Free Windswept by Adam Rakunas Page A

Saarien. “I mean, really, Sister Padma… calling the police on my crew? What kind of Solidarity is that?”
    “The same kind you used whenever you snagged Breaches for yourself?” I said. “You really think throwing more people into your refinery is going to make it work better?”
    “Our output is the highest on Santee,” said Saarien.
    “Because everyone else’s places are starving for the parts and labor you keep taking for yourself,” I said. “Maybe if you actually listened to everyone else during Union meetings instead of whining about what you need, you’d remember that.”
    “Looks to me like you’re the one putting herself ahead of what’s good for the Union,” said Saarien. “I hear you spend more time trying to get in good with Tonggow than you do with your own people.”
    I bit back a shout. “Rutey, what does it matter to you if I add five more people to my headcount? They’ll still be in the Union. Isn’t that what matters?”
    “What matters is that you play by the rules,” said Saarien.
    “I do,” I said. “And the rules say whoever makes the recovery gets the bodies.”
    “Bodies?” said one of the old ladies.
    “You are going to kill us!” screeched the other.
    “It’s just an expression,” I said over my shoulder, but Mimi was already bawling, and the two semi-comatose old ladies joined in. I turned to put a hand on Mimi’s shoulder to calm her, but got a punch in the face instead. Not a slap. A close-fisted, arm-swung-way-back haymaker that had me seeing stars. I staggered, lost my footing and collapsed in a heap.
    When my head cleared, I looked up at the Breach with the scarred face. Her one good eye narrowed. “Don’t you ever lay hands on her again.” And then she kicked sand in my face.
    By the time I got to my feet and wiped the sticky muck from my mouth, the Breaches filed behind Saarien’s thugs and onto the bus. One of the goons had draped the dead Breach over his shoulder like a stack of cane. “Hey!” I yelled, staggering to my feet, “they’re with me, you assholes!” The goons turned, and one of them put a hand the size of a baby in my face. I slapped it away, which felt just like slapping a brick wall coated in meat.
    As the bus rumbled away, Saarien leaned out a window and waved. “Thank you for supporting Sou’s Reach again, Sister Padma!” he called, holding up a closed fist. “Solidarity!”
    “You bastard!” I yelled. “If I get my hands on you, I’m going to pound you until your brains are jelly!” I tried to give him the finger, but my now-throbbing hand couldn’t move.
    “That wasn’t the picture of Solidarity that I’d expected,” Banks called out from behind me. I spun around; he was peeking out from in the launch’s pilot house.
    “What are you still doing there?” I said.
    “I’m not a fan of conflict,” he said, hopping off the boat. “Those guys looked like they were full of it.”
    “They’re full of something,” I said.
    “He wasn’t with WalWa, right?” said Banks. “Some kind of undercover thing? I mean, that guy’s white suit looked like something out of Corporate Recruitment.”
    “That’s because he was, before he Breached,” I said. “I guess he liked the cut of the clothes.”
    “And he runs a refinery? Shouldn’t he be doing, y’know, recruitment?”
    “He does,” I said. “But he also has to eat, and that means he has to hustle, just like the rest of us. It’s not like the old days when you had ships lining up ten deep at the anchor, all of ’em full of crews waiting to jump ship. If we want to stay free, everyone works at everything, including the dirty stuff.” I wiped my good hand on my jacket. “Though how that son of a bitch keeps that suit clean is a mystery.”
    “You don’t get along?”
    “No, no, we’re the best of friends. That’s why I let him shanghai your buddies to his little molasses pit.” I patted his shoulder. “Come on. If you ever want to see them again, we