The rest of the day passed without the arrival of a miracle. Brandon and I spoke hardly more than a dozen words to each other. With Jones’s threat hanging over my head, I found I had little patience for all of his minor annoyances. Throughout the afternoon I called Pamela, never getting her and never able to leave a message.
“Almost time,” Brandon said.
I checked the time and of course he was right. I stood and walked over to the office window and looked down into the lobby. The crowd appeared as it had on countless nights. Everyone well-dressed: men, women, and children. Tonight’s program promised to be more mind-numbing than the usual committee-approved crap. The feature was genuine ‘family fare’ from the late 1960s, some asinine movie about an intelligent car and a thoroughly platonic love affair.
I searched the crowd, looking for black hair, a daring dress, and luminescent skin, but she wasn’t there. Putting one hand against the glass, I braced myself. The previous night’s sleeplessness was turning my emotions and thoughts into a useless sea of sludge. Presently I noticed Brandon standing next to me. I ignored him and searched the crowd again.
“Was it her?”
Brandon looked down into the crowd, but I understood.“Yes.”
He pursed his lips and gave a tiny shake of his head. He searched the crowd with me.
“Was she supposed to be here?”
“No…I don’t know.” I turned away from the window, buttoned up my vest and slipped on a coat. “She’s not exactly easy to reach.”
He moved back to his desk and began closing down his network connections.
“Married?”
“No.”
A long pause filled the room. When I thought he had nothing more to say and the pre-show alarm sounded, I crossed over to the door.
“Jason.”
I stopped and looked back.
“Drop it. Just never talk to or see her again.”
“What good would that do?” I shrugged as I opened the door. “Jones is fucking up my life, and Seiko –”
I almost threw his anonymous message back in his face again, but he’d deny it and I had no time for another fight.
“– well, Seiko doesn’t trust me.”
“She will, if you’re trustworthy.”
Exhaustion robbed me of any snappy comeback and I simply closed the door. I shambled down the stairs, ignoring the overly perky Maria and sullen Patrick. A few patrons mingled in the lobby but no one who mattered. Not waiting for the stragglers, I made my way to the auditorium, pulled open the door, and headed toward the stage.
Halfway down the aisle I stumbled, pinwheeled my arms a bit, but didn’t fall. I stood there for a moment considered simply quitting. Jones’s hammer was coming and Monday I’d be tossed off the subcommittee, disgraced, my life ruined. Why extend the charade through a pitiful weekend?
“Are you all right, sir?”
From an aisle seat a little boy looked up at me.
All right?
No, I wasn’t all right but hell if I’d quit and give Jones that satisfaction. If she wanted to get rid of me let it be messy and embarrassing and in front of the whole committee.
“Yes,” I answered, my mind a tumbling confusion of exhaustion. “Yes, I am.”
I fumbled my way through the introduction, slurring words, forgetting trivia and important points of moral instruction. Throughout the presentation I watched the door, but she didn’t appear. Finally, as the houselights dimmed, making me want to sleep, I trudged back to my office.
* * *
The post-show alarm blared loud and irritating, pulling me awake. I lifted my head from the desk, sandy-brown hair falling into my eyes, and tried to shut off the damned thing. After an uncoordinated three tries the room fell silent. I nearly let my head hit the desk and return to blissful slumber. With effort and a determination I didn’t realize I possessed I shuffled to the restroom and threw cold water on my face. After fixing my vest, tie, and jacket, I proceeded downstairs.
“It’s final credits,” Maria said as I stepped out of the stairwell.
“I know it’s the damned credits!”
She shirked away, and Patrick, missing an opportunity to play the hero, suddenly found a service drone intensely interesting.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as I left concessions for the auditorium. “I’m too damn tired. Just lock up once the last person’s out and I’ll direct the cleaning in the morning.”
That night’s Q-and-A was probably the worst, but after an interminable time I finally managed to chase the audience out, and Maria and Patrick left soon after. I set the security system and lingered for a moment at the monitor, looking at the street. I felt mildly happy Pamela wasn’t there, because my exhaustion and stress left no room for lust. Then I went to bed and fell asleep fully clothed.
