On Broken Wings (43 page)

"I don't think I can, sorry."

It was like walking toward an open door and having it closed in his face.
Don't think you can?
"Why not, Chris?"

She shrugged. "I don't think I have enough free time. Rolf keeps me pretty busy."

"Oh!" His relief was considerable. "I get it. You don't understand. This wouldn't be in addition to your simulation work; it would be instead of it. You'd be leaving Svenson's team and joining mine."

And I'd keep you plenty busy, toots. Count on it.

But the young woman was shaking her head. "Then I definitely can't. Sorry."

"Why not?"

"I like Rolf. I like working for him. And since I joined his group, he's rewritten about a dozen different schedules to account for my being here. If I left him, he'd have to go through that all over again. Probably look pretty bad to management, too. After all, he'd have to explain why I wanted out, right?"

Arkham did his best to conceal his irritation. He didn't manage to conceal much. He hadn't expected to be refused at all, much less this quickly.

"Svenson's lost people before. It happens around here all the time. Just how much of an impact do you think you've had on his scheduling, anyway?"

She said nothing.

"Look, there's likely to be a category upgrade in it for you. You're what now, a junior engineer? You'd be a full engineer in no time flat. Maybe a raise, too. Considering how generous the funding's going to be, I could probably get you forty, maybe forty-two thousand."

Her eyes snapped wide at that. For the first time, he thought he had her full attention. The dog looked at her as if worried for her welfare.

"You could get me a forty thousand dollar
raise
?"

He choked on his bark of laughter. "God, no! If only! No, I meant I could get your base salary that high."
Christ on a pogo stick, what does she think she is? If I could do that, she'd probably be making seventy-five grand!

She relaxed. "Oh, I see. Well, either way, I'm afraid I'm not interested, Terry. But thanks for thinking of me." She turned toward her computer.

"Hey!" It burst out of him.

She turned back to him. There was little pleasure in her expression.

"Is there something else?"

"Just how many opportunities like this do you expect to get offered, toots? Svenson's group is a dead end, and anyone who's been here awhile knows it. If you've got the stuff like he thinks you do, you deserve better, but you ain't gonna get it unless you reach out and take it. Turning it down when it's brought to you on a silver platter won't make anybody very happy."

She sat silent for several seconds. "Terry, I don't worry about opportunity. Maybe I should, but I don't. I like what I'm doing, and I like the man I'm doing it for." She laid a delicate but definite stress on
man
. "Go talk to Rolf. If he tells you he can do without me, I'll consider it. Now, can I get back to work, or was there something else you wanted to talk about?"

He rose from her guest chair quivering with frustration. He wanted to scream at her at the top of his lungs, but that damned dog was still tracking his every move like a high performance radar.

As he left her cubicle and started back toward his own, his brain was boiling with plans.

***

"Roger?"

Morrison looked up from his paperwork. "What is it, Terry?"

"The new girl -- what's her name again?"

Morrison grinned. "Christine D'Alessandro. What about her?"

"Have you seen the monster she's keeping in her cubicle?"

"Oh, the dog?" Morrison chuckled. "A little disconcerting, isn't he? But I forgot, he's probably bigger than you are."

Arkham slid into one of Morrison's guest chairs. "Makes it hard to talk to her, with him staring at you."

"Really? I haven't had a problem with it. Are you objecting, Terry? Do you want me to tell her she can't bring her dog to work with her any more?"

No, because you'd make damned sure she knew who raised the objection, wouldn't you? Anything would beat taking responsibility for it yourself.

Arkham waved in dismissal. "Let it ride. It was a surprise, but the beast didn't leap at me or anything. I don't think she thinks much of this place, Roger."

"And why do you say that?" A note of mockery hid behind the words.

"I offered her a place on the full-scale development team, and she wouldn't even think about it. Everyone in the building is already maneuvering to get onto this job, and she turned it down without even hearing me out!"

"You did, did you?" Morrison sat back in his chair. "I'm surprised, Terry, her being so new and all. What is it about her that persuades you that she'd be more of an asset than, say, Emil Deukmeijian?"

Arkham sputtered, then collected himself. "Emil's been here twenty-some years. If the dictionary had an entry for 'broken-down old war horse,' his picture would be next to it."

"Emil's younger than you are, Terry. And his record of accomplishment speaks for itself," Morrison said brightly. "He'd be a team leader if I could justify creating another team. Everyone knows you don't like him. Damn near everyone knows why."

Arkham's lips drew back from his teeth. He struggled for control.

"All right, so Deukmeijian and I don't connect. So? This chick is good.
Really
good. She's wasted in simulation, but she won't even consider my bunch. I don't think it speaks well of her attitude." He scowled. "I think she's become personally attached to Svenson, frankly."

Morrison clucked in mock disapproval. "Bad girl. Getting attached to the wrong team leader like that. Poppa spank."

"Are we going to be nurturing cults of personality from now on, Roger? Wasn't that why you always came out against making Redmond a team leader?"

Morrison laughed.

"No, Terry, I was against that because it would have put the little prick within striking distance of
my
job. If he'd ever decided he wanted it, there wouldn't have been anything I could have done about it, anyway. Dick Orloff thought Louis Redmond sat at the right hand of God." The project director's smile became stiletto sharp. "Now, you and Rolf, I don't worry about."

For the thousandth time, Arkham renewed his vow that someday he'd cram a pound of dogshit down Roger Morrison's throat.

"Did you come in here expecting that I'd twist her arm for you, Terry? I won't. Svenson's got four people, including her. You've got fifteen. I couldn't make the case to Orloff that you have to have her with a straight face. And if I'm going to piss one of you off, I'd just as soon it was you."

