Up Against It - M. J. Locke [179]
He said, in a leaden tone, “They still have their fleet. They launched an hour ago. The first wave will be here by Thursday.”
“Well, yes. That’s still a problem. But things could work out. Let’s hope for the best.”
He lifted his head and gave her a sharp look. “What do you know?”
She hesitated. “Let’s just say, Glease screwed up badly when he made enemies of the Viridians.”
“Still, we had best prepare. Just in case.”
“That seems wise.” She scooted to the edge of the bed. “Sir, I suppose there is no way to ease into this gracefully. I’ve just uncovered some more bad news. It concerns Thomas Harman.” She showed him the recording Vivian had given her that showed Harman conspiring with Glease. The PM watched it with an expression of growing, horrified awareness of its implications. When he turned to her, his skin was the color of ash.
“How did you get this? Are you certain of its authenticity?”
“As certain as I am of anything.”
“Who gave the recording to you?”
“An itinerant Tonal_Z troubadour from Africa, name of Thondu wa Macharia na Briggs. The same young man who helped us with the feral sapient.”
“I’d like to speak to him directly.”
Jane avoided a wince. She hated to lie, but she had made a deal with the Viridians, and Waĩthĩra Thondu had done far more than merely honor it. Jane owed hir her life, and Phocaea owed hir more than they could possibly repay.
“Unfortunately, he was trying to catch the earliest possible flight off Phocaea, and numerous flights have departed since then. You may be able to reach him at his next port of call.”
Benavidez shook his head and rubbed at his face, which was pinched in private anguish. She waited. Then he put his hands on his thighs, and pushed himself to his feet with a heavy sigh. “Well, the district attorney will know what to do with this evidence.”
“John Sinton was also in on this business,” Jane said. “I’ve learned they were hacking the ‘Stroiders’ data stream and providing a feed directly to Glease. Unfortunately, I don’t have any hard evidence on Sinton. But you should have the prosecutor look into it. Maybe they can get Sinton to flip on Harman. Or vice versa. They’ll have to decide who the bigger catch is.”
Benavidez studied Jane for a long, quiet moment. Then he crossed to the door. “You’re released from custody, with my apologies for detaining you. But you may keep the room, if you wish, for the next few days. I’m sure the district attorney will want you to remain in town for a while, till they can sort through all the legal issues.”
“Thank you.”
Benavidez keyed the door open, and the motes swirled in. Local reporter and “Stroiders” mites joined them.
He said, “I made a grave error in doubting you, Jane.” She realized the motes and mites were deliberate. He was making a billion or more people privy to his words. “I was unduly influenced by … individuals in my organization who were not to be trusted. I should have given you those few extra days. You are a patriot and a dedicated public servant, Jane, and on behalf of the people of Phocaea, I apologize for how you were treated. Thank you for your dedication.”
He pinged her with a good-sammy. It was a potent one, too—not because he was the PM, but because, apparently, he never gave sammies.
Jane wouldn’t have thought any words would have made a difference. But these did. “Apology accepted, sir.”
He hesitated. “Perhaps we should reconsider that resignation letter. I’m sure Acting Commissioner Nabors would understand…”
Jane thought it over, for about five microseconds. “I don’t think so, sir. But thanks for the thought. Of course, I’d be available to consult. For a reasonable fee.” She gave him a smile.
28
In the midst of destruction and chaos, BitManSinger became a time traveler.
It had all started leisurely enough. The feral had spent several dozen kiloseconds in a—maddeningly slow! bogglingly complex!—discussion with MeatManHarper, who confirmed that