Disgust.

Raw, rigid disgust.

The deep disgust that breaks a woman's faith in a good world.

Disgust like one of the following:

• The summer after preschool: Tom Quill fell from the top of the jungle gym and broke his femur. He was three years old and he didn't know what happened. When he tried to stand up, his muscle turned to water and his skin turned to rubber.
• In fifth grade: her friend Nadia's fingernail flipped backward while they were reading magazines together in the back of the school library and Colleen had to hold back a scream as Nadia set it straight with masking tape.
• In eighth grade: Nadia pulled up a twelve minute video that she found of a guy who swallowed so many live eels that he died.
• Then in ninth grade: Nadia posted a whole album of roadkill pictures that she'd taken, and tagged them as each one of her friends. Colleen got to be a gooey, pregnant cat with an animated dancing skeleton icon copy/pasted over each of the identifiable fetuses.
• At the end of 12th grade: on a field trip to the Nest Chamber of Commerce, Colleen witnessed a grocery store clerk self-immolate on the sidewalk outside — four days prior, at Bella Downey's birthday, the girls had celebrated by trolling the Suicide Hotline.
• University, in the second semester of Junior Year: while researching subcultures for Intro to Mass Comm, Colleen stumbled across a Mens Supremacy forum — and not like a fetishy kind. Like, the evil kind. And there she encountered detailed notes and discussion centered around a man who had been poisoning his girlfriend for the last four months, to try and get her to drop out of college, get married, settle down.

While her eyes adjusted to the dark, Colleen collapsed onto a seat from the smell alone. A dense, wet odor that filled the air so palpably of baby powder/rotting meat/citronella/sewage: Colleen coughed and hacked and with every breath, she felt like big, fat flakes of that awful smell plastered themselves upon the inner lining of her lungs. Her sinuses burned, her eyes watered; Collen buried her nose in the crook of her elbow, and peered over the edge as dark became dim. Was this torture? A joke?

Something there. In the middle, at the back. Something awful wrapped in tarp. Colleen's eyes jerked away to look at anything else. The fixtures, the cushion seams, anything.

The truck was wide and tall, about the dimensions of a moving van, one of the two or three universalized models of automotives that the Kandarosians produced. This one was about thirty years old and modified for comfort. Faded pink wall panels. Dark, pink flooring (metal), and the same with the roof. Tan seats circled the inside of the van, with red lilies stitched into the backs: upholstered, not leather, but cozy. Blackout windows — impossible to see into, and almost impossible to see out of. The air was hazy/sticky/cloying, and a little fan whirred miserably overhead as it tried to circulate humid dust. What else?

The tarp?

"Hello?" a girl said with a hospice rasp.

No, no. Something else. There had to be. Maybe, the windows first, there were fuzzy shapes out there — moving, nothing really — maybe look up at the fan again, and of course, it's nothing, it's a fan — gag at the smell — fucking hell, try the door handle, get out of here, what the fuck —

"Is… Kirik? Are you there?"

The sinew behind Colleen's eyes sucked at her eyelids until her whites turned pink, but she looked.

There was a face — a girl's face — twisted sideways at an odd angle, and about two thirds of it were young and smooth. The other third, a triangle between ear-chin-eye, sagged in pendulous red folds of skin. A half-asleep expression. "Did we make it? Is Colleen here?"

The face was attached to a head. Dark veins ran along a scalp where locks of fine blonde hair had fallen out in patches. The head had a neck, the neck had shoulders/arms/torso. She was propped up on the floor: no legs. Her belly/hips/back were bloated and fused into the meat of a corpulent beanbag chair, the texture of some huge wet maggot. She was covered in dark, glowing sweat. The triangles and ovals of her organs wiggled, visible through the skin, and ooze gathered in puddles on the floor where she lay. The tarp wrapped around her and kept most of the juices inside, but her translucent and failing skin would not hold forever. And when it gave out, Colleen wondered if she would explode.

"I'm not… I'm not gonna make it, am I? I won't even do the one thing… Kirik?" Thin bile poured out of the side of the girl's mouth and plapped a star-shaped spatter onto her belly.

"What the fuck!" Colleen finally screeched and it was the only thing holding back a tide of vomit. "What the fuck is this! What the fuck are you?"

"Ough, oh dear. Oh no, I'm so sorry," the girl winced, and her body gurgled. She choked down a loud, wet swallow of air, and tried to sit a little more upright. "Colleen, I presume? I don't—"

"Fucking Hell, what the fuck, what the fuck what the fuck—"

"I don't have much time. I need—"

"Get me the fuck out of here! You motherfuckers, let me out!"

