The Water Thief (22 page)

“You know,
colleague, you’ve been acting very strangely as of late,” said Linus, putting
on his half-frame spectacles. “I know the bombing affected you more than you
let on. That’s fine, but the truth is I’ve been worried since well before that.
You’ve rarely been paranoid enough to be an effective colleague. But now I must
say you’re more than making up for your former deficiency. You’re too paranoid
to function. What is all this business about?”

He knows. They called him in case I show up
here. He won’t give you an answer, just run.

“I’m not paying
you to ask questions,” I said.

“Quite right,”
said Linus, glaring at me over the bridge of his glasses. He thrust out an arm,
exposing his watch, and then gracefully brought it within his sight. “One hour,
a thousand caps,” he said. “But after that, you
will
give me some answers. My study is upstairs.”

We climbed a narrow
staircase to a very small wood-paneled attic study. A cot rested below the
window, and a chair and a small desk with a terminal sat in a corner behind the
door. The two of us barely had any room to stand. Linus handed me a towel and
began examining the pages.

“Well, these are
trades. This is a log from the Ackerman floor, stocks, futures, bonds,
equities. Looks like they took place a couple of weeks ago. What am I looking
for?”

“Anything out of
place?”

“I could look
through these for six hours and not find even a single problem. You need to
tell me what I’m looking for.”

“I’m looking for
trades between Ackerman colleagues—from one division to another, then back
again. They call it phantom trading. I want to know if people are making fake
trades to inflate income reports.”

“I know what a
phantom trade is. Ghosting—it crops up every now and then, but the traders
usually get caught. It’s a serious crime.”

“I need you to
see if there’s any going on. Check all of these trades.”

“I work in
arbitrage, Charles. I know most of these traders. I can speak for the integrity
of the division.”

“Check it
anyway.”

“Okay,” he said
reluctantly.

I toweled off as
Linus broke out a red pen and a calculator. He sat at an old-fashioned writer’s
desk and began reviewing the trades. He circled numbers, broke them down, put
them back together in new ways, tallied and split them again. He coaxed trades,
one into another, across locations and traders. When he was done he took off
his spectacles.

“I’ve got to
tell you, I don’t see anything here.”

My heart sank. I
took a long, deep breath, the first since I fled Ackerman earlier that
afternoon, the last I would have as a free man.

It was okay now.
They could catch me. In fact, they already had caught me—long ago. They caught me
when I did... well, whatever it was that I did to get their attention. I was
fine with it, I really was. At least I knew the truth, and I was tired of
running, tired of being the mouse in the maze.

And really, what
had I been expecting? Either Linus would find phantom trading or not. One meant
the entire world was coming to an end, the other meant only mine was. I was
nauseous just trying to figure out which option I preferred.

I sat back on
the bed.

“You don’t look
well, colleague. I can loan you some alcohol, if you would like. Maybe you need
one of your sedatives?”

“I quit,” I
said, putting my arms behind my head.

“Oh, well that
explains it. That and the cigarettes? You can’t just up and quit those things.
You need to do it under the supervision of a professional.”

“No. I just
needed to find the trades. I needed them to be there, that’s all.”

“Well, this is
just a small sample of trading. I couldn’t certify that there weren’t a few
traders ghosting.”

“No. What I was
looking for was systemic. Are you sure that all of these trades are good?”

“Well, you’d
need a forensic accountant to be a hundred percent sure, but if there’s
ghosting going on, it’s not on these pages. If it is, someone’s found a new way
to hide it. None of the products traded here had reciprocal trades back, in
whole or in part, and most are to other corps in the Karitzu. Some pages are
damaged, I can’t attest to what’s on those, but if you bought insider
information on some kind of systemic problem, you may need to ask for your
money back.”

“No, that wasn’t
it.”

“Well, I can’t
imagine why you wanted to find phantoms. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.
Perhaps you have other trades I could look at?”

“No,” I said,
defeated. “If they were there, you’d have found them right away.”

