The Settlers (33 page)

Where's Olive?
Where's Max?
he asks.
 

Ollie's staying at her friend's compartment tonight.
Max is on a field trip.
Now, shhh.

Zeke stares up at the ceiling.
I'm a little uncomfortable with --

Poppy places her palms over Zeke's eyes.
 

Her skin is smooth and cool against his warm eyes.
His eyes close, and he feels a deep breath escape his lips.

There you go, she says.
Just breathe.
 

Her palms rest on his eyes for what feels like several minutes.
He has almost drifted into sleep when she gently draws her hands away from his face.
The sensation nudges him into a foggy dreamspace, and he opens his eyes.
They're heavy, and sink closed again.

Stretch out your fingertips for me, she says.
Extend them all the way out.
Open your palms.
 

He does so, slowly.

Good, she says.
Now stretch, stretch, stretch your fingers as far as they'll go.
 

He does.

Good, she says again.
Now hold that stretch for as long as you can.
And then, when you're ready, try to relax your hands -- but slowly, as slowly as you can do.

Zeke's hands go limp, and he feels tension leaving him.
It feels like a wash of cool heat.
 

Good, good, Poppy says.
Now your feet and your toes.
 

He stretches his feet.
He can feel his toes crack.

Poppy flattens her thumbs against Zeke's brow and smooths away the worry lines.
 

Shhh, she whispers again.
 

She begins to hum deep inside of her chest, a sweet, quiet melody.
 

Zeke's eyes are shut, and his consciousness is fading fast.
 

He barely feels the brush of her hair as it settles on his shoulders.
Her breath is warm and smells like wine.
He can almost hear her heart beating.
His muscles slacken, and he feels as if he is sinking deep into the bed and rising off of it at the same time.

He sleeps.

Zita frowns.
It has been hours, more hours than would be needed to fix a broken switch, and Zeke has not come home.
She's already checked the transport feeds, but there have been no delays.
Zeke should have been on the one that docked two hours ago, but he wasn't.
 

She dials his band again.
 

There is no response, her A.I.
says.

It's not like him, Zita mutters.
 

There has been a pattern, says the A.I.

What?
Zita asks.
 

A pattern has emerged.
 

A pattern of what?

Zeke travels to Galileo three times per month.
He has been traveling to Galileo for seven months, for a total of twenty-three visits.
 

Twenty-three, Zita says.
I didn't realize it was so many.

Zeke informs you of Galileo trips approximately eighty-five percent of the time, the A.I.
points out.
 

What is Zeke's status right now?
 

Zeke's metrics are protected, the A.I.
says.

Override.
 

Overrides require authentication, Zita.
 

Authenticate, then.
Authenticate.
 

Zeke has a password.
 

Zita's face goes blank.
Why?

Because Zeke established a password.

You have to tell me what his status is, Zita says.
What if he's injured somewhere?
 

If Zeke is injured, I am obligated to inform medical authorities.
Zeke is not injured.
 

When did Zeke give you a password?
Zita asks.

June 11, 4:22 a.m., the A.I.
replies.

Zita feels her face growing hot.
So he's lying to me, she says.

The A.I.
is silent.

If he's -- wait.
Zita snaps her fingers.
Show me the screenview log.

The wall panel illuminates.

June 11, Zita says.
Four a.m.

The compartment appears onscreen.
It's dark, but Zita can see a tiny dash of light where the washroom is.
The door is not closed firmly.
Nothing is happening.

Speed it up, Zita says.
 

After nine minutes, the washroom light goes out, and Zita can see Zeke's shadowy form exit.
He walks out of frame, and the image shifts to their sleeping quarters.
Zita is there, asleep in bed.
Zeke stands over her for a long moment.

Zita shivers.
 

He lightly drags his fingers down her blanketed form, then leaves the bedroom.
The image shifts again, and Zeke is making a cup of tea in the kitchen.
He speaks, but Zita can't hear him well.

Transcribe, she says.

The A.I.
issues an audible transcript of the dialogue.

Zeke: --- message when she wakes.
 

A.I.: Yes, sir.

Zeke: What's the transport status?
 

A.I.: Transports are clear.
No delays.

Zeke: Okay.
I want to set a password.

A.I.: All-person, or for your person?

Zeke: For my person.

A.I.: What is your desired password?

Zeke:
 

Hey, Zita says.
What happened?

The contents of Zeke's speech are in direct conflict with Zeke's privacy preferences, the A.I.
says.
 

Goddammit, she says.
What is it?
 

I cannot reveal that information, the A.I.
says.
Please be aware that repeated attempts to secure that information will require that I inform Zeke of this conversation.

Zeke can go straight to hell, for all I care, Zita snaps.

I can?
Zeke says.
What did I do?

Poppy sits at the rail, staring out at the beige slum.
 

Her neighbors -- the ones that leave their compartment door open, not the neighbors who never emerge from within theirs -- are listening to the pulse station.
The uprising on Argus is all that's on the pulse these days.
 

Hey, Rosalie, Poppy calls.
 

Her neighbor leans out of the compartment.
Too loud?
 

No, no, Poppy says.
I heard that the insurgents were succeeding.
Is that true?
 

Rosalie shakes her head.
I'm not listening.
Jakob knows.
Jakob!

No, Poppy says.
It's fine, it's fine.
 

But Jakob appears in the door beside Rosalie.
 

Rosalie says, Poppy wants to know if the -- what did you want to know?

Poppy sighs.
I asked if the revolt was --

Oh, man, Jakob says.
There's a rumor that the guy leading the revolution, that Gerard guy -- there's a rumor that he's actually descended from the Bogleman clan.
They say he's going to overthrow the station and then rebuild the Harvard Club.
 

Shit, Poppy says.
No shit?
The Harvard Club?

It's just a rumor, Jakob says.
Personally, I think he doesn't know what he's going to do if they win.
He seems a little, I don't know, like wet dough.
You know?
 

Wet dough, Poppy says.
Sure.

Poppy's wrist vibrates.

Sorry, Jakob, she says, pointing at her wrist.

Jakob nods and waves, and vanishes inside again.
Rosalie smiles, then follows, chattering at Jakob.
 

Poppy touches her wrist, and says, When are you coming back?

There is silence, and then Zita's voice says, He isn't coming back.
 

Zita, Poppy says.
 

He isn't coming back, Zita repeats.
Tell me you understand.

Listen, Poppy says, but Zita interrupts.

Tell me you understand.
 

Poppy is quiet.

Zita says, No more repairs.
No more broken switches.
No more money to float your ass.
No more middle-of-the-goddamn-night visits.
No more naps in your bed.

He told you about that, did he, Poppy says.

Zeke tells me everything, Zita says.
 

I bet he doesn't, Poppy says.
 

Everything.
 

Did he tell you how it happened?
The first time?
 

You're going to leave him alone, Zita says.

How all I had to do was breathe in his ear, and he was mine?
 

Shut up, Poppy, Zita says.

Did he ever tell you how much he likes it when you bite his ear?
It's like an off switch, he just goes --

Listen and listen good, Zita says.
If either of us sees you again, ever, I will break your fingers.
I learned that once, in a defense class.
It's not hard at all.
And if you like that sort of thing, the fingers make this sort of happy popping sound -- just like your name, imagine that -- that just make you want to keep breaking them so you can hear it again and again.

There is an edge in Zita's voice that Poppy has never heard.