Windswept Read online

  One-Eye grunted, then heaved the body into the kitchen.

  “Now, is there anything you can’t or don’t eat?”

  “Nope,” said Banks.

  “No,” called One-Eye from the freezer.

  “I’m a enzymatic legumiglutiphobic vegan with a mastication preference,” said Mimi.

  “What the hell is that?” I said.

  “She only eats pre-chewed nuts and vegetables,” said Banks.

  I blinked at him, then looked at the old ladies. “How about you two?”

  One of them shook her head. The other said, “No eggplant, please.”

  “Right,” I said. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. I am locking the door behind me. Do not, under any circumstances, leave this building with anyone, not even if they say they’re with me.”

  “Are we prisoners?” said Mimi, her voice quivering.

  “No,” I said. “You’re perfectly free to go, but I’m pretty sure you won’t get very far without someone trying to rip you off or snitch you out to WalWa. Right now, you guys are in legal limbo: you’re not quite free from Indenture, and you’re not under the Union’s full protection. It’s a crappy situation, and I apologize for it, but I promise to explain it all after you’re clean and fed.”

  “I wouldn’t mind you telling us now,” said Banks.

  “I would,” I said, “because you all stink to high heaven, and I’m not going to sit inside with you until you’ve showered and burned those coveralls.” I pointed to the stairs. “Find a room, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be back.”

  I waited until they filed upstairs, then hurried out, pulling the door behind me and blinking the deadbolt shut. I also caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored office windows: I looked like hell, my hair frizzed out, my face smudged, my deck jacket covered in garbage that would never come out. I peeled the jacket off and tossed it into a nearby garbage bin; it had been years since Wash gave me that thing, and I think he’d have understood.

  At the konbini six doors down, Mooj Markson, the owner, had brought in the produce stands and replaced them with grills, and my stomach grumbled at the smell of pork satay and yakitori. “Hungry there, Padma?” he said as I grabbed a dozen finished skewers and looked for something Mimi would eat.

  “Got some backlogged paperwork to do,” I said, scooping pickled daikon, roasted burdock, and a few other kinds of banchan into tiffins. “And I can’t really get much done at Big Lily’s tonight, you know?”

  “Yeah,” said Mooj, rubbing his ink, a pair of crossed wrenches. “That was a hell of a thing, the way the whole fleet went down.”

  “Tell me about it,” I said, spooning up a container full of roasted palm nuts. I had no idea how to make them pre-chewed for Mimi.

  Mooj nodded. “All fifteen of them had hull breaches. Heard from some friends who do orbital recovery, and they said it’s like the ships just decided to stop holding themselves together.” He flipped a row of skewers. “Stands to reason, in a ugly sort of way. The Big Three run their gear ragged, do the bare minimum of maintenance, then just write everything off when it falls apart. Just like with us.”

  “Yeah,” I said, wiping peanut dust off my hand and looking inside the shop. Rows of rum bottles lined the shelves behind the counter. “Give me a seven-fifty of Stillson, too, please.”

  “Fine choice,” said Mooj, nodding inside the store. One of his clerks pulled down a seven-fifty and handed it to me. Stillson was a good starter rum, and, while I had no intention of getting the Breaches loaded, I would be remiss if I didn’t give them all a taste with their dinner.

  Mooj handed me the food, all done up in a bundle. “How much?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “On the house tonight. Figured you could use a break, what with this crap Bloombeck tried to pin on you.”

  “Thanks, Mooj.” I blew him a kiss and turned to the sidewalk.

  “And say hi to the guys at the office, yeah?” Mooj called after me.

  I stopped. “What guys?”

  “Your buddies, the ones who got here before you?” he said, pulling the skewers off the grill. “About a dozen of ’em, big guys. Maybe you want to bring ’em some extra yakitori?”

