FIFTY-FOUR

 

 

MARTHE FLEW TO the Baie-Comeau an hour before she was to testify to the Resource Allocation Committee. She wanted to prepare. As much as their plans depended on Pascale and Gabriel-Antoine designing something sturdy and functional, and in Marie-Pier having the trawlers ready to catch their fall, if Marthe couldn’t delay the seizure of the Causapscal-des-Vents, it was all for nothing.

The Resource Allocation Committee was not one of the more exciting committees. Lots of people wouldn’t be watching what was happening, and she needed to get the public mood on her side. Gaschel needed it on hers, too. Marthe got to the committee room in the bowels of the big habitat about forty-five minutes early. She was surprised to find Noëlle cleaning the benches and folding desks with a cloth.

“Oh!” Noëlle said, with more ingenuousness in her expression than she normally brought to flirting. “Marthe. What are you doing here?”

Noëlle was sweating, adding a shine to her dark forehead and to her bare arms showing below sleeves rolled to her elbows. She was beautiful.

“I’m testifying here soon,” Marthe said neutrally. “What are you doing here?”

Noëlle shrugged enchantingly with the rag.

“The concierge is sick. They needed the chambers clean. Wouldn’t want l’Assemblée to clean their own rooms or anything,” she added derisively.

Interesting that Marthe’s on-again, off-again lover had replaced the concierge on the day Marthe was testifying. Someone was trying to rattle her? Or to get some dirt on her before the committee sat? The committee chamber had cameras, and it wouldn’t be complicated to run them without Marthe knowing. She didn’t look up.

“It’s nice to see you,” Marthe said, moving to one of the benches. She folded down the table and turned on her pad. “I’d better practice my lines.”

Noëlle might have been expecting more. Maybe she and Délia were on the outs again. She huffed loudly, and wiped at tables with palpable pique.

“What are you going to do if they take your habitat?” she asked.

Marthe had to assume that she was being filmed right now, with or without Noëlle knowing, to turn public opinion or to sharpen the government’s side of the debate. Noëlle was an unlikely femme fatale, but certainly capable of being an unwitting tool.

“I don’t know,” Marthe said.

“Shitty.”

“Oui.”

“It’s a shitty habitat,” Noëlle said.

“It’s home.”

“You can’t stay with me,” Noëlle said.

“Fine. I’ll send Émile to shack up with you and Délia.”

Noëlle snorted and turned back to wiping the benches half-heartedly. “We’re making it work.”

Marthe gave her a doubtful look. “I know.”

Marthe turned to her pad, and after a while, Noëlle took the hint. Maybe she thought Marthe was playing hard to get. Noëlle didn’t do any chasing herself. She preferred the thrill of being chased, and she lived on scandalized adrenaline. In some days or weeks, Noëlle would tire of Délia again, and detonate an explosion of drama, with Marthe, or someone else. Dealing with Noëlle was like riding a storm in the fifty-first rang—dangerous and exciting, easier with practice, until overconfidence caused something bad to happen. Marthe wouldn’t mind riding a storm right now.

But now wasn’t the time. L’Assemblée was more dangerous. Unlike Noëlle or a storm, intent lurked behind its dangers. And those dangers knew enough about Marthe to engineer Noëlle’s presence here today to throw off her concentration. They were taking Marthe seriously.

Noëlle left in a sulk before members of l’Assemblée started to come in by ones and twos. Félix Lévesque, the committee chair, was one of Gaschel’s allies, as were a few others, like Laurent Tétreau, the secretary.

The other committee members were indifferent, swingable one way or another, unless Gaschel had already gotten to them and engineered a foregone conclusion. Some witnesses filed in too. Catherine Nadeau, Charles Hébert, Boniface Lortie, and Éric Turcotte, none of whom had a stake in this fight. Marie-Pier Hudon entered shortly with her brother Marc, sitting a few rows behind her, not making eye contact.

Marthe wasn’t exactly nervous. She could play these cards. And she understood viscerally why her father could never have done what she’d been doing for eight years. He couldn’t hide his resentment and anger. He couldn’t store it for another time. He was all heart, and couldn’t set that view aside, even for an instant. She was better at this because she could hide what she thought.

Lévesque gavelled the meeting to order. Tétreau reviewed the agenda and witness list. Lévesque and other members had minor statements, points of order and records adjustments from previous meetings. It was fifteen minutes before they called Marthe. She rose, moved to the witness bench, and made eye contact with each of the committee members in turn. Most were neutral to her. Others did a poor job of disguising their loyalties.

