It made Lem a little uneasy. If Ramdakan knew that Despoina was loose-lipped with Father's business, it would be the end of her. Ramdakan would fire her in an instant and put her on the first shuttle back to Earth. He might even slap her with a lawsuit for good measure. Or drag her through the press and paint her as a floozy. Such tactics weren't below the man. He had used them before to great effect. And it wouldn't matter to Ramdakan that Despoina's father was a personal friend of Ukko Jukes. Business was war. And in war there were no friends.
Lem felt a twinge of guilt. Des didn't know she was doing anything wrong. Lem was Ukko Jukes's son. What harm was there in telling him anything? And it's not like Lem was fishing for information. Anything she told him came out in the natural progression of their conversations. How was your day? What did you work on? Did anything interesting happen? Sure, Lem might ask a follow-up question or two. But it's not like he was probing. He wasn't using her. He was just making conversation. He was giving Des a listening ear. It wasn't his fault that she tended to be a little gossipy--a fact that had surprised him considering how quiet and shy she had been before their first date.
He could tell her that she was divulging secret information, of course. He could suggest she be more tight-lipped. But she seemed so happy to share it, so eager to give him something that pleased him, that Lem didn't want to disappoint her.
Was she doing it to keep him close? he wondered. Was she trying to establish his need for her?
Lem tried not to think about it. And in the meantime, he had enjoyed their additional time together. She was not as insufferable as he had thought she might be. The exuberance she had demonstrated after their first night together had settled down considerably. She was almost normal now. Her giddiness had mellowed into a sweet admiration for him. And hey, was it a crime to be admired by a woman? Was he hurting anything really? Lem couldn't say he found her attractive necessarily, but there was something charming about her. Her naivete was almost endearing. He had even found himself looking forward to their get-togethers.
How strange, he thought. She was not his type. Not even remotely. And yet he couldn't deny that he felt comfortable when they were together.
"Did you hear what I said?" Ramdakan asked.
Lem looked up from his lobster. "Sorry?"
"I said we've lost enough money to buy a small country, Lem. Enough to buy several. It's like we gathered our assets into a giant mountain and set the whole thing ablaze." He dove back in to his fusilli.
"I'm sorry about your stock options, Norja. It was a blow to all of us."
The media had finally picked up on the failed drone attack, and the company stock, as Lem had predicted, was in a tailspin. Lem had wisely sold several thousand shares in anticipation of the news breaking, and he had maneuvered his other holdings into safer waters. So it hadn't been as devastating a blow for him as it had been for others. Ramdakan, on the other hand, had likely lost his shirt.
"Your father doesn't even seem upset about it," said Ramdakan. "That's what kills me. The old Ukko would have been incensed. Now it's all about the war. It's all he thinks about."
"Not without reason," said Lem. "If we lose Earth, it won't matter what the company does."
Ramdakan rolled his eyes. "I'm sick of this. The sensationalism of it all. Earth isn't falling, all right? This isn't the end of the human race. The Formics are in China. That's one country. One." He shrugged. "China is overpopulated anyway."
Lem raised his eyebrows.
Ramdakan put up his hands, palms out. "Don't get me wrong. It's awful what's happening down there. It's terrible. No excuse for it. But the press is acting like we could go the way of the dodo bird at any moment now. How many people are on this planet? Ten billion? Twelve billion? We've got the Formics outnumbered a million to one."
"We haven't stopped them yet. We've failed every attempt, in fact."
"You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, Lem. That's how it works. You try a few strategies until one sticks. It's only a matter of time."
"That's what Father would say about the drones."
Ramdakan shook his head. "I'm talking about the military, Lem. This is their problem. Not ours. We're a company. Our job is to strengthen the company. And those drones were the future of this company. That was our golden goose. Now they're ashes. The largest single investment this company has ever made in tech, and poof, it's gone. It's hard to bounce back from something like this, Lem. Hard. Nothing makes investors more skittish than a stain on your record with a lot of zeroes after it."
"A kinder man would avoid saying I told you so," said Lem. "But I am my father's son. I told you so, Norja. I told you this business with the drones was a mistake. My father wouldn't see sense either."
Ramdakan grabbed his wineglass. "I've known your father for over thirty years, Lem. He's made mistakes like any man, but I've never known him to be reckless. And this was reckless."
Lem liked the sound of that. It had the ring of doubt to it. Ramdakan was more loyal to Father than most, and if Ramdakan's confidence was starting to crack, it meant others were thinking the same. And if you gently tapped a crack long enough, the whole thing would split wide open.
"Dr. Benyawe used the same term," said Lem. "'Reckless.'"
Ramdakan nodded.
There was a part of Lem that wanted to believe that Father had changed. And for a moment, there at Project Parallax, as Father had told him about the survivors from El Cavador, Lem had actually believed it.
But later, as Lem had sat alone in his apartment considering the events, reality had settled in. Father wanted something. What exactly, Lem didn't know, but he wasn't foolish enough to think that Father had done a kindness without expecting something in return. A lifetime of experience had taught Lem better.
"How are we spinning this with the press?" asked Lem.
"The truth for once," said Ramdakan. "We'll say your father was driven to protect the people of Earth, that ending this war and restoring peace is his highest priority. He's a man possessed." He waved a hand back and forth. "No, possessed is the wrong word. Determined, maybe. Vengeful." He shrugged. "I don't know the language. The PR people are putting it together. It's a nice package. Vids of suffering children in China, the Formics gassing villages, your father from humble beginnings, rising from nothing, a fighter, scrappy. Nice heroic vibe to it. Very globally patriotic. It turns a corporate disaster into a good image piece. Your father hates it. He threatened to fire the entire PR department. He said he wouldn't be made into a sideshow. I talked him down off that cliff, thank you very much." He poured himself more wine. Then he looked at his hand and held it out to Lem, palm down. "Look at that. You see that? Tremors. I'm shaking like a leaf these days. My blood pressure is through the ceiling. I tell my therapist I need to change to different medications; he tells me to get more rest."
"Rest is a good prescription."