  I ran. The front door to the Union office wouldn’t respond to my keycode, and the deadbolt held no matter how hard I yanked at the handle. I dropped the food, grabbed the garbage can and rammed it at the caneplas window, once, twice, three times and it smashed open. My deck jacket had spilled to the ground, and I threw it over the jagged edges as I climbed in. “Banks!” I yelled as I raced up the stairs. There was a light on the fourth floor, and I took the steps two at a time. “Mimi! Everyone, get out of here! They’re back! They’re–”

  I collapsed on the fourth floor landing, out of air and energy, just in time to see the Breaches all sitting on couches, surrounded by twelve angry people. They carried pipes, cricket bats, and looks of fury on their inked faces. Jordan Blanton stood in the center of them. “Saarien got there first, huh?” she said.

  Banks looked from behind one of the men and said, “You still got us dinner, right?”

  Chapter 10

  “Don’t,” said Jordan, holding up a hand. The other held a heavy pipe wrench. She tapped it on her thigh as she paced back and forth. I nodded and clamped my mouth shut.

  “You lied to us,” said Jordan, pointing the wrench my way. “You think someone wouldn’t see you unloading five strangers into this office? You think we’re that stupid?”

  I stayed still. Even if Jordan wanted to me answer, it was probably best to let her run out of gas.

  “Sixteen months, Padma!” said Jordan, poking the wrench at my chest. “You know how much extra methane I’ve breathed? How the stink doesn’t leave my body unless I have a two-hour steam bath every night? How many times I’ve had to apologize to my family for leaving in the middle of dinner during the Tasting Festival because the toilets in Chatham have backed up?”

  I crossed my arms, and Jordan said, “What, you don’t have an answer?”

  “Am I allowed to give you one?” I said.

  “No,” said Jordan. “No, you are not, because whatever answer it is will be complete and utter bullshit. And we are tired of that.” She pointed at her chest. “My doctor says I’m going to develop eight kinds of horrible diseases within a year if I stay underground. How do you think that’s going to affect my design work? Who’s going to want to hire a landscape architect who’s crippled and smells like sewage?”

  “We want jobs,” said one of the men.

  “Shut it, Remy,” said Jordan, pointing the wrench at his head. She looked at me. “We want better jobs.”

  I nodded, then held out my hands. “If I may?”

  Jordan shouldered the wrench, then gave me a weary nod.

  “How much better do you want your jobs to be?” I asked.

  Jordan snorted. “I want them to be what you promised them to be.”

  “You have that,” I said, trying to blink up the folder on the Public where I kept all of my recruitment contracts. I got a network error. “Just pull up your paperwork. It’s all there in black and white.”

  “It’s just more bullshit.”

  “No, it’s what we talked about,” I said, trying to pull up the contracts again and getting an even angrier network error. “You and I sat down for an hour and went over the kind of experience you had, then we matched you up with your job at the plant. You turned down four other Slots.”

  “That’s because they were all about processing bagasse or working as a cable tender or cleaning squid nests off of the docks,” said Jordan.

  “And none of them involved crawling up to your neck in filth,” I said. “Yet you took that job, anyway.”

  “Because you said it wouldn’t last long!” said Jordan. “You told me there were always new Breaches, and that someone would come down the cable to take my Slot!”

  “And you’re going to hold it against me that they haven’t?” I said. “You think I wanted you to stay
in that Slot for that long?”

  “I think you’ve been spending more time working for Estella Tonggow than you have for us,” said Jordan, popping me in the stomach with the wrench.

  I shoved it aside. “And I think you’re on some seriously dangerous ground.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” said Banks, holding up a hand, “but is it OK if we start eating?”

  “No!” Jordan and I said, and she pointed the wrench at my head. “We want a better deal.”

  “Then you’re going to have to take it up with someone who has authority,” I said. “I’m just a recruiter and an organizer. I can’t change contracts that have already been signed.”

  “Signed under false pretenses,” said Jordan.

  “Really?” I said. “You want me to pull up the video I shot when you signed up? I made it clear that there were no guarantees that you’d be able to get out of your Slot right away.”

  “I don’t need to see it,” said Jordan, “because I remember you telling me that there were always new jobs.”

  “With no guarantees,” I said, trying to blink up my archives on the Public. Sixteen months ago might as well have been a lifetime. Had I really said that to Jordan?

