Son of Sedonia (8 page)

“Got it. Ready for your big moment?” Corey asked. Liani breathed in sharply, straightened, and nodded.

“What do you think? Over there by that palette of barrels?” she said.

“You mean the one’s marked ‘Highly Flammable’?” Corey grinned, “I love it! The volatile nature of both the commodity
and
the situation against the backdrop of the Hub. Brilliant, Ms. Ray!” She punched him this time. He grunted and chuckled.

“Wise ass. Let’s go before someone else spots the metaphor.” She strode across the landing deck, forcing Corey to clumsily collect his equipment and follow. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of that giant, lifeless multi-lens. Her lines waited, paused on her Neural teleprompter app.

“Five...four...three...,” Corey completed the countdown with his fingers, then pointed to Liani in silence. She settled her shoulders and did her best to ‘smile with the eyes.’

“Thanks, Mitchell. The mood here at the Hub is optimistic as Governor Sato and Virton CEO Elias Finley begin renewed energy negotiations inside. Sato aims to assist Virton Energy in trouble-shooting its year-long slump in production and the resultant spike in the cost of Helium-3 fuel. Governor Sato has cited the spike as the primary cause of the economic downturn, warning that continued price increases could trigger a recession not seen since the construction of the Sedonia City Border nearly three decades ago. Going into this meeting, both men are determined to not only avoid such a crisis, but to ensure many years of growth and prosperity to come.” Liani’s heart pounded as she paused for a few smiling seconds then gave the ‘cut’ signal. Corey lowered the camera.

“Beautiful. ‘Growth and prosperity,’” Corey snickered. “With the Chinese, Indians, Russians, Japanese, and who-knows-who-else scraping the lunar surface for every last inch of ‘growth and prosperity,’ Finley’s got his work cut out for him.”

“A very liberal attitude for such a grateful employee of the most conservative news network in the City,” Liani teased.

“Liberal. Conservative. Whatever. Facts are facts, but we don’t
deal
in facts, we deal in agendas. That doesn’t make you even
slightly
bitter?”

“It makes me have to pee. Start packing up, I’ll be back in ten.”

“Ten? You sure it’s a ‘number one’?”

“Ew.” She turned and walked off down the catwalk where Sato and Finley had left the platform.

“The porto-cans are right there!” Corey called after her, pointing to the blue plastic pods just below the landing deck.
Porto-cans. Double-Ew.
She stepped daintily down the catwalk steps in her black heels, each stiletto snagging on the metal-grill walkway. As she reached the plastic door of a vacant can, something caught her eye further down the catwalk. A directory hung above the metal hatch at the far end. She read the labels.
‘Gate 1A: Storage. Sic Bay. Conference Room 1A.’

“Conference Room...” she said to herself. The urge to pee, probably caused by camera anxiety, suddenly evaporated. A little initiative could go a long way at the network. It had gotten her this far.
A story’s a story.
One of Kabbard’s tall, black-suited security guards blocked the hatch door.
Worth a shot.
She settled into her role, adjusted her posture, and trotted daintily down the catwalk toward the guard. Flashed her press badge and attempted to push past him. He didn’t budge. Glancing down, Liani saw the RFID security panel by the door.

“Sorry ma’am, no Press allowed inside.”

“I’m not
Press-ing
anything right now. I’m just a girl with an emergency!” Liani tried to sound distressed and flirty. It seemed to work.
Or maybe it’s just the cleavage
.

“I...uh...I really can’t. Mr. Kabbard’s orders. Facilities have been provided below the central landing deck. If you’ll just proceed to—”

“Are there?” she turned and leaned well over the railing to feign a look for the porto-cans. “You’d have me walk all the way back
there?
I’d never make it!” She looked back in time to catch him staring at her.
Men. It’s almost not fair.
The guard’s pale complexion blushed, but he furrowed his brow and broke eye contact. Straightened.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to use the facilities at the landing deck, now please step away from this entrance,” said the guard. His tone was final. Liani frowned and retreated. The closed hatch gnawed at her the whole way back down the catwalk. Not only would she have to get past the guard, she’d have to figure a way to buzz open the door.
If only there were some way to—

The sound of her heels gave her an idea.
‘Knock-Knock!’
Sure, it was a cheap prank she’d learned in college, but it just might do the trick. She entered one of the porto-cans and suppressed the need to gag. Brushed her hair aside and tapped her temple. The Neural ‘Home’ display of semi-transparent 3-D icons greeted her.

