Episode 9 - A Dark, Deep Place. And the Hollow Beyond.

  Chapter 87 - Late Spring

  “I went to school with most of the Apex Executives' kids. Did part of my high schooling with them as well. I was involved in bits and pieces of Aquila, but too young for any actual work - certainly nothing a client was paying for. Learned to shoot a gun, hand-to-hand combat, the confidence to just walk into places - even before I had Pell,” says Rhett as we walk, his hands resting on the back of his head with fingers curled in the straps of his respirator and elbows splayed on either side of his head.

  “That’s why you knew all those Apex folks?” I wonder back. “They seemed all chummy hanging out with you in the lounge back when we were in their apartments.”

  “Hmm, yeah. We might have played together, or, you know, they were the parents and cousins of the kids I knew.”

  I laugh. “I can’t imagine you playing.”

  “I was kind of a shy kid. I was sort of on the lowest rung socially compared to them all. We’re sort of like these outsiders; they’re suspicious of us breeding into their dynasties. Kids pick up on that. I got bullied here and there - usual shit, I was always short - 'til I put on some muscle as a teen, and punched one of them. I got left alone after that.”

  “When did you join Rattakul’s crew?”

  “Captain Rattakul. When I was fourteen. I ran with her for almost five full years, left just before I turned nineteen when… well, you know. I didn’t do much formal schooling after that, learnt what I learnt from the twitchers and later Aquila. I liked working with the botanists… when we did see the rare plant. Not so much these days; it gets emptier every year. Patrick joined pretty shortly after me. He’s only a year older than me.”

  I give Pooka’s neck a pat as we walk, curling my gloved hands into his mane. He harrumphs with profound annoyance at the single trailer bumping along behind him, completely ignoring us to sulk in his misery at being subjected to such humiliation.

  It has been surprisingly peaceful, our solemn march across the empty plains uninterrupted. At first we walked silently, but when lunch came and the quiet was broken by the necessity of stopping and organizing some food, it became easier to chat. Words flowed since. We’ve not yelled at each other, we’ve not fought. There was a tension as we occasionally steered around certain topics neither ?of us wanted to discuss, but we’ve since found a comfortable pace. It’s been… friendly. Casual. Almost like we sometimes managed at Aquila. But there we were inevitably interrupted, or work called, or just… it never felt private.

  “What’s Patrick’s deal?”

  “Oh, he’s the son of Intertrain’s Board Chairman.”

  “You’re fucking kidding!” I laugh. “Holy fuck. That’s like…”

  “Yeah, I know. He doesn’t seem it, but the guy is literally from the most powerful family in this hemisphere. He doesn’t need to work. His family has so much currency and influence, I can’t even imagine it. But he has no symbiont… his twin brother was older by a few minutes and the family picked him to manifest and become the heir to the family business. Guy’s got even more fucked up succession issues than I do,” says Rhett breathlessly.

  “You’re friendly with him though?” I ask.

  “Oh yeah. He’s a fucking idiot, and will flirt with anything on two legs. But he’s a good guy. Not afraid of hard work and keeping his status on the downlow. He's had access to some strange places too, very good at connecting himself to people when everyone is underestimating you. It’s nice to have someone around who gets on easier with other people…”

  “What about your younger brother?”

  “Half-brother. Wyatt would be getting old enough to start working the crews. He’s already older than I was when I first joined. Dad has been oddly hesitant about letting him work though, I think. I don’t know why, he had no qualms about disapproving of anything I did from the word go…” he trails off.

  Rhett was always restrained at Aquila. Half chewing on his thoughts and holding back his words with that tension in his jaw. I can see now just how uncomfortable he always was before. Talking with him in the crews and out here, I feel like I’m finally seeing a bit of the real him, glimpses that previously slipped through when he was working with his plants, or with some teasing prods when it took my fancy to rile him up.

  “What about you? What was Murasaki like?” he asks.

  I loosen my grip from Pooka’s mane, tucking my hands behind the small of my back. “I did schooling all the way through to some postgraduate studies with Murasaki. The entire company is science types, so education was important.”

