Windswept (37 page)

“Past experience,” said Wash, putting himself between me and Banks and wrapping his arms around our shoulders. We limped deeper into the stacks.

“You need a place to clean up?” said Wash.

“I need a hardline to shore,” I said. “There is some major badness about to go down, and I need to put a stop on lifter traffic.”

“Good luck with that,” said Wash. “We got so much going up that you’d think there was an evacuation.”

“There might have to be,” said Banks, pointing at the cable.

I may not have been able to make calls, but my pai could still zoom, and what I saw made my heart sink. The crawler platforms were loaded with cans and beginning their trip to orbit.

Wash nodded. “You notice that? Hence the rush. We’re trying to get everything out of here to make room for these cans.”

“What, they’re bringing in
more
?” I said.

“Oh, yes,” said Wash. “How do you like that?”

“I really don’t,” I said.

“How long until they get topside?” asked Banks.

Wash shrugged. “Depends on how much traffic’s already heading up there, what else is in the queue, how fast the upload and download crews are working. Thirty-five, maybe forty hours. They managed to get the crawlers to go faster.”

Sure enough, the cables were humming louder than usual. I counted ten seconds between the cans crossing past each other, and some quick and sloppy math churned out a trip time more on the unsafe side of fast.

“Can’t we, I dunno,
stop
the cables?” asked Banks.

“You do an emergency stop while it’s loaded, the ribbons will tear themselves apart, especially when they’re moving this fast,” I said.

“Why would you want to stop them, anyway?” said Wash. “Did you not hear me? Triple rates?”

“It won’t matter,” I said, then gave Wash the executive summary of the past two days. His face grew darker as I told him about everything that had happened.

“I’m not sure what part of that pisses me off more,” said Wash as we approached the can he used for an office.

“Well, pick one and make the call,” I said.

“I cannot
wait
to use all this in court,” he said as he threw the door open. There was a
bang
, and he fell back, a red stain blooming on his belly. I jumped to put pressure on his wound, and, out of the corner of my eye, saw something fly towards my face. I knocked the kick away, then lunged for my attacker, a goon wearing updated riot armor. This time, I went right for the throat, reaching under his helmet’s chin guard to dig my fingers into his windpipe. It was a good thing that someone dragged me off the goon, since I couldn’t see anything but red and wouldn’t have stopped until I’d torn his head clean off.

I wrestled with the goons, and one of them popped me in the gut with a rifle stock and down I went. When I finally caught my breath, I looked up into the too-bright smile of Evanrute Saarien. The gun in his hand still smoked.

“Sister Padma,” he said. “I am so glad to see you.”

I spat in his face. Not a grand gesture, but what the hell.

He reached into the pocket of his spotless white coat – how the hell did he keep it so clean? – and pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped away the spittle, then dropped the hanky on the ground. “I forgive you that, as I have been taught to forgive all who are part of the Struggle.”

“Hope you can forgive this,” I said, then jumped up and kicked out. Saarien leaped back, but my boot made contact with his pants leg, leaving a beautiful black stain.

He looked down at his soiled suit, then back at me with more hate than I have ever seen in a man’s eyes. He took a fast step toward me and grabbed my chin, squeezing my cheeks so hard I thought my teeth would pierce them.

“You are an unbeliever, Sister Padma,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice level and failing. “You are an instrument of the great devil, of capital, of desire. You are lies, and untruths, and if it weren’t for the fact that I have sworn to stand by all my brothers and sisters in Solidarity, I would smite the sin out of you with my own loving hand.”

“Do it,” I said. “Or would you rather watch one of your goons do it for you?”

He let go of my face and nodded to the goons. They carted us into the office, one hauling Banks, another two carrying Wash. They threw us into chairs and zip-tied us in. One was nice enough to put a pressure bandage over Wash’s stomach. Saarien got on the phone and began a terse, hushed conversation.

“You two OK?” I asked.

“Dandy,” said Wash, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Stellar,” said Banks through gritted teeth.