“Open VoxBuddy,” she said. A full voice recording interface appeared in front of her. She hit the red circle button, shoved her mouth into her elbow pit, and screamed. Stopped recording and played it back. Muffled, but not quite there yet. A few tweaks to some audio filters and the Spatial settings made it sound like it was behind her. Like a voice through plate steel. She grinned.
Perfect.

“Save and attach to New Local Text,” Liani said as she stepped out of the porto-can. She started walking down the catwalk like she was headed back to the platform. Kept an eye on the guard as she entered the code string into the Text. Her roommate in school was a Neural Media major and showed her this cool trick to scare the shit out of their friends. Usually a ‘BANG!’ or a random screamed word like ‘Tallahassee!’ Good times. She hit the floating ‘Send’ button and waited.

The guard jumped about a foot and looked behind him at the hatch. As he keyed his throat mic, Liani stooped. Retracted her heels to form comfy, arch-supported shoes.
Best invention ever...

“This is Schaefer at 1A, did anybody hear that?” she heard him ask. Schaefer waited for a response Liani couldn’t hear, then buzzed the hatch open.
Good boy. Here we go!

“Stand by, I’m checking it out,” Schaefer said. Liani broke into a run, muffling her steps as best she could as the hatch slowly closed.
Shitshitshitshit SHIT!
It was too far away. Liani whipped the purse off her shoulder and chucked it at the door. The strap draped over the hatch frame, stopping it from latching.

“
Yes!
” Liani whispered to herself. She peeked through the door, picked up her purse, and stepped in. Quietly shut it behind her.

The place looked more like a battleship than an office complex. Reinforced plate-steel walls lined the hall with exposed piping and valves running the length. Every door she passed was a heavy slab of metal with hydraulic hinges.
Like a fallout shelter...nervous about explosions, are we?
Hurried footsteps approached. She ducked into a narrow hall and pressed against a wall in time to avoid Schaefer’s notice. Waited to hear Gate 1A open and shut.

Two hydraulic double doors capped the end of the corridor. The words ‘Conference Room 1A’ embossed the surface. She scurried to the end and hung a right into the hall to the lavatories. Entered the ladies room, closed the door, and tapped her temple.

“
Call Corey
,” she whispered. Three beeps later, he picked up.

“You didn’t fall in, did you?” he answered.

“
Corey! Corey, hi...I need you to do me a really big favor.
”

“Uh oh...I don’t like the sound of that. Are they out of TP or something?”

“
Ha ha, asshole. I was thinking more along the lines of a diversion.
”

“Uhh...come again? What the hell do you mean by ‘diversion’?”

“
The kind where you trip and fall into Gate 1A, make a lot of racket, and get into a big argument about ‘Freedom of the Press’ with any guard who comes your way!
” Moments of static passed.

“Does this mean we’re actually after some
real
News?”

“
Yes!
”

“On my way.”

“
Awesome! I’m sharing the feed from my ring cam...stay tuned.
” Liani ended the call. She sent Corey the cam invite, straightened her hair, and waited. In a matter of minutes, she heard the deep vibration of the conference room double-doors open and rapid footsteps break off down the hallway. She stepped out of the lavatory and tiptoed to the doors.
Godddd, what the hell are you doing?!
Liani winced as she crouched, placed the ring on the ground, and skated it across the linoleum with a flick of the wrist.

“You fucking fascists are all the same!” Corey’s voice echoed down the hall as Liani snuck back to the lavatory. She pulled up the ring cam feed.

It had landed perfectly under a solid oak table, peering out into the posh, circular conference room. The light was much warmer inside, reflecting off of spartan mahogany wall panels, dark cream marble floors, and fluted columns. Finley’s characteristic laugh snorted through the chamber.

“Create jobs? That’s essentially your answer isn’t it? ‘Create jobs.’ Mister Governor, I fail to see exactly how increasing my workforce by forty percent could possibly lower costs. It may help you curry favor with the electorate, but...heh heh...if you think a spike in overhead will solve
my
problems, you’re gravely mistaken, sir,” Finley said, theatrical as ever.