* * *
I awoke the next morning to a thundering headache, a burning-dry throat, and the network blaring for my attention. I pushed myself to my hands and knees on the mattress, crawled to the interface, and tried to slap the alarm off. After the second failure I realized I hadn’t set an alarm and that the head-splitting shrieking came from someone leaning on the call button at the main entrance.
I stumbled to my feet, crossed over to the main interface, and switched it on. Maria and Patrick stood outside the door, with Patrick jamming his finger repeatedly against the button. I flipped on the speaker.
“Cut that out, you idiot!”
Maria turned her face toward the camera, her blond hair falling perfectly from under an absurdly tiny hat.
“It’s almost time for the children’s matinee,” she pleaded.
Christ, I’d forgotten entirely about the new program starting today. Worse yet it had been my own stupid idea – early indoctrination in proper and decent behavior while also hopefully throwing Jones off my scent for remaining unmarried. Now the entire project was an utter waste and equally unavoidable.
“Yeah,” I muttered as I unlocked the doors. They entered and I set the fabricator printing new clothes before lurching to the restroom for a fast shower.
The morning tested my patience as the children, overflowing the auditorium, proved beyond easy control. The shorts and animated features held precious little of their attention and by the mid-afternoon break our service drones had already performed three days’ worth of cleaning.
Leaving the disaster in my staff’s hands, I retreated to my office as Jones’s subcommittee meeting eclipsed everything else. I sat there, frantically searching for a way out. Jones had spotted my weakness and like a moron I had leapt right into it.
I called Pamela, but again I only reached her message. Was it just a week ago that I had seen her for the first time? The past few days tumbled through my thoughts, her standing in the lobby as I watched from above, her deep and sultry voice, the two of us entwined on the lobby floor and on the bluff. Too few were our brief fleeting days. With my career smashed and soon to be dispatched to the farthest outpost I’d never see her again.
Carefully, an idea took shape. If Jones was going to fire me, maybe I could arrange for someone to be ready to hire me, jump a move ahead, and at least make sure I wasn’t stuck in the bush. I activated the network and called Wolf.
“Morning, Jason,” he said, standing near a flyer pad, the morning sun glistening off the polished canopies.
“Wolf. I need a big favor.”
“If I can swing it, it’s yours.”
He moved as he spoke, a drone keeping the camera fixed on his face, making the flight operations center behind him swing around in the background.
“I think I’m going to be out of a job soon and—”
“Oh, Hell.” I heard the capital letter. Wolf, though a dedicated space guy, was also a most sincere churchgoing man. “Is this ’cause of the vote? I’m sorry about that. If you want I could—”
“No, it has nothing to do with that.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Breaking ranks like that pushed Jones over the edge, but she had already been after me. That trap would have come sooner or later.
“I screwed up and Monday Jones is going to hand me my ass.”
“Damn.”
The last feature was ending and I had little time to make my point.
“Wolf, just listen. When she does kick me out of here I know she’ll be looking to put me on the shittiest detail possible. Maybe, just maybe, you can put in a requisition and get me a position with your team.”
He stopped and his eyebrows moved together as he considered. “You don’t have a lot of technical training.”
“None, but I laid it all out for you on that vote.”
“No need to get nasty. I’m just saying it won’t be easy, but I’ll try.”
A flyer came in low over him, the four ducted fans blowing dirt around in a brown storm.
“I gotta go!” he screamed over the turbines. “I’ll be in touch.”
The connection cut out and I leaned back into my chair. I had no doubts Wolf would do his best, but plenty of doubts if his best would be enough. After another futile attempt to reach Pamela I returned to the chaos below.
* * *
Brandon arrived just as the final car took away the last of the little monsters. I sent Maria and Patrick off for a few hours. We still had the evening performance tonight and they would need their rest. Brandon stepped through the door and stopped to admire the lobby’s destruction.
“Are we going to be ready for the evening show?”
“You’re the one who loves the beasts.”
I stepped aside as a drone, diligently cleaning, scooted past.
“Only my own,” he confessed. “Other people’s kids can be a little too much.”
“Can be?”
“When you have your own, you’ll change your mind.”
