The Operator

“Good story. I’d stick with that.” Head down, Michael went back to his messages. He’d thought Bill would have written her off once she’d run again, but the man was obsessed. He always had given the ladies preferential treatment. Peri Reed would have to be dead before he’d get advanced, and Michael wasn’t that patient.

“Will you put that bloody hell thing away. I’m talking to you.”

Sighing, Michael rolled it up and tucked his phone into a front pocket. “Yes, Dad.”

“You are a bloody hell piece of work,” Bill snarled, his accent becoming worse as the alcohol took a stronger grip. “I won’t risk you until I have more assurance it’s not going to rot your brain in the long term.”

“I got news for you, Bill. I’m not going to die in a bed.”

“We still don’t know if the maintenance drug remains effective in the long term.”

“Just admit you’d rather give it to her.” Michael tapped his fingers on the worn fabric of the chair, unsure of what to do with his hands now that his phone was gone. He knew he sounded petulant, but he’d refused his pain meds, and his chest hurt every time he breathed.

“It’s not ready, you’re not ready,” Bill said, and Michael’s eyes narrowed, an old anger surfacing. “We wait.”

“You want me dependent on someone else,” he prompted, his breath going shallow when Bill’s silence told him he was right. He sat up, slowing when his ribs ached. “I read her file. I know what you did to her. Wiped three years of her memory to keep her useful. Gave her a false one. Twisted her into an obedient bitch who’d die for you. I’m not letting you do that to me.”

“That’s where you have it wrong.” Bill’s face was empty of emotion. “Peri would never die for me,” he said. “It’s the thrill she’d die for. The chance to outwit the odds. She’s perfect.”

Michael jiggled his foot impatiently. He knew the feeling, but he didn’t like that she might share it with him, that she might understand. It was his feeling, not hers. “A perfect pain in the ass,” he muttered.

Jerked back to the present, Bill curled his lip. Motions rough, he took another swallow from the bottle. “She’s perfect,” he said again. “And if she’d just accelerate herself and realize I’ve turned her into a goddess, she’d come home.”

She has the accelerator on her? Michael froze at the sudden realization. That little nugget of information hadn’t reached him. “She has it?” he said as Bill set the bottle down with a sharp click. “Has she used it?”

“I don’t know.”

It was terse and distracted, and Michael settled himself deeper into the cushions, not liking the uncertainty.

“Stay away from her.” Bill’s expression was empty, and for the first time, Michael couldn’t read what was going on behind his eyes. “She’ll kill you if she feels threatened. I’ll accelerate you myself when we know it’s safe. You understand me? You’re all I have left, Michael, and I’m not going to risk you. Not on this. Let Peri bear the danger.”

Kill him? Doubtful, but he’d seen the med wing where they kept the people they’d tried the accelerator on, retired drafters or those with the ability to draft but too far gone to be reintroduced to society. It was deathly silent and ugly. “I hear you,” he said, and Bill moved his bulk from behind the desk, the grace of it reminding Michael that Bill could still break men’s heads like boards. His past wasn’t as pretty as he pretended, and if he kept pushing, he’d remind Michael of that.

“Do you?” Bill leaned over Michael, almost pinning him to the chair.

Michael looked up, pushing the older man out of his space with a single finger. “I just said I heard you. Why am I here? I’ve already been debriefed.”

Bill’s lips twitched at the hesitant knock at the door, pushing himself up and away from Michael. “Come!” he shouted, then turned back to Michael. “I’m glad we have this understanding,” he threatened.

I understand I’m the only drafter you got left, old man, and that you gave the accelerator to an AWOL. Michael looked at the door as it opened, but it was only Jack, and he settled back, dismissing him. The blond man had once been Opti’s star anchor, but he was little more than an accessory now, skilled but useless without a drafter to glom onto. “If you think I’m taking Jack as my new anchor, you’re sorely mistaken,” Michael intoned, reaching for his phone as a message came in. It was that woman, telling him to get bent, and he smiled as he tucked his phone away. Worth a shot.

“Hey, hi,” Jack said, scanning the room before taking the chair beside Michael’s, scooting it an inch or two away before settling down. “The feeling is mutual, Bill. There’s no way in hell I’m going to pair up with Michael.”

“Good.” Bill poured a second shot glass and pushed it across the desk to Jack. “That’s not why I called you in.”

“Then why?” Michael asked, his mind only half on the conversation. Bill gave the accelerator to Reed? Let her walk away with it? No, this crap about wanting her back as a test subject was just that.

“Because Jack knows what Peri might do next and what resources she might have that I don’t know about.” Bill sipped his scotch. “Jack was her anchor for three years. He ingrained most of her hangups, knows her better than I do. If anyone can second-guess her, it’s him, and we need to keep tabs on her as this runs its course.”