Little Deadly Things

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 2045

While Marta prayed for the Rockford victims, Eva paced in her office. She was restless. Her forearm itched maddeningly and she scratched it until the skin bled. The rhythmic hiss of her pant legs rubbing together as she walked was a whispering voice that further agitated her. Ssst-ssst. Ssst-ssst. Too bad! What now? Too bad! What now?

It was impossible to concentrate. The din from the Table of Clamorous Voices overwhelmed her. The cacophonous shrieks and moans and cries, the accusations and taunts battered her sanity like a tidal wave falling on a seaside village.

Eva struggled to review the past forty-eight hours. An investigation of the explosion was in full swing and NMech’s records had been subpoenaed. The company was ‘a party of interest’ in the search for a cause of the blast. She’d instructed corporate counsel to cooperate. But NMech’s many layers of security slowed the company’s response which created the appearance that NMech was interfering with the investigation.

What to do about Marta and Jim? They suspected her, too. After the blast, Marta spoke of healing and her role as a bohique—voodoo doctor is more like it, Eva thought—but now Marta refused to talk or even make eye contact with Eva. She’d been cool and distant for the last year, blaming her for Dana’s growing pains. Marta had seen to it that Dana spent little time around her, a circumstance Eva found surprisingly distressing.

Now this. Was Marta a threat, a neutral, or an irritating ally? Marta’s support was unlikely, her opposition uncertain. Jim was a wild card. She had to be careful around him. She thought he was her friend, but he’d spurned her. Granted, she’d been acting a bit out of character, but everyone had ups and downs, didn’t they? And the boy, Dana—what could he do? Plenty, she thought. I know how well he jacks and ghosts. He’s like a kid brother, but now he’s under his mother’s control. Damn her interference! She’d planned to bring Dana into an executive role at NMech. Together, they’d be unstoppable. But now the boy could be the biggest problem.

She shook her head to clear that thought. I just have to finesse this, keep them all preoccupied until the investigation blows over. Just a couple weeks at the most.

She continued pacing. Every sound in her office was a chorus of voices, mocking her. Too bad! What now? Too bad! What now?

Her desk was as bare as her thoughts, with only a white coffee flask and mug. She nudged these items into place—was that the third time?—to center them precisely along the upper edge of her desk. The walls and carpet were set to a milky white and gave the impression of congealed pabulum.

Coffee. She remembered the coffee. Even though the addition of neurochemicals enabled her to think faster, to work faster, to complete the bid, she’d had no chance. The damned bid was rigged! Now they all want to blame me for the explosion? Nobody insults me without paying a price.

She brewed a cup, adding carefully measured drops of the neuroactive concoction, and gulped it down. She was rewarded with a paralyzing stomach cramp and bit back tears. Finally, her heartbeat slowed and became regular. Her skin flushed. She could feel her thoughts reorganize. She was pacing faster now, nearly running. Her arms and legs and hands responded faster than she could ever remember. She felt good.

And the Voices sang in harmony, once again.

What’s the plan? She looked around her office. Her eyes fixed on Gergana’s brooch framed on one wall, a relic from, well, from before. Her attention shifted to a small terrarium on the credenza across from her desk— plants and flowers from around the world that provided medicines and recreational pharmacopeia for synthesis.

A second planter housed a pair of intertwined green and black vines. An ugly and useless gift from Marta. It was supposed to represent anger and grace, qualities that exist in everyone. Marta and her legends. Yocahu and Jurican. Give me a break. Who the hell does she think she is, preaching about her gods? She’d be nowhere without me. And what did the gods do for her father, rotting in a Mexican jail?

Eva paced. Then an idea struck. Would it work? Could it neutralize Marta and Jim? Yes! She calculated the moves and likely outcomes with the cold precision of a chess master. She stared into the terrarium and saw the vines as lambent branches of a flowchart rather than mere plant matter. The divisions and offshoots became the steps she would need to take. It would be straightforward. She’d jacked deep into the legal system before and she could do it again.

Eva subvocalized and as soon as a heads-up display appeared, she mouthed a few commands and found her target. Perfect. The man was accessible. She had to bring him to Boston, unnoticed. The office was too risky, but her home? Yes.

Leaving no tracks, Eva jacked into several secure databases, starting with a United States Department of Agriculture public information portal in Seattle. She ghosted through a half dozen others, soaring on currents of thought, leapfrogging and crisscrossing the country and leaving too many trails to follow.

What if Marta didn’t cooperate? That was possible. Oh-so-holy Marta, as if her own foibles made her a saint. If she doesn’t cooperate, then I’ll run the company myself and Dana gets a shot at management sooner than I expected. I’ll give Jim a second chance. He was a good friend. Maybe things will turn out differently this time…

Eva paced and scratched. What if the investigation into NMech led to Cerberus? Impossible. No one would find a link between Rockford and Cerberus because there was none. And Cerberus was secure. In the meantime, she would prepare for a special guest. She rubbed at the raw skin on her forearm. The damned itching wouldn’t stop. Never mind, I have work to do, accounts to settle.

It was time to let Cerberus off his leash. Time to cut off the leeches, starting with the soldier and the scientist and the tea man. Once she was certain of Cerberus, then all the thieves who’d stolen her time and her money would be on their own.

But first, she thought, it’s long past time to settle a personal account. It was a small matter, a point of personal pride. No one insults me with impunity. We’ll see who’s the runt.

Time for a reckoning.

24 A GENTLE TOUCH IS ALL

FROM THE MEMORIES

OF DANA ECCO

The next time I saw Eva Rozen was almost like old times. She was playful in her own way. If she’d just caused a disaster that killed scores of people, then she didn’t show it. True, her skin was flushed, her hands trembled, and her eyes had a nervous tic, like she was winking at me over and over, but Eva was always unpredictable. Besides, we’d always gotten along like peas and carrots—until my mother pulled us apart, that is.

I was trying to come to grips with the disaster I’d just seen. None of this had made any sense to me. I was mature for my age, but a fifteen-year-old can draw just so much from experience. Even a fifteen-year-old who’s closer to sixteen.

I was alone in the conference room. My parents went home. I told them that I would take a P-cab back to Brookline. I heard the door open behind me. Even with my back to the door, I knew that Eva stood there. Everyone has a unique sonic signature, although hers is more like an absence where there should be a presence, like a chalk outline where a body had been. I sensed a small hole in the air currents that blew into the boardroom when the door opened. She displaced so little air that she might as well not exist.

She stopped just inside the door. Neither of us moved nor spoke for at least a minute. I was looking out the