Vortex Page 11

  “And two ‘ha’s,’” Yuri agreed, gazing at her adoringly. Then he turned to Tom. “I am in agreement with them. You must endeavor not to speak this time, Thomas. Nod in greeting, but that is all. Then perhaps, you should conceal yourself somewhere where no one will be finding you. I will come and retrieve you from this hiding place before we are due to depart.”

  “Got it,” Tom groused, slumping back in his seat. He couldn’t believe this had happened. In the course of mere hours, any shot he had at a future in the Intrasolar Forces had been whittled to the caprice of some executives at Matchett-Reddy.

  This one was do or die.

  The Interstice took them as far as the capitol building in Sacramento, California, and they were shuffled into helicopters and flown over a vast, sprawling wilderness. They landed on a rocky cliffside, and Tom stepped out with the others to behold a greeting party of high-level Matchett-Reddy executives and their sponsored Combatants, Lea Styron and Mason Meekins, both Hannibals.

  Tom made sure to seal his lips and nod in a manly way as he shook hands. Then he clasped the hand of the last executive in the greeting line.

  Tom’s heart stopped for a moment, he swore it.

  Oh. Oh . . .

  He realized it. Matchett-Reddy was doomed. It had been doomed since he’d stuck the police on a naked leecher in Las Vegas.

  He met the familiar gaze of Hank Bloombury, and recognition sparked in the bald man’s face. “You!”

  “Me,” Tom said.

  “It’s you!” Bloombury said again.

  “It’s him,” Vik said, unasked, from where he was standing at Tom’s side. Then, confused, “What’s happening?”

  “Huh?” said Wyatt, on Vik’s other side.

  “I know you,” Bloombury insisted. “You were the one who called the police on me last week! My lawyer subpoenaed a surveillance feed of it! You knew who I was”—his finger jabbed Tom’s chest—“but you told them I was a crazy, perverted, drug-dealing terrorist!”

  Tom grew aware of Wyatt clapping her hand over her mouth, Vik’s incredulous face like he didn’t know whether to laugh or be horrified, and Yuri, gazing grimly. His mind raced over his options. He could play dumb, or he could apologize.

  But all Tom could think about was that cop clubbing his father, about the way Hank almost got away with it, about the way he must’ve gotten away with stuff like that so many times before.

  Tom wasn’t sorry. He wasn’t. And he wasn’t delusional, either—he knew he was done for. There was no coming back from this, so he decided to embrace the moment. He flashed a broad, apologetic grin.

  “Good to see you again,” Tom said to him. “I didn’t recognize you at first, but then again, you’re not naked and shrieking like a frightened little girl today. So, make any new friends in jail?”

  TOM DIDN’T BOTHER going into the mansion for the party. While the others shook hands and schmoozed, he trudged out through the trees and bypassed the stately house of the CEO of Matchett-Reddy, Sigurdur Vitol. Then he crested a ridge and gazed upon the view seen every day by those inside the mansion.

  Tom’s breath caught. A massive valley stretched out below him. He stared and stared, gazing over the rolling green fields ringed by trees, cut through by sparkling rivers. The jagged, rocky mountains had silvery waterfalls streaking down them. The immensity of the place made Tom feel strange, like he’d slipped into a VR sim and hadn’t realized it. He gazed at one of the mountains that resembled a vertical wall and another that resembled a flattened half circle.

  He kept staring and staring at the waterfalls, the trees, the mountains. He’d never seen something so magnificent, so beautiful. Surely a place like this couldn’t actually exist.

  There was a rock jutting out like a platform. When Tom got his head on straight, he headed out onto it and stood there, feeling like he was astride the entire world, a breathtaking drop below. The sun was beginning to dip over the horizon, casting a golden haze over all the cliffs, when footsteps crunched up behind him, and Elliot’s voice drifted to his ears. “Yosemite Valley’s really something, isn’t it?”

  Tom glanced back at him. So he’d fixed the mess at Nobridis and caught up with them. “I can’t believe this is what Sigurdur Vitol wakes up to every single morning.” He couldn’t get his head around that.