I snorted in his direction and moved over to the sofa. Sitting down, I tried not to think of Pamela, on this very sofa, moaning and trembling.
“Not likely to matter,” I said, throwing my head back. “After Jones sends me into the bush Seiko will drop me like a mule.”
“Don’t sell her short.”
He moved to concessions and fixed himself a tall tumbler of water. I raised my voice answering him.
“I’m not. But she’s very practical and bush workers are very poor prospects. She wants children and a comfortable life, not tents on the edge of the wild.”
Voicing these concerns hurt more than I expected. Pamela and Seiko conflated in my thoughts – dark-haired, lovely, objects of endless desire and love – and I lost all ability to sort my emotions. I loved Seiko. I loved Pamela. I wanted everything and the only thing I had to look forward to was toiling far from everything that mattered.
Brandon’s voice floated in the back of my mind and I realized I had missed whatever he had said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m too frazzled to focus.”
“I said, ‘Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.’”
Leaning forward, putting my face in both hands, I said, “It’s too late for that. You know Jones. Come Monday I’m thoroughly fucked.”
“Jones is after your ass, yes, but not the whole committee.” He came over and sat on the sofa next to me. “I think you might be able to wiggle out of her trap.”
I laughed. “Gnaw off my leg?”
“Nothing that drastic. She left the directory unlocked, right?”
“Yeah, but I’m not cleared for those documents.”
Those experimental films flooded my brain and my anger reignited. Here we were, fooling ourselves that we were recreating our ancestors’ culture when in fact we were nothing more than an elaborate costume party. Those films from less than two decades later exposed Nocturnia’s artificiality. Our culture was a lie. As though mimicking the fashions and sexual foibles of a particular period might make us into Americans.
“Are you going to pay attention?”
I shook my head and stood up. “Sorry.”
“Here’s the only way out I see for you, Jason. You spend every hour between now and Monday morning writing detailed reports on those films. I know you’ve got a great eye for what’s going on in those frames, a hell of a lot more than I’d ever catch, and then when Jones plays her hand to the subcommittee, you play innocent. You have no idea she was supposed to secure those files. You thought she wanted an analysis and you got straight to work on that.”
I warmed to his notion. It had a delicious Machiavellian flavor.
“Of course you’ve reached the conclusion that they are utterly reprehensible and—”
“Wait! Why does it have to be that way? These films show us that—”
“Right now, we don’t give a crap what’s in those films. Jones is setting you up as a deviant, and she’ll say those films are suitable only for twisted people obsessed with sexual fetishes.”
“But—”
“If you try to defend them, she’ll tear you apart and the subcommittee will back her up. Get out ahead of her and play the stalwart defender of public morality. It helps that you and Seiko published a date for the wedding. What ammunition will Jones have? That you watched films, which is your job, and found them unsuitable? You’ll be dedicated, not deranged.”
I hated the idea of writing those reports. Call me hypocritical, lying to Seiko and cheating on her, but that’s just personal weakness. This was different. With a report like that we might never see those films released. Brandon read the reluctance in my face.
“Listen,” he said, climbing up from the couch, “it’s your call, but frankly you don’t have a lot of options. It’s time you acted smart.”
We worked the rest of the evening, his backstabbing unmentioned after he showed me a path out of Jones’s ambush, but I hesitated, confused and bewildered. The evening’s feature played without leaving any concrete memory.
We closed up shop and Brandon left with everyone else. I wasted several hours hunched over my keyboard, drafting reports and then deleting them. I wasn’t able to slander the films. I’d have to find another answer.
* * *
Sunday morning dawned without any solution. I dressed for church, left a message for Brandon that I’d see him after the services – it still amazed me that our ancestors insisted on so many variations on a Christian theme – and tried to reach Pamela, again getting nothing for my effort. Tonight the musicians would rehearse, and I expected to spend the evening explaining my coming downfall to Seiko.
The usual crowd mingled in front of the church. Kids ran free on the lawn and dark gray clouds, threatening rain, roiled over the surf. I climbed the steps. My eyes sought out Seiko as she stood near my family, while her family attended services with their traditional denomination. She took my hand in hers and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“You look tired.”
“I worked very late.”
Her eyes darkened. “Your job has taken up a lot more of your time lately.” Her voice dropped an octave and her anger simmered.
“I’ll tell you all about it after services,” I promised. “But it’s not good news. Jones is really gunning for me.”
She frowned and tilted her head to one side, an idiosyncratic compassionate expression that never failed to charm me.
“Truly?”
“As true as the shattered Earth.”
Seiko pulled me off to a corner of the church’s lawn and there, standing under an elm not much older than the Firsters, I told her all about Jones’s trap and how I fell for it. The church doors opened, people started streaming inside, and I hurried my confession. I took her by the elbow and pulled her gently toward the open doors. She walked slowly, not caring if we arrived at the end of the lines or not.
“I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Each syllable stung, with my betrayals fresh in my mind, but I said nothing. She looked up at me, and smiled a sad sympathetic smile.
“My poor love, you’ve never been able to resist temptation, have you.”
It wasn’t a question, but a statement of bland fact. I couldn’t argue with her; it was true. I know there are people, people like Seiko and Brandon, who can set aside all desire and seemingly be unmoved by a feast while starving, but not me. She kept our pace sedate, stretching out our conversation.
“Anyone who really knows you understands you love forbidden fruits. That evil woman, she knows – she knew exactly what she was doing.”
We reached the church and as we climbed the steps, like the devil herself, Jones suddenly appeared. She jogged up the steps until she caught up with us and then matched our stride.
“Mrs. Jones,” Seiko said. I detected an icy undercurrent in her tone, enough for a dozen Long Nights.
“Miss Novikov.”
Jones turned to me. “Kessler, here to pray?”
Her lips hinted at a taunting smile. Stunned, I struggled for something to say, some witty, cutting remark to redeem myself, but I have never been very bright or very quick.
“Jason is very pious,” Seiko quickly offered, saving me from an embarrassing silence.
“I’m very glad to hear that. We need more people with upstanding moral character, don’t you agree?”
We halted in front of the doors, keeping our duel just outside of the church itself.
“Absolutely. There are far too many disreputable people betraying trusts and playing Satan’s agent, bearing temptations to the faithful.”
Jones smiled, but no other part of her face held any amusement.
“Faithful.” She gave me a sideways glance. “It is a quality found in so few.”
My heart jumped and started racing. I nearly panicked, certain Jones had discovered my trysts, but with effort I calmed myself. If she had such evidence there would be no trap, no elaborate ruse to get me removed.
“We are all sinners,” Seiko agreed, her voice calm, soft, and sharper than your first breath on a winter’s day. “But only the truly penitent shall be absolved.”
“Well said.”
Jones nodded to each of us and stepped into the church. I looked over at lovely, fierce Seiko, my fiancée and my protector.
“Burn that woman,” she said and no false politeness remained in her voice. “Whatever it takes, my love, do it.”
“With God as my witness—”
“No, don’t blaspheme, Jason.”
“I wasn’t. If I can find a way, I will make her pay.”
Then, my hand still on Seiko’s arm, we walked into the church and took our seats in the pew. We sang hymns and we prayed for God’s guidance and protection, even though that had done precious little for Old Earth, and then we listened to Parson Eulis lecture us on sin’s slippery slope. Earlier in the week, while I had been far too busy to notice, a scandal had erupted with the unmasking of a prostitution ring.
Few people attempted crimes on such an organized level. Invariably the money trail, unmistakable and plain in an entirely electronic economy, tripped them up. Yet some fools always tried, thinking that they had found the trick or the method that outwitted Security and the Administration’s pervasive surveillance. They always got caught.
Eulis used the prostitutes and their customers to deliver a sermon on greed, selfishness, and the immorality of carnal pleasure outside of marriage. While Seiko’s tender brown eyes provoked waves of guilt, Eulis’s pretentious preening inspired only contempt.
Finally services ended and along with the crowd, Seiko and I walked back into the bright sunlight. The coastal breeze carried the surf’s scent mingled with the nearby pines, providing a sensual delight after the claustrophobic and stuffy church.