  “I don’t care anymore,” said Jordan. “None of us do. We’re up to our armpits and piss and shit and that fucking black mold that clogs the intakes, and we can’t handle it! And we never get the support we need from the City Works Committee or the Union or you.”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “It’s your job to take our calls,” said Jordan. She nodded, and everyone in their crew aimed their assorted power tools at the Breaches, who froze. My heart stopped. I watched as Thor Becker, a nice guy who did bonsai in his spare time, put the muzzle of a portable bolt thrower to Mimi’s head. She didn’t breathe, just closed her eyes and her mouth and tried to make herself as small as possible.

  “You really don’t want to do that, Thor,” I said.

  “You’re going to get these people to take our jobs,” said Jordan.

  “There are others in line ahead of you,” I said.

  “That’s not my problem,” she said. “It’s yours.”

  “Jordan, you know that isn’t the way it works,” I said, blinking in a call for someone, anyone to get their asses in here and stop this. Why now, of all times, did my pai refuse to connect?

  “That isn’t going to work,” said Jordan, pointing at her temple. “Luce dropped a few jammers when we arrived.”

  “You realize that’s a crime, right?” I said.

  “So’s spending every day parading in this city’s filth,” said Jordan. “Besides, it’s going to be our word against yours, and yours isn’t going to have a lot of weight after we prove you lied to everyone.”

  “I didn’t lie,” I said. “Saarien really did get these people first. I had to call in WalWa to scare him off.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Jordan. “Tell me another one.”

  “No, she really did,” said Banks. Luce Hagenbuch tapped Banks on the ear with the muzzle of a blowtorch and shook his head.

  “Can’t we talk about this?” I said, backing toward the door. “Without the weaponry?”

  “Nope,” said Jordan. “And you can stay where you are.”

  “It’s just really crowded in here,” I said, not stopping. “Maybe on the stairwell?”

  Jordan raised the wrench and took a step toward me. “Come back here!”

  “Plus, the food’s still outside,” I said.

  “It is?” said Banks, rising from his seat. Luce pushed Banks back down so hard he slipped off the chair. Banks grabbed for a handhold, but only knocked the chair back into Luce’s shins. Luce howled as he went down, and the blowtorch flashed once. A lick of flame skittered across a desk, and, as everyone turned to the fire, I jumped through the door.

  I wasn’t running away, I told myself. I was going to get help. I was going to stop this injustice. I was going straight to the precinct house where I would tell my good friend Captain Baghram about the hostage situation brewing under her nose. I was going–

  My vision blurred until the whole world looked like it was inside a blender. My legs locked up, but my momentum carried me down the stairs. I heard The Fear chortle as Jordan tackled me from behind – Told you you wouldn’t make it. I didn’t have time to argue.

  We both tumbled into the office’s reception area, money bouncing out of Jordan’s pockets as we hit the ground. Stars danced in front of my eyes as my head bumped a desk. We both staggered to our feet, and I could hear Jordan yelling, though I couldn’t understand any of it. My head was fuzzy, and my ass still hurt from my fall on the bus. Jordan raised the wrench over her head. The only thing that kept me from getting brained was the fact that I puked on her boots and collapsed. That was enough to throw off her swing; the wrench crashed down into the floorboards, and I rolled away from her feet.

  “This isn’t the way to do things,” I gasped, wiping flecks of vomit from my chin as I crawled toward the shattered window. Pieces of broken caneplas crunched under my palms.

  “Shut! Up!” Jordan tugged at the wrench, trying to extricate it from the recycled bamboo.

  “Going right to physical threats? You’ve been around too long to know that won’t work.” I grabbed the open window frame to steady myself and breathed in the night air. God, it tasted good.

  Jordan roared as she tore the wrench from the floor.

  “I mean, shit, you didn’t even try to bribe me,” I said. Jordan charged, and I sidestepped in time to trip her up. Jordan sailed onto the sidewalk, landing with a heavy wuff. The wrench clattered away, lost in a tangle of feet. A small crowd had gathered, and I waved as I stepped through the open window.