  “What was your post-grad work in?”

  “Electrical engineering, bit of math, and zoology. I messed about with a lot of the lab equipment, no computing, just dumb hardware tech - stuff that didn’t need symbionts. I like working with my hands, making things, you know?”

  “Did you always draw?” he asks.

  “Yeah. When I was a kid - I don’t know how old I was - I would turn through the taxonomy textbooks my dad had. It didn’t matter that there were lots of words, I just loved the pictures. The symbionts were so bright and colorful. All feathers and wings and horns and scales. And these scientific drawings, they are magnificent - the attention to detail is astounding, the time it must have taken. I admire anyone who can pour themselves into something like that. I just wanted to copy it… to capture right in front of me something” - my words catch in my mouth and I cough as I clear my throat to suppress the words I wanted to say - ”something that… seemed fantastical. Color feels more real than… real life felt.”

  Rhett doesn’t ask questions at my odd stumble, keeping quiet to let me continue.

  “I, uh, started working as a technician in my dad’s lab when I was also about fourteen, I think. Once I worked out we could call pens and colored pencils ‘work equipment’ and bill it to Murasaki, I was hooked. I started doing our descriptive protocols, and by the time I was sixteen, most of the illustrations coming from the lab were mine.”

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  “Did you have many friends?”

  “A few. I… was not easy to be friends with. Not just because I’m abrasive, when I was really young I scared the other kids… told stories about imaginary things before I got old enough to learn that other people found me weird and I shut up. I probably started getting in trouble with Murasaki security for the first time when I was ten or so. I don’t… Well, I know why I did it.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “You’re seen my file haven’t you?”

  “Hmm. I’d prefer to hear it from you.”

  I take a breath, not entirely sure how much detail I want to go into. “I stole things at first. When you’re a kid and you want something, there are so many steps and barriers and credits… and there was a buyout when I was really young, and it felt like it lingered in a way that’s hard to place. There was a lot of slow change, and I didn’t understand why some things were just different at Murasaki, for reasons no one could explain other than policy or culture. Then, I got older and… I liked how it felt. I was sick of how beige everything was, and I felt alive in those tiny rushes. I felt powerful when no one found out and I’d just keep things concealed on my person, like a little secret I knew and they didn’t. It helped me feel like ‘me’. I moved on to vandalism and told myself it was about messing with management… not that it wasn’t fun, but it was always about feeling something. It was all pointless, fucking petty shit. Maybe I was just jealous they got ferns in their lobbies and I was lucky to have a window to look out.”

  “Did you get caught?”

  “A few times. Fuck, you caught me more than once. And I did feel bad when I got caught. I felt really bad when my Dad got his credits docked a few times to pay for damages. It was incentive to get better. A lot of folks started avoiding me so they wouldn’t get a reputation with security as well, some folks liked me though because of it. It’s how I met… uh, my second boyfriend…”

  “Hmm?”

  “He joined security in the end though. Manifested a little Bubo. They won him over with his own apartment; he was the second oldest of several brothers and was sick of sharing with them. He started spouting company policy at me plenty good by the time I… left.”

  “You’d fight with anything,” mutters Rhett, an almost cheeky tease in his voice.

  “Yeah, fuck you. It’s probably true. The point is, I did it because it felt like something. And I probably never stopped because it felt like control. I’m not fucking analyzing it. It just is what I am.”

  “I guess I can sympathize,” mutters Rhett. “You could just... stop. I’m sure most of your victims had nothing to do with you. It was just pens or scrap.”

  I laugh, playfully bumping him with my hip. “Management through and through, eh? It’s not about the thing… It’s about the feeling. I just want to feel… human.” My voice lowers. “I don’t know that I could just stop. I think I would try and… I would just find things in my pockets. Like some people just can’t stop drinking or… you know?”

  “Can’t you get that somewhere else?”

  I hum, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Probably. I didn’t really have the credits for a hobby. Guess that was part of the point. I had one good friend, her name was Meiko. She had a soft spot for outcasts. I miss her.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s the one that, uh… I showed you that message about. Do you-”

  “I remember. She was pregnant.”

