WAVE Orbiting Station
Now

Doric

I was at my desk in the bull pen, when Ann's voice crashed through to my consciousness and her story began to ricochet inside my skull. I couldn't stop the connection—God knows I wanted to, considering how she'd lied to me. But my rational mind was overruled by my heart and my gut. I sighed with relief the minute I felt her presence again—I had missed her. I had missed her even though I didn't really know who the hell she was. That freaked me out.

As she told me about her and Mancy in that restaurant, I tried to keep filling out the overtime report on my screen. I tried to look busy. I don't know if I succeeded. I was caught up in her story and consumed by one horrible question—was I exactly like Mancy?

Why would you say that, Vestra? Ann asked. Are you a boozer?

No. It's just that—Look, stop it. Just stop it. You ram your way into my head and force me to listen to your life story—Why? Why should I give a damn?

First tell me how you're like Mancy.

You mean, you don't know? You haven't siphoned that out of my brain yet?

I'm never going to know everything, Vestra, unless you tell me. Please, tell me.

Staring at my screen, I sat there, wavering between trust and distrust. How, I wondered, had Ann's voice, with every whisper in my mind, become more compelling—more seductive?

Please, Vestra, tell me.

I capitulated. Mancy betrayed you. His love of status got in the way—just like—

Is this about Raquel?

I nodded my head, though I knew she couldn't see me do it.

***

New Earth
Eleven years ago

I soon found out where Raquel's protest group met. It was this off-grid club called Analogue. All portable screens and ear-coms were left at the door and they even scanned you for devices as you went in. They didn't use the credit system on the premises either; you paid for your booze by monthly membership fees through a shell "book club" portal.

After the protest went awry, Raquel took me there. She wanted to buy me a drink to thank me for pulling her out of the way of the truncheons . We talked. We talked all night. At one point, I asked her whether she was worried she was going to get picked up by Campus Sec—I mean they had her on camera, saying "Take down the drones!"

But she just laughed. "You're so sweet to be worried for me. You needn't be though. They've got no proof I did anything other than yell at those things—and that's not a crime." Technically she was right. It had been jacket guy who had the jamming equipment not her. But I couldn't believe how brazen she was about it all. I suppose when you're young, you think you can do all sorts of shit and never pay for it. I don't think I've ever been that young—but she was and it was glorious.

In the gloom of the club's interior, I watched Raquel tip back her drink and take a big satisfying gulp. As she swallowed, my eyes moved down her slim neck, past her collar bones to rest where her gleaming skin met the thin material of her shirt. I couldn't believe after all those months of watching her on screen, I was actually there with her. I lost track of time just staring at her chest moving gently up and down as she breathed, until I heard her clear her throat. I blinked and quickly glanced back up to her face.

Raquel beamed that deadly smile of hers directly at me. "You're turning red," she whispered.

Self-conscious now I fiddled with my unruly hair, tucking it behind my ears.

Her smile grew even wider. "You're adorable," she said, and leaned across the table to kiss me for the first time.

After that, we saw each other off and on—more on then off. And before either of us knew it, or even made a conscious decision about it, we were a couple. One drunken night at Analogue, in the middle of making out, I confessed to her my mother had been a sec officer and that I had until recently worked at the drone feed monitoring room at Campus Sec.

"How recently?"

"They fired me when they saw the footage of me pulling you away from those officers." This was not technically a lie—my boss had clapped their hands in glee when I had told them what happened. "Perfect! We'll publicly kick you out. You'll have instant cred with the group."

It worked. "Bastards," Raquel said. "It's okay, Baby, stick with me. You'll like living off-grid."

"You're not off-grid, Quel," I replied. "When we're not in this club, you're glued to your screens."

She shrugged, like that wasn't a contradiction.

About a month or two into our relationship, she invited me to one of her group's closed-door planning sessions in the back room at Analogue. I took that as proof the group was no serious threat. "If they were planning something really big, why would she invite someone she basically just met?" I said to my boss.

"My dear Ms. Doric, you don't have to be smart to be a criminal or a terrorist. In fact, often the foot soldiers are the most gullible—they're puppets, manipulated by people who keep themselves hidden, who never take the risks the foot soldiers do."

"Jacket guy," I muttered, almost to myself.

But my boss heard me: "Exactly. Go to that meeting, and find him. That's all you have to do."

"You think he's going to be there?"

"Yes."

He wasn't there—at least there wasn't anybody there who was obviously him. I had never gotten a clear look at his face. And no one wore that jacket or took credit for the jamming of those drones. I was disappointed. I really wanted it to be that simple. I really wanted to hand over that guy to Campus Sec and to tell them nothing else was going on. Then I could pursue my relationship with Quel with a clear conscience. I was sure that when she got to know me better (and fall madly in love with me), she'd accept the fact that I was planning a career in Security.

There were about a dozen people there and Quel introduced me around. After that they started arguing. "It's ridiculous to take the meeting minutes on paper," Quel complained.

"Yeah, and putting up a handful of printed posters is not exactly effective advertising for our protests," added someone named Enrique. "We should be using our social nets."