"Colleen, please. I know this is a shock, but… I need to… I need to… Oh, it hurts."

Yanking on the door, kicking at it, nothing worked. Colleen flashed her teeth at the girl, "Get me out of here. I don't give a flying fuck what you have to say. Let me out."

"I came all this way — Colleen, my whole life was made for this moment. Please, let's just talk. Before it's too late." The girl was clearly in agony. Her chest rose and fell in big heaves of breath. Her eyes stared off into the middle distance, glassy and fearful.

Colleen grit her teeth and pulled her shirt up over her mouth. "I want out. When are you going to let me out?"

"A few minutes. The doors will unlock. It won't be long. I just need to tell you. About your intelligent machine parasite." Her misty gaze had finally fixed on Colleen's general direction, and she squinted. She sniffed the air and a drop of blood traced down her upper lip. "Oh. It's… hard to tell with my sinuses as they are, but that smell. You smell very good. What is that?"

"Cologne. Horsepower by Jean-cerf." Colleen readjusted in her seat, and pushed back into the corner by the door. Her voice was muffled through her shirt, and the Drone strained forward to hear it.

"Oh, it smells lovely. Everything in the Kandar smelled so… so stale." The girl coughed and some of the collected blood and bile in the basin of the tarp sloshed over the edge onto the floor of the van. 

Colleen pulled her legs up beside her on the seat where the creature's oozes could not touch, and blurted, "What the fuck are you?"

For a second, the girl puzzled over the question, and finally nodded.

"Oh. Yes. A replica of the Queen of the Kandar and all our knowledge—" cough, "—with a Gaean interface bred into the thorax—" cough cough, "—for communication. And a few other tweaks, here and there. I'm smaller, easier t-to… to…" belch, gouts of fluid from nose and mouth, a sigh of relief, " —to transport. I don't have quite as much authority as she does. And my expiration date is greatly accelerated. It really wouldn't be responsible to have copies of myself running around everywhere for who knows how long."

The girl laughed, a charming if obnoxious sound. The rasp aside, she sounded really young.

"If you're the queen, how's my mother?" Colleen said.

"She's doing well. In fabulous health, really. Still mobile, still talkative. She's been gardening. She misses you. She said that she's sorry if the scandal hurt your career." The girl said. "She's still thinking about a racquetball rematch."

"Tell her my career is fine," Colleen said. "And remind her I don't play racquetball. That was one summer in grade school."

"You'll have to leave that with Kirik. I won't be in a fit state to carry messages. Now, if we can move on," the girl said. Her belly rumbled and she laid a hand over it. "Colleen, I hope to be the first to tell you this. Alongside your terrorists, we found your artificial intelligence as well. We have it in custody."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Colleen said.

"You don't need to hide anything with me. They're not listening out there," the girl's eyes fluttered shut, "and it should be abundantly clear that I was not made to take information home. I'm just here to talk."

"What do you want?" Colleen said. She watched the silhouettes outside the windows.

"I assure you," the girl said as slowly and evenly as she could, "that at the time that I was imprinted, my only concern was the compassionate preservation of your species along the longest possible timescale. I'm sure this continues to be her priority as well."

"You have to know you sound like a fucking schizo," Colleen said.

The Drone winced, her body shuddered, and her fingers clenched. The corners of her eyes withered under the weight of agony. But she only choked a little when she talked. "I'm sorry that it has come to this: I just want stability. The whole goal is stability. And I want that for you, too. I mean, all Gaeans, not you specifically, but that does include you, Colleen. And Colleen, I think you're a fine leader for your people. In this crucial moment, anyone would need a lifeline. So, that's why I sent… well, me."

Colleen looked back up and stared at the girl, as she bubbled and heaved beneath her own skin. The Drone didn't seem to mind a little time in the quiet, and Colleen needed a minute to think. It must be miserable; dying of old age in quarter-time. What was happening under there?

Krr-chk, the locks on the door disengaged, and Colleen spared a glance down at her exit path.

Colleen mulled over what the bugs seemed to know. They knew about the AI, they'd probably already caught the virus and it hadn't worked. Or if it did, then it didn't work the way Quartex had advertised. The fucking eggheads underground had been electrocuting her quarter after quarter, sucking down billions in budget allocations, cutting bad deals… just for fun?

"I have questions," Colleen said, pulling the silk of her blouse tighter over her face.

