One.”
“Say what?”
Art turns and looks at him, nodding."Sure, kid. You wanna play dumb, that’s fine. Null sweat. We’ll pretend you never heard of Commando One. You were never in the UCAS Marines, First Division. You weren’t first in on that little dustup in Morocco. You didn’t see your CO’s intestines blown out and that’s got nothing to do with you coming back to the plex and joining a peaceable organization like the D.W.W.M. If that’s how you want it, that’s fine.”
Brian says, slowly, “Who the frag are you?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You’re not Water Department.”
“Oh, no?” Art steps up real close, close enough for Brian to smell his spearmint-flavored breath. His eyes get very intense, his expression like granite. If this is his imitation of a Marine drill instructor, it ain’t half-bad."Lemme ask you something,” he says, quietly."Why do you think you’re here?”
“I got no idea.”
Art stares, then says, “I’ll tell you a little story, kid. There’s maybe twenty million people in this megaplex, Jersey included. What do you think those people depend on more than anything else just to survive? What do you think would happen if some nasty little Sixth World virus got into the water supply? Do you have any concept of how fast this whole plex could go down the drain?”
This is unreal. Brian wonders if he’s hallucinating. No one outside the military knows about his involvement with Commando One, or Morocco, or any of the rest. Art must have some heavyweight federal connections, and yet with all that talk about water .. .
“What are you talking about?”
“You heard me.”
“So what’re you telling me? You’re running some kind of security op to protect the water supply?”
“We do what we have to do, kid.”
Brian holds back a sudden flaring of temper. Enough with the “kid” squat, already! He’ll be fragging thirty next week."What’d you mean ‘we’? Who is ‘we’?”
“You. Me. Anybody the Department needs.”
“The Water Department?”
Art nods."D.W.W.M.”
“And you’re looping me in.”
“Yeah.”
“To do what?”
“Whatever’s necessary.”
“This is novacrap.”
Art stares at him a few moments, then says, “How does triple time and a half sound to you?”
Brian gapes."You ain’t serious.”
“I’m damn serious.”
“Nobody gets pay like that.”
“Maybe you think the lives of twenty million people aren’t worth a few extra nuyen.”
“I can’t believe the Water Department—”
“Kid, you don’t know the half of it.”
“And maybe I don’t wanna know—”
“Good. You ask too many damn questions.”
Art turns and heads down the hall toward the back of the building. The lighting panels overhead light up before him and fall dark to his rear. Brian considers making a break for the door, but wonders if he’d live to see the street.
“You coming?” Art asks from the distant end of the hall.
"I’m thinking about it,” Brian replies. Triple time and a half? That’s tempting even if Art is lu-lu.
“Don’t think too long, kid.”
“There ain’t nothing in the union contract about squat like this.”
Art nods."You’re right. Forget it, kid. It’s not your job. I’m sure there must be some other slag with your qualifications somewhere in the Department. Lose yourself. I’m not gonna trust my life to some candy-ass punk who can’t hack it—”
“Now wait one fragging second!”
“Kid, you either got balls or you don’t.”
“Who the frag do you think you’re—!” Brian begins, so hot he thinks he might pop, but then Art steps through a doorway and out of sight. The lighting panels above wink out and the hallway goes dark.
Fragging great.
7
Churning storm clouds turn the day into twilight. Sweat washes the blood from her fur and then freezes. The cold crisp air burns her throat and lungs, but the burning soon subsides. Her limbs ache with fatigue, but the aches fade as well.
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley