Light Shaper (14 page)

“Barrow,” Edgar said. “Come here.”

Barrow walked to reception. Behind him, everything was still quiet.

“I’m sorry about—” he began.

“Bullshit.” Edgar cut him off. He, too, spoke loudly enough for the rest of the guys to hear. “Don’t give me none of that crap. I say good riddance to that entitled little prick, and better luck next time for you. You got me? Now get out of here, and good luck with the new job. And you better be here tomorrow.”

Barrow nodded jerkily and all but fled.

He got back to his apartment, his clean T-shirt already drenched in sweat because he had run the entire way and then up the several flights of stairs. He peeled it off, closed the door behind him, and slammed his fist into the drywall.

“Fuck!” he yelled, livid. He was angry at his own stupidity, at the fact that someone else had felt like Barrow needed anyone to stand up for him. As if Edgar thought Barrow needed help. As if he thought Barrow was weak. Barrow thought he had earned the other guys’ respect. If he had, he’d now lost it all with a single stupid move. “Fuck!”

The second time his fist connected, it went clean through the drywall. It hurt, but Barrow didn’t mind. He took the hand out slowly. Then he grabbed the half-melted key that hung about his neck and squeezed it as hard as he could, feeling the metal dig into his palm.

I’m a fucking idiot. I should have never—

Barrow’s phone buzzed. It startled him out of his rage since normally nobody called him but desperate telemarketers. He checked the caller ID, but there was no name and no registered number. Curious, Barrow picked up.

“Steve Barrow,” he said.

There was a sharp intake of breath, audible on the other side of the line. “I don’t believe this,” a raspy male voice said. “It really is you.”

“Who is this?” Barrow demanded sharply. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

The man he was talking to chuckled. “I don’t expect you to remember me, but I do remember you. How could I possibly forget?”

Barrow would have hung up, but something about that voice tugged at the edges of his memory. It was an unpleasant association, something….

“Still don’t remember me?” the man said, his tone conversational and yet simmering with anger. “I’ll give you a hint. I know the real reason why you left the
Titania
.”

Barrow’s eyes opened wide. He almost dropped his phone.

“Who is this?” he repeated, but he already knew.

“This is Matthew, Barrow. Matthew Young. The brother of the man you murdered.”

Barrow had a brief flashback. He was in the cargo hold of the airship
Titania
, where he had been in charge of security. There was a woman screaming, calling for help. That son of a bitch Jonathan Young was standing over her, laughing as he tore off her blouse. Barrow rushed in pushing Young away, and then the fight…. The fight that had ended Barrow’s career. And Young’s life.

“It’s not possible,” Barrow said, not realizing that he was speaking aloud.

There was a grim bark of laughter. “Well, it is. I found you.”

Barrow thought frantically. Had he made a mistake? He had disappeared entirely after the incident, fired from his job even though he’d done the right thing. He had managed not to be charged for the murder because every one of the crewmembers of the
Titania
had known how things had happened. Barrow had had no choice, and he’d saved someone who needed help. They had all lied to protect him, but he had still been forced to leave and start over again. He had moved to the other end of the city, avoided everyone who might have known him from before. It had been almost impossible to get a job for months, with his previous criminal record and lack of current references. But he had put the incident behind him. And now….

“How?” Barrow asked.

“Someone betrayed you, Barrow. I got a text message today with this number and your name, simple as that. I still don’t know where you live, but I will find out. Trust me. I’ll get you for what you did to my brother. I’ll skin you alive.”

The line went dead. Barrow stared at his phone for a full minute and then walked over to his couch in a daze. Normally he would have been worried that Matthew Young would call the cops on him, but Barrow knew the other man well enough to be certain that he would want personal revenge. The Youngs were an important family in the slums, accustomed to dealing justice with their own hands. It was only a matter of time now before Barrow was discovered. To Matthew it didn’t matter that his brother had been an abusive rapist. He was going to get his revenge no matter what.

But how had this happened? It had been months. Barrow had left no trail.

This was a big complication. Barrow was just starting to turn his life around and now this….

How?

His phone buzzed again, this time with an e-mail. Barrow opened it immediately.

Steve Barrow,

I provided part of your contact information to Matthew Young. My intention for doing so is to give you an idea of the extent of my reach. It is also meant to impress upon you that your full cooperation is required for the task I have at hand. Should you not fulfill this request in its entirety, your address and work schedule will be released directly to Matthew Young and his associates.

I require you to be at CradleCorp tomorrow during the morning shift because your help will be needed for a crisis that is about to happen at that location. One of the daytime security staff members has been decommissioned for the day, and you will be taking his place. Please ensure you will be readily available at CradleCorp by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. Await further instructions at a later time.

—Atlas

Barrow looked at the threat, thinking it must be some kind of twisted joke. Atlas again, whoever he was? How had he known about the murder at all? And why the hell would he be blackmailing Barrow into staying for a double shift at CradleCorp instead of asking for money, or something else that made sense?

Barrow waited, but the night brought no new answers. When it was time to go work, he got dressed and left for CradleCorp. He thought long and hard during the commute on the Skytrain, but he could not think of one reason why this Atlas person would hate him enough to set the demons of his past loose on him again.

RIGEL WOKE
up early the next morning with a dull ache in his hands. As usual, it radiated downward from his wrist to the middle of his forearm and was accompanied by a stiffness he couldn’t quite shake off, even after he stretched the way the physiotherapist had taught him. He wasn’t surprised by it. He had known the pain was coming after the little adventure with the suitcase last night. As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, though, he wished for maybe the millionth time that he could have a strong grip on things. Rigel chuckled aloud. Figuratively and literally, actually. Considering the fact that he had just been threatened with a lawsuit last night.