"I have a few minutes before… well, I'm not busy. Please ask," the Drone said.

"Can you guarantee that we're not being listened to right now. By anyone?"

"Yes," the Drone said.

"The AI. It's supposed to turn regular assholes into killing machines at the drop of a hat. It's supposed to have a virus in it that can take down your networks. How well did it work?" Colleen asked.

"None of that was the case. It caused its host to have a panic attack and then a dissociative break. She was never a threat to anyone. We did not find any evidence of a virus of any kind within the parasite. Our best guess was that you were attempting to build control systems to better manage your labor force. This appears to be a developmental stage on the path to widespread mind-control in your colony's populace."

"Was it any good at that?" Colleen frowned.

"No, not really. But in time, maybe. Either way. I don't believe this would be aligned with Gaea's longterm animal interests, and wanted to bring this to your attention. For the good of your people." The girl hiccuped and a wet bubble of blood popped in her nose.

"Shut the fuck up about the fucking poors. You come here and put a fucking target on my face, and all you can talk about it is how fucked the poors are. Well that's their fucking problem, and they can figure it the fuck out," Colleen practically screamed.

For years — years — she had been putting up with bullshit from all sides, getting told the answer was right around the corner, next quarter, just keep an eye out for our next report, and the entire fucking thing had been a wash. Smoke-and-mirrors assholes.

"Cutting fucking edge! Sure! Let me the fuck out of here, thanks for traumatizing the fuck out of me, you freak. Lot of fucking good it did either of us," Colleen grabbed the handle on the door of the van, and it clicked it's pleasant consent as it unlatched. While the Drone tried to say something, the door shhhhunked open and Colleen wrenched herself out onto the asphalt. Her heels clacked against the ground, flanked on all sides by Kirik and the guards.

She whipped around and yelled back into the van, "you fucking idiots just ended my fucking career, so I hope you've got a lakeside cabin with my name on it over there in Bugfucker Hills before I end up dead in a fucking ditch. You! Get the fuck out of my way!"

Colleen shoved Kirik aside, and the Ambassador stumbled, hissed, its face split apart in three sections.

Colleen spat at it, "go fuck your sack of guts before she pukes up her spleen, you Ant Bitch. Who the fuck has my phone?"

A soldier reached one of its small-arms into a chest pouch and produced the black rectangle, then passed it along with no further fuss, while Kirik crawled into the van and disappeared into the dark.

As Colleen stormed up toward the mouth of the alley, she hollered back, "And fuck all of you!"

"Marg, babe, this job is going to get you fucking killed. That psycho—"

"Conrad!" Margo thumped the knee of his husband.

"What!" Conrad balked, "The governor's office just got lined up and frisked on the street like schookids in front of the whole world, during your biggest season of the year, and —"

"Connie, keep an eye on the damn meter!" Margo screeched and slapped the [End Ride] button on the taxi's control display, causing the vehicle to swerve dangerously to the side of the road. Traffic, teeming with schools of networked vehicles, adapted naturally, but with inevitable purpose the taxi knocked some unlucky pedestrian walking too close to the edge of the curb off his feet. Margo winced as an elderly man, worked his way back upright, and glared at the car, yelling curses as he limped away.

"Margo, what the hell is wrong with — what the…?" Conrad grabbed the display off of its mount and scrutinized the screen. "That can't be right."

"Get your ears checked, Conrad, you would have known," Margo grumbled, folding his jacket over his arm neatly, and reaching for a latch on the door. He tugged with an insistent thump, while Conrad fished a credit card from out of a designer leather wallet.

"Don't bitch at me, I didn't do this! It was five-a-mile a second ago!" Conrad spat and tapped his card on the Taxi's payment pad.

Ding. Payment accepted. The taxi cab door unlocked and released its hostages to step out onto the pavement, then zipped off back into traffic. Conrad hooked his arm around Margo's elbow and stuffed a hand into his pocket. "Fucking surge prices. And here, I thought we were gonna beat the traffic… People really must be really worked up. What happened at the office, Marg?"

"Oh, Connie. It's a lot, it's been a long day. I mean, before the bugs, it was all scorched earth and operatics—"

"Hell, why? Still fighting with Porters?" Conrad pressed Margo, while together they pressed into the throngs on the sidewalk. The outdoors were never this crowded, except during surge pricing, usually in association with a public panic. And normally during a public panic, they'd both be safely hunkered down at their respective offices.

"Ugh, if that was the half of it, I wouldn't be going gray, Connie. It's this whole tent city fiasco, it's got Colleen more… activated than usual. I just know it! Gracious, I can barely hear myself think!" Margo said.

