“Uhm, uh, with, uhm, you?” Nocera sneered, made dying-insect-leg motions with his arms. Cranked up a joke-Jesusland accent from network comedy stock. “Duh, darlin’, how kin ah refuse such a laidy. Uhm, praise, uhm, th’ everlovin’ Lord.”
Scott felt his fists clench. He’d been in enough scuffles back home to know he wasn’t much of a fighter, and to know from looking at Nocera that he was. He’d seen the scars when the older man was getting into and out of a wet suit, read it also in his stance and the blank challenge of the unkind eyes. It was like looking at a later edition of Jack Mackenzie’s older brother, the one who’d enlisted on his sixteenth birthday and come home a year later, sunburned and full of scalp tales from places none of them had ever heard of.
Still, he’d taken about as much of Nocera’s Rim superiority as he—
Ren glided into the gap almost before Scott realized he was turning to face the other man.
“I said a coffee, Scott. Not a broken nose.” She nodded at the door. “Come on. Leave this dickhead to play with himself.”
“Be a lot more fun than playing with you, Ren.” Nocera leaned past Ren’s hip, still in his chair, still grinning. “I’m telling you, kid, I know her sort inside out. Been there, eaten the pussy. You will have more fun jerking off.”
Scott surged forward, fists raised. The new flush slammed through him, itching at the roots of his hair and burning across his cheeks. He saw the grin slide off Nocera’s face, replaced with a sudden, speculative interest. The other man’s boots swung unhurriedly off the console to the floor. Scott knew then he was going to get a kicking, but fuck it—
And suddenly he was pressed up against Ren. Flash scent of her hair, still damp, warmth of skin and soft curves right underneath his eyes, and then she pushed him firmly back toward the door. The look on her face wasn’t friendly.
“Get out,” she said, firm as the hand on his chest. “Wait for me upstairs.”
He went, stumbling a little, shame and relief pulsing through him in about equal quantities. The door closed behind him, shutting down whatever Nocera was sneering to a barely audible murmur. Ren’s angry tones trod it down. He wanted to stay and listen but….
He went quietly along the bulb-lit metal corridor, up the clanking metal steps to the topside offices, and out into the late-afternoon sunlight, still breathing tightly. He crossed to the rail on one of the wharf’s access gantries and gripped the carbon-fiber weave in both fists as if he could crush it. He stared down at his whitened knuckles.
…fucking Nocera, fucking Rim assholes, fucking place…
But he’d known, a small, calm part of himself came and reminded him. He’d always known what it was going to be like. He’d known because Uncle Leland, who’d been Rimside before he was born, had told him all about it. Pastor William had told him, too, in bitten-off hellfire-tinged terms. His mother had wept and told him, again and again. His friends had jeered and told him.
Everyone had told him, because everyone knew what they thought of Republicans out on the godless Rim. Hard grind and hatred, it was all they’d offer him. They’d use him up, spit on him while they were doing it, and if the immigration bogeys didn’t get him, then debt and the gangmasters would. He’d have no rights there, no one to turn to. He’d be nothing, worse than nothing, one of the silent service underclass that were cheaper than machines and had to be as quiet, as uncomplaining and efficient or else bang, your average high-tech high-demand Rim citizen there just went right ahead and junked them for something that’d do the job faster, cheaper, better.
Still, I won’t tell you not to go. Leland, the last week before Scott skipped, parked by Scott’s side on the split-rail fence, watching sunset smear the sky up over the mountains. He didn’t know it, but Scott had already paid the handler in Bozeman the upfront half. He was due on the truck next Tuesday. I won’t tell you not to go, because there’s nothing here for you that’s better. People hate the Rim, and there’s a pot of good reasons for that, but there’ll be chances out there you won’t get here if you stay your whole God-given life. The money hasn’t settled like it has here. It’s still moving, it’s not all classed up and fossilized. You can track it out there, go where it is. Get lucky, you can maybe carve some off for yourself. And if you stay, get legal, get a family, then your kids can maybe have even more. You know, schooling’s free in the Rim. I mean, really free, and real schooling, not the bullcrap we get here.
They sat for a while, and evening deepened the colors of the sunset. The air started to chill.
Why’d you come back then, Wallace? he’d asked finally.
Wallace grinned and looked down at his work-worn hands. You always ask the good ones, Scotty. Why’d I come back? I don’t know, maybe I just wasn’t strong enough to stay away. I missed this place something grim, you know. We both did, me and your pop. We always talked about coming back, and I think that’s what helped us stay away. Then when Daniel had his accident, there was no more talk, no one to talk to, and that missing started to really gnaw at me.
Scott knew the gnawing well. Sometimes he beat it, for days at a time, especially in the early days, the early shit jobs, when work wore him down and left him no strength or time for anything but itself and sleep. But the longing always came back, and now, now he had time, and money put away, he could feel the same crumbling that must have taken Wallace. He said his prayers every night, the way he’d promised Mom he would, went to a Christian church when he could find one, but lately he was confused in the things he thought about praying for.
“You okay now?”
He started. He hadn’t heard Ren come up behind him.
“Where I come from,” he said tightly, straight off, “you don’t talk that way in front of women.”
She inclined her head, gave him a gentle smile. “Well, where I come from we don’t segregate our speech. But thanks, anyway. It was a nice thought. Especially since Nocera would have walked all over you. He’s an asshole, Scott, but that doesn’t mean he can’t handle himself.”
“I know that. I seen his type before.”
“Have you?” She examined him closely for a moment. Raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, you have, haven’t you. Well then, that was a very brave thing you tried to do.”
He felt the bloom of something inside. Felt it wither again as Ren shook her head at him.
“Pretty fucking dumb, but very brave. Shall we go and get that coffee?”
Ward BioSupply had begun life as one of several marine biotech startups working off the Kwok commercial wharf complex, but over time it had absorbed a lot of the neighboring competition and now sprawled across the north end of the complex in a patchwork collection of office prefabs, scaffolded sub docks, and newly built warehousing. To find anything that didn’t belong to Ulysses Ward, you had to walk one of the narrow linking gantries over to the south side, where a run of eateries with sea views catered to the wharf’s workers.
They ducked into a place called Chung’s, which was widely reckoned to be the best of the caffeine joints and had a set of displays running club footage from the Singapore bloodbeat scene.
“This is good,” Ren said, gesturing at the screens with her coffee mug. “Beats that saccharine shit they pipe in on site.”
“Yeah.” Gruffly—he was still smarting a little from her calling him dumb. Besides which, he quite liked the on-site music. And he didn’t really approve of the massed writhing bodies rubbing up against one another’s all-but-nakedness.
She drank, nodded appreciatively at the taste. “Yeah. Be good to be caffeinated, too, come to that. If Ward’s going to shout at us, I want to be awake when he does it. I’ve been up since four this morning.”