“They really
couldn’t have been there, Charles, I’m sorry. People, new traders in
particular, sometimes think that Phantom trading is a good idea. They try it,
the market corrects, and they get wiped out. Getting away with corruption on a
mass scale like what you seem to be describing—it’s nearly impossible. Free,
fair systems always win out. The invisible hand….”

I tossed the
towel onto the bed.

“I know,” I
said. “I should have always known…”

“I can look
again tomorrow, if you like. I can access all of this material from work, you
don’t need to print it out.”

“No.”

“As you like.
Now there is the matter of the thousand caps?”

I nodded and
leaned back on the bed. He was going to have a hell of a time getting paid. I
could only be turned into so much soap.

Lightning struck,
and the lights dimmed for a moment. Linus looked out the window.

“You know what,
I’ll run a tab. This will be a bad storm. I have some kerosene, and I think
we’ll need it. I’ll make up a room for you and we’ll settle up in the morning.”

My shoulders slumped,
and the tension in my body melted away. I wouldn’t need to run anymore. I was
caught. I could tell Linus the truth. Then at least he’d get a little money for
turning me in. I could make a break for LowSec, I figured, but what would be
the point? Kate was all I cared about down there. With her, I could live there
forever, happy. Without her, without a contract, and with Ackerman chasing me—I
could run, but I’d only die tired.

Everything she
had said was a lie. Kate was fake, the Republic a fake too.
Christ
, I said to myself,
with my luck it wasn’t even a conspiracy.
Aisling was just some stupid lady who stole water, I got myself all worked up
over it, and they nabbed me. End of story.

I had wanted the
world to end. What kind of person wishes for that?

Just then the
doorbell rang. I jumped out of the bed and hit my head on the sloped ceiling.

“Christ, relax!”
cried Linus. “My god, it’s probably my friends. I rent them every night. I
didn’t bother canceling them because I didn’t think that they’d show up on a
night like this. They’re dedicated, I’ll give them that. If they ask for hazard
pay, though….”

“Send them
home,” I said. “Send them home!”

“All right, but
then you’re going to tell me what’s going on. I’ve been more than patient. I want
to help, but you need to tell me everything. No more secrets, you understand
me?”

I nodded, and my
colleague went downstairs.

I sat there a
fully rationalized, constructed criminal. Retention had invested a lot of time
and money, turning me from a lonely divorcee who had gotten caught up in a
young woman’s silly rhetoric into a full-blown citizen.

I casually
wondered if I could find any hope in Linus. He clearly had designs on
me—something he had been grooming me for. He had been far too patient for what
I was paying him. I could ask him for a favor—forever in his debt to save my
life. I’d be a slave, but I’d live. But buying off my debt would cost him a
pretty penny, and there are easier ways to get a slave. I couldn’t imagine
anyone would consider me a bargain at any price.

I heard muffled
voices coming from downstairs. I looked at the disintegrated mass of pulp and
ink into which I had poured all my hope for redemption. I had risked everything
to learn that they were worthless.

The phantoms are real.

There it was.
Blind optimism, false hope. I was tired of it. I had been right, Sarah Aisling
did spread hope like a disease, and I was now a plague-ravished corpse. So many
people had spent so much time trying to straighten me out. Linus, Corbett, even
Bernard. They had faith in me as a colleague, and I had thought I knew better.

Hope is the
enemy of life.

The phantoms are there. Look for them,
they’re there!

Hope is the
antithesis of reality. If they had been there, Linus would have found them. He
had spent his life in arbitrage, first as a trader, then as a manager with
nearly a dozen traders under him. Nobody knew the system better.

Nobody knows the system better…

I looked one
last time at the pulpy mess—no longer legible to anyone.

Corporatism breeds paranoia.

All at once I
knew the truth. The pages were real. Kate was real. The crash was real and so
was the Republic.

Coming to Linus
had been a bigger mistake than I could have possibly imagined. He had every
reason to cover it up any fraud. No one was better at this kind of thing than
Linus, the man who never told the same lie twice.