  “Contract dispute,” I said. Everyone nodded, then dispersed to the nearest bars.

  The tiffins from Mooj’s were still outside, as was the bottle of Stillson. I scooped them up, then grabbed Jordan by the belt loops and hauled her to her feet. Blood streamed from her broken nose and various scrapes on her cheeks. I helped her through the window, making sure to give her head an extra bump on the closest desk as we navigated through the office.

  At the bottom of the stairs was the loose change that had fallen out of Jordan’s pockets. I let go of her long enough to scoop it up, and noticed one of the fifty-jiao coins had a weird finish. It felt way too light, and its surface felt more like caneplas than metal. I bent it between my fingers, and the thing snapped in half, a few bits of wiring and circuitry frazzling out the edges. I held it down to Jordan’s face. “Where’d you get the jammer, Jordan?”

  “Fug you,” she said.

  “And now I’ve got that on video,” I said, blinking my way back into the Public. I set my pai on live streaming as we made our way up the stairs.

  “See, Jordan, this isn’t the way intra-Union discussions are supposed to go,” I said, steering her up the stairs and looking the other way when I walked her into the bannister. “If you have a problem with your recruitment contract, you’re supposed to contact your rep during office hours. If you aren’t happy with the answer you get, you can always go to the Union Arbitration Board, where you’ll be given a hearing in a timely fashion. Your satisfaction is what makes the Union go ’round. If you’re not happy, we’re not happy, and we’re not happy until–”

  We entered the fourth-floor dorm, and I turned my head away so fast my neck popped. I blinked and blinked until I was sure my pai was off, then looked back in the room.

  Jordan’s gang sprawled on the ground, all of them bound with old clothes and covered with bruises. Their weapons lay in pieces in a neat pile in the middle of the room. The Breaches sat all on the couches, looking exhausted. “What the hell happened here?” I said.

  One-Eye shrugged. “We defended ourselves.”

  My hands went limp. The tiffins rattled to the floor, and Jordan fell to her hands and knees. “You what?”

  One-Eye pointed at Thor, who was unconscious and had a number of purple lumps growing
on his cheek and forehead. “This asshole had a gun pointed at Mimi, and I didn’t like that.”

  “First of all, it was a bolt thrower,” I said, “and, second, do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  “Of course I do,” said One-Eye, crossing her arms and smirking. “We stood up for ourselves.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I said, clenching my hands so they didn’t go around her throat. “You assaulted Union people.”

  One-Eye shrugged.

  “Are you a Union person?” I said.

  One-Eye shrugged again, but her smirk flagged a bit.

  “No,” I said, pointing at her as I stepped over the unconscious crew. “You are still an employee of Walton Warumbo Universal Unlimited, and that means–”

  Jordan coughed. “It means you have fucked up in a great, big way.”

  One-Eye’s smirk was gone. She shifted in her seat. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad,” I said. “Keep-you-out-of-the-Union bad. Send-you-back-to-WalWa bad. Put-your-ass-on-the-lifter-without-a-spacesuit bad. About as bad as it gets.”

  Jordan got up on her elbows and laughed. “You want to make that deal now, Padma?”

  I thought about the broken jammer in my pocket. There was still the possibility of calling the cops and getting Jordan and her crew nailed for assault and interfering with Public transmissions, but that would be undone by any video of One-Eye disarming the hell out of her captors. It was built into every Contract between the Union and the Big Three: Any physical assaults on Union people that were not dealt with swiftly and harshly would turn into a shitstorm that would spread across all Occupied Space. I blinked my pai back on and looked at Jordan. “What are your demands?”

  She wobbled to her feet and wiped the blood from her face. “Slot transfers, effective immediately. You put us in some place where we get fresh air, real sunlight, and no goddamn sewage.”

  I put up my hands. “OK.”

  “Also, you pay us for pain and suffering.”

  “Fine,” I said, pointing at the bottle of Stillson. “Drinks are on me.”

  “Oh, no,” said Jordan. “It’ll take at least five hundred each.”