Up Against It - M. J. Locke [121]
She floated in and alighted on the floor of his office. He folded his interface away and turned to face her, clinging to the grips on his desk.
“Here.” She took out the lozenge and lofted it across to him. It tumbled, catching the light. “You’ll need this to access the systems.”
His eyes widened; he realized, she saw, what damage she might have done. He snatched it from the air and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you.” Then he crooked a finger, tripping an invisible command, and his glass wall went blank, shutting out the view of employees returning from lunch.
“Marty should be here soon,” she went on. “I’ve left instructions—”
“Please, Jane—”
Her hands curled into balls. “Don’t make this harder for me.”
“I couldn’t stop them from doing this to you. But I pray to almighty God that I can keep things from falling apart until the ice gets here. Keep people from suffering.”
“And you’re offering up our friendship as a sacrifice.”
He sighed. “Would you have me resign in protest?”
“Why not, goddammit?” He flinched at her profanity. “I’m the reason you’re here! I’ve opened doors for you. I’ve shielded you from those who didn’t trust you because of your religion. I’ve made things happen for you. Now this. Now I know what my friendship is worth to you.”
“I don’t deny,” he said stiffly, “that I owe you a lot. But you taught me that the needs of the citizens come first.”
The muscles had tightened across her chest. She drew a breath; two. “Do what you have to, then. Just don’t look to me for absolution.”
They stood there. Aaron broke away first. “Go, and be damned.”
The laugh that escaped her was not a pleasant one. “Oh, I’m gone.”
A group of employees had gathered nearby outside Aaron’s office, whispering. I will be damned, she thought; I’ll be damned if anyone sees me bleed, and she floated toward them, smiling. She brushed hands, wishing them well, and confirmed the rumor that she had resigned and that Aaron was acting resource commission czar. She made her good-byes and then excused herself—all too conscious of the camera mites that flocked on the walls and ceiling, the spy dust swirling all around.
They were hauling out all the stops. Her eyes must have skyrocketed once more. She was sure her thumbs had reached subbenthic levels.
Enjoy the show, you creeps.
Once in the hall, she surveyed the corridor tube, while her former employees and rubberneckers from other departments averted their eyes, floating by. The bathroom came to mind as a refuge. But she would have to brave the public eventually, and though “Stroiders” and reporters’ cameras weren’t allowed in, they would be waiting when she emerged. There was no escape. She headed for a lift.
Her mail cache had filled with calls. Sarah had left her a message.
She called her back. After a moment, Sarah’s face appeared before her. “I heard the news. Are you OK?”
For a moment Jane wrestled with how to answer this question. Finally she gave it up. “We need to talk.”
“Yes. I have a client with me now, but I’m free in about half an hour.”
“I have a doctor’s appointment then. How about one-thirty?”
Sarah glanced at her wave display. “All right. I haven’t had lunch. Have you?” Jane shook her head. “I’ll order food, then. I’ve also arranged for a publicist to meet us here an hour later.”
“Cancel it,” Jane said. “There’s no longer any need.” She cut the call.
* * *
“You’re as healthy as ever,” Dr. Pollack told her. The diagnostic images of her brain structures and neural behavior were projected into wavespace between them. None of it meant anything to Jane, but the doctor had spent several minutes studying assorted things and rerunning tests before making that pronouncement. “No sign of abnormalities. No protein markers that indicate trouble. Everything appears normal.”
Jane hesitated. “Is it possible that, well, that something could have been wrong a few days ago but