Chapter 22
Amaya’s heart fluttered with hope. For the first time since yesterday morning, she felt like she had a clear direction to some answers about Marcus. The caller had identified herself only as Z, but had made it clear that she had information that could help Amaya find the truth about her brother. Allonz was stunned, primarily because he knew Z. She wasn’t one of his people, but his people worked with her enough for him to know that she wasn’t bullshitting them.
“Z a straight-shooter, she ain’t lie about somethin’ like ‘dis,” he offered. “It’s risky business, but I ‘tink you call ‘dat girl back right now and we figure out a way to help her.”
“That’s noble an’ all, but are we forgetting that this is probably the same person that called you back at your apartment, Amaya?” Andre scoffed. He crossed his arms and looked at Amaya.
This call was different, Amaya knew. She hadn’t even listened to the first message, just deleted it right away because the number was unknown, the timing was conspicuous, and Alicia hadn’t scrubbed her permissions data yet. Now, though, having heard Z out, Amaya knew that this was the break she needed. “No, Andre, I haven’t forgottten, but did not you hear her? That wasn’t the voice of someone who was being forced to call - that was someone desperate for help and calling the only number they could think of at the time.” Andre shrugged his shoulders in a whatever you say, boss way, and that was that.
Allonz prepared the terminal to return the call, but turned to Amaya before dialing. “Listen, now, and listen to me well: do not think that this call is free of pig ears, heard? Might ‘tink ‘dis girl on the up, but ‘dat don’t mean she hasn’t fallen into a fresh trap, herself.” He pressed the button and dialed the terminal to make contact with Z.
Amaya was sure that Z wasn’t going to answer. It took several minutes before there was a response on the other side of the line, no video to the voice, but the raspy female voice came through with just enough clarity to communicate. The conversation was brief. Z answered the call and immediately went to work.
“My name is Z - I am survivor of the team that was murdered underneath Cirrus Prime. I know-” Z caught herself, “I knew your brother. He said to tell you what we learned.” Amaya heard a rapid inhale of breath from the other line, the sound someone makes when they place an antiseptic pad on a fresh wound, before the line dissipated to static. Z’s voice came back through the static, trembling now. “We need to speak in person - I cannot travel, you will have to come to me.” Each word was punctuated with fear, her voice barely more than a trembling whisper. Even without a promise of more information about Marcus, Amaya felt a compulsion to help this person.
“How do we get to you?” Amaya asked. She looked at Allonz, he shook his head once, sternly; We aren’t going anywhere, his face said.
“You have to come to Cirrus. It will be dangerous, but I can give you more information about Marcus and..” static broke the connection again for a second before Z returned. “…do something real; we can finish what Marcus started. I can’t say any more, I don’t know how safe our connection is. Rosewood, 120, 1428. Come to Cirrus, remember that, and you will find me.” The connection ended without any more discussion.
Well that’s that, I suppose, Amaya thought. Z sounded terrified, had promised more information about Marcus, had made a cryptic appeal to some sense of duty that she hoped Amaya would feel to complete Marcus’s work, and then gave a riddle for how to find her.
Andre broke the several minutes of following quiet. “Anyone else here a little confused?” He stood from his chair and stretched. “I mean, this person is supposed to be some underground asset with information that we need, but then we leave that call feeling less certain about how to find her than before we called?”
Allonz laughed. “You sure you did ‘da cabbie drivin’? How you not recognize what she told us as an address.” He clicked his tongue judgingly at Andre as he grabbed his own hand terminal. “Rosewood - that’s prolly a housing complex. 18 - that’s prolly ‘da level she be on. 1428 - that’s a hole number. She be tellin’ you where she at, not even that sneaky about it, to be true.” Allonz pulled up a schematic of Cirrus Prime on his terminal and found the exact location Z alluded to. “Yep, thar’ she be blowin’, Rosewood Project Housing, level 18 of Cirrus Prime. ‘Dat be where she want you ta’ go.”