  He remembered the only time he’d seen something near as amazing as this. He’d been little, and he and Neil were having trouble getting a ride; the only person they ran into worked as a miner for Nobridis. Neil made a rash decision to take advantage of their in and get free admission to the Grand Canyon.

  Hours passed as the sun crept across the jagged rocks, the rivers so far below they were stringy blue lines. Even with all the Nobridis uranium mines and drilling platforms, Tom had never seen anywhere like it. Neil had been ranting about what he called “piratization,” but Tom remembered how even he fell silent when the sun began to set, setting the canyon awash with brilliant orange and red light.

  But this place . . .

  Tom tried to imagine what Neil would do if he could ever see this. His dad would . . . He’d . . .

  And then with a flash of bitterness, Tom realized there was no point wondering. Neil would never get to see this. Some guy owned it and used it as his backyard. This was one more wonder of the planet shut off to people like his dad.

  “Sigurdur doesn’t live up here.” Elliot was pointing below them. “See that mansion right there over Vernal Falls? It’s the lower waterfall of the paired ones.”

  Tom saw the silvery waterfalls streaming down the cliff, one atop the other, a mansion straddling the second one.

  “That’s actually Sigurdur Vitol’s house. Milton Manor. He has an entire floor of clear glass and you can see the waterfall rushing beneath it. Come here early in the year, and it’s mind-blowing. No one actually lives full-time up here on Glacier Point. This place is for corporate receptions.”

  “This is wrong,” Tom said, half to himself. The wind whipped through his hair, a ferocious anger boiling up inside him. His dad would die and never even get a chance to see something Sigurdur Vitol probably took for granted. “This shouldn’t be some guy’s property. Everyone should be allowed to come see this.”

  “This used to be Yosemite National Park. We sold it after the Great Global Collapse to repay our debts.”

  Tom’s fists clenched. “You mean Wyndham Harks’s debts! The debts those people ran up and stuck on the rest of us.” He’d figured it out seeing that wall of government officials at Wyndham Harks. Their people were in the government. So when Reuben Lloyd bought up other companies, bought fancy rugs, and couldn’t pay his bills—the government he controlled volunteered the public to pay his bills for them. Then when the public went broke, people like Sigurdur Vitol swooped in like vultures and took stuff the public owned, stuff of real value—like this place. Like Yosemite.

  Tom shook his head in disgust. Those executives had done that, they’d gotten away with it, and today they marched in Tom and the others and demanded respect from them, like they were actually owed something from them. After taking all this, they wanted even more.

  “I hear you’ve had an interesting day,” Elliot remarked.

  Tom jerked his head impatiently. “Yeah, I kind of blew it. With Matchett-Reddy, for sure.” He was silent a moment, then had to admit, “And at Epicenter. And at Wyndham Harks. I’m sorry about that mess at Nobridis, by the way. I hope that wasn’t a huge pain for you to fix.”

  The last beams of the sun were disappearing over the distant cliffs now. Elliot said quietly, “I’m glad we’re not seeing Obsidian Corp. today. I suppose you had some antics ready for them, too?”

  “No need for the visit.” Tom wheeled around and calmly strode from the rock. “Joe Vengerov and I already know each other. We’re not on good terms.”

  “Is this funny to you?” There was unexpected heat in Elliot’s voice.

  Tom hadn’t realized there was a twisted smile plastered on his face. It was sort o
f automatic, since Elliot looked a bit angry—so unlike Elliot.

  “Come on, man, I know I kind of torpedoed things today—”

  “Torpedoed? Tom, this wasn’t a torpedo hit. This was the Hindenburg disaster! There are five CEOs who sponsor Indo-American Combatants, and you have successfully alienated every single one of them, most of them within mere hours of each other! Take Nobridis. It was easy, Tom. It was so easy. All you had to do was bow and leave the room. The prince didn’t even want to speak to any of you. That was all and it would have been done.”

  Heat rushed through Tom. “I don’t bow to people! Okay, maybe if I’m about to fight a samurai warrior or a kung fu master, and we’re mutually bowing to show respect for each other, maybe then, but that’s it. No unilateral bowing.”

