smog or haze, not that NoreCorr got much of either any more. From the meeting room you could see out across the choppy grey waters of the Brooklyn Crumbles all the way to Sunnyside Island and the Long-Eye Towers beyond. Streaks of high, white cloud hung in a blue-green sky. Unfortunately, the room’s inhabitants were rather more depressing.

Jim stood at the front, going through recent stats, looking uptight in his over-formal FiveClan corporate hoodie, smiling as always. Along the top of the presentation wall ran his jokey slogan for the day:
Hey, look on the bright side, at least nobody has to go to New Jersey any more! :)
Underneath lay his three main bullets: weather is worse, politics is worse, budget is worse. In the bottom-right corner a timer ticked down, showing how many hours remained before the next supercyclone hit, along with the afternoon’s oxygen levels and expected temperature spread. Long after Earth’s industries had all been shuttered, the biome was still collapsing. And with each slow, inexorable phase of the ecotastrophe, the weather grew wilder.

‘So yes,’ said Jim, ‘we
are
going to shut down the sampling tower at Newark. With the others gone there’s no point keeping it. Our major operations are all being moved to Pittsburgh.’

There were grumbles around the room.

‘I know, I know,’ said Jim. ‘But realistically, this is not a big issue for us. The silver lining with this new storm pattern is that model confidence is way up, so local sampling is less of a priority, which means an easier time for you guys. And more opportunities for great travel!’

A hand went up.

‘Yes, Tina,’ said Jim.

‘Does this mean more lay-offs?’

Jim spread his palms. ‘No decisions have been made about staff redeployments. It’s likely that some of you will be invited to relocate to other NoreCorr sites.’

‘Any offworld?’ said Tina.

Jim winced. ‘Probably not.’

Muttering from the engineers kicked off again.

‘What is this shit, Jim?’ said Tina. ‘They’re closing all the sampling towers. If my wife and I don’t keep up our booking payments, we’ll lose our flight out. Then it might be what, two more years till the next open berth we can afford comes on the market. What am I supposed to do – sign up as a Revivalist and beg for a posting as a Flag? I’m not spending another two years on this shit-hole planet watching cities get smashed flat, Jim.’

‘Nobody here is going to miss their booking payments,’ Jim insisted. ‘Everyone will get their ticket offworld. FiveClan has you covered, remember? Everyone here is Made Gold or higher, am I right?’

Mark didn’t speak up. He hadn’t invested in any of the Made Premium programmes. But they hardly mattered to him.

‘In any case,’ said Jim, ‘could we get back to the agenda, please? And let’s save the questions for the end, okay? On a final positive note, the Princeton operation was a complete success. Management are delighted that we extracted the cores with everyone intact – everyone’s going to receive a quarterly bonus, so kudos to Ricky and his team for all their hard work!’

Everyone clapped. Those nearest to Ricky slapped him on the back.

‘And very special thanks to Mark,’ Jim added, ‘for pulling them out in the nick of time with some incredible flying!’

The applause slacked off. Some of the clapping grew slow enough to be heavy-handed even for irony. Mark got a couple of sidelong glances.

He folded his arms. Everyone in the room knew that without him there’d be no bonus, no cores, and everyone on Ricky’s team would be screwed on their booking payments. Fuck them all. This was not what he thought it would be like when he came back to Earth. He wondered for the thousandth time if he’d just picked the wrong city.

Before he moved he’d heard that, what with all the major urban relocations, sect affiliation didn’t mean much any more. Everywhere was a melting pot these days. Supposedly. He’d realised that was bullshit in week one. Outwardly, Earth’s sects might operate as a bloc, but within Earth society affiliation counted for everything. Everything that wasn’t already determined by class, at least.

‘Okay!’ said Jim, trying to hold on to the enthusiasm that had already fled the room. ‘That’s it for now, I guess. Next meeting one week from now. Everyone enjoy your weekend!’

The engineers started filing out, muttering in small groups.

‘Mark, could you stay back a minute?’ Jim added. ‘I’d like to chat about something.’

Mark watched the others leave with a mixture of resentment and dread. His
little chats
with Jim had been getting steadily more awkward over the passing months. Jim had sunken, sad-looking eyes in a pale brown face that was always smiling, and you could read his emotion by how much stress that smile was hiding. Today, it hid the most Mark had ever seen.

Jim waited until the last engineer was gone before speaking.

‘Hey, Mark. Look, sorry for the vibe there.’

