Lem gestured back toward the corridor. “You go on ahead. We shouldn’t both be seen coming out of the shaft at once.”
“Smart. Good luck, Lem.” He pushed his way through the sheets of plastic hanging from the ceiling to keep the dust and cold out and made his way back to the corridor, his steps bouncy and light without a magnetic floor beneath them to compensate for Luna’s low gravity.
Lem watched him go. If Ramdakan was smart, he’d see Lem’s game and play along, knowing that his best chance of staying afloat when Lem took Father’s place was to prove himself now as Lem’s loyal servant. If Ramdakan wasn’t smart—which was more likely—he’d believe Lem was sincere and do exactly as Lem had asked. Either way, Lem won.
He tapped into his holopad and sent the message to his assistants that the good-faith payment they had already prepared for the LTD was a go. It was an enormous amount, yes, a very large portion of Lem’s fortune, but like everything else Lem spent his money on, it was an investment. You don’t make money without spending money, and if this worked, if Lem ascended to Father’s position at this ripe young age, he had a lifetime ahead of him to make back a hundred times that or more.
And if it didn’t work, well, that’s what lawyers were for. He’d get back most of it in the end. Then he could leave the company and go turn that investment into a bigger fortune elsewhere. It wasn’t hard, really. Once you had your first few hundred million, the money did most of the work for you.
But it would work. He knew it would. He had made gambles like this before, and he’d always been right. He would release Imala’s findings to the press in a week or so, going first to the underground press on the nets, away from the journalists Father owned. And he’d leak the news of his good-faith payment to the LTD as well. He would spin it to give the impression that he had made an enormous personal sacrifice to save the thousands of jobs that would have been lost as a result of the company’s poor performance. There were all kinds of human-interest stories there. He made a mental note to have a video crew start shooting B-roll of blue-collar types working in the factories. The press ate that crap up.
And of course none of the leaks would be traced back to him. In fact, he’d do all that he could to give the impression of avoiding the press, which meant exiting buildings where he knew they would be gathered and then rushing to his car to avoid their barrage of questions. “My father is a good man,” he would say. “Any mistake he’s made now can’t overshadow a career of enormous success.”
There would be a plant in the crowd, naturally. A reporter who would shout over the others, just as Lem was climbing into the skimmer: “Mr. Jukes, what do you say to the rumors that the Board is considering you as a replacement for your father?”
And Lem would look somewhat hurt by the question—stung that anyone would dare to suggest that Father was no longer fit for the position. “I’m honored the Board thinks me capable, but no one can replace my father.” And then he would zip away, leaving them with a response that wasn’t exactly a confirmation of the rumor and yet wasn’t a denial either. And if there’s one thing the press loved, it was a mystery. They would pounce on the rumor like sharks and as a result of all the attention they gave it, they would give truth to it. And yet there would be Lem, the dutiful son, passively acknowledging that, yes, he was capable and, yes, the man for the job.
He waited another five minutes then caught a skimmer to the Juke production facility where crews were mounting glasers to the drones. Father was scheduled to check in on their progress, and Lem was more than a little curious himself. He didn’t have access to that wing of the facility, despite his requests to Simona to give him one, but if he simply showed up, Father wouldn’t run him off.
Probably.
He arrived before Father, as planned, and met the foreman, a stout man named Bullick, in the lobby. Bullick fidgeted nervously as they waited, and Lem tried to put the man’s mind at ease. “I’m sure you’re doing a fine job. My father doesn’t bite too fiercely.”
The skimmer arrived on schedule. Simona was out first, followed by Father, who had replaced his suit for a more casual workingman’s slacks and blue oxford shirt. He tried to hide his surprise when he spotted Lem. “Did you hack my schedule, Lem, or did you just happen to be in the neighborhood?”
“Both,” said Lem, then he frowned at Simona. “Really, Simona, you should guard that holopad of yours more closely. It’s a gold mine of information.” He winked at her, and she answered him with a nasty glare. In truth, he had acquired the information elsewhere, but it amused Lem to see her face turn that red. It was kind of cute.