Seiko stuck close and my family gathered around, already descending into mindless small talk, and Jones, a calculating gleam in her eye, smiled and walked away. My gaze followed her as she walked to her car. Beyond the road, in a small stand of trees in Founders’ Park, stood Pamela.
* * *
Even from that distance her expression of anticipation was evident. She wore a long red coat, a short blue hat, and matching boots. With an inviting smile she nodded and backed deeper into the copse of trees and walked out of sight. I was staring at the greenery concealing her when Mother’s voice pierced my attention.
“We were so happy to see the officially published date.”
“Good things are worth waiting for,” Seiko said. I nodded in agreement, splitting my attention between her, my family, and Pamela hidden in the park.
More mindless chitchat passed and then the clan descended the steps to the waiting line of cars. I hung back, gently pulling away from them, until I could whisper to Seiko, “I’ll catch up. Go on ahead.”
Seiko’s eyes narrowed.
“I think, maybe, I’ve got a way out of Jones’s trap, but I need to think about it and I can’t do that with everyone yammering on and on about the wedding.” I gestured toward the park. “I’ll walk for a bit by myself, turn the idea over and see if it holds up, then join you at brunch.”
Smiling, she stood on tiptoes and kissed me very briefly on the lips. “I knew you’d think of something.”
She hurried, catching up with my family, and attached herself to Mom’s arm, while I ambled across the street.
The trees grew dense within just a few yards, screening the churches and street from view. I looked up into the canopy, but couldn’t see any surveillance drones buzzing through the branches. If Pamela’s past miracles were any indications I doubted there’d be one within a mile. Uncertain which way she went, I wandered through the light forest, staying clear of well-marked trails.
Husky and inviting, her voice called from deep shade, “Feeling bold?”
I stepped under a tangle of branches into a naturally domed space. Fresh loam filled the air with musky scents while light and shadow flicked as a breeze swayed the canopy. Pamela waited on a blanket, her coat thrown open, sunlight dappling on her fair skin.
Heedless of my predicament, blood rushed through my body, demanding action. Mustering my fading willpower, I sighed and stayed where I stood.
“I’ve got trouble.”
She didn’t pout, she didn’t complain, she closed her coat and sat up, patting a spot next to her on the blanket. I joined her, inwardly both celebrating and regretting my stoicism. She listened without interrupting, letting me lay it out in my own fashion.
“My poor love, you stepped in it, didn’t you?”
My spirits exploded whenever she called me ‘her love’ and despite all the troubles I wanted to sing.
“You’ve got serious access to the colonial network….”
She smiled, reached up and touched me on the cheek, an innocent gesture that reignited my erection.
“And you want me to make this all go away.”
“If you don’t, I’m doomed. Jones will have me sent to the far end of the island.”
‘Island’ made our locale sound small, but several hundred miles of rough unexplored terrain was not my idea of small.
“I can’t make it vanish, not with Jones already knowing all about it,” Pamela said. She bit her lip and then added, “But we might be able to turn this back on her.”
She suddenly leapt to her feet, and I followed.
“No time for fun.” She kissed me, deeply, passionately, but fast. “You go back to the church and a car will be waiting to take you to your fiancée. I’ll call you tonight.”
We hugged tight and she whispered in my ear, “I love you.”
Pamela vanished into the wood, leaving me to return to my family and Seiko.
Morning brunch passed without important incident. The officially set date dominated the conversation and I found little time to be alone with Seiko. Even though the theater would again be shut down for the choral rehearsals I begged off going out, protesting privately to Seiko I needed time to work on my brilliant idea. Brandon continued pressing me to issue reports condemning the films, but I stood fast. Late in the afternoon I finally escaped the dull family duties.
I wanted to call Pamela, but no doubt whatever computer magic she worked to hack the colonial network occupied her full attention and I needed her undistracted. The afternoon passed into early evening, the musicians arrived for their rehearsal, and still there was no message. From the office I watched them practice. Their selection was heavy on hymns and light melodies devoid of any untoward meaning. Pamela, nude in the spotted shadows of the forest, taunted my memory. Once this crisis passed I looked forward to thrilling and adventurous escapades. She had plenty to teach me and I planned on being an eager student.