Amaya was ecstatic now - not only did she have someone who could tell her more about Marcus, she had an address! She had a goal and she had direction. Now she needed to figure out how to get there. “That’s amazing, Allonz! Thank you!”
“Whoa now, ‘fore you get too ‘cited ‘bout ‘dis, let me tell you - I do not think you should go talk to Z. It ain’t that I don’t trust ‘da girl, it’s that we can’t be fa’sho that she ain’t been got, heard?”
“That’s what I’m sayin’, Amaya!” Andre added. “I get that the chick’s scared, but all she’s done is leave some crumbs for you to follow right into a welcomin’ party hosted by some right pissed Jurisdiction cops.”
Amaya frowned, confused why Allonz and Andre did not share her enthusiasm to meet with Z. “I don’t get it,” she said. “This is my best shot to get some information about Marcus - and Allonz, you heard her - things are happening on Cirrus. Sounds like things that could be of interest to you. I’m going to Cirrus Prime regardless of what either of you think.”
Now it was Andre’s turn to frown. “Amaya, I’ve gone with ya’ this far, but what you’re talkin’ about is some really deep shit.” He ran his hands through his hair again and held them atop his head briefly and sighed, like a sprinter recovering from a race. “You know I’m with you ‘til you finish this, but if it matters at all what I think, I vote we find another way to get answers about Marcus. A way that involves staying here, on Skyreach, and within reach of some support.”
“Andre’s right, babe,” Allonz added. Amaya cringed slightly at babe. She hadn’t liked anyone calling her that since a verbally abusive ex-girlfriend, Dana, had used that phrase excessively - especially during arguments. “Goin’ ova to Cirrus is some real dangerous plans. You - Amaya - are bein’ looked for!” He raised his voice now and brought his open palm down on the table rapid, making a muted smack. “You ain’t goin’ on no legal transport, either, less you’an wanna be in a detention cell in a couple hour. You goan to have ta sneak your way. I got people I can call over on Cirrus, let me help you wit dis, heard? You can stay here, I’ll get you some answers from my contacts ova Cirrus side. ‘Dis your home base to get some answers ‘bout Marcus.”
Amaya thought about the offer, but not for long. Allonz was generous, but her heart was made up - she was doing this herself. Finished a spectator, she thouht to herself. She was a player now. “That’s nice, Allonz, but I’m finished letting other folks put themselves at risk for me. I’ve got to do this for myself,” she paused, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. The weight of what she was needed to do now hung around her neck with ferocious weight. “More than that, I’ve got to do this for Marcus.” She remembered the way that Marcus had not looked back at her while being hauled away by the jurisdictional officers. Marcus had stared his destiny in the eye and walked courageously into it. Something inside Amaya told her that this was her moment to embrace her destiny.
Andre sighed. “Shit. Well, alright then.” He sat back back down at the desk and placed his arms out in front of him and rested his head on them, speaking to the floor. “How do we get to Cirrus, then?”
“You sure ‘bout ‘dis? There might be a few ways to get you ova’ there, but communication will be more difficult and there ain’t no Allonz’s place to go hide when the shit hits,” Allonz chuckled. Rummaging through his desk while he spoke, he now found what he was looking for and pulled a small scrap of paper, wrinkled and barely legible with age, from within the archives of his desk storage. “Dis right here my gol’en goose of a transport fixer. Shit really be hittin’ on Cirrus, ‘dis man’ll know. More important, ‘dis man’ll know a way to get you into that shit.”
Allonz set the scrap onto his desktop and smoothed it out with his hands. Amaya and Andre leaned over the desk to look at the scrap. “Don’t type non’a that down - take a pit’cher and look at it ‘dat way. Delete ‘dat pit’cher when you done finished your business with ‘dis man. His name Scratcher. I’ll call the man and see what he’s can do for you and tell him to s’pect a call from you, but that’s alls I can do. If he can help, you ‘gon need that info to make contact when it’s go time.”
