chapter 25
NEVER GET AHEAD
The range of Lucca Brezhnaya’s emotional states had severely contracted through the centuries. She had attempted to eliminate all
strong emotion, but anger remained and revealed itself in either a white-hot rage or ice-cold calculation. In her rages, Lucca killed
things, destroyed things. In her cooler moments, she plotted destruction, carefully weighing the many possibilities before her.
She considered it very unfair that so much of her time had to be devoted to destruction. All she’d ever wanted was to cultivate her
world as would a careful gardener his garden. But if weeds and weevils crept in, they must be burned or squashed. How else could
one ensure a healthy garden?
Once, when Zussman had lain ill, Lucca had ventured to a café for her morning coffee. She’d been struck by something she’d
overheard. A housefrau was complaining to a friend: I can never get ahead. No matter how many times I sweep the floor, there’s
always a fresh mess the next day. Lucca sympathized. As well, she felt good about her empathy; the fact that she could empathize
meant she was still human. She was simply a common human Writ Large, was she not?
She sighed, tapping her dark red nails upon her desk.
Today she was in a cool mood. She was angry, certainly, but in an icy way that her staff often mistook for calm. Look how well she’s
handling her nephew’s betrayal, they murmured. Somehow, word had leaked out that all was not well between aunt and nephew.
She would have to see to eliminating further leakage. But right now she needed to see to Pavel.
So. He refused to come home.
Very well. Lucca knew how to communicate with him over space and time. She smiled. She brought up a listing of all the hospitals
at which Pavel had volunteered the past five years. Of course, he’d logged the most actual hours at New Kelen here in Budapest.
Lucca sighed. It was tempting. But, no, she would not risk making her government look weak by arranging an attack upon a hospital
in the capitol city.
No, the destruction of one building in Budapest had been quite enough, thank you very much dear nephew of mine, she thought,
bringing her palm down upon a tiny spider crossing her desk.
At first she’d not known he’d been at the Martian satellite facility. When she’d learned of it, she momentarily wondered if Pavel’s only
goal had been to destroy something, anything, in the capitol city as a way to strike at her. But this possibility had been swiftly
eliminated by the fact that he’d chosen to steal away from New Timbuktu with Kazuko and the other inciter.
No, he was involved in the group secretly planning to visit Mars. She was sure of it now. He wanted an adventure, or tellurium wealth,
or simply to do something he knew his aunt wouldn’t like.
Of course, she reassured herself, he could have no way of knowing why she wouldn’t like it.
She needed to communicate to him swiftly. To nip this little Mars venture in the bud. She stood and paced—thinking, considering.
And then she remembered a tiny something about one of the hospitals. Hadn’t he persuaded her one Christmas to make an
excessive donation to one of them? Yes, she was certain. He’d declined interest in any gifts for himself that year, asking only for this
charity.
She returned to her desk. There it was. The Hospital for Mental Illness and Recovering Minds. It was an elegant choice as well; if you
were going to create a shortage of bodies for the Re-body Program, best do it by eliminating those least deserving of re-bodying.
Paris had been a mistake in that regard. The Re-body Program had lost some very healthy bodies that day.
She called in the two members of Red Squadron who had failed her so miserably at New Timbuktu, glad she’d spared their lives
after all.
“The pair of you are volunteering for a special mission. I’m in need of a few … committed inciters,” she said. The two officers
glanced at one another as if to say, “Did she just say what I think she said?”
Lucca smiled. She adored the moment of puzzled confusion that always followed pronouncements such as this.
“Your target is the Hospital for Mental Illness and Recovering Minds in Hong Kong. I want something messy.” She paused, imagining
Pavel’s reaction. “Very messy.”