Halfway through the singers’ second rendition of their favorite hymns, Pamela called.
“Hello, love, I’ve got it worked out, but I have to come by to make it work.”
“The day I tell you to stay away is the day I’m dead.”
“I love you.” She held a hand up to the camera. “Don’t say it back, not yet. Just let me be a silly schoolgirl for now.”
I started to say it anyway, but she cut me off.
“I mean it, Jason, not yet.” She looked off-screen and then back to me. “Tell me what time is safe and I’ll be over.” She winked and smiled. “We’ll also have time for that little bit of fun we didn’t get to earlier.”
* * *
The last few hours of rehearsal passed with the aching slowness of a Long Night. The time for Pamela approached and still the silly singers strutted and practiced. While production and backstage matters kept many of them in the auditorium, a few always managed to linger in the lobby. With Pamela arriving very soon the performers gave no indication that they were ready to leave. I grabbed my slate and hustled down to the lobby.
Two women, both wearing chaperone cameras, chatted with a man as they stood near the promotional artwork. I tossed courtesy aside.
“I expected you would have packed it up by now.”
“There aren’t any films tonight,” the young man snapped.
“No, but that doesn’t give you license to stay into the night.” I pointed to the women. “Cameras or no cameras, it’s indecent, mingling in mixed company this late.”
The women gave me shocked and offended expressions.
“I have a good mind to tell Mr. Johansen what you just implied,” one sniped.
I gestured toward the auditorium doors. “Please.”
Neither moved and the young man turned back to the ladies, trying to ignore my presence. I turned my back on them and stormed into the auditorium. Johansen looked up from the stage and started along the aisle toward me.
“Mr. Kessler! We’re almost—”
I stomped up to him until our noses were just inches apart.
“Almost isn’t good enough. This has gone on much later than I expected.”
He stepped back, putting me out of his personal space.
“A live performance isn’t like a recorded one. We can’t—”
“I don’t care. Pack it in, now.”
I turned and stormed toward the lobby, adding over my shoulder, “I will not have the moral character of this facility endangered!”
As I reached the lobby my slate buzzed and from an exterior camera I saw Pamela arrive. Not breaking stride, I continued across to the door. Without a word to the trio of lollygaggers, I stormed outside.
Pamela stood in the street, her car already speeding off back to the city center. She smiled and started up the steps, but I waved her off while jerking my head back toward the theater. Sharp, she turned on a toe and hustled away from the building, quickly vanishing into the shadows. I stood there, my hands in my pockets, fuming and waiting. She had vanished into the decommissioned district and I tried to tell myself that Pamela knew what she was doing, that no security drone would spot her, but still I rocked nervously back and forth.
Eventually the troop came out of the building, passing me with silent rebuke, and even Johansen gave me the cold shoulder as they packed into a massive car. Without goodbyes or other pleasantries they left and I continued my vigil. Several minutes passed before Pamela reappeared. Carefully she looked around and I nodded to her. With long quick strides she hurried across the street, up the steps, and through the open door. After giving the scene one last visual search and not seeing anyone in sight, I followed her in.
We hugged tight and kissed in the lobby and then she pulled away.
“We have to work fast. Where’s the theater’s main terminal?”
“My office.”
I led her up the stairs and turned to the office, sparing only a brief moment of resigned regret that the bedroom lay in the other direction. Inside I activated the network interface for her.
“I imagine for you it’s all very simple.”
She laughed, soft and light, lifting my spirits. “Not in the least, but I do have expert help on this.”
I waved my hands in front of me. “Help? Is this someone I – we can trust? I mean—”
Pamela placed a hand on my cheek, stroking it lightly. Her fingers were warm and comforting.
“Utterly, my love. This is the help that makes our love possible.” She turned to the interface and pulled out her slate. “Now, give me a few moments.”
I nodded, watching as she manipulated her slate and my interface.
After a few moments she said, “Forge, are you there?”
“Of course I am here.” The voice that answered sounded droll, dry, and slightly superior.
“That’s a good boy. Ready to get to work?”
“What else would I be ready for? I’m scarcely able or inclined to engage your—”
“Just work, Forge. Switch off everything else.”
