An old man’s face appears on the screen.
‘Cacho,’ Runner says with little warmth in his voice.
‘Hi, Runner. What a pleasant surprise! Hi, Micka, how are your my dear?’
‘Good. Thanks,’ I answer.
‘We found someone you might know.’ Runner doesn’t do small talk. He throws info at people without warning. ‘Here in Taiwan, leading a BSA unit.’
‘Oh?’ Cacho’s gaze is a little fluttery, his focus drifting this way and that. His hair has thinned since last time I saw him.
‘I’d appreciate details,’ Runner says.
Cacho’s eyebrows draw together. He sticks his index finger between his teeth and chews on the nail. ‘What was the question again, my boy?’
Runner’s shoulders stiffen. ‘Why and when did Erik Vandemeer switch sides?’
‘What sides?’ Cacho sounds as if he thinks Runner is discussing on which side of a slice of bread the butter should go.
‘Our side and their side. Us and them. Sequencers and BSA,’ Runner says as if talking to a baby.
‘So that’s where he went? They must have turned him, then.’
I’m struck by how much Cacho has changed. Or rather, he’s slid a little. His mind has waved goodbye just a tad more than it already had months ago. His expression had always been mildly…floating, for the lack of a better explanation. And who in his right mind would call me “sweetie?”
‘They don’t turn men. They execute them. Erik appears as if he owns the Taiwanese BSA camp. The man switched sides.’ Runner bends forward, his voice a fierce growl. ‘I need you to tell me why and when.’
Cacho’s eyes darken. He blinks and seems to recall my presence. His eyebrows jump up, a smile pulls at his cheeks and deepens the crinkles around his eyes. ‘Sweetie! I don’t believe I ever told you about your father. Or did I?’
Runner exhales audibly and takes a step back, out of Cacho’s view. He stares at me, and gives me a nod. Go ahead.
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘How careless of me.’ His hands gesture wildly, brushing past his light-grey hair and fluffing it up even more. ‘My grandfather was an engineer who maintained Portugal’s satellite control. He taught a handful of the first Sequencers everything he knew. He also taught his children. And then, my father mentored me. I was pretty good at it, you know.’ Cacho winks at me as if he’s a young boy flirting with a pretty girl.
Trying to not drop my chin, I look at Runner. His sharp gaze flicks between Cacho and me. His thoughts are hidden behind a cool mask.
‘I was offered an apprenticeship and became a Sequencer,’ Cacho continues cheerfully. ‘I maintained several control systems, adjusted courses of satellites, programmed monitoring systems, and used them to track movements of the BSA.’
‘What does this have to do with my…father?’
‘Ah, yes. Your father. Someone found a very talented boy in a city in Greenland. He built and maintained complex machines at the young age of twelve. This boy could draw diagrams that…’
Cacho sees my stare and clears his throat. ‘I’m prattling. My apologies, my dear. I took him as an apprentice when he turned fifteen. I know him as a driven, introverted, and friendly man. A thinker and a tinkerer, that’s Erik. He’s no BSA man. Not a chance.’
‘If you are specialised in high tech stuff, why did you come to our village? And why did you analyse our drinking water?’ I trail off when I see him smile mildly. The man’s brain needs a timeout. Reality seems too much for him.
‘The Swiss Alps have as many holes as certain kinds of cheese the people are making there. Satellite control systems are buried in the mountains. One of the ESA’s main control centres is not far from your home. I enjoyed the walks. And so did Erik.’
‘So the man fucked my mother because he was in the area?’ My voice teeters to the shrill side of the spectrum. Cacho’s cheeks redden as if I’d slapped him left and right.
‘They were in love, sweetie. But Erik was young and on probation. Your mother…’ He sighs and drops his gaze. ‘She wanted him to grow up, take responsibility for her son — your brother — and their unborn child. For you, I mean. And he couldn’t. He didn’t want to give up his bright future for a life in a village, tending to goats, kids, and Brussels sprouts.’ His soft chuckle heats my anger to white hot fury.
‘Did I tell you that I’ll be a father in two months?’ Cacho says with an expectant smile.
‘Congrats,’ I manage to say. Above our heads, thick droplets hit the tent. Thunder growls from afar.
‘So—’ he bends his neck trying to catch a glimpse of Runner. ‘Why did you send this Sequencer with a SatPad to me? Anything the matter?’
Runner steps forward and shakes his head. ‘No, Cacho. Just wanted to see how you are doing. I’m happy for you.’ He swipes at the screen and it goes blank. His hand rests there, his head is bent. ‘Shit.’
Shit is the understatement of the year. My father seems to be a BSA commander and Cacho is a senile imbecile.
‘Kat, contact the Sequencer who’s with Cacho. I need to know if he’s acting.’
Kat nods and gets to work.
‘I need to think.’ He presses his knuckles to the tabletop and strolls off into the rain.
‘Yeah. Me, too,’ I grunt. When he’s gone, I slump down and hug my knees. Kat sits silently on her chair, stares at the place where Runner disappeared, then back at her screen.
Cacho and his apprentice — the man who got my mother pregnant — were never far from me and my family. Never far from what my father did to us, from the death of my brother, from all this fuckuppery. Not once did they offer help. I would be bullshitting myself if I believed Erik would warm up to me and leave the BSA. These two have been planning to recruit me and pull me into deep shit.
I remember Cacho showing up at Zula’s once. I’d visited his practice to get a few stitches. I can’t even remember where it was or when, or if I cut myself or just fell from a tree onto a sharp rock. Cacho was there, he’s seen what was carved into the skin of my back. He saw it and looked away. Not his problem. Did he think me so ugly and worthless that he wanted me to be a sniper’s apprentice and die an early death? Shove her to the front lines and see how many she can take down when she gets killed or tortured or raped? I can’t even ask him now. His brain is all pickled.
I feel my pulse tickling my fingertips. Every noise and odour stabs at my brain. I press my eyes shut, cover my ears, and breathe through my mouth.