“Time for what, exactly?” Andre asked grimly. He looked up now from his survey of the floor and rested his chin on his hands. Either the bud and breakfast had made him sleepy, he was still tired from the previous day, or he was realizing the depth he’d swam to and was uncomfortable. More likely, it was all three.
Allonz leaned back in his chair now and looked at both Amaya and Andre from top to bottom, his eyes squinting, like he was looking through a sun-glare. “Y’all sure ‘bout ‘dis?” He asked one more time. “Y’all unequipped as shit, and Scratcher ain’t goan give yous a ride for nuffin.” Allonz tapped rapidly onto his hand terminal for several minutes. When he finished, a young man, probably fresh out of school, probably didn’t go to school, Amaya realized, knocked on the office door and Allonz admitted him.
“Ready for ‘em,” the boy squeaked. He was just a teenager, but boasted a thicker beard than Andre’s and must have been close to six and half feet tall. He wore a black corpo-style dress suit and his wing tipped shoes sparkled with immaculate cleanliness and attention. He was young, but he’d learned how to take care of his wardrobe. Amaya felt like she could even learn something from the kid.
“What now?” Amaya asked, almost annoyed that there was still more talking to be done. She needed to go now - she needed to be on her way to Z and Cirrus now. “Can’t we just go talk to your Scratcher now?”
“Girl, you ain’t ‘dat dumb - I know it. I told you - Scratcher ain’t goan take you for nuffin. My boy Jaeden is going to take you to our gun room and make you all look more useful than you do right now. You go talk to Scratch lookin’ like ‘dis, he’s goan think I’m askin’ for charity.” Allonz rose from his desk and pushed his chair in with one hand and dimmed the office lights from a control switch on his desk with the other. “Now your adventure really begin, lady,” he said. It was too dim to be sure, but Amaya swore she noticed a proud smile escape Allonz’s lips for just a fraction of a second, like he was watching his daughter graduate. Amaya realized then that Allonz was proud - he was finally giving the fatherly support that Alicia must have shirked away from - the criminal kind.
“Now, as I said. My boy J here goan take you to our gun room and make you look like contributin’ members of society. Wish I could go with, but I’ve got some bid’ness waitin’ for me that I can no longer put off.” He crossed the office, but stopped when he was in between Amaya and Andre. He grabbed both of their shoulders with gentle, fatherly firmness. “You two are good kids, but you both steppin’ into somethin’ that cannot be unstepped, dig?” He looked deeply into each of their eyes as he spoke. His tone carried the energy of an interrogative, but his energy he shared with his touch and his gaze told them that the time for deciding was over. He wasn’t giving them one more chance to back out, now he was warning them that there would be consequences for failure.
Andre stood from his slumped posture in his chair to stand eye to eye with Allonz and placed his own hand onto Allonz’sshoulder. “Mr. Mosely, you been nothin’ but hospitable, and now you’re gonna’ help us even more, and I sure don’t want’chu thinkin’ we don’t appreicate it. I also don’t want you thinkin’ that we owe you somethin’ when this is all over, you know?”
To this Allonz released a belly laugh and doubled over in a fit of laughter, never releasing his grip on Andre and Amaya’s upper arms. Jaeden remained eerily still at the door, his hands crossed in front of him. Andre, worried that Allonz might tumble to the floor if he released his grip, raised an eyebrow at Amaya; we sure about this? Amaya nodded once; We have to be - it’s my only way. Allonz stood and wiped both eyes with the collar of his t-shirt, leaving marks where he’d soaked up his tears.
