2.3 ~ All for One, Hubris for All
The Household Domains Committee just took a break from the briefing. Sam Woodhouse and Steve Robertson have a chat.
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[…CONTINUATION OF FILE no.<06.11.046/D3.X2.P2>]
All for One, Hubris for All
With our break just announced the room was lively again. I realized Steve was staring at me. He gave an obvious nod, and like a tractor beam I was pulled out into the hall with him, amongst a group of others.
“Walk with me, young friend,” Steve said jokingly, his baritone voice darkened by the years. At 54, he told me recently how he suddenly felt old this past winter. He doesn’t show it except for a head of silver hair, a few dark threads making their final stand. I’m eleven years his junior. He knows I’ve looked up to him like an older brother for over half my life, since a time when we were actually young.
“Gladly, old friend.” I replied. He gave me a subtle but warm smile. Steven Robertson’s presence has always felt large, and still does. Average in build, he’s fit with broad shoulders but not a big man. His new KiK® water shoes are skinned all the way up, but it hadn't even rained today. He probably doesn’t want anyone to smell his feet. I laugh inside. Only a close friend would notice something so obvious.
We meandered into the dark open foyer, talking superficially about the last few days. The chatter in the hall masked our conversation. I stopped abruptly near the staircase when he asked me, “So, did you do a headcount?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you counted you’d notice the number is odd tonight.”
“What do you mean the number is odd? Who’s not here? What’s the number?”
“The number is 27. Old man Schiento couldn’t make it.” Steve elaborated, “Mike told me yesterday, his dad is now consumed by the illness—said he probably wouldn’t make it to the vote. I saw Haruki last week, we spoke via holoset. He didn’t look so good. It was brief, and he wouldn’t even hint at his position on the issue. But Mike said he has a sealed affidavit here tonight with his father’s vote—we’ll present it to the council later, when you’re done.”
“What does this mean? Will the HDC still vote tonight?”
“Oh yeah. His vote will get proxied in. We’ll see how it all plays out, but I expect a few objections, maybe a small minority if any. People want this vote to happen, no matter their stance.”
I could tell there’s more on his mind. He then asked me, “What else do you have, Sam? What’s the next half looking like?” Steve wants me to trade secrets.
We’re separated and far enough from the others, they’ve all congregated in the hallway. I almost responded when our awkward silence was interrupted by a faint screeching sound, something jostled on the linoleum floor above, up on the second-floor loft, maybe a planter or trash can upstairs. We would’ve missed it had either of us been speaking, but the echo carried under the open ceiling where we stood.
I looked at Steve and he looked back from the corner of his eyes, then turned to me with inquisition lining his forehead. I motioned an index finger to my lips with mutual understanding. We both directed our ears upward. We had the same feeling, why would someone be upstairs? We could see the balcony railing, and part of the landing. I made out a shadow moving around up there. Somebody’s up on the lofted floor above.
When I began tiptoeing toward the stairs to get a better look, Steve grabbed my arm and motioned me to follow him back the other way. We walked quickly and quietly along the far wall and down an opposite hallway, heading east toward the annex, making sure nobody saw us. Steve pointed to a door at the end of the dark corridor, an emergency stairwell. He opened it silently and let me in, then closed it behind us with the utmost care. We ran up two half-flights and came to a landing with no more stairs, just a door with block letters declaring the obvious, SECOND FLOOR. I used the same discretion on this door as Steve had below, then followed him down an identical dark hallway leading back toward the open foyer area.
We began hearing muffled voices as we slowly paced on quiet feet. As we came to a corner, Steve held his right hand down by his side, open with fingers wide, then shook it once deliberately, signaling me to hold. We stopped to listen. I heard TJ Cooper, our security mastermind, talking secretively. Then a whispering Mike Schiento, and someone else.
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