Artemis

I had fifteen messages, fourteen of which were Dad desperately trying to get in touch with me. “Sorry, Dad,” I said to myself. “You don’t want none of this, and I don’t want none of it on you.”

The fifteenth email was from Jin Chu.

Ms. Bashara. Thank you for saving my life—your actions at the hotel kept me safe. At least, I assume the woman in my room was you—you’re the only other (surviving) person involved in this plot-gone-wrong. Now that I’m aware of the threat, I have made arrangements for my safety and I am staying hidden. Can we meet? I would like to arrange for your safety as well. I owe you that. —Jin Chu

Interesting. I ran a few scenarios in my head and settled on a plan.

Ok. Meet me at my father’s welding shop tomorrow at 8am. The address is CD6-3028. If you’re not there by 8:05 I’m gone.

I set an alarm on my Gizmo for four a.m. and crawled into my rathole.

The thing that sucks about life-or-death situations is how boring they can be.

I waited in Dad’s shop for three hours. I didn’t have to show up at five a.m., but I’d be damned if I was going to let Jin Chu show up before I did.

I leaned a chair against the back wall of the shop, right next to the air shelter where I’d snuck my first cigarette. I

remember I damn near puked from all the smoke that built up but hey, when you’re a rebellious teen and you think you’re making a statement, it’s worth it. “Take that, Daddy!”

God, I was such a dipshit.

I checked the clock on the wall every ten seconds as eight a.m. approached. I fiddled with a handheld blowtorch to pass the time. Dad used it to shrink seals onto pipe fittings. It wasn’t “welding,” but you had to do it in a fireproof room, so he offered it as one of his services.

I kept my finger by the ignition trigger. It wasn’t a gun (there were no guns in Artemis) but it could hurt someone if they came too close. I wanted to be ready for anything.

The far door opened at 8:00 on the dot. Jin Chu stepped through gingerly. He hunched his shoulders and darted his gaze around like a frightened gazelle. He spotted me in the corner and waved awkwardly. “Uh…hi.”

“You’re punctual,” I said. “Thanks.”

He stepped forward. “Sure, I—”

“Stay over there,” I said. “I’m not feeling super-trusting today.”

“Yeah okay, okay.” He took a breath and let it out unevenly. “Look, I’m really sorry. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I just thought I could make a few bucks, you know? Like a finder’s fee?”

I tossed the blowtorch from one hand to the other. Just to make sure he saw it. “For what? What the hell is going on around here?”

“For telling Trond and O Palácio about ZAFO. In separate, confidential transactions, of course.”

“I see.” I scowled at the weaselly little shit. “And then you made more money by selling out Trond to O Palácio when their harvesters blew up?”

“Well, yeah. But it’s not like that was going to stay secret. Once he took over the oxygen contract they woulda worked it out.”

“How did they find out I did the sabotage?”

He looked at his feet.

I groaned. “You are such an asshole!”

“It’s not my fault! They offered me so much money!”

“How did you even know I did it?”

“Trond told me. He gets chatty when he’s drunk.” He frowned. “He was a cool guy. I didn’t think anyone would get hurt, I just—”

“You just thought you’d stir up a billionaire and a mob syndicate and nothing would happen? Fuck you.”

He fidgeted for a few seconds. “So…do you have the ZAFO sample? The case from my hotel room?”