"One of who? Me and Orloff?"

Morrison shook his head. "You and Christine."

Ah. You want to get into her pants, don't you, Roger? You won't get there, bucko. Her dog would tear you to pieces and swallow the pieces if she so much as frowned at you.

"I know what you're thinking, Terry." Morrison rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I suppose you've got good reason. But it's not that way. I'm fifty, she's twenty-five. I know when I'm out of my league. I stick to middle-aged divorcees these days. It's a lot simpler than that, chum. Svenson says she's the best he's ever seen. That makes her better than Louis Redmond. And that makes her a lot better than you. If you think I'm going to risk losing a talent like that to gratify your sawed-off dictator's whims, you're certifiable."

Arkham gaped in astonishment. "You'd risk losing me before her."

The project director nodded. "You've got it."

Without another word, Terry Arkham rose from his seat and crept back to his cubicle. Roger Morrison snorted once at Arkham's receding back before returning his attention to his paperwork.

***

Svenson bit his lip and stared at his cubicle wall. Christine sat in silence, waiting for his reaction.

Why am I so surprised? I knew Terry was an empire builder. This is hardly out of character for him.

Maybe I'm surprised because it's the first time he's ever tried to do it to me. My area's always looked like small potatoes to him.

And I thought it was Morrison I had to worry about.

"So you told him no, never?"

She nodded. "Rolf, I may not know much, but I know a turd when I see one."

The vulgarity pricked a laugh out of him. "You're ahead of the game, then. Have you talked with any of Terry's current subordinates?"

"Not knowingly." She raised an eyebrow. "Do they love him, hate him, what?"

"I wouldn't know, Chris. I try not to intrude on his domain. He's got a much bigger team than I have, that's all I know." Svenson rose from his chair and writhed to stretch the muscles of his lower back. "You're worried about the possible repercussions from turning him down, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, then stop worrying. He and I are equals. What he did, going to you before notifying me, is a breach of the unwritten rules around here, and I'm going to take a few steps so that he'll know not to do it again. You don't have to fear for your job."

Her sudden laughter disconcerted him. "Oh, no, Rolf, I wasn't worried for me. I thought he might try to take it out on you."

He stared at her. As far as he could tell, she was being sincere.

First job. No degree. Not even a high school diploma. But she isn't worried for herself. You don't need this job, Christine?

"Why are you here, Chris?" He tried to keep his tone casual.

She tensed. "I figured you'd want to be told."

"No, I meant, why do you work for Onteora Aviation?"

"Oh." The tension vanished. "Louis brought me here. He said it was the best of a bad set of choices."

"But you don't really need to work, do you? I mean, to pay the rent, feed Boomer, and so on."

"No, not really." For a moment she looked as if she would elaborate, but she offered nothing further.

"So this is just to stay busy, right?"

Her eyes widened. "No, Rolf, I like this stuff! This is fun. When I'm not doing it here, I'm doing it at home." She made a gesture of helplessness. "Besides, everybody ought to work, and this is the only thing I'm any good at. What would I do, if I didn't work at this?"

Her artlessness drove her words home with sledgehammer blows. He turned away and clasped his arms tightly across his chest.

Everybody ought to work. Even if you feel it as a scar across your soul. Even if the work costs you everything else you treasure. Even if you have nightmares about what would happen if your work became important. You may have a few things to learn after all, Christine.

He heard her rise and approach him, felt her put a hand on his shoulder. "Rolf? Is everything okay?" Her voice was softer even than usual.

"Yeah," he rasped. "Couldn't be better."

He turned back to her, and she stepped back. What he saw in her face was concern for him. It was the first time he'd seen that anywhere since Anna left him, and it rocked him.

Don't concern yourself with me, kid. It's too risky.

He swallowed through a suddenly dry throat. "Do you have any dinner plans?"

She started at the change of subject. "Just to go home and eat it. Why?"

"Join me, maybe? There's a little place not too far away that grills a nice swordfish steak, and on Fridays it's usually fresh." He reached for his coat. "My treat. We'll drive Boomer back to your place and go."

She considered it. "Could I drive Boomer home myself and then meet you back here? I'd like to take a few minutes to change, anyway."

"Sure."

She said "Give me half an hour," and was gone.

He settled into his desk chair, closed his eyes, and began to breathe slowly and deeply, in the cadence Louis Redmond had taught him for dealing with pain.

====

Chapter
39

Christine had been struggling with her current problem, trying to craft a defense against a land attack by a much larger force. The invasion had to fission around a cluster of lakes, splitting it into four separate streams of attackers. She'd decided to pursue a friction approach, but it was proving elusive. Malcolm had disallowed manipulation of enemy communications as an available tactic.

She looked up from her work. Boomer was asleep on the floor next to the kerosene heater, which Loughlin had turned up when they arrived. Loughlin himself reclined on the daybed, reading from a large leatherbound book with no title on its cover. He appeared unconcerned with the rest of the world. Through the trailer's end window, she could see that snow was again falling from the mottled gray-white sky of the late December afternoon.

What a cozy little domestic scene.

"Is there any coffee left, Malcolm?"

"No. I can make some, if you like."

"That would be nice, thanks." As he levered himself off the daybed and went to the kitchenette, she rose from the table and stretched out the kinks in her lower back. She always developed kinks when she spent too long poring over a map. In response to the stirrings of the humans, Boomer opened one eye, surveyed the scene, and folded his forepaws over his head.