Ch. 4 - It was another month until the exit date for the contest. I had a month to kill on Cthonia, and I didn't think that would be bad. I figured I'd keep on in the mines, earn a little extra cred, so I went to work the next day same as always. Shoulda known better. The Imperials commed the “planetary officials” to get my identification paperwork and my secret was blown. The Cthonian Mining Company doesn't like to lose bodies, especially not bodies as productive as mine. Plus, Company paranoia would prefer to have the brain of anyone leaving our homeworld wiped clean so as not to interrupt Company policies with pesky Imperial investigations. So when the Impies contacted the planetary government to get my identification paper confirmed, it was noticed and a memo landed on the desk of Sub-Chief Overseer Gregin, the Governing Monitor of Shaft 4. CorpSec met me at the shaft mouth. There were three of them, plus one in the hovercar to take me to Admin. Two for me and one to cover the others. I wasn't considered a real threat, but they would take no chances. Gregin wanted to see me, and so I would go. The shooter was experienced, his hands rested on the stock of the slugthrower like mine rested on a cutter. He was cold-eyed, efficient, scanning his surroundings and always moving. My two personal escorts were as disparate as could be. The older was an Admin type by birth, a soft hand, untwisted as they tended to be, but made exceptional only by his extreme height. He musta been close to 6 feet and that made him a giant. He was born to the privileged life of an Admin, but his body betrayed him into CorpSec. For him, it would have been a demotion, and his shoulders said he took it real fucking personal. Younger was a miner's child, you could tell by his hands and the shape of his shoulders. He was hunched, like a miner, but huge. He was headed for the mines as a kid and just grew too damn tall, so they co-opted him into CorpSec. For him, it was a great opportunity, a way out of the mines, better money. He probly still had a mom and sibs in the shafts. Tough for family gatherings, but life is like that. I never knew before that point how deep the distrust of Admin was in me and in my family, and I've never been so grateful for Cthonian paranoia in my life. Within two minutes of my being picked up at the shaft by CorpSec, there was debris scattered on the road to slow down the hovercar and even more delays at the fuel stations. All deniable, just bad timing and worse luck, but all calculated to lengthen the trip to Admin Gregin, second by precious second. It took twice as long to get to the Admin complex for Shaft 4 than it should have, and by the time we got there, off work miners were camped out all around it. Everyone remembered the union incident, and Cthonians tend to believe that trouble makers get what they deserve, besides what can you do about the Company, anyway? But Artemisia Grace kept to herself, didn't rock the boat, and was a hard worker with a safety record that had been flawless until the cutter incident, and everybody knew it. I was good luck in the shaft and good company out of it. I guess the other miners figured if Admin was gonna tag me for winning an Impie contest, anybody could be next. Whatever the reason, there were miners and their kin stacked outside the Admin complex like dross around a shaft mouth. They stood there quietly, not making a scene. Like a forest of bodies, all those people gathered, quiet and still. They spoke in tight murmurs if at all, and it bent my noggin to see them all. The CorpSec in the hovercar checked their weapons and their commgear, shifting their weight in their seats. Older scowled at the low-born while Younger counted the number of cutters in the crowd. There were only four CorpSec. There were at least 60 miners out there with more arriving by the moment, and all of them had some kind of tool in hand, as if they'd just forgotten to put them down when they left their workstations. I was perched between my two escorts; heavy lifters by the look of them, and tall. They had the breadth of shoulder a man should have, but they were as tall as me. I didn't relish the idea of fighting them, but the miners in the crowd had plane cutters designed to chop through solid Durantium in one blow. A person would be halved in an eye blink with no more mess than cutting sausage over breakfast. The CorpSec guys weren't stupid. As soon as the driver eyeballed the crowds, he commed the complex for help. Older looked like he'd like to just start shooting, and I was hoping Admin didn't agree or my proposed trip off planet would end before it started. “Administrator Gregin only wants to congratulate you, Miss Grace.” The younger of the two CorpSec on me said, meeting my eyes for the first time since they'd picked me up. I could read the lie there, and it made me sad even as it calmed my rebelling stomach. They were after me, I could see it in his eyes. He was younger than I had first guessed, and scared. “Can't you talk to them?” “If Gregin just wants to say, Yay, 'Temi, there shouldn't be a problem.” I shrugged. “He says congrats, I walk away, the crowd goes with me. Long as nobody does anything stupid we should all be square.” Younger swallowed nervously because Older was already