“QUIET,” called Saarien, and he pointed at two goons. They wrapped filthy gags around our mouths.

Idiots,
I texted.

Saarien snapped his fingers, and the goons put headphones on our ears. Blistering electrosmash blasted out of them, so loud that I could barely concentrate on Banks’s reply:
this time, i mean it: i quit.

me, too,
texted Wash.

Wimps,
I sent, then tried for an outside line.
Anyone able to call out?

no
, texted Wash.

yes
, answered Banks.

Who?

everyone on the island
, replied Banks,
but they’re all busy loading cans.

Any police?

no.

You sure?

do the cops haul cargo here?

what is going on?
texted Wash.

Later,
I replied.
Banks, you see anyone who feels like management? Anyone looking at any equipment or monitors?

yes but they all have walwa pais, not union ones

Saarien’s people, whoever the hell they were.
Can you try the knockout thing with them?

i think it would kill them

For a brief moment, I consider having him do it.
No, don’t do that.

good cause i don’t think it would work anyway

Small relief
, I replied, then sent to Wash:
How do we stop cargo going up?

which cargo?
he replied.
fifty thousand cans in queue

All of it, then.

won’t stop unless there’s a hurricane alarm

Fine. How do we set one off?

start a hurricane

The electrosmash pounded in my ears, setting my teeth on edge. I know Wash wasn’t trying to wind me up, but I couldn’t help myself from texting:
Well, shit, why don’t I just buy one, then?

Banks perked up.
yes. do that.

I shrugged at him, making sure he could see how exasperated I was.

you know someone who works on the anchor
, texted Wash.
Henry Ballesteros.

I have no idea who that is.

You had sex with him about three hours before you met me.

I stared at Banks, then remembered: Anchor Boy.

And then I remembered that Banks had looked into my buffer.
Right.

Wash looked at me, partly bemused, partly hurt.

Mind your own business
, I shot to Wash, then looked at Banks.
And you need to stop hitting Send All.

but you know him.

Yes, I do, but I can’t call him.

i can. wait.
Banks’s eyes rolled around as he made the call. He smiled, then texted:
he’ll do it.

Do what?

hit the button
, texted Banks.

What button?

the stop button
, replied Banks.
though it’s really a series of switches
.

Fine, just have him do it!

for fifty thousand yuan.

I blinked at him.
Did you miss a few zeroes?

he was quite sure about the amount

I swallowed the lump away from my throat and blinked up my balance. If I paid off Anchor Boy, that would leave me with three hundred fifty yuan, just what Bloombeck had asked for two days ago. Maybe I should have paid him off, and then I wouldn’t be on the verge of ruin.

And then I remembered that there was still a possibility that Estella Tonggow was alive. After all, if Saarien and Jimney and Jordan and the rest were running around, she might be, too, right? That meant there was still a chance to buy the distillery and have a semi-normal life. I’d be in debt to her for the rest of it, but that was better than going mad. If I stopped the lifter, I would stop the Ghosts. If I stopped the Ghosts, I would still be alive and able to enjoy being in debt.

OK
, I texted Banks.
You probably know how I move money around.

He nodded, then gave me a sad smile before blinking in the message.

I looked at Saarien; he was still yelling into the phone when he started like he’d been whipped. He straightened up, put on a beatific smile, then screamed so loud I heard him through the headphones:
HOW?
I looked away, but he’d already caught me looking at him. He stomped around the desk, pulled off the headphones and gag and yelled, “What did you do?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Rutey,” I said.

“You’ve stopped the lifter traffic,” he said, “and you will restart it.”

“Do I look like I can control anything?” I said, hopping up and down, taking the chair with me.

“You can read minds,” said Saarien, his eyes getting narrow. “You can see into the eyes of other men, and twist their words and thoughts, using magic.”

“What?”

“That’s not right,” said one goon, his arms going slack.

“Not right,” said the other, taking a step back.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I said.

“Witch!” cried Saarien, stepping away and pointing a finger at me. “Sorceress! We must purify you! Cleanse you! Burn you!”

“Burn her!” yelled one goon.

