Phantom of the Seven Stars

Chapter 14

79

“YOU’RE SUNK!”

ing the heating coil. She began chain-puff-ing. When the flavor weakened, she replaced the tank. When the tanks were empty, she cleaned her pen, then connected it to a USB cord to recharge.

She was lapsing into a doze when she heard a knock. Rising from her ergonomic chair, she stretched, popping her spine. The arthritic ache had faded from her hips and knees. She loaded the vape with a full tank from the half-open drawer of her nightstand, then set the vape on its plate. Her movements were slow.

She crossed languidly to the insulated door on her stocking feet. Pulling back the blackout curtain of the little polycarbon-ate panel, she looked out. Clouds had cov-ered the midnight sun, but she squinted her blood-shot eyes and made out the director’s face, smiling at her.

She felt no surprise. Hers was an entry-level job, but she was a vital crew member. Everyone was vital. The shoot couldn’t spare people for a sick day, never mind a disagree-ment with the director.

The crew and cast had undergone ex-tensive medical testing, right down to sexu-ally transmitted diseases, but everyone had still been quarantined for two weeks before shooting began. Since electronic and sat-phone communication could easily fail in an extreme location, all the live/work contain-ers had an entry intercom. Mac pressed the button and addressed her visitor.

“The package uploaded in time.” Her words were a statement. A question about finishing the episode would suggest she doubted Chick Cabane’s greatness.

He grinned. “Another prime time knock-out.”

“What’s the upshot?”

“In tonight’s episode,” Chick intoned in mock voice-over, “Team Polar Bear found the cache of food, but Team Snow Lion found the hand.” He developed a queasy look. “The hand’s quite gruesome, really. Burned almost beyond recognition. But bril-liant television, of course.”

“Of course,” Mac said. “What are we not telling the folks at home?”

“We’ve placed lights around the found building, so a ‘sudden uptick in local temps’ will melt the ice and expose the ruin. Maybe, the whole base!”

“An excellent idea,” Mac said. “Who’s out?”

“The outcasts told Blenden, ‘You’re sunk!’”

“He’s been a schmuck, and not in an in-teresting way,” Mac observed.

“He’s in the ‘hotel’ now,” Chick said.

A cast member was voted out of the show each week, but they had to stick around. You didn’t return potentially talkative or venge-ful insiders to the world before the season wrapped. Anyway, barring medevac, the budget prevented individual returns.

Mac and Chick studied one another’s fac-es through the polycarbonate.

“Well,” Chick said. “You might be in here a while.”

I don’t need a clock to know what time it is.

Hollywood had gotten more consistent in firing s****l predators. But Chick had smaller balls than a pigmy jerboa, and his occasional low-key creeping on female un-derlings went unnoticed by the higher-ups. Even some of his targets missed that he was coming on to them, including a few women who would happily screw a director in hopes of career advancement.

Mac gave Chick a slow smile. “You have a key to this joint?”

He grinned and raised a hand in a data-tip glove, card key pinched between thumb and forefinger. “I could spring you, you know. Under the right conditions.”

“‘Spring’ me?” Mac’s smile widened. “Why don’t you come in and show me what that means.”

Chick let himself into her open-plan con-tainer. Mac moved slowly as she closed the door and pulled the curtain over the pane. She locked the door (she could do that now). She braced herself, then turned.