“Just a little dizzy. I’ll be okay.”
“At least you ought to sit down. There’s a table. I’ll get you a glass of water. My name’s Mia, by the way.”
Why was she so kind? Why was anyone? After a too-long pause, Sonia said, “Thank you,” and they sat at a table near the one from which Sonia had exploded an emotional bomb. A bomb that had wounded many people, including Mia and perhaps others who later paused out of concern, not knowing they were solicitous of Simone’s creator.
Sonia attempted a smile, “I’m not usually like this.”
Mia stared back uncertainly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m a bit of a mess myself. The Slayer struck again. Simone. That bitch.”
Sonia picked up her lemon water, sipped, then held the cold, sweating glass in her hands. “Someone should take her down.” Her words sounded odd to her, yet familiar. In a moment she realized: Simone.
Mia’s eyes widened as she leaned back in her chair. “They… they’ve tried.”
“Maybe it will be someone who knows her.”
Sonia noted absently the sound of scrabbling chair legs on cobblestones. Standing now, backing away from the table, Mia said, “Nobody knows her.”
Sonia nodded. Her head cleared. “Yes, of course. Nobody does.”
The Martian Job
JAINE FENN
Jaine Fenn’s short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies and in various magazines including On Spec and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Her space opera short story “Liberty Bird” won the 2016 British Science Fiction Association Short Fiction Award. She is also the author of the Hidden Empire series of far-future science fiction novels, published by Gollancz. She lives in rural England with her husband and the obligatory excess of books, and she currently writes for the video game industry, where she has worked on the Total War and Halo franchises.
In the action-packed adventure that follows, she takes us to Mars for a caper that turns out to be much more complicated, and far more dangerous, than anyone thought it would be.
“If you’re listening to this, I’m dead.”
You have got to be kidding me.
That was what I thought, at that moment. Not: Why is my brother getting in contact after all these years? Not: Oh no, Shiv’s dead! No: I was exasperated at the screaming cliché. Real people don’t say melodramatic crap like that. But a cliché’s just something that’s been true too many times and one woman’s melodrama is another’s tragedy.
I paused the recording. My brother’s smiling face froze.
I’d been given the chip less than an hour ago, when I dropped round to collect a box of clothes from the apartment. “This arrived yesterday,” Ken had said in that neutral, careful tone he’s taken to using with me. But we’ve been married long enough that I knew he was curious about the unexpected package, with its offworld customs sticker. I made like it was something I’d been expecting, but he saw through that, though he pretended not to. And I pretended I didn’t notice him pretending not to.
Shiv’s image stared up at me from my phone; I’d had to hire a chip-reader from the local cornershop-cum-pornbroker and it wouldn’t talk to the screen in my hotel-room-cum-cupboard. The last time I’d seen my half-brother was on the vidlink from Ma’s trial, when he’d looked stricken, silent, and serious. On this recording he had more lines on his face but looked fit and well, with the same indefatigable smile, restless hands, breathless speech.
As I went to restart the recording I had an incoming call. Mr. Lau. I took it, of course. He was most apologetic about disturbing my evening, but he’d just been notified of a delegation arriving from Beijing in two days, and they needed confirmation of the travel arrangements by lunchtime, their time. No need to go into the office, should only take up an hour of my time.
The chip had to be Shiv’s idea of a joke, and it wasn’t one I expected to find funny. Like a good little wageslave I put my life on hold and danced to my boss’s tune.
It took an hour and a half to make the initial reservations. By then it was after midnight and I couldn’t face dealing with Shiv’s message. Tomorrow was threatening to be another long day. I should get some sleep.
But first, I went out to the loud and badly lit bar down the street, found a drunk young man with good abs and minimal conversational skills, brought him back to this pokey excuse for a room, and had a decent, if cramped, bout of meaningless sex.
My name is Lizzie Choi, and this is the story of how I became the most wanted person in the Solar System.
This was the second time in a month we’d had sudden notification of a visitation from Head Office: the massive gamble that was Project Rainfall was sending ripples through every part of Everlight.
In addition to the flights and hotels I’d booked overnight, the next morning I added chauffeur-driven vehicles, a private dinner at the Savoy, plus a selection of diversions for the three spouses and pair of teenaged children accompanying the half-dozen–strong delegation. And far be it from me to imply this was any sort of jolly for said spouses and kids. Still, the Chinese do love London; the bits of it they don’t already own, anyway.
By lunchtime, our time, everything was in place for the visit and I was ready to start my ten-hour work day. I asked Mr. Lau if he was free to speak with me before he headed out for his lunchtime meeting. He invited me into his office, and greeted me with his usual avuncular smile.
“Another path smoothed. Thank you, Ms. Choi.”
I smiled back. From where I stood, between his two plush visitor chairs, I noticed that the orchid stem in the lacquered vase on the southwest corner of his desk had a small brown blemish on the underside of the main blossom, only visible from this angle; I made a mental note to get it replaced before he returned from lunch. “My pleasure as ever, Mr. Lau. However, whilst your gratitude is my most treasured reward, current circumstances force me to mention the possibility I raised some weeks back, that of a remuneration review.” Or, to put it another way You’re not a bad boss, but I need more money.
His eyes went to the orchid. Perhaps the blemish was visible from his side. “Your circumstances. Ah, yes.” Not a bad boss, but with an old-fashioned view on infidelity and divorce. “I will see what can be done, given the current corporate climate, Ms. Choi.” Or, to put it another way, Fat chance.
While Mr. Lau was out at lunch an automated system called my personal phone asking if I’d accept a reverse-charge offworld call. I assumed it must be some mistake, then wondered if this was Shiv following up on his odd little joke. But it wasn’t from Mars, it was from Luna.
If it was who I suspected it might be then this wasn’t a call I could take at work, even alone in the office. I refused it. As I did so I realised there was only one reason my mother would be allowed to call me in the first place.
After years spent disentangling myself from the disaster that was my family, they were back in my life.
If Mr. Lau noticed I wasn’t at my best that afternoon he didn’t say anything.
I got away from the office as early as I could. I needed to listen to Shiv’s message all the way through. But my phone chirped again as soon as I was outside. I queried the call source. It came from Luna Authority Correctional Facility Six. She wasn’t going to give up. I waited until I was back in my tiny room before bowing to the inevitable.
She didn’t look that much older; a bit thinner in the face, but healthy and with her hair colour back to glossy chestnut. Behind her the blank wall was painted a soft and non-institutional blue. “Hello, Mother,” I said before she could open her mouth.