“Torch her!” yelled the other.

“You two!” Saarien yelled at the goons. “Bring help! Bring fuel and fire! We will purify this evil with the bright light of justice!”

The goons fought each other to be first out the door. When it slammed shut behind them, Saarien gave me a bullet-eyed stare, then laughed. “Just when I thought they couldn’t get any dumber, they prove me wrong. Can you believe they bought that witchcraft bullshit?”

“You have to stop this, Rutey,” I said. “Wash is gonna bleed out, and–”

“I could really not care less what happens to ol’ Wash right now,” said Saarien, patting Wash on the shoulder. Wash pulled away, then groaned from the effort.

“You realize we’re recording all this, right?” I said.

“Sure,” said Saarien, flashing his pearly whites. “And do you realize your pai is cut off from the Public, and that no one will be able to read it once it’s melted down, along with everything else in this office?”

A ball of acid churned in my stomach, and I sat back. “Holy shit. You’re really going to do it.”

He nodded. “I have to admit, you’ve made it incredibly easy for me, what with your betrayal to the Struggle.”

I paused, letting his words rattle around my head. “My
what
?”

“Your betrayal,” he said, walking to the door and leaning against the wall. “That’s how I’m going to sell it: you’ve been consorting with your former lover” –he swatted Wash on the shoulder–“and with a Ghost Squad” –another swat for Banks–“to commit biological warfare on our brothers and sisters in Solidarity.”

“What makes you think he’s a Ghost?” I said, nodding toward Banks.

“Because I’ve read all the internals from Thronehill,” said Saarien. “My partners in WalWa were only too happy to feed me data.”

“The ones with fake ink,” I said.

He nodded. “Bright bunch of kids, really. Remind me of how I was when I signed my Indenture. I thought I was going to shine, move up the ladder at lightning speed, but then I saw what a horrific slog it was to the top. Even with the endless supply of idiots who want to become Indentures, there was no way to stand out. But here?” He spread his hands wide. “Here, with everyone grumbling their way through life, it’s easy to lead them, Union and Indenture alike. I talked those kids into working for me so easily, that it amazes me you didn’t try it yourself. They aren’t ready to Breach, but they still know they were getting a raw deal. Do you know that Indenture contracts no longer include transit time as part of Service? All those fishsticks who came down the cable, they have to do an extra four years here before their obligations are up.”

“That’s horrible,” I said, “and completely irrelevant to what’s going on here.”

“Is it?” said Saarien. “See, you’ve been so focused on making your number and retiring to Chino Cove that you’ve forgotten all about the Struggle.”

“You’ve kidnapped a few hundred Freeborn
and
you pressganged my people into running an illegal refinery, you shot Wash, and you’ve got all of us tied up, and you think you can lecture me about labor theory?”

“You forgot murdering Estella Tonggow,” said Saarien.

My guts churned. “You didn’t do the bodyswap thing with her?”

“No, because I didn’t need her,” said Saarien. “All those Freeborn, your people, they all fit in with my requirements, and it was easier for Bloombeck to tag a pile of meat with DNA than to make them disappear altogether. Your patron, Madame Tonggow? She’s dead, Padma. And she’s not coming back.”

“But why?”

“Because she was in my way. She was going to figure out what was making the rum go bad, and then it would’ve been easy for her to trace that to the source. She was a brilliant biochemist. Too bad you followed her path and turned away from us.”

“I never–”

“I know you have, because I live it every day, but you,” he said. “You’re so focused on your Co-Op plans that you’ve let your people down. I see the way they come trudging out of your treatment plant, beaten down, broken, robbed of a promising future that you can’t deliver.”

“Because you keep stealing my fucking funding,” I said.

“I’ve been reappropriating it,” said Saarien.

“You’ve been
stealing
it,” I said. “Wash told me about the cash you’ve been siphoning off for your ‘reinvestment program.’ And I’ve seen where that’s all gone. I was
there
, Rutey. I
saw
the stacks of
your
cane getting churned into
your
molasses in
your
illegal refinery.”