And that would be the police at the door.

I jumped onto
the bed and scrambled to the window. I opened it and a wild wind blew through
the room. I could hear a clamor at the stairs as I climbed onto the roof,
steadying myself against the wet shingles. I became aware of my injuries, my
ankle and my knee giving in to utter exhaustion. I had nothing left, no tension
in the muscles. But I couldn’t quit. Not until I knew for sure.

The branches of
a giant oak tree were swaying violently alongside the house. One branch was
close enough for me to reach. It wouldn’t support my full weight, but it
steadied me enough that I could reach the edge of the roof, where I might be
able to jump onto a major limb.

I couldn’t make
out any of the shouting behind me, but I didn’t dare look back. I took a deep
breath and jumped. I only half landed on the branch, my arms barely over it. I
slipped on the wet, naked skin of the oak, clawing to get up. When that didn’t
work, I tried just to keep from falling. But my strength failed, and I tumbled
down onto the soft earth below.

I wanted to lie
there. I wasn’t a death-sport athlete, I had no training for this kind of
physical exertion, and my body rebelled against the latest blow. All of the air
had left my lungs, and my muscles fought against any attempt to use them.

I rolled over
and then climbed onto my hands and knees. Parked behind Linus’ car was a police
cruiser, the headlights still shining onto his front door.

They had left
the engine running.

I stumbled to my
feet and hobbled to the car. I heard the crackle of electricity as an ionized
taser bolt fell from the attic window. Two more crashed around me, but I was
able to reach the car. As I did, Linus and another officer came out the front
door. The officer pulled out his tasegun. I opened the driver door and ducked
down. Bolts flew over my head. I jumped inside as more blasts ricocheted
harmlessly off the windshield.

I threw the car
into reverse and slammed the pedal to the floor. A horrendous squeal came from
the tires as they spun in place, screaming over the wet pavement. The officer
made a dash for the car. I tried again, slower this time, and the wheels found
traction. The cruiser began pulling out into the street, but the cop caught up.
He jumped onto the hood of the car and pulled out his baton. I hit the gas,
driving backward down the street. He grabbed the rim of the hood and held on as
I tried to shake him. Crashing through a fence and over several bushes, I
finally found an open space.

I turned the
wheel as far as I could. The car spun a donut, and the officer was flung off. I
threw the car into drive and crashed back into the street, where Linus and the
other officer were running toward me. I turned the other way, accelerating off
into the darkness—farther into the storm.

My hands were
shaking so violently that I struggled to keep the wheel straight. I punched on the
siren so I could skirt whatever little traffic was on the streets.

Heading toward
the city wall, I could already see neighborhoods without power. I would have to
flee the city fast and then find shelter somewhere.

No doubt Linus
had already been pushing the officers to call their precinct and report the
vehicle stolen. But the cruiser was an expensive car, and they wouldn’t call it
in before they cobbled together an excuse (something in which they resisted
valiantly as I, the great gun-wielding, martial arts grandmaster Charles
Thatcher, sneak-attacked them under cover of night, robbing them of their keys
and car).

I drove as fast
as I could for the city gates. They saw the police lights well before I
arrived, and opened up an emergency lane for me. I chuckled as I imagined the
list of fines racking up against me: impersonating a cop, obstruction of
traffic, theft of corporate property, assault, identity theft. And that was all
since this morning. Was there an upper limit—a record for the most number of infractions
incurred in one day? I wondered if I should total the car, just for sport.

Once I passed
into LowSec, it was nearly impossible to see. I used the cruiser’s radar and
infrared, but there was no power anywhere. The streetlights, the homes, they were
all dark. I traveled no more than a few miles before the remote kill switch
kicked in. The car choked, sputtered out, and rolled to a stop.

I sat there, my
hands on the wheel, the roar of a hurricane now at full strength just outside
the four doors of the disabled vehicle. I wanted to stay inside it, ride out
the storm. But even in LowSec, in the middle of a hurricane, they’d find a
stolen cruiser.