“I understand your apprehension, Elias, but more bodies means faster production and more coverage on your lunar holdings. Now a forty percent increase may be extreme, but that’s just a rough figure. If we crunch the numbers, I’m sure we can come to a much more reasonable—”

“Reasonable?
‘Reasonable’
the man says!” Finley turned to his advisers on his side of the table. They made sure to laugh.

“Sato, do you have any idea what hiring just
one
worker on the Moon costs Virton? Standard medical
plus
cosmic radiation, micro-meteorite, decompression, et cetera! Safety gear, equipment inspections, and every other regulatory fulfillment your liberal friends could dream up! Vacation, sick days, holidays, psych leave...and that’s all before the bloody Specialist wages themselves! What you call reasonable, I call ruinous. I’ll grant that more bodies
may
be able to secure more real estate, but it would take months. Multi-national corporations have pauperized themselves in shorter times, I assure you.” Silence filled the chamber. Sato rubbed at his chin and stared at the floor. He swallowed past a lump in his throat.
No alternative then
.

“Kabbard, would you go check on that thing at the gate? It’s been an awfully long time,” Sato said. The grumpy Chief of Security gladly excused himself. The man had never developed the stomach for bureaucracy. Once the double-doors closed again, Sato continued.

“What if—what about your prisoner labor programs? No wages, no insurance, no unions, and, as far as I know, no vacations, holidays, or sick leave. Could those be beefed up to off-set gaps in a smaller
paid
workforce?” Sato asked.

Finley scoffed. “Hardly. Inmates can drive forklifts and load freighters, but they’re not exactly qualified for advanced surface work. Most are untrained, unskilled, and potentially violent. If that’s the best you can come up with, then—.” Finley’s smirk drooped as Sato took a tiny glass vial out of his pocket and placed it on the coffee table. A bluish-white fluid sparkled inside. Finley shifted in his leather chair.

“And just what is that supposed to be?” asked Finley, poorly feigning ignorance.

“Our
people in your facilities tell us every new inmate is injected with this. Pretty crude nanotech, Elias, but effective. I’m told it blocks aggression centers in the brain while leaving the host extraordinarily pliable to instruction and training. After a month, the body expels the cheap little buggers, but by that time the effects are permanently imprinted on the mind. Very,
very
illegal, Elias.”

Finley’s smug veneer cracked, but didn’t break.

“Well and good. Not that you could do anything about it. Hang me for this, and Helium-3 production not only suffers, its dead in the water! In effect,
you
are dead in the water!”

“Agreed,” Sato put the vial back in his pocket, “along with the City and everyone in it who both trust and pay us to keep things running. But my friend, you mistake me. Remember, I said ‘more bodies.’ I hoped you would have agreed to employ more of our struggling citizens—and you may yet when you hear what I propose—but what would you say to tripling your illegitimate workforce? Would that gain you the real estate you need?”

Now it was Finley’s turn to rub at his chin and stare at the floor.

“Mmmmm...such an increase in population would need more housing, food processing plants, water treatment facilities, CO2 scrubbers...”

“Easily assembled given the financial aid, regulatory cuts, and
personnel
we are prepared to provide.”

“And how, pray tell, will you square this massive acquisition of ‘
personnel
’ with your voting public? Sympathy for the poor, impoverished Slum dwellers has been on the rise of late.”

“We say ‘terrorists.’ The EXOs have, as it turns out, discovered isolated storehouses of explosives all throughout the districts. The right media coverage makes it an imminent threat, and the crackdown begins. A few days of raids should yield more than enough bodies.”

“Hmm, yes. That could work. My God, Sato. Amazing that the public thinks you such a timid decision-maker. If they only knew!”

“You
will
give me enough new
legitimate
workers to show to the media, won’t you? My soul isn’t sold so cheaply.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic! Fine, fine. You’ll increase Helium-3 production, lower prices, combat the evils lurking in the Slums, and create a handful of jobs while you’re at it.” A smile curled back on Elias Finley’s crooked teeth. “You’re as good as re-elected! Not bad for one soul.”