  Elliot groaned. “You have so much pride. I hope that’s a big comfort to you, because that’s the only comfort you’re going to have if you keep this up. You had an advantage after Capitol Summit. People knew you, they knew you were a winner. They wanted to like you. But that advantage means nothing if you plan to go ahead and burn every bridge in front of you. I don’t even pretend to know why you flooded the Beringer Club, but if you thought—”

  “Yeah, you don’t know,” Tom cut in. “You know nothing about the Beringer Club. So maybe it’s not your business. Those Dominion Agra guys had it coming. That’s all that matters.”

  “Yes, yes, and this Matchett-Reddy executive also had whatever you did to him coming. Tell me this: When Hank Bloombury recognized you, what did you say to him?”

  Tom wouldn’t play into his hands. He gazed at the swaying trees far below them, the wind whipping at him through his suit. “Yeah, you’re asking me, but I’ve got this feeling you already know.”

  “Yes.” Elliot nodded. “I already know that you taunted him. You had a chance to apologize or do just about anything to try defusing the situation with him, and you chose to make matters infinitely worse. You poured gasoline on the fire. It’s like the way you acted with Karl when we were all hooked into the decagons. You deliberately goaded him. There’s no reason for it. It’s stupid and it’s arrogant and it’s needless, but you keep doing it.”

  Tom gave an exasperated growl. “So I should’ve apologized to Hank Bloombury, is that it? Maybe kissed his shoes, while I was at it?”

  “When he’s in a position to murder your career? Yes. Yes, you should have. For a start.”

  Tom clenched his teeth. “I will never apologize to him. Not to him, not to the Beringer Club people, not to any of them. They all deserved what they got. I won’t give them the satisfaction of even acting like I’m sorry when I’m not.” He remembered Dalton, smugly telling him he could beg for forgiveness on his knees, if he wanted. Bitterness flooded him. “They’d love that.”

  Elliot pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Come on, man,” Tom erupted, “how does this sucking-up fest not drive you nuts? You didn’t come from these people. You didn’t scam your way to the top or get born to rich parents and pat yourself on the back for ‘earning’ it. You had a skill, you had a talent, you worked hard and got here for an actual reason. You legitimately achieved everything you have. So how can you stomach treating these people like they’re better than us?”

  Elliot threw up his hands. “Because I recognize that this is the way the world works! You may not like these executives, but the fact is, people with honor and integrity, who don’t cheat, lose their wealth and their positions to people who do. That’s why the worst of us become the world’s decision makers. Nothing I can do or say will change that basic fact of life. They shape reality and the rest of us just live in it. So I accept it, and I try to work around it.”

  “It’s not right!” For a moment, Tom struggled for the words to capture the burning feeling in his chest, and they came pouring out. “It’s not that these people are thieves. That’s not what bugs me. It’s the fact that they think we should respect them, too. That’s what burns me. This place used to be everyone’s, they stole it for themselves, and they got away with doing it, but they don’t get my goodwill, too. They can’t pay me enough money to pretend I admire them.”

  “Fine, then,” Elliot cut in, impatient. “Don’t play the game. Tear yourself apart raging against something you can’t change. Do that, Tom. Then I can tell you what happens next: nothing. Not for you. Those executives won’t care if you destroy yourself. They will never notice if you drop off their radar. Your fate won’t make a single difference to any one of those people. The only person you’re harming here is yourself.”

  Tom’s chest tightened. “Then that’s the way it’s gonna be.”

  Elliot sighed heavily. “I was going to ask you to do your fly-along with me. I’ve wanted to help, guide you. I see now it would be a waste of my time and energy.”

  That stung a bit. Tom shrugged. “No one’s forcing you.” But Elliot seemed so genuinely disappointed in him, like he’d really been invested in Tom doing well, that Tom felt a pang of remorse. “You know, I am sorry. About all this.”

  “I am, too.” And then Elliot’s footsteps scuffed away across the rocks.

  Tom stayed alone in his somewhat voluntary exile at the edge of the cliff, the light stealing away from the sky. He tried to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach, and told himself over and over again that this was the only way it could’ve gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE BEST PART of the visit to the Coalition companies was taking suborbital planes from Yosemite back to the Pentagon. Suborbital planes launched into the Earth’s outer atmosphere, and they could cross the United States in twenty minutes instead of the hours an airplane would require. They were faster, even, than the Interstice with its vactube. They were also as close as anyone got to space travel nowadays, since flying in a suborbital meant experiencing microgravity and seeing the curvature of the Earth. The only people who got to fly in them were the ridiculously wealthy.