“You two is is associated with my Alicia so I ain’t goan do nothin’ to put y’all at any unnecessary risk. But you gotta’ know that you askin’ me to cash in some real clout for ya’. That ain’t goan come cheap, and you prolly gonna’ have to do a job to get where you goin. And I’ll be the first ta’ tell ya’ - you might not like the job that Scratch has for ya’, but if you wanna go to Cirrus, this is the way you gotta’ do it you go through me, heard?”Allonz gripped both of their arms one more time and then left the office to tend to his business. They could hear him chuckling down the hallway as Jaeden led them in the opposite direction. “Owe me somethin’? Lawds, that’s best one I heard in months…”
Jaeden led them down the hallway, their shoes clinking against the steel-mesh floor. The sweet smell of cultivating cannabis was quickly supplanted by a metallic, electrical smell. It had also grown noticeably darker, the dim red glow of security lighting was soon the only illumination they could rely on. Reaching a fork in the hallway, Jaeden turned them to them to the left where a large vault door occupied the width of the hall. He input a code into the terminal and the door hissed open, releasing a burst of cool, metallic air that carried the distinct scent of gun oil. Racks upon racks of weaponry gleamed under the dim red glow, each piece meticulously arranged. Andre’s breath hitched as his eyes traced the sheer variety: pistols, rifles, sleek plasma weapons—all waiting to be used.
“Holy mother of God,” Andre said faintly.
For the first time, Jaeden showed an emotion; he smiled. “Welcome to the gun room.”
Chapter 22
The steam billowed up and over the glass of the shower stall door. The movement caught Bernardo Ervins’s eye and drew him back to reality. Droplets of water condensed onto the porcelain of the stall and streaked down the shower wall, and through the clear stripes on the glass Ervins could see that he’d created quite a sauna in his bathroom. He may have just used his water rations for the week, but it was worth it; this was the first good shower he’d been able to treat himself to in 3 days now.
Ervins had been lost in thought, consumed by the mania of the previous 72 hours. 3 days ago he was put on the assignment that he was sure would make his career: Deputy Captain of Terra Harvest corporate security. Less than 24 hours after accepting the assignment, he’d witnessed the murder of his mentor and commanding officer, Adrian Morehouse. The same day, he was made Chief Security Officer of Terra Harvest and promised additional career growth if he apprehended the Queenie girl. He knew accepting the Deputy Captain spot was a move into the big leagues, but the hardball had arrived much faster than he anticipated.
This is what you wanted, Bernardo, he thought to himself and chuckled. He tapped the pressure gauge on his shower terminal to turn off the water and the flow slowed to a trickle and then a drip before stopping altogether. Steam radiated off of Ervin’s dark skin as he stepped from the shower stall and grabbed his towel to dry himself. He wiped the mirror over the sink to check his appearance; bloodshot red corrupted the whites and dark rings hung underneath like two black hammocks strung from the corners of his eyes. He looked a little too sloppy for his position, but vanity wasn’t a requirement of the job for the time being. Right now, what mattered was finding the girl.
Grabbing some No-Red from the medicine cabinet, he squeezed a few droplets of the serum into both eyes and massaged the closed lids for a minute. When he looked in the mirror again, his eyes were clear and white. Not much to be done about the bags right now, but at least he wouldn’t look like high. Ervins brushed his teeth and fingered his styling comb to straighten the grain of his short hair. He left the bathroom and dressed himself, careful to align the name tag on his uniform with the stars underneath his name. He closed the door to his bedroom suite and sat at his desk. It was day 3 of living in his office during the Queenie search, and he seriously hoped today would be the day he caught her.
From the desk, Ervins manipulated the terminal to light the room. The conservative decorations, 2 soft sitting chairs and a mini bar with coffee maker, greeted him from the darkness as the machine on the bar sprang to life to prepare his first dose of caffeine for the day. Ervins pulled his briefing document up on his terminal to review his plans for the day. He reflected on what a wild cluster-fuck this appointment was. He’d liked Adrian Morehouse - the man was old, a curmudgeon, but at least he cared about the people he worked with. Morehouse was gone now and all that stood between Ervins and a similar fate was his own ability to play it smooth.
Not that he was worried about that, necessarily. Ervins knew how to play guys like Thorne and if things really deteriorated, he was pretty sure he could just kill Thorne and no one would really care; shit, might even get a medal for that one, he laughed to himself. He shook the thought from his mind, though. Thorne was his ticket, Ervins knew that. From what Thorne had already explained, the Coalition’s days were numbered, and there would be a new order coming soon. Thorne anticipated being on top of that order, and Ervins expected to be on top of the security for that new order.