He hadn’t slept much, although that wasn’t because of the pain. He had kept on thinking about possible reasons why he could have been targeted by the lawyers from CradleCorp, and not Misha. As the hours of predawn darkness ticked by, he went through every possible scenario he could think of in increasing order of implausibility. He had drifted off into sleep for a few hours at some point, exhausted, but it was only to have messed-up dreams about the same thing.

When the alarm rang at 7:00 a.m. he sat up with relief, eager to go to that awful place and sort the entire mess out. He yawned, stretching. Then he looked about his room before he got up out of old habit, and glanced at the four canvases that hung there. They were the last paintings he had made before it had become too painful to make more art. Three of them showed urban scenes: students lounging outside the university, an evening crowd, a dust storm over the city skyline. The last one was his favorite. Aurora after a rain. Rigel had lived in Aurora all his life, and he had only witnessed a handful of rainy days.

With a sigh he stood up and got dressed. He put on his wrist braces, had a quick breakfast, and left without seeing Misha, who was probably still snoring in her room. For as long as Rigel had known her, she had never woken up before 10:00 a.m. willingly. Rigel left her some waffles and fruit covered by a plate and shut the door quietly behind him.

He took the Skytrain to CradleCorp HQ and arrived just before 8:00 a.m., right during the morning rush. Rigel was nervous as he walked toward the main entrance in the big reception lobby. The last time he had been here he had entered illegally, and now he wasn’t sure which way to turn to gain proper access.

He decided to walk to where a bored security guard was standing, mindlessly watching the people go in. As Rigel approached, the woman yawned.

“Excuse me,” he said quickly, “I have an appointment today.”

The guard looked at him with a slightly annoyed expression.

“Go to reception, and call your contact.”

“But….”

“Go to reception.”

The reception was a very big counter manned with several people busily typing and talking on wireless headsets. Rigel approached the nearest one. He had to wait for a little bit because there were several people in line ahead of him. Most of them looked like they worked in CradleCorp. They were wearing formal office clothing, and many had name badges.

Rigel briefly wondered if he had chosen the wrong line, but by then it was his turn.

“Welcome to CradleCorp, Mr. Blake,” the young man behind the counter said.

“I… uh….” How did they know who he was?

The receptionist ignored his mumbling. “I see here that you have an appointment at nine in Legal. Is that right?”

“Um, yes.”

“Very well, I’ll just generate a temporary badge for you. It will give you access to the lower level and the one you are visiting. It also says here that you may need to connect to Otherlife. I do not have an account on file for you. Would you like to create one now?”

“Do I have to?”

“It is highly recommended. That way, you will have a personal, lifetime account to all the services that Otherlife can offer a new user like you. With it, you will always be notified of relevant discounts and special events before the general public. Opening a new account also gets you a one-time 50 percent discount upon purchasing your first monthly connection plan. Should I open the account for you?”

Rigel nodded dumbly, certain that the last bit was an often-rehearsed sales line.

“Is there a particular username you have in mind?”

“Rigel.”

“Certainly, Mr. Blake. The name
Rigel
is already taken, but I can assign to you
Rigel underscore Blake
or
Rigel
with a three-character or more numerical extension greater than 101.”

“The first one is fine.”

He answered some more questions while the receptionist created his profile, submitted to some biometric readings, and a surprisingly short amount of time later, he was being handed a small key card with his information printed on it.

“Please head over to the access doors on the right,” the receptionist said. “Have a nice stay in CradleCorp and a pleasant first connection to Otherlife.”

“I doubt it,” Rigel muttered, heading out.

He passed through the security doors with no problem and joined the dozens of people who were walking toward the nearest elevator. Some of them were young enough that it was painfully obvious they were skipping school in order to connect to Otherlife. Rigel pushed past a group of them and entered the spacious elevator in front of him.

A small security camera set on the ceiling swiveled around the moment Rigel entered, following him. Rigel decided it was probably just an automated function, but the sensation of being watched didn’t leave him entirely.

He waited until the elevator was packed full and then had to wait for two stops before they reached the level where he was supposed to go. He got off quickly, trying not to notice how the security camera followed him again. When he heard the elevator doors shut behind him, he breathed a sigh of relief. Nobody else had gotten off at this level.

In spite of himself, Rigel was amazed at the luxurious surroundings of CradleCorp. This level was obviously dedicated to offices, but even so, it managed to feel like a very expensive hotel. Rigel walked to the left, following the set of instructions that his access card was displaying in order to get to room 143-A, and as he did he noticed the plush carpet underneath his feet, the soft lighting coming from what looked like real-life incandescent lightbulbs, the stylish furniture that should have been in an art gallery, and most of all the breathtaking view of Aurora on his right, through the unbroken wall of transparent windows. CradleCorp was on the outskirts of the city, so Rigel could see the entire Auroran skyline drawn sharp against the shimmering heat of the desert and the cloudless blue sky. For an instant, Rigel felt the urge to sit down and paint this landscape, to capture the moment right then and there. Then he remembered he didn’t paint anymore and concentrated on getting to his lawsuit hearing.

Cameras swiveled, following him as he walked. Twice doors set along his path unlocked before he even touched them, although he was pretty sure they required the access card to be swiped in order to open. Rigel began feeling a little bit more paranoid, but he reasoned it was probably just that someone was incredibly eager to get the meeting started, and he wanted Rigel to hurry up. It was strange, though. According to one of the clocks, there were still thirty minutes left before it was time. Rigel shrugged and walked on.

And he walked on. When several minutes had passed, Rigel realized that this building was much bigger than he had imagined at first. He had seen it from outside, but only briefly; only now did he see that the wings of the building stretched on for what had to be hundreds of meters in either direction. Rigel looked to the left and saw that he was only reaching room 87 at the moment. He hurried up a little more. He did not want to be late.