“Thank you, monsieur, for giving me time to address the committee,” Marthe began. “You may imagine my state when I heard that the government intended to confiscate my home. I’ve taken some time to absorb the news and consider the rationale. My questions are more about the long-term plan for the confiscation of other family habitats by the government.”

“There is no plan to confiscate other family habitats,” Lévesque said, frowning.

“Will you put that into law?” Marthe asked calmly. “Will you guarantee that no other family will ever have their habitat confiscated like this?”

“The Causapscal-des-Vents is in terrible shape,” Lévesque said. “It’s almost not atmosphere-worthy.”

“The government had a large hand in bringing it to this condition,” Marthe said. “The government has systematically refused to supply parts and materiel for upgrades or even repairs. I have a list here of the standard parts I have requested over the last twenty-four months using the procedures set in place by this committee. Only ten percent of the requests have actually been fulfilled. To compensate, I’ve had to trade away my own food, clothing and vitamins to other habitats to get the basic parts needed to keep the Causapscal-des-Vents floating. I’ve kept it afloat, and now you’re taking it away.”

“Parts and materials are directed to the highest-priority needs.”

“Your neglect made the Causapscal-des-Vents a high-priority need.”

“Parts get recycled and repurposed all the time,” Lévesque said. “The Causapscal-des-Vents is a big part, but its dismantling will provide materials for a dozen other habitats. Better accommodations are available to you on other habitats.”

“You haven’t answered my question, Monsieur. What is the long-term family habitat confiscation plan? Who is next?”

“No one is next.” Lévesque’s irritation was growing.

“You claim not to have enough parts to keep the Causapscal-des-Vents floating, so it gets cannibalized into parts for other habitats,” Marthe said. “Conveniently, you don’t need to import more materials from off-world. But the policies of the government are not getting us any closer to being able to import new materials or to produce them on Venus. So, logically, in a year or two, the government will need to identify another habitat to confiscate and dismantle.”

“That’s a complete fabrication.”

“The pattern of denial of parts and materiel to the Causapscal-des-Vents is systematic, going back at least two years,” Marthe said. “But when I looked, I was surprised to find we’re not alone. The same pattern has been playing out over the last twenty-four months on La Mitis, Témiscouata, Mont-Joli, and Lac-Édouard.”

The last habitat housed Manon Dubé, the committee member sitting on the right, aligned with neither Gaschel or Tétreau. Émile wasn’t the only one in the family who could punch.

“What assurances will you give to the people living in those habitats that you will not be confiscating them?” Marthe asked.

“No one’s habitat is being confiscated!” Lévesque said.

“Will they believe you after you’ve just announced your intention to confiscate the Causapscal-des-Vents?”

“The Causapscal-des-Vents is a poor-quality, poorly maintained habitat that would cost the entire colonie too much to sustain.” A hint of stridence crept into Lévesque’s voice. “Should every habitat donate parts to keep it afloat?”

Marthe’s voice stayed even by comparison. “The government has also been denying parts to Batiscanie, Coucoucache, Lac-aux-Sables, and Cap-de-la-Madelaine. Not as bad yet, but if this continues, in four to six years, these habitats will be looking like the Causapscal-des-Vents.”

“That’s a lie!”

“It’s all in the public records of this committee,” Marthe said. “Is this the long-term plan? First Causapscal-des-Vents, then Témiscouata, then Batisc—”

Lévesque’s gavel hammered over and over as more voices on the committee and in the audience rose in irritation.

“No one in the fleet should have to sacrifice their well-maintained habitat to keep your piece of shit afloat! This witness is deliberately endangering other habitats by protesting the reallocation of surplus resources to higher-need habitats!”

Some of the voices supported Lévesque, and glares focused on Marthe. But others in the audience and on the committee looked less certain. Sometime during their exchange, both Marthe and Lévesque had come to their feet. Marthe slowly sat, keeping her face impassive. He didn’t. He was still yelling, partly at her, partly at people sitting behind her.

The amount of shouting would ensure that the video would be replayed at supper tables and evening smoke breaks all over la colonie. The official minutes and recording would be heavily edited.But Marie-Pier had recorded the whole hearing. And once the testimony had gotten heated, a few others had surely pressed record too.

Maybe after this was done, she’d see if Noëlle was in the mood for being chased.