Ervins thought he would need to grind in the trenches for 30 years before reaching this kind of success, but fate had dealt him a good hand, for once, and he planned to play it to the fullest. The stakes had already been made clear enough - Morehouse had been shot right in front of him and the lesson that Thorne wanted to impart was not to make him wait for results, but Ervins had learned two additional lessons that day. The first was that Thorne was an unknown quantity - walk into every room like Zachary Thorne was about to shoot you. The second lesson was simpler: learn to draw your weapon faster than the other guy and you never had to watch your intestines leak out the hole that some fucker just blew out of your stomach.
Morehouse had died with his hand on his gun, but the poor man hadn’t even gotten it out of the holster. Ervins planned to at least get a shot off at the bastard if anyone ever tried to quick-draw him. Ervins was never a very good student, but the one area he’d excelled at in the academy was his shooting. He was the fastest draw in his class and the second or third most accurate depending on the weapon. He was pretty sure that he could get a fatal shot off at Thorne if he really needed to. Sure, the murder of his commanding officer had shaken him briefly, but this is the big leagues, baby, put up or shut up.
Ervins stood from the desk and grabbed his cup of coffee from the bar. He crossed over to his office window and looked out on the bustling city as it began its day. He wondered if any of the cars zipping bar were smuggling Queenie away from him. Probably not, he reasoned. She was certainly somewhere lower level; hiding out and letting things cool off. Ervins sipped his coffee and held court with himself over Skyreach. Something inside was nagging at him, begging him to find an excuse to resign his position. In his head, though, forward was the only way to continue. He’d come this far, sacrificed so much - he was so close to the break that no one else in his family could ever find. Even if he had to watch a few more colleagues drop dead in front of him.
He shook his head, dragging himself from his internal ruminations for the second time that morning. Come on coffee, do your thing, he begged. Ervins was exhausted. He’d slept poorly for several nights in a row now and was having trouble concentrating. He forced his attention to his terminal to evaluate his schedule. The day he’d planned for himself was pretty straightforward: hit up the Mosely girl’s place one more time, pay a visit to that Gatska asshole to see if he’d play a little nicer today, and then chat with Thorne to give him an update on his progress.
The implicit agenda item, of course, was the pursuit of any leads he received about Amaya Queenie’s whereabouts. So far there had been none, so Ervins had to rely on the cooperation of the Jurisdiction detectives. Gatska was a no-play, and Eliel wasn’t returning his attempts at contact. Thorne had mentioned that he would talk to Eliel, but Ervins decided that it couldn’t hurt to put in some face time of his own with Eliel, too.
Ervins gathered his things, hand terminal, some case files, and personal affects for the day, into a bag and poured the rest of his coffee into a travel cup. He may not even drink the rest of the coffee, but it would feel good to have it in his hands as he traveled over to the crime scene. He left his office, locked it behind him, and stopped off at his assistant’s desk to coordinate the support he would need for the day.
“Morning, Captain Ervins,” Olivia chirped at him. “What can I help you with today?”
Olivia always greeted him with enthusiasm, or at least she had since she also received a surprise promotion to an executive assistant position 3 days ago. Terra Harvest elected to hire a replacement for Adrian Morehouse’s longtime assistant, which Ervins was secretly thankful for. Moretia, her name had been, and she’d been awful. You couldn’t ask her for help without a 30 minute detour to discuss whatever feed shows she was watching through at the time. Ervins, with no time for small talk of that sort, had once suggested she find a more appropriate time to talk about her personal life.
Morehouse had really let him have it for that. Moretia was some kind of long family friend of Morehouse’s, so Ervins let it be. He suffered through a year of Moretia’s incessant chirping about her favorite reality feed stars, grinding his teeth when she spoke and standing patiently as she walked him through the pithy stories. Then, just like that, Morehouse was gone, and so was Moretia. Olivia was in the desk space by the time that Ervins visited his office for the first time, and that was that. It had onyl been 3 days, but so far Ervins was pleased with Olivia’s ability to get right to work.