"But we agreed, no screens—ever," said another named Kelvin or was it Calvin? "Once you open a screen, they've got you—you're on the grid."

"But we're not doing anything illegal. Holding a meeting is not illegal," said Enrique.

"Uhm," I interrupted. "Jamming the signals from camera drones, causing them to fall from the sky and smash into millions of pieces, is, actually, technically illegal. It's property damage for one thing."

"We didn't know that was going to happen," said someone named Krystal.

"But it was bloody marvelous," muttered Quel.

"It was unsanctioned," said Kelvin/Calvin, staring straight at this woman at the far end, who had slipped in after all the introductions.

What was the staring about? Had jacket guy not been a guy? "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met," I addressed the woman. "I'm Vestra Doric."

"Bian—I'm Bian," she told me, nodding. But she didn't tell me her last name. And she didn't really say much else during the whole meeting, which deteriorated quickly into a series of spats about what to protest and where and how and just how off-grid they should be. I came away thinking these are the most amateurish domestic terrorists ever. They were no threat—they were just a bunch of privileged middle-class kids play-acting at activism. Either that, or they were the gullible puppets and I had yet to meet the puppeteer.

I gave in my report to my boss at Campus Sec and told them just that. I also told them that though I had my suspicions about Bian being jacket guy—I had no proof. They accepted my conclusions without any pushback. Then they asked me if I wanted my old job in the monitoring room, but I declined. Not, I told myself, because of any anti-sec rhetoric from Quel, but because I was in the middle of mid-terms and I didn't have enough time to study and work.

As those exams started up, the group's public protests stopped altogether, and Quel and I saw less and less of the group members. She didn't seem to mind. We were happy just the two of us.

Then I got that admission interview for WAVE Sec training.

"What?" Quel said dumbfounded when I told her.

"I applied long before I met you. And then I forgot about it. It's such a long-shot getting in, I really didn't think I'd even get an interview."

"Well, you can just tell them you've changed your mind, can't you?"

But I hadn't changed my mind. She tried cajoling me. She tried pleading with me. She tried swearing at me. The worse was when I came back after my interview that day. She had made an elaborate brunch, full of my favourites—fluffy omelettes with onions and hot peppers, French toast with taka-fruit compote and oak syrup, bread pudding with choco-carob sauce.

"What's going on?" I said, as I came into the living room and saw the cozy romantic setting she had created—the food on the coffee table with a vase of cut flowers, cushions on the floor around the table.

"Nothing," she said, coming forward with a mug of steaming chai latte for me. "Just thought we could have a nice meal together before my shift at the clinic." I dropped my bag and took the proffered mug, while she leaned into me for the briefest of kisses. I noticed she was dressed in something tight as she sauntered back to sit down on one of the cushions.

I sat down beside her on the other cushion. "Wow, this all looks fantastic," I said. "You needn't have gone to so much trouble ..." My voice disappeared when I looked at her—her face moving between hope and fear. "About this morning—"

"Never mind," she cut me off. "Let's eat."

We ate in silence, neither of us knowing what to say next, and Raquel trying so hard to be sexy for me, licking the choco-carob sauce off her fingers with exaggerated movements. I was embarrassed for her. Didn't she know she could have been eating oatmeal in a burqa and I would have found her sexy?

I put down my fork. "Look I think we should talk—"

"I think we should skip the apologies and go straight to the make-up sex," she said, once more cutting me off. She leaned over to kiss me again—but this time it was long and slow and desperate. Then she attempted her trade-mark mocking tone. "Come on big bad Sec officer, I'm waiting for my strip search."

It was the saddest sex I've ever had.

WAVE Orbiting Station
Now

HARMONY

I don't understand Vestra, how exactly are you like Mancy?

It's what came afterwards, she answered.

After the saddest sex you've ever had?

Yes. Afterwards, while I pretended to snooze, Quel got dressed and left the apartment for her shift at the clinic. I was relieved—I thought I'd have hours to rehearse what I would say before she came home and we finally had that talk.

What would you say?

I felt Vestra shrug. That I respected her opinion about Sec forces, so she should respect mine. That we could agree to disagree. That my going for a career in Security shouldn't hamper our relationship—

You didn't once think of walking away from your career choice for Raquel's sake?

No. I had been working for this for a long time. It was my big break. I was going to honour my mother's legacy. I would finally be someone.

Ah, you chose status and ambition.

Like Mancy.

What happened?

She didn't come home after her clinic shift that night and I couldn't reach her on her screen. That could only mean she had stopped off at Analogue for a drink. I went to find her there.

And?

I found her tucked into a back booth, kissing Bian. When Vestra admitted this, the hurt she had felt—even after all these years—came through to me as a sharp jab to the gut.

You never forgave her? You never talked?

What was the use? Did you forgive Mancy?

Yes. I could feel Vestra's scorn. Don't judge me. I convinced myself those Plat women didn't—couldn't—mean anything to him. None of them had ever set foot in the Pit, so he couldn't touch their minds. He would never share the kind of deep connection with them that he and I did. I loved him, you see. I still loved him.