datalinks. If you do, you will see that my client, a Miz Hypatia Cade, has just this moment purchased a controlling interest in your preferred stock. As of this moment, Hypatia Cade is Moto-Prosthetics. As her proxy, she directs me to put the normal business before the board on hold for a moment.'
There was a sudden, shocked moment of silence, then a rustle as cuffs were pushed back, followed by another moment of silence as the members of the board took in the reality of her statement, verified that it was true, wondered how it had happened without them noticing, then waited for the axe to fall. All eyes were on Angelica; some of them desperate. Most of the desperate were those who backed risky ventures within the company, and were wondering if their risk-taking had made them into liabilities for the new majority owner.
Ah, power. I could disband the entire board and bring in my own people, and you all know it. These were the moments that she lived for; the feeling of having the steel hand within the velvet glove, knowing that she held immense power, and choosing not to exercise it.
Angelica slid back down into her seat and smiled, smoothly, coolly, but encouragingly. 'Be at ease, ladies and gentlemen. The very first thing that my client wishes to assure you of is that she intends no shakeups. She is satisfied with the way this company is performing, and she does not intend to interfere in the way you are running it.'
Once again, the faces around the table changed. Disbelief in some eyes, calculation in others. Then understanding. It would be business as usual. Nothing would change. These men and women still had their lives, their power, undisturbed.
She waited for the relief to set in, then pounced, leaning forward, putting her elbows down in the table, and steepling her hands before her. 'But I must tell you that this will be the case only so long as Miz Cade is satisfied. And Miz Cade does have a private agenda for this company.'
Another pause, to let the words sink in. She saw the questions behind the eyes, what kind of private agenda? Was it something that this Cade person wanted them to do, or to make? Or was it something else altogether?
'It's something that she wants you to construct; nothing you are not already capable of carrying off,' Angelica continued, relishing every moment 'In fact, I would venture to say that it is something you could be doing now, if you had the inclination. It's just a little personal project, shall we say.'
Alex's mouth tasted like an old rug; his eyes were scratchy and puffed, and his head pounded. Every joint ached, his stomach churned unhappily, and he was not at all enjoying the way the room had a tendency to roll whenever he moved. The wages of sin were counted out in hangovers, and this one was one of monumental proportions. Well, that's what happens when you go on a two-week drunk.
He closed his eyes, but that didn't help. It hadn't exactly been a two-week drunk, but he had never once in the entire span been precisely sober. He had chosen, quite successfully, to glaze his problems over with the fuzz and blurring of alcohol.
It was all that had happened. He had not shaken his fixation with Tia. He was just as hopelessly in love with her as he had been before he started his binge. And he had tried everything short of brain-wipe to get rid of the emotion; he'd made contact with some of his old classmates, he'd gone along with Neil and Chria on a celebratory spree, he'd talked to more bartender Counselors, he'd picked up girl after girl... To no avail whatsoever.
Tia Cade it was who was lodged so completely in his mind and heart, and Tia Cade it would remain.
So, besides being hung over, he was still torn up inside. And without that blur of alcohol to take the edge off it, his pain was just as bad as before.
There was only one thing for it. He and Tia would have to work it all out, somehow. One way or another. He opened his eyes again; his tiny rented cubicle spun slowly around, and he groaned as has stomach protested. First things first; deal with the hangover...
It was just past the end of the second shift when he made his way down the docks to the refit berth where CenSec had installed Tia for her repair work. It had taken that long before he felt like a human being again. One thing was certain; that was not something he intended to indulge in ever again. One long binge in his life was enough. I just hope I haven't fried too many brain cells with stupidity. I don't have any to spare.
He found the lock closed, but there were no more workers swarming about, either inside the bay or out. That was a good sign, since it probably meant all the repairs were over. He'd used the day-and-night noise as an excuse to get away, assuming Tia would contact him if she needed to.
As he hit the lock controls and gave them his palm to read, it suddenly occurred to him that she hadn't made any attempt at all to contact him in all the time he'd been gone.
Had he frightened her? Had she reported him? The lock cycled quickly, and he stepped onto a ship that was uncannily silent. The lights had been dimmed down; the only sounds were of the ventilation system. Tia did not greet him; nothing did. He might as well have been on an empty, untenanted ship, without even an AI. Something was wrong.
His heart pounding, his mouth dry with apprehension, he went to the main cabin. The boards were all dark, with no signs of activity. Tia wasn't sulking; Tia didn't sulk. There was nothing functioning that could not be handled by the stand-alone redundant micros.
He dropped his bag on the deck, from fingers that had gone suddenly nerveless. There could be only one