“Morning, Olivia,” Ervins returned coolly. He noticed that she’d used a floral perfume today and that her makeup was a little more done up and made a mental note to ask her to be more professional in the future. An executive office such as this one was no place for primping and frilly smells or looks. She was perfectly professional in her engagement with him, but the other things, perfume, makeup, were yellow flags that, if not handled now, would escalate to the same kind of bullshit that Moretia had learned to subject her superiors to. He fished his hand terminal out of the side pocket of his bag and typed out the reminder, making Olivia wait as he did it. “Right, first thing: please queue up a transport car and a see if TH can spare a data analyzer and some DNA kits.”
Olivia typed up the request into her desk terminal and looked up to ask the same question she’d asked every time he went out: “Logging this with TerraHarvest, or marking as executive priviledge?”
Thorne has been very clear about how much to share with Terra Harvest officials about the ongoing investigation. To reduce any abuses of power, the Coalition selected Thorne, a recently appointed Coalition member himself, as an Executive Advisor on Security for the response to the current threat posed by the girl. Then, they provided a separate coalition member’s investigative capacities in order to hamstring any efforts at a power play by the temporary Security Advisor. As a result, though, any activity that Ervins conducted on behalf of Thorne was to be concealed, thus the Excecutive Priviledge listing in the Terra Harvest travel and equipment logs.
Traditionally, Ervins would provide explicit details for what, when, and where he planned to use the equipment. Now, though, with Thorne’s agenda at the front of his mind, all had to be kept secret in order to avoid any leaks of information. This, Thorne had also been very clear on. Anya Petrova, while a fantastic leader of Terra Harvest and admirable businessperson, was not above power plays of her own. So, even Petrova was on a basis for the progress of the investigation. This, Ervins felt was odd, as he’d noticed Morehouse having numerous conversations with Petrova. This meant that either Morehouse was defying Thorne’s orders or that Thorne himself was doing something shady. Either way, Ervins intended to come out on the winning side of this, and Thorne had implied that Ervins was beyond Terra Harvest now, so he was rolling with it.
“That’s right, Olivia. This’ll all be privileged until I can wrap up this project,” Ervins finally said.
“Yes, sir,” Olivia replied without missing a beat. She completed the requisition forms and her terminal chimed as the confirmation came back. “Looks like we’ve got you a car, TH denied our request for your tech, though.” She frowned and looked up at Ervins. “The note here says Anya Petrova herself has put a hold on your tech support requests.”
Ervins imagined that this must be what fly felt like when it landed in the web of a spider. His face sank into a deep frown for an imperceptible second before flashing back to his expressionless default. This was bad - Petrova putting a hold on his activities. Thorne would know what to do, though. He’d already planned to contact Thorne from the car, this would have to be the first thing he mentioned.
“Strange, but understood. Thank you, Olivia. ETA on the transport?” Ervins asked, he tried to keep his voice neutral. As any executive assistant could tell you, though, Corporate Officers default to a tone when they’re controlling their rage, and Olivia noticed this now. Ervins was pissed. Wait, no: Ervins was scared. Olivia made a mental note to think about this later, maybe even check in with Petrova’s assistant, Rotrigo, to see what kind of gossip she could drum up.
“2 minutes on your car, Captain,” she assured him. Ervins nodded his thanks and turned from Olivia’s desk and made his way to the lift. He was busy typing out a message to Thorne, now, asking to speak with him immediately. He queued the lift and a minute later stepped onto the landing bay to find his driver. The wind from the open space whipped up into his eyes and made his eyes water. He wiped the tears and placed a gloved hand over his eyebrows to shield his eyes. A brief survey of the landing docks revealed the location of his driver and he strode over and entered the vehicle. Ervins was relieved to see his usual driver. He hadn’t yet learned the man’s name, but this man was very professional. He spoke minimally and drove efficiently.
