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Authors: Kristine Kathryn Rusch
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Impossibles—who hadn’t?—and then had returned home to Toronto because her mother had taken ill.
Her mother died last year, and Seng spent six months cleaning up the house, taking her inheritance, and investing it “wisely,” as everyone said. That allowed her the time to find the right job, the one that might eventually take her on a road to the Multicultural Tribunals. She wanted to be certified to argue in front of them, and she couldn’t get that as a prosecutor, not without a whole new form of training—and more years of school.
She needed to work as a defense attorney, and what better place than at S 3 , one of the most famous firms in the Alliance. When she heard about this job opportunity, she took the first shuttle from Earth she could find. She didn’t even care when the headhunter warned her that representing a Peyti on the Moon would be a dicey proposition.
Defense attorneys handled bad characters all the time; that was something she learned in the Impossibles. There, she discovered that sometimes what seemed like evil was, in actuality, ignorance. Not that she would say that about these clones.
But she knew there was more to S 3 ’s defense of them than altruism. She had a hunch S 3 had a plan, and she was willing to help with that plan.
Even though the office itself was mostly unfinished.
The furniture had been delivered just before she and the other two dozen potential lawyers arrived. They were interviewed one by one by the only guy in the entire firm at that time, a man named Torkild Zhu.
He looked a little slick in his silk suit. He wore too much cologne. He had broken capillaries on his nose, which made her wonder if he drank too much. Alcoholics often used clearers to remove the alcohol from their system, but it took years for them to realize that they needed enhancements to repair the damage the alcohol had done to their skin and blood vessels.
She’d worked with a lot of alcoholics on Earth, and she would wager that Zhu was one.
But he had seemed pretty together in the interview. And afterwards, he had hired her. He’d even given her an office. It was directly across from the elevator, but the office had a window that overlooked the dome itself. He had apologized, saying the offices were in a part of Armstrong that was being gentrified. He said that was how S 3 managed to get so much space so quickly. He’d even apologized for the view—something about the dome being yellow and scratchy.
She didn’t see that. All she saw was the moonscape, gray and bleak, covered with actual sunshine, not the dome-manufactured stuff she had seen since she arrived here.
Of the two dozen people the headhunter had brought, nearly half had walked out when they realized what their first cases would be. Six of the others were the kind of lawyer that Seng wouldn’t have hired ever, the kind that had a sleazy vibe that made her think they would cut corners wherever possible.
Apparently Zhu had agreed with her, because the only six people he had hired were the ones she had talked to at the hotel that morning, the ones as interested in the law as in the client, the ones who were looking at life on the Moon as an adventure, while acknowledging how dangerous the place had become.
They had come to work that morning together, dressed to the nines, in their offices an hour before Zhu had told them to arrive. The building had let them in—a little too trustworthy, she thought, even though they did have S 3 clearance—and they were all reviewing the compensation and business packages that Zhu had left for them the night before.
Plus she heard the sound of desks bumping against walls, chairs toppling over, boxes being set down. Grunts as the new team was setting up their offices, one little movement of furniture at a time.
The day before, Zhu had pulled her aside and told her she would double as office manager until he could find a real one. She knew he had given her that job because she had done similar
Her mother died last year, and Seng spent six months cleaning up the house, taking her inheritance, and investing it “wisely,” as everyone said. That allowed her the time to find the right job, the one that might eventually take her on a road to the Multicultural Tribunals. She wanted to be certified to argue in front of them, and she couldn’t get that as a prosecutor, not without a whole new form of training—and more years of school.
She needed to work as a defense attorney, and what better place than at S 3 , one of the most famous firms in the Alliance. When she heard about this job opportunity, she took the first shuttle from Earth she could find. She didn’t even care when the headhunter warned her that representing a Peyti on the Moon would be a dicey proposition.
Defense attorneys handled bad characters all the time; that was something she learned in the Impossibles. There, she discovered that sometimes what seemed like evil was, in actuality, ignorance. Not that she would say that about these clones.
But she knew there was more to S 3 ’s defense of them than altruism. She had a hunch S 3 had a plan, and she was willing to help with that plan.
Even though the office itself was mostly unfinished.
The furniture had been delivered just before she and the other two dozen potential lawyers arrived. They were interviewed one by one by the only guy in the entire firm at that time, a man named Torkild Zhu.
He looked a little slick in his silk suit. He wore too much cologne. He had broken capillaries on his nose, which made her wonder if he drank too much. Alcoholics often used clearers to remove the alcohol from their system, but it took years for them to realize that they needed enhancements to repair the damage the alcohol had done to their skin and blood vessels.
She’d worked with a lot of alcoholics on Earth, and she would wager that Zhu was one.
But he had seemed pretty together in the interview. And afterwards, he had hired her. He’d even given her an office. It was directly across from the elevator, but the office had a window that overlooked the dome itself. He had apologized, saying the offices were in a part of Armstrong that was being gentrified. He said that was how S 3 managed to get so much space so quickly. He’d even apologized for the view—something about the dome being yellow and scratchy.
She didn’t see that. All she saw was the moonscape, gray and bleak, covered with actual sunshine, not the dome-manufactured stuff she had seen since she arrived here.
Of the two dozen people the headhunter had brought, nearly half had walked out when they realized what their first cases would be. Six of the others were the kind of lawyer that Seng wouldn’t have hired ever, the kind that had a sleazy vibe that made her think they would cut corners wherever possible.
Apparently Zhu had agreed with her, because the only six people he had hired were the ones she had talked to at the hotel that morning, the ones as interested in the law as in the client, the ones who were looking at life on the Moon as an adventure, while acknowledging how dangerous the place had become.
They had come to work that morning together, dressed to the nines, in their offices an hour before Zhu had told them to arrive. The building had let them in—a little too trustworthy, she thought, even though they did have S 3 clearance—and they were all reviewing the compensation and business packages that Zhu had left for them the night before.
Plus she heard the sound of desks bumping against walls, chairs toppling over, boxes being set down. Grunts as the new team was setting up their offices, one little movement of furniture at a time.
The day before, Zhu had pulled her aside and told her she would double as office manager until he could find a real one. She knew he had given her that job because she had done similar
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