Mark shrugged. ‘I did my job. I got them out. If they don’t appreciate it, that’s their problem.’

‘Yeah. That’s the thing. Look, Mark, I’ve no idea what to do about this. I know that whole transit pod thing was an accident—’

‘What else was I supposed to fucking do?’ said Mark. ‘Leave them to the Shamokin? Just fly away?’

‘
Management’s
very happy with your choice,’ said Jim, ‘but the guys think … Well, the guys blame management for sending them there in the first place when they should have just let the whole issue slide. And if management ended up having to pay extra to get them out, well, then maybe it would have served them right.’

‘Except that’s not how it works, is it?’ said Mark. ‘Management would have found a way to pass the fucking buck, because that’s what they did last time.’

‘You know that and I know that,’ said Jim earnestly, ‘but the guys think they’re likely out of a job anyway. They don’t feel there’s much left to lose.’

‘Can I help what they think?’ Mark snapped.

Jim laughed nervously. ‘Well … maybe yes. You see, the guys feel … well, they feel like you’re showing them up, Mark. Like they can’t compete and you make them look slack.’

Mark seethed. ‘What?’

‘It’s hard for them,’ said Jim. ‘You’re so … different – you do the work of, like, ten guys at once, and you don’t even
try
to fit in.’

‘Don’t I?’ said Mark. ‘I’ve attended every single fucking work social since I showed up here.’ But he knew that wasn’t what Jim meant.

‘Yeah, but they don’t care about socials,’ said Jim. ‘I mean, you still haven’t declared an affiliation. And it’s been what, over a year?’

Here it comes
, Mark thought.

‘Did you consider that last offer I sent you …?’ said Jim, his voice trailing off as he hit the end of the sentence.

Jim kept sending Mark invitations to join his faith group. His congregation was Standard FiveClan Transcendist church-lite – about as watery as religion got. As a Fleet roboteer, Mark would be highly regarded. There’d be special roles for him in their prayer meetings, no doubt.

Mark quietly suspected that was one reason he’d got the job, but it was the last thing he wanted. And he had no desire to join some gang of Truist Revival bullies, either. He didn’t see why he had to join somebody’s church to be considered an Earther. He was aware of the historical context, but surely the planet was better than that? However, he knew not to say such things to Jim’s face and hurt the man’s feelings even more.

‘Look, Mark, I know you’re not super-fond of religion,’ said Jim anxiously, ‘but church doesn’t have to be about belief. It can just be about community. Making friends. Letting the guys feel like you’re on their side so everyone can relax a little. There are hundreds of congregations in the tower, Mark. Not joining any of them just makes you look weird. Like a Colonial. Like you don’t care. And besides, you’ve been here for over a year and you don’t have a girlfriend. I know you’re straight from your stats, so don’t you want to get laid? What girl will go for you if you’re not signed up?’

‘One who’s not religious?’ Mark offered bluntly.

In truth, Mark had actually gone on a few dates since he’d arrived, but only with other roboteers. He wasn’t great with norms. He’d never quite worked out how you were supposed to trust them when you couldn’t share thoughts. Plus they always talked too much.

Finding women with handler interfaces in the depleted remains of New York was rough. Earthers hadn’t exactly lined up for genetic modification after the war. Losing to a tiny colony of gene-tweaked atheist intellectuals didn’t leave them particularly receptive to the idea in the immediate aftermath and the prejudice still hadn’t eroded. However, locating potential dates turned out to be the least of his problems. All three of the women Mark had met felt he was hiding something from them. Which, of course, he was.

The words
I’m a secret government experiment
had hovered on his lips a hundred times, but he’d never said them because his job would have vanished along with what was left of his freedom. In the end, loneliness had proved easier. He was used to loneliness. His childhood had featured plenty.

Jim sighed. ‘Look, Mark, your skills are unbelievable. I never thought I’d get a roboteer on this team, let alone one from the Fleet. When I heard you were available and wanted to come here, it was like my dream come true. Really. But frankly, it’s screwing everything up. You told me when you first arrived that you were supposed to be lying low, yet you show off every chance you get. Half of the guys have already figured out you’re something special and the others are only in the dark because they don’t know enough about roboteers to tell the difference. You scare the shit out of all of them and it’s damaging morale.’

Jim stared at his shoes – stuffy regulation trainers with FiveClan logos on them.

‘I want your skills, Mark, but not at the cost of my team.’

Mark breathed deep. He couldn’t believe he was at risk of losing another job after all the compromises he’d made.