“Morning, Captain,” the man said as Ervins entered the vehicle.
“Good morning. I trust you know where we’re headed?” Ervins replied.
“Yes, sir, location is queued up and we’re ready to go,” the driver said. The door sealed behind him and the driver, now seated in the front of the vehicle behind the controls, pressed a few buttons to begin their trip. Ervins felt a small jolt and the familiar weightless feeling as the transport car flew away from the landing port, away from the safety of his new office at Terra Harvest international headquarters.
Once their transit smoothed, Ervins fingered his terminal to place a voice call to Thorne. Thorne answered, but only after enough time passed that Ervins was sure he was would be instructed to leave a voice message and that Thorne would return his call.
“Bernardo, I didn’t expect to hear from you so early this morning. I thought you had errands you were running,” Thorne chided. He sounded sleepy, not like he’d just awakened, but was not far out of his own sleep. Ervins heard some ice clinking into a glass from the other end of the line.
“Yes, sir, sorry about the early hour of the call. Just had a couple of things-” Ervins voice cracked. He cleared his throat and continued. “-that I figured you should know,” Ervins said. He could neutralize his tone when he spoke to Olivia, or any of his subordinates for that matter, but Thorne seemed to strip the outermost layer of his defenses and leave only the most authentic expression of what he was trying to say. He was shooting for confidence with a hint of concern, but sounded instead like a school child asking permission to go to the bathroom. He knew Thorne would sense his panic and steeled himself for a lecture about his confidence in the mission.
“Are you ill, Ervins? You sound unwell,” Thorne teased. This is worse, Ervins thought. He was prepared for a tongue-lashing, but Thorne was toying with him instead, and that threatened to unravel Ervins entirely. Save this, Bernie, he thought to himself. There had to be a way that he could spin this so that Thorne didn’t start to question his mettle.
“No sir, not ill, just a little upset about some news I just received from my assistant,” Ervins recovered.
“Ah, yes, Olivia,” Thorne interrupted. “How is she? Doing much better than that old bitch, I’m sure. What was her name? Maris? Millis?”
“Moretia, sir,” Ervins interjected. “But, that’s not really why I’m calling. We’ve got a problem with my efforts here, sir. I’m currently en-route to the crime scene to conduct some final reviews, but I was denied some provisions by my CEO, and it made me wonder what kind of power I really have here.” That was a good line, Ervins was proud of it. It was the kind of complaint that would resonate more soundly with Thorne; a complaint about his power. “I’m worried that if Chairwoman Petrova can interrupt my investigative efforts that easily, then we are not as impervious to Coalition influence as we thought.” Ervins heard another clinking of ice from the other end of the line. He wondered what Thorne was poisoning himself with this morning. His boss had a problem with alcohol, but no one to call him on it. Lately, he’d taken to drinking tequila and orange juice in the morning, which made him one buzzed and mean son of a bitch by the afternoon.
A few seconds paused as, presumably, Thorne finished preparing his drink. Ervins heard a fervent gulp from the other line. “Your concerns are valid, Bernardo,” Thorne finally said. “Your position is external to the coalition. External, even, to Terra Harvest. This probably makes Petrova uncomfortable, so she’s going to try and undermine you.” Ervins felt his heart rate spike in his chest. It was dangerous to be under Thorne’s umbrella, but with Petrova targeting him too, now, he felt like someone had tied a rope around his neck and was strangling him with it.
“I know this might make you nervous,” Thorne continued. “But I need you to know that soon you will not answer to Petrova at all. You will answer to the Chief Security Officer of the coalition. Petrova opposes my efforts, so she is going to try and make you appear ineffective. Simple as that. I’ve devised a solution, one that I think you will be most pleased with.” Ervins relaxed a little, but Thorne’s solutions were never simple, and usually not that pleasant.