counting body bags in his head. I was wondering how the fuck I was gonna get out of this car and hide out in the hills until the Impie ship arrived, and the miners out the window were wondering just how stupid Admin wanted to get today. Gregin wasn't inventive, just vicious. Shaft 4 didn't have discipline problems because he dealt with any threat to morale personally, and no one ever talked about what had happened if they came back from detention. Gregin was the bogeyman, but the prospect of meeting him made him much scarier than he seemed from the depths of the shaft. I was measuring the force necessary to get out the car window when salvation arrived in the form of a very fancy Admin flitter. It glided in from above like a damn angel and settled on the ground in front of the hovercar, to be quickly surrounded by suspicious miners. Out from the flitter hopped a figure that had once been familiar, and I relaxed just a fraction at the sight of him. Who wouldn't? It was Paul Duprint, one of my old schoolmates, shocking as usual in a bright pink thinsuit with a lavender overtunic. He grinned and waved at me, almost knocking himself out of the flitter. “Temi!” The enthusiasm in his flutey voice disarmed the miners and the CorpSec. Nobody that light in the loafers could possibly be trouble. “Great news!!! Just heard, Oooomph!” The nearest miners picked him up and dusted him off, rolling their eyes at Admin who fell out of flitters. He swanned towards the security car and leaned in over Older's lap, trailing flowery perfume and chiffon embellishment. The CorpSec looked like he'd swallowed a live cave spider. “There you are!” Paul grinned at me and I returned it cautiously. “I've been looking everywhere for you! The Vice-President wants to commend you for your contribution to Cthonian culture!” The CorpSec blinked three times and Paul smacked him lightly on the back of his shoulder. “So, get out already!” Paul demanded and younger CorpSec just shrugged and obeyed. I could see his shoulders sag with relief, just a bit, but it was there. I guess he didn't want to shoot miners who might be related to him, and conveniently, whoever owned the shiny flitter seriously outranked Administrator Gregin. I exited the hovercar to the relief of everyone present except perhaps the older CorpSec. As I followed Paul's cloud of purple chiffon towards his flitter, the miners pressed in close, handing over all manner of things, including a bag full of explosive charges, an old communit, a tracking bud, and, best of all, MY cutter. I felt better already with it in my hands. Paul took in my new accessories with a smothered grin as he held the flitter door. “It's okay, 'Temi.” He sang out, loud enough to be heard by everyone, including Gregin, who had appeared at a window in the complex. “If you disappeared now, the Imperial Art Commission would ask some very inconvenient questions.” I nodded and stepped into the flitter. It was the best insurance I was going to get. Everyone knew I had gone with Duprint. If any Imperials came around asking questions, they might actually get some answers, even from die hard Cthonians. The Company had long arms, but they couldn't silence everybody. The flitter ride was not long, but I was entranced. I had never been in a flitter, and this one was very posh. It was also very, very Paul. Upholstered in plush pink stuff and decorated with little purple pixies. “Have I ever told you you're a damn stereotype?” I asked him, almost giddy with relief. He grinned again archly. “And aren't you glad of it today?” He chuckled and it was the same as the old days when I was pulling gay erotica out of the Educomp for him after hours. “Gregin almost made puree out of your gray matter, sweetness.” “Aroo?” I frowned. “Why'fuck, man?” “Total mind-wipe and reprog unless I miss my guess.” He wagged his finger at me, pouting. “You should be more careful if you're going to get involved in outworld intrigues, dove.” “I wasn't gonna get involved in anything, man, I swear. I just want to make art.” I tugged at the hem of my worktunic. “I just want off this rock.” “Well, off this rock you shall go.” He said, steering the flitter toward a much larger complex than any I'd ever seen. “It's my new job to evaluate you and see you get safely off world.” “Your job?” I laughed. “Talk about your cushy assignments, man.” “You'd think so, wouldn't you. May be true, but it's my plum and I'm going to relish every bite of it!” He landed the silver flitter in a large bay, between several others of similar and even more expensive make. “Seriously, dulcet, you could have been in trouble back there. Gregin is under review for his discipline policies. His numbers are too good, and the powers that be want to make sure he's not either padding them or overplaying his hand with the low born.” I just frowned, still blinking. When had Paul started talking like an Impie. “We're just here for a quick audience with god and then back home you go, where you will stay safely until needed for publicity shoots, or until the Imperial ship comes for you.” “Wha'fuck, man?” I was getting concerned. “You'd think I'd killed somebody.” “You might have been better off if you had, angel.” He simpered, but there was an edge under the lipgloss. “The younger generation of Admin