  I find myself sidestepping a little, putting some distance I didn’t notice I’d closed between us. Rhett glances my way, but keeps his steady pace.

  “Um. She wanted it, I think.”

  Rhett grunts, and I realize we’ve walked into a topic neither one of us is particularly comfortable navigating. So, rather than letting the silence descend to make our awkward avoidance even worse, I pivot. “Who are all these women Regina’s been setting you up with?”

  Rhett groans melodramatically, flopping his arms down to his side. “Hisumi is certainly not the worst of them. She’s well educated and well bred, pleasant enough to talk to. She’s not… unattractive.”

  I grasp my belly as I laugh at the awkward tone in his voice, taking devious enjoyment from his displeasure. “I’ll say. Her chest is the stuff of legends. What do they feed you in management that we don’t get? You a boobs or butt guy?”

  “I’m not talking about that.”

  “Oh, c’mon. I’m dying to know. Do you like taller women?”

  Rhett huffs a breath out his nose. “Everyone is taller than me.”

  “So you are into taller women?”

  “I’d have a problem if I weren’t.”

  “You know I’ve never checked if you are into women. You and Patrick ever hook up?”

  Rhett actually laughs, batting at my shoulder and sending my next step off course as he shoves me sideways. “You can fuck off now. He wishes.”

  I straighten, rubbing my shoulder, and grinning under the mask of my respirator. I watch his eyebrows raise as he looks at me, and there is a flash of panic in his eyes behind his face shield, his hand retracting and brushing at his side.

  “So, which was it then?” I ask.

  “Which what?” he asks, voice slightly unsteady.

  “Boobs or butts?”

  He clears his throat. “Oh. Right. Hmm, can I say both?”

  “That’s cheating. You have to pick one.” I tease.

  He watches me one-eyed for a moment longer, then turns back to study the road in front of him again while we walk. “Butts.”

  “You jockey!” I goad. I can feel tears in the corners of my eyes. I'm trying so hard to hold back my laughter. “Closer to eye level, I guess.”

  He snorts, then stops and bends in two to stifle his laugh, leaning one-handed on the front of the trailer. “I’m not that fucking short.”

  “Eh, not that far off.”

  “You’re only an inch or two taller than me,” he challenges. “Alright then, what’s the equivalent on men? Butts and…”

  I take a shaky breath, barely in control of myself, and give the question a serious, thoughtful pause. “Arms or backs.”

  “Not butts?”

  “Butts transcend gender. But I think the equivalent must be arms or backs on men?”

  “Are shoulders ‘arms’ or ‘back’?”

  The genuine sincerity of the question catches me completely off guard, and I lose my tenuous control, taking a strangled breath as I break into laughter. As I regain my composure, I steady my voice. “Front and top is the ‘arms’, back and shoulder blades are the ‘back’. Naturally.”

  “Naturally. So?”

  I feel my face flush, glad for the face shield that hides me. Softly I reply, “arms.”

  “Huh.”

  “What the fuck does that mean!?”

  “Nothing.”

  I eye him, studying the side of his mask and his face hidden underneath. As always, he wears his disinterest like a shield, unwavering as he turns his eyes back to the road and shoves his gloved hands within the deep pockets of his environmental suit. It annoys me that he can hide so well.

  Giving into my intrusive thoughts, I punch his shoulder. Not hard, not seriously. But there is some force behind it, my frustration with him slipping through. He lets the punch land. I don’t have the easy strength to even rock him like he knocked me off course. He rubs his shoulder with one gloved hand, not looking at me, and does not move to retaliate. With a satisfied grunt, I step away, brushing my hair over the top of my forehead and feeling the sweat run down my skin and gather at the corners of my respirator. Despite the heat, I pull my hood over my head again to protect any skin exposed to the sun.

  “The weather feels like it’s been getting warmer,” I comment idly.

  “Hmm? Yeah. It’s been a late spring,” replies Rhett blandly.

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