  And Intrasolar trainees, apparently.

  Tom didn’t care about almost anything else that had happened that day as he, Vik, Wyatt, and Yuri strapped into a suborbital manned by a couple military officers, along with two dozen other trainees.

  “You will remain in your seats for the entire flight, from liftoff to landing. Am I understood?” the officer said sternly.

  Vik’s face fell. “But we only get a few minutes of zero-g. We don’t get to float?”

  The officer glared. “No.”

  “What if this is the only time we’ll ever be in space—” Tom began.

  “You will remain seated, trainee.”

  Tom felt his heart sink. Stay seated? He saw his disappointment mirrored on Vik’s face. An idea crawled into his brain. He whispered, “Too bad about your weak stomach, eh, Doctor?”

  A wicked gleam stole into Vik’s eyes. “Oh, yes. My stomach is very weak, indeed.”

  THE SUBORBITAL PLANE launched straight up into the sky, pinning them all back against their seats. Tom turned his head toward the window, feeling like his brain was sloshing around in his skull, the landscape shrinking beneath them, whirling in his vision in a sluggish way as they jolted higher and higher, the blue of the sky draining to black.

  And then, abruptly, they came to a halt, utter silence enveloping them as the engines cut off. Every molecule of his being seemed to be weightless, and Tom realized he truly was weightless. He opened his mouth and gasped in shock and amazement, feeling his stomach flipping fantastically. He caught Vik’s eye and grinned.

  Vik moaned loudly. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Oh no, not here, buddy,” Tom urged him, just as loudly.

  “I . . . I feel . . . I feel so . . .”

  “Oh God, is there a bathroom on this thing?” Tom cried.

  “Help me. Someone help me!” Vik pleaded.

  “I’ll help you, buddy!” Tom pledged, ripping off his seat belt.

  Tom bobbed up into the air, and the officer shouted, “Sit down!”

  “But my friend is s
ick! So sick!” Tom proclaimed.

  Vik began making a gagging noise. He was also tugging off his belt.

  “He’ll puke,” Tom insisted, pulling Vik along with him. “He’ll vomit all over the place!”

  Wyatt panicked. “No! It’ll float everywhere! Why doesn’t this suborbital have barf bags?”

  The words rang up and down the aisle as trainees repeated it. “Barf bags, barf bags . . .” Tom could see frantic scrabbling of hands, as people searched for something to contain what Vik was about to do.

  “We can’t get puke all over us,” Jennifer Nguyen pleaded. “It’ll get in my hair!”

  “Fine,” the officer shouted. “Bathroom in the back. Go!”

  Tom hauled Vik from his seat, and for a moment, they forgot to act as they bobbed up and impacted the ceiling. He and Vik exchanged a crazy grin, then Tom remembered to screw his face into a frightened look.

  “Don’t spew on me, Vik.”

  “Hurry, Tom. Hurry, or I’ll spew on everyone!”

  The “ews” rippled down the aisle, and vanished from their ears only when Tom and Vik floated into the aft cabin and shut the door. They didn’t go into the small bathroom beyond, though. They floated there, their faces looking a bit strange without gravity to pull on their skin at all, their hair floating in all directions.

  “Doctor,” Vik informed him, “we are in outer space.”

  “We are in outer space.” They couldn’t stop laughing.

  VIK MADE LOUD vomiting noises over the next minute, making them louder every time someone knocked on the door.

  “Oh, oh, that’s hideous,” Tom shouted loudly, flipping around again and again. “In the toilet tube, buddy! Not on me!”

  “I missed, Tom! I missed the toilet!” Vik shouted back from where he was bouncing from wall to wall. “Oh no, I forgot to close the bathroom door, too! It’s everywhere!”

  “It’s hideous! It’s like someone gutted a pig in here!” Tom shouted.

  “Human bumper cars,” Vik whispered.