the largest residential barges orbiting in the Second Free Zone. The last thing I need is one of my own flaking out and losing his marbles on some
Alaungpaya
civilian or breaking down in tears. So, hey, do me a favor here. Give me a number I can work with.”
After a few seconds of mulling it over, Flynn said, “Does a month sound okay?”
His lieutenant scowled. “Pull your file and encode your resignation today. You’ve got two weeks. Officially I’m putting you on statistics for the remainder of your tenure until termination.”
* * *
“I don’t watch the tiger fights,” Flynn says, instantly regretting engaging with the kid’s passions.
The kid gasps and rocks back on his heels. “Don’t watch the tiger fights?”
“No,” Flynn answers. “I don’t watch the tiger fights.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t.”
The kid slouches, still unable to contain his disbelief. “But why? Me, I can’t help myself but heavy goon at those tiger fights. Grrrrr, they the bestest.”
Flynn has had enough. Quickly he slips his left hand around the kid’s head and presses the recorder hard into the side of the boy’s skull. The intensity of his grip and the edged pressure from the small device hurts like hell and Flynn knows it. It feels good to Flynn to inflict a little pain, and once more he feels dark waves of misplaced, Depressus-fueled rage bubbling up inside. The kid gets his focus swift.
“Hey, man—take it easy!”
“I don’t have time for this, son. What happened?”
The boy winces. “Right-right—ow! So, that big redhead? Sh-she goes after the first woman at speed and attacks. And that first one? She like knows that redhead be coming at her so she drops sideways with a kick and bounces that redhead right off the walls. The redhead hits the ground and next the first woman drops, like, a zillion elbows rapid, like, all over on her. Never seen such speed. I can’t be sure, but I think she might’ve broken that redhead’s leg.”
“Did the redhead scream?”
“Nah, but she be done for sure, you bet. Hallelujah chorus and done. Then—drong! The other woman start to mark her.”
“Mark her?”
“C’mon, man. See, that’s what I’m talking about. If you ever bothered to goon the tiger fights, now, you’d know.”
Flynn recalls hearing something about the fighters’ sadistic traditions.
“Did the first woman bite out the redhead’s eye?”
“Didn’t look like it to me,” the kid answers, squirming. “But that other one? She looked up and saw me gooning straight at her. Freaked me all out. Kind of thought for a second there she was going to attack me, but then she turned and dropped down one of those plummet chutes back there. The second one, I think.”
Flynn skeptically eyeballs the access tunnel and the plummet chute mouths along the walls. On
Alaungpaya
, plummet chutes are used to provide convenient deck-to-deck transitions. But no one really uses the chutes that much anymore because the twisting, one-way tubes are dank, poorly lit, and sticky with trash. For the nine-billionth time in his wretched life, Flynn wonders why visual verifiers aren’t on
Alaungpaya
’s commercial decks. Screw the whining about freedoms and personal liberties, not having visuals in sectors like this is just plain stupid.
“What happened next?” Flynn asks.
“I run and report it straight up. Then, like, ten minutes later you come.”
“What about the redhead? A messed-up leg like you say, I don’t think she could have gotten far. Did you see where she took off to?”
“No,” the kid answers. “When I run and report it and wait for you, she was, like, gone. Maybe she took a plummet chute too.”
Flynn releases the kid’s neck and steps back. Grumbling, the kid makes a big show of rubbing the indentations on the side of his head.
“Is that it?” the kid asks.
“Yeah,” Flynn answers. “That’s it.”
Flynn puts a header
Alaungpaya
civilian or breaking down in tears. So, hey, do me a favor here. Give me a number I can work with.”
After a few seconds of mulling it over, Flynn said, “Does a month sound okay?”
His lieutenant scowled. “Pull your file and encode your resignation today. You’ve got two weeks. Officially I’m putting you on statistics for the remainder of your tenure until termination.”
* * *
“I don’t watch the tiger fights,” Flynn says, instantly regretting engaging with the kid’s passions.
The kid gasps and rocks back on his heels. “Don’t watch the tiger fights?”
“No,” Flynn answers. “I don’t watch the tiger fights.”
“Not even a little?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t.”
The kid slouches, still unable to contain his disbelief. “But why? Me, I can’t help myself but heavy goon at those tiger fights. Grrrrr, they the bestest.”
Flynn has had enough. Quickly he slips his left hand around the kid’s head and presses the recorder hard into the side of the boy’s skull. The intensity of his grip and the edged pressure from the small device hurts like hell and Flynn knows it. It feels good to Flynn to inflict a little pain, and once more he feels dark waves of misplaced, Depressus-fueled rage bubbling up inside. The kid gets his focus swift.
“Hey, man—take it easy!”
“I don’t have time for this, son. What happened?”
The boy winces. “Right-right—ow! So, that big redhead? Sh-she goes after the first woman at speed and attacks. And that first one? She like knows that redhead be coming at her so she drops sideways with a kick and bounces that redhead right off the walls. The redhead hits the ground and next the first woman drops, like, a zillion elbows rapid, like, all over on her. Never seen such speed. I can’t be sure, but I think she might’ve broken that redhead’s leg.”
“Did the redhead scream?”
“Nah, but she be done for sure, you bet. Hallelujah chorus and done. Then—drong! The other woman start to mark her.”
“Mark her?”
“C’mon, man. See, that’s what I’m talking about. If you ever bothered to goon the tiger fights, now, you’d know.”
Flynn recalls hearing something about the fighters’ sadistic traditions.
“Did the first woman bite out the redhead’s eye?”
“Didn’t look like it to me,” the kid answers, squirming. “But that other one? She looked up and saw me gooning straight at her. Freaked me all out. Kind of thought for a second there she was going to attack me, but then she turned and dropped down one of those plummet chutes back there. The second one, I think.”
Flynn skeptically eyeballs the access tunnel and the plummet chute mouths along the walls. On
Alaungpaya
, plummet chutes are used to provide convenient deck-to-deck transitions. But no one really uses the chutes that much anymore because the twisting, one-way tubes are dank, poorly lit, and sticky with trash. For the nine-billionth time in his wretched life, Flynn wonders why visual verifiers aren’t on
Alaungpaya
’s commercial decks. Screw the whining about freedoms and personal liberties, not having visuals in sectors like this is just plain stupid.
“What happened next?” Flynn asks.
“I run and report it straight up. Then, like, ten minutes later you come.”
“What about the redhead? A messed-up leg like you say, I don’t think she could have gotten far. Did you see where she took off to?”
“No,” the kid answers. “When I run and report it and wait for you, she was, like, gone. Maybe she took a plummet chute too.”
Flynn releases the kid’s neck and steps back. Grumbling, the kid makes a big show of rubbing the indentations on the side of his head.
“Is that it?” the kid asks.
“Yeah,” Flynn answers. “That’s it.”
Flynn puts a header
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