The transport jostled and Ervins had to grab a stability handle on the wall to keep from falling over. Fuckin’ asshole, learn to fly, you shit-ass fuck-heard, the driver shouted from the control seat. Ervins looked around the transport nervously. It looked like the offending vehicle had simply made a flying error and almost bumped the transport he was in. This was all just a mistake, they happened all the time in the skylanes of big cities like this. Now that Petrova was after him, though, he felt a sense that one of these trips might end with a kamikaze vehicle crashing into the side of his transport. He knew how these people played their game. They don’t give your holo-cards back if they win, Bernie, he cautioned himself. Shit, he’d watched Thorne blow someone away because he wanted a slightly more efficient work flow. He knew Petrova would wipe him if she really wanted to. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.
“You there, Bernie?” Thorne asked. Ervins was still nervously checking the surrounding transports for would-be assassins.
“Yes sir, sorry, some asshole just tried to bump us out of the sky,” he answered, pleased to hear some of the chill return to his voice. “I’m eager to hear your solution, Mr Thorne. If Chairwoman Petrova is really that interested in sabotaging my efforts, then I worry about the lengths that she would go to conceal whatever it is that I’m trying to discover.”
Thorne chuckled. “Yes, those are my thoughts, too. If Madam Petrova is so scared of your truth-finding, then we will have to go outside of her means to conduct our search. I’ve hired a third-party data acquisition firm, they specialize in assisting Private Investigation efforts. I’ve shared our objectives with them, they’re working on a fix for us right now.”
Ervins felt his shoulders relax a little more now. This solved a number of problems for him. First: it got him out from under Petrova’s influence. He may still be a Terra Harvest employee, but he was currently under Thorne’s direction and soon would answer only to the Coalition itself. Second: it worked around the Jurisdiction’s intransigence. Now, he could tell Gatska and Eliel both to go fuck themselves and still probably have a lead on Queenie’s location waiting for him by the end of the day. The thought made him smile.
“I know what you’re thinking, Bernie,” Thorne said, apparently having read his mind. “You can’t tell Gatska or Eliel to eat shit yet. I’ll be the one to do that when the time comes. More importantly, though, we don’t know if our data team can even come through for us. Once they can give us something tangible and we’re positive that we don’t need Jurisdiction resources or cooperation, then we will impart the error of their negligence upon them. Is that clear?” That was fine enough with Ervins. As cathartic as it might be, he’d much rather Thorne be the one to confront the Jurisdiction.
“Perfectly clear, sir,” Ervins assured. A smile was pushing itself out of Ervins mouth and onto his face now. He’d prepared for Thorne to tell him to jump from the moving transport. Instead, Thorne solved his 2 most pressing issues. Maybe the day would turn out decently productive after all. Shit, forgot my coffee, Ervins suddenly realized.
“What else did you have for me, Bernie? You sounded like a scared kid whose balls are dropping earlier, what’s the matter?” Thorne said.
“Actually, Mr. Thorne, I think you solved my other problem. Gatska and Eliel, they were on my mind, I was thinking about paying them a visit myself. Now, though, I might not even need them,” Ervins said smugly, and it was for the best that their conversation was ending. As Ervins looked out the window he noticed that they were arriving at the residence tower. “I do wonder, though, how effective a private data firm can be in tracking someone like Queenie.” He regretted that last statement immediately; Thorne did not enjoy having his decisions questioned, even as innocently as what Ervins had forwarded.
“Well, Bernardo, I’ll forward their contact information to you and you can ask them your questions if you’d like,” Thorne said without emotion. “I’m sure you will let me know if you learn anything of value today. After all, your continued position does still depend on your success. Good luck,” he said, and the call ended. Ervins shook out the stress and swallowed hard. Now he missed the feel of his coffee cup in his hand. Talking with Thorne always left his nervous system fried, especially when the thread between Ervins and a similar fate as Morehouse hung so thinly. He checked the time on his terminal - 8:27. His driver had made excellent time, they’d only been in the air for about 30 minutes.
Ervins thanked the driver, stepped out onto the landing pad, and located the lift to travel down to Queenie’s and Mosely’s apartments, unable to shake the feeling that he was being observed.