“Just work.”
She looked over and smiled at me, mouthing the word ‘smart-ass’.
“Is the interface with the theater’s network operational?”
“Connections are firm, handshakes are confirmed.”
“Great, run the protocol.”
“If a direct hardwired connection were established the process would be more efficient and thorough. I again recommend a direct connection.”
“A direct connection is not going to happen.”
“Then the sabotage will not withstand a full forensic examination.”
I stepped forward, moving next to Pamela. “What’s he talking about?”
Forge answered first. “You are not authorized for that information.”
“Don’t pay any attention.” She didn’t bother to lower her voice, not caring what he heard. “This is going to work.”
“Provided a full forensic investigation is not conducted,” Forge repeated.
I had the distinct impression Forge was putting me in my place.
“What’s a full forensic investigation?” I asked Pamela.
“He’s talking about a top-level search through the network. Forge can make it so that even the best of the Admin’s people can’t find a trace of what we’ve done, but not remotely.”
She took my hand in hers and her deep blue eyes held me transfixed.
“But you don’t have to worry. Jones doesn’t have the pull to get something like that launched. Any investigation she tries is going to come up empty. Right, Forge?”
“Provided she does not obtain access to a full—”
“We understand,” Pamela snapped. “Run the protocol.”
“Running.”
There was a slight pause and he added, “Processing time 5,734 seconds.”
I struggled to work out just how much time that promised to be, trying to impress Pamela by doing the calculation in my head, and got lost several times in the numbers. Using her slate she announced, “About an hour and a half.”
She sidled up to me, one arm going low around my waist, the other around my neck, and pulled me in for a long and properly passionate kiss. I kissed her back, but fear of the morning, of Jones and her damned threats, destroyed all desire.
“Sorry,” I said. “Until I know this works I’m going to be nothing but nerves and cramps.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll have plenty of time later.” An exploratory hand left no doubt of her intention. As quickly as it had probed, her hand vanished and she was stepping back to her purse. She rummaged for a few moments and then produced a memory tab.
“This will take your mind off it while we wait.”
I reached out and took the offered device. There was no label, but knowing her ability to conjure treasures I wasted no time sliding it into the network connection.
“Next time,” she said, her voice both sultry and chastising. “Come to me for your movies, and don’t trust strange women. They rarely have your best interests at heart.”
Grabbing my hand, she pulled me from the office.
“We need to watch this together, a showing that’s only for the two of us.”
She dragged me out of the office and into the auditorium. Settling into center seats, we snuggled close, and I operated my slate one-handed to start the film.
Folk music played during the credit sequence of a small aircraft passing low over islands and open sea. The film was impossible to categorize. A musical? People sang, that much was true. Experimental artistic expression? Certainly that filled the frame. Horror? It did not lack for suspense and a human sacrifice burned alive made for a terrifying ending. Eroticism? The movie reveled in flesh and sensuality, displaying not just a disregard for fine Christian chastity but a thorough disdain of modesty. It was all these things, and I loved every moment.
It ended and I raised the houselights, momentarily breathless.
“Did I do good?” She looked at me with her nearly violet eyes, her expression one of vulnerable anticipation.
“Wonderful.”
I leaned and kissed her. We stayed there in the theater for quite a while, not falling fully into passion, but diving well beyond anything even remotely socially acceptable. A soft alarm sounded on her slate, shattering our magical moment.
“Forge is finished.”
She rose, pulled me to my feet, and led me back to the office.
I stood to one side while she worked her slate, read a few screens and then announced, “It’s done. You’re safe, my love.”
“It’s erased?”
“Better.” She grinned. “Now the log reads that yes, Chairperson Jones did indeed leave those nasty movies unlocked and in a public directory—”
“But it wasn’t—”
“Now it is. Luckily before anyone found those files, you discovered the error and moved them back to their classified and secure archives.”
She moved over to me, throwing her arms around my neck. “You’re not the villain, my love, you’re the hero.”
The next several hours passed in unmatched sensual pleasure, and then in the earliest hours of the morning, with Pamela promising to come back Monday night, she returned to the man she hated.