is starting to make some changes these days. It's slow, but we're getting through. The elders sent us all to Universities on Imperial worlds. They wanted us to be refined and show the Imperials that Cthonians aren't just bumpkin miners, but we came back with some dangerous ideals. You're a convenient spark for some very overdue tinder, my girl, but such sparks are usually consumed, and I don't want to see my old friend go like that. Especially not since I think you actually have some real talent.” He pulled me out of the flitter and led me through the parking bay and down a few hallways. “I went to Dracis Prime while I was at University. I saw the great works of art housed in the Basilica of Sentience, and I think you have it in you to be like that. I LOVE your glass work!” He pulled me in to a large bathing room and through a sonic shower, clothes and all, then he pulled me towards a large wardrobe. “When I saw your name on the hot sheets and saw that Gregin had sent his goons to bring you to him, I did some fast talking to the VP. I made him see that your going would be good publicity for the Company, and your suppression could create trouble with the Imperials.” I was taking this in as fast as I could, but it was hard to take serious stuff from a guy wearing a purple see-through mu mu. Same sex relations were fine on Cthonia. We weren't neo-puritans after all. As long as you met your birth quota, nobody cared who you fucked, or how many. Hell, you could file for occupancy with as many as you wanted, too, but no one did because you still only got the double occupancy bonus. Better to file in multiple doubles and all go in together on a bigger place. Generally, we were pretty open-minded, but Paul was just so damn girly. Compared to the gritty miners I was used to, this male was a walking, talking feather boa. “So what's the score, here?” I managed to break through his flower covered wall of words. “Am I in good ore or stuck down an old shaft with no fuel cels?” “A little of both, my girl.” He answered, dropping my work tunic over a chair and holding up a purple satin dress in front of me. I cringed. “If we convince my VP that you're sharp as a brick but very, very talented, he'll fully endorse your trip, take a few pictures with you for the Company Newsletter, and drop a nice bonus in your accounts. You get off this rock scot free and smelling like a rose with the VP's power to protect your family spread behind you like a coverall.” “Yeah, so wha's the bad rock?” I pushed away the purple satin and reached for my much patched tunic. “If he gets even a hint of anything remotely resembling spirit, smarts, attitude or even independent thought from you, he'll hand you over to Gregin with permission and express instructions to stir your brain with an egg beater, replace you with a Company mule, doctor your genetic records until it sticks and eliminate anyone in your shaft who remembers your name, starting with your family.” “What?!” I gasped, I admit it. I actually gasped. I wouldn't have, but my lungs seemed to have collapsed from the combined weight of dinner plate eyes and a two ton heart. “He can do that?” “And sleep like a baby afterwards.” Paul nodded, pursing his lips and taking my tunic from my nerveless fingers. He held up a green dress that was all shiny ruffles, but I wasn't paying that any attention anymore. “Vice President Rumik is in charge of PR, love. He makes and breaks bigger fish than you and I before breakfast every day and no one ever hears about it unless he wants them to.” “What do I do?” I gulped, clutching my cutter. “You gotta help me. What do I do?” “Act stupid, 'Temi.” He whispered, looking me dead in the eyes. “Act like a Company obsessed rube with no taste and no brains and few if any manners. Act as if meeting the VP of anything is a date with god and you are just too thrilled with it to be able to string two sentences together. You have to convince him that you don't know any better, that your art is the accidentally grand prating of a slightly clever monkey who should be patted and fussed over and sent off to play with the other monkeys. Just be glad he won't want to fuck you because you would have to act THAT impressed with him or your whole family is dead.” “He won't want to...” I looked at Paul and saw beneath the make up and flounces and withered a little bit inside. “Oh shit...” “Don't fret, dearling. He won't so much as want to kiss your cheek.” He said, not meeting my eyes for the first time since he'd come flying in to save me. “Vice President Rumik doesn't like girls.” Now I knew how Paul, who was my age, had gained enough power to be able to come save my bacon, and I didn't like it one bit. I was gonna get my first taste of acting, but it wouldn't be as art, and it was gonna be for higher stakes than a ticket offworld. “Can you do it, 'Temi?” He asked, begging me with his eyes to be more than he'd hoped. “Can you fake it long enough to secure this chance for yourself?” “I'm a monkey, man.” I said, grabbing the red dress from the closet and looking for the zipper. “I'm a 5 foot 6 inch drop dead gorgeous monkey with gravity defying tits, legs that don't stop and the brain of an ore grinder.” “You had better be.” He smiled sadly, taking a deep breath. “Or it's my ass, too.”