“Shoot, boss,” said Graham.

He grimaced, “I’ve got a situation brewing down in Wichita, that new plant that went in about a year ago. Labor problems. It’s not like here, where we’re working with second and third generation vatdivers, people who, by and large, know what to expect from the job. These greenhorns in Kansas still think we owe them something more than a steady job at a living wage. They’re making all kinds of fuss about environmental standards and safety and so on. They’ve even gotten the IEPA in on the act. Meanwhile the people I’ve got out there don’t seem to know how to handle the situation. I’d like you to go down and show those cowboys how it’s done.”

Graham’s alarm was so great it must have leapt out of his eyes.

Kent held up a hand, “I don’t mean permanently, you understand. Just get that jackass Nichols pointed in the right direction. Hell, it probably won’t take more than a week. Not for you, with the way you handled that labor movement nonsense we had five years ago. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. I don’t forget anything like that. In fact, it’s why I thought of you. I need a reliable, results-oriented man on the job down there.”

“I’m not a production manager anymore,” Graham said carefully.

Kent waved his hand in annoyance, “I know that, Nathan. I’m just asking you to do this as a favor to me, understand?” His eyes were flinty and hard, their gleam belying his light tone of voice. Graham understood. He would go, because to refuse would be to set himself against Kent, and he couldn’t afford to do that yet. “Of course,” he nodded. “Of course, I’d be happy to help.”

“Great,” said Kent, shaking his hand. “There’s a review meeting with the IEPA Monday morning at eight, but I want you out there over the weekend so you can scope everything out beforehand. I can have my driver pick you up at your place in an hour and take you to the airport.”

oOo

In his first class compartment on the GeneSys airliner, Graham poured over the school records, family histories, love affairs and purchasing habits of Hector Martin’s two assistants, searching for a weakness he could exploit.

People could be controlled if you knew their secrets, and companies, as his mother had said, were made up of people. Where she’d been wrong was in thinking there was anything more to it than that. In her obsession with the organism of her company, she had neglected its constituents. She had allowed herself to forget that she was dealing, after all, with people. It was not a mistake her son would repeat. Henry Theodore Greenfield graduated magna cum laude from Lawrence Technical Institute, did his graduate study in lysis proteins and injection processing at MIT and then returned to Detroit to work with Dr. Martin in a doctoral fellowship program conjunct with the University of Detroit Mercy College. He broke up with his high school boyfriend while at Lawrence, had three affairs at MIT and was now seeing a second year radiology intern at Beaumont Hospital. He had experimented with a variety of drugs over the years, but had never developed a habit for anything more serious than cocaleaf. His mother lived in Dearborn, and worked for Blue Cross/Blue Shield. The identity of his father was unknown. There certainly wasn’t much to go on with the respectable Mr. Greenfield. Perhaps his colleague Colin Arbegast Slatermeyer would be more forthcoming.

In fact, his file did show more promise. His parents were married, were, in fact, members of the downriver fundamentalist enclave ALIVE! Colin grew up there, attended school in the compound’s youth center, and at the age of eighteen was recommended by one of his instructors to be sent out of the community for further education.

Graham raised one eyebrow. Usually such magnanimity on the part of ALIVE! was expected to be repaid, either by returning and benefiting the community as a doctor, lawyer, or some such, or by a tithe of 30% of the individual’s income. It was contractual, and in fact, Slatermeyer had signed, opting for the tithe. He didn’t want to go back, apparently.

Graham pulled up his pay stubs, and scanning them, smiled. Slatermeyer was taking a pre-tax deduction of $500 off every check, and squirreling it away in an escrow account. It would be reported to the IRS

as investment income, not earnings, and therefore, it would be invisible to ALIVE!’s auditors.

“Clever, clever,” breathed Graham under his breath, and he scanned ahead to his quarry’s current profile records. He had an economy model maglev, dark brown. Its navigation module revealed sporadic trips to bars and restaurants around town, an occasional foray up north, no trips downriver whatsoever, and every Sunday like clockwork, a visit to the Belle Isle Aquarium.

Chapter 6 — A Day In the Life

Helix woke up in the middle of the night, her head and her ribs and the wound on her side all hurting at once. She lay there for a while, listening to the quiet, looking at the darkness, until her thoughts got round to the previous day, the restaurant, and the men in the alley. When she started to think about the playground, she got up, and walked carefully to the bathroom.

To the right of the toilet, beneath a window cracked and peeling with water damage, sat a porcelain bathtub. She looked with longing at the old, claw-footed affair. Wincing, she pulled off her t-shirt and turned on the water. She looked in the medicine cabinet, but there was no kosher salt. You can't have everything, she thought, gazing at the steaming tub, and she eased herself into the warm, delicious water. oOo

Chango awakened blearily on the couch in Mavi’s living room. Her head throbbed and her face was mashed into the textured upholstery. When she sat up she carried an imprint of Fleur de Lis on her cheek. Rubbing it she made her way to the bathroom on unsteady legs and flung open the door. Something splashed in the bathtub and let out a sharp cry of dismay.

"Gah!" shouted Chango, startled by the movement, and found herself staring at Helix, naked in the bathtub, and staring back at her with bewildered, sleep filled eyes. "Sorry, I didn't know you were in here," she said, turning to the sink and running the tap. She splashed water on her face, and then turned back to Helix. “Were you sleeping?”

Helix sank beneath the edge of the tub. “Yes. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, it helps.”

“Oh,” said Chango, still looking at her.

“I’ll be out in a minute, if you could just-”

“Oh, sure, sorry.” Chango dried off her face and backed out the door. She went into the kitchen, where Mavi was leaning over the sink, pouring water into the coffee pot. "Guess who I just surprised in the bathroom?"

Mavi looked at her jadedly, "Helix?"

"Well, yeah."

Mavi nodded and set the coffee pot on the counter. “I thought so. It wasn’t me and as far as I know, you’re not in the habit of surprising yourself. Why didn't you knock first?" Chango sighed and shrugged. "I wasn't thinking. I didn't expect-Mavi, she was in the bathtub."

"So? She can take a bath if she wants to, Chango, what's the problem?" Chango leaned closer and lowered her voice. "She was sleeping in there, Mavi, in the water." oOo

Helix stepped carefully out of the tub and toweled off. Her ribs were still sore, her neck stiff, but her knife wound was almost healed, and the lump on her head was way down. She stepped into her freshly laundered, custom made four-sleeved body suit. The cellweave fabric warmed slightly at the touch of her damp skin, helping her dry off. She wished it wouldn’t. Her skin was always too dry, no matter what moisturizers or oils she used. The only thing that ever really seemed to help was soaking in a tub of salt water.

She slipped on her tunic and went out into the hallway and stood there, torn between the security of her room, and her curiosity about the house and its neighborhood. She’d been gone from Hector’s for three days now, and so far she’d spent most of it in one room. Someone was making coffee in the kitchen. She followed the smell down the hall.