The Operator

Silas rocked from foot to foot, clearly uneasy. Thomas, too, hesitated until Helen’s expression shifted to one of irritation, whereupon he turned and walked away to stand at one of the cold-looking benches surrounding the platform. Her gaze lost about half its ire, and she forced a tight smile at Silas.

“I’ll be fine,” Peri said, and his eyes went to the shotgun. “I’m here to talk. That’s it.”

Helen’s smile became real. “Thomas, take Silas up and get him some coffee. He looks half-asleep.” Neither man moved, and the woman leaned toward Peri. “I’m not stupid. There are six people watching you through scopes.”

“I’d be offended if it were any less.” Peri uncocked her gun and hung it over her arm.

Helen laughed, touching Peri’s shoulder familiarly. Peri didn’t mind, liking the woman’s personal power. Slowly the two men moved off. At her feet, the dog swished his tail.

“I regret that I hadn’t taken the initiative to meet sooner, and now having done so, I understand Bill’s continued reluctance to let you leave. But I also understand about the desire to retire—to perhaps pursue one’s own plans. Is this your intent?”

Is this my intent? Peri brought her gaze back from the silver and gold the marsh had become in the new light. “One’s benign, not politically involved plans,” she hedged.

Helen frowned. “Do you truly wish to retire, or are you standing your ground, obstinate in the face of Bill’s continued insistence?”

Warning tightened in her, but it wasn’t an unexpected question. Her thoughts went to the Evocane vial in her pocket, and she wondered whether they were trying to search her car even now. It would take her living thumbprint to open the safe.

“Bill’s clumsy attempt to force your hand by hooking you on Evocane was ill thought out,” Helen said, clearly adept at reading people. “You stole his accelerator. You want to remember. Be your own anchor, yes?”

“I kept it to force him to leave me alone, Ms. Yeomon, not to become addicted to a new leash holder. Replacing anchors with a chemical shackle is what has been ill thought out.”

Helen huffed, her gaze drawn by the incoming birds. “Why? Chemicals are not greedy as many anchors are. They don’t think they’re anything other than a watchdog or ask for more as their faulty view of themselves grows. They do not fall in love, look the other way. They do not lie to you or manipulate. They are clean and pure.”

The memory of Jack rose, a fractured sensation of emotion that made Peri’s chest hurt, and she studied Helen’s profile against the rising sun, memorizing it, wondering whether that smooth, surgical perfection had ever twisted in love or passion, anger or hate.

“Look,” Helen said, chin lifting, “here comes another flight. Get ready.”

Helen put the shotgun to her shoulder with a smooth expertise. Still, there were six rifles pointed at her if she was to be believed, and Peri didn’t move.

“You have nothing to gain by killing me, and everything by cooperating,” Helen said, sighting down the barrel. “Shoot a bird. I insist.”

Motion laughingly slow, Peri readied her weapon. The world seemed to fall away as she sighted down the barrel, finding a bird intent on landing with the rest. Still, she held off, waiting for Helen to shoot first as was polite.

The twin pops of Helen’s gun echoed, numbing Peri’s ears, and Peri let her gun droop.

“You had a great shot,” Helen said, and Peri handed her the shotgun, done with games.

“They were mergansers. They taste like fish.” Bitter and oily, like the remnants of her feelings for Jack. She couldn’t decide which was worse, a leash that pretended to love, or one that was unfeeling and oblivious.

Helen frowned. “And you keep what you kill. I appreciate that.” Eyes narrowed, the woman brusquely motioned for the dog to retrieve her ducks, and the Lab launched himself off the dock. Helen’s fingers were white with cold as she reloaded her shotgun and snapped it shut. “Are you steadfast on retiring, Reed? Yes or no.”

Peri felt better not holding a weapon. “Yes.” Anger and disappointment rose up anew, drowning out her wary caution. “Dr. Denier has developed a substitute Evocane. You left a big hole in your fence, and I’m taking it. Using addiction to control your drafters instead of anchors is only as good as your chemists, and I’ve got a better one.”

Helen’s breath steamed in the bright light, obscuring her face. “A hole in my fence indeed. Thank you, Peri. This is why I insisted Bill use his best for the live trial.”

The woman motioned, sharply, and Peri jumped when a dart hit her arm, stabbing through the thick wool and the WEFT jacket underneath without hesitation.

“Y-you,” Peri stammered as she pulled the dart out, feeling it slip from her fingers. Her arm was numb even before the metal dart clattered on the wooden dock. “I won’t draft so you can scrub me. I’ll die first.” Shit, she had trusted this woman, and why?

“I’m not scrubbing you. I’m scrubbing the program. If Denier can synthesize an Evocane substitute that easily, then any agent under its influence can be hijacked with a minimal investment. We need, as you say, a better chemist.”

Lips pressed together in annoyance, Helen took a step back when Peri fell and Michael paced onto the platform. It felt as if knives were being slid in and out of her muscles every time she moved. “She won’t flip. Dispose of her,” the woman said, her expression peeved as they both peered down as if Peri were a marvelous bug.