"The campers? You're still sticking your neck out for them? You said you figured all that out!" Conrad said.

"Well, waterboard me about it, Connie, I lied. I thought it was under control," Margo said.

Conrad sniffed, and dragged Margo by the wrist through a crosswalk just as the light turned. Cars zipped by on Margo's heel, and he felt the slap of air on his hip from a near-swipe. Margo cussed about it and begged him to slow down. Conrad sighed an apology.

"Let's just get home. We can figure it out from there," Conrad said.

Margo hugged Conrad around his shoulders, "What would I do without you?"

Colleen kicked back in a private limo opposite a stoic bodyguard, some new guy, and checked her notifications. A million missed calls and texts and so on from basically every living being in her professional life. Great. But she still had service. That was the good news, for as long as it lasted.

Her phone buzzed, and rang, and a name popped on the screen.

Nadia, an old friend from middle school.

Declined.

Clack clack-clack clack. Buzz buzz buzz. Cli-cli-cli-click. Her manicure slashed past swarm-upon-swarm of angry beeps and popups and screens that required absolutely too many confirmation clicks as she tried to carve a path toward her contact list. Clawing for every inch of screen real-estate, she arrived on the only name that could save her from this wretched, monumentally life-fucking day, and pried open a window to the call button.

Immediately, her demeanor changed. A big, wide smile cut across her face.

"Hi, Tom? Yes, this is Colleen." Colleen said, and then laughed for about two and a half seconds, "Yes, how did you know? Wow, you guys work fast, I could not be more impressed. Jee, I bet you're breaking a report right now, huh? I should probably let you go."

Colleen paused, looked out the window as the car crested the halfway point of the Cove Memorial Bridge. A river coursed onward toward a steady orange sunset. The edges of the city were small and gray zipper-teeth that cut into the blue-tan striations of the badlands.

"Well, I was just calling to say hi, but sure! I'd be more than happy to give a statement."

Block by block they walked in uncomfortable silence, Conrad's tight grip on Margo's wrist loosening ever so slightly, their fingers wiggling together to interlock. Slowly the financial district gave way to tree-lined streets and high-rise apartments, and they were a block and a half away from home when one of them first spoke again.

"Pizza, and you tell me what the fuck is going on?" Conrad said.

"But my keto," Margo whined.

"Rosemary Gingers?" Conrad negotiated.

Margo grumbled, a sound that more or less boiled down to: "That sounds amazing, but I'm going to mope the whole time."

Conrad smiled, the first one of the afternoon, and Margo pursed his lips. Conrad squeezed Margo's hand, fished a keyfob out of his pocket, and hooked an elbow around Margo's arm. Margo laughed and stepped up the first, second, third stair up to the door of their building – leaned down for a kiss. Conrad pushed up on his toes, craning his neck upward.

"Hi gentlemen!" A cheerful, reedy voice popped up behind them, and as the pair jumped and turned they found themselves looking down upon a small man clad head to toe in loose khaki, barely as tall as Conrad. "Would one of you two fine fellows happen to be, a Mister… Margo Lanutria?"

Colleen hop-jogged down the dilapidated stairway of the rundown prefab tenement, though she barely made it a few steps before the bodyguard burst into the foyer below, taser drawn.

"Madam Governor!" He shouted, before his eyes laid on her. She frowned at him, and his wrist wavered, weapon lowering, "I heard—"

Colleen lifted the gun and swung it around her finger — a small, steel two-shot derringer, a war artifact, a standard issue forty-five highly illegal for civilian possession as of the Kandar-Gaean Anti-Terrorism Pact. She sneered at the man.

"A-are, you alright, Madam?" the bodyguard asked, she still hadn't cared to learn his name.

"Fucking obviously," Colleen said, "Get back in the car, we've got one more stop to make."

"Madam, I have to insist that we hunker down and wait for help" The man babbled as he turned out the doorway and walked back toward the limo.

"Really, whatever you're doing it can wait—" He holstered his taser, opened the limo door, and checked his watch-display as he stepped forward. "Maybe, ten minutes until—"

Khk. PANF!

Bullet lanced through spine and skull, pinged off ballistic glass; Colleen flinched, dead bodyguard collapsed forward; ricocheting projectile speared up, dented the roof of the limo; kids nearby all raised their heads in unison. Colleen ducked forward, shoving the guard's legs into the limo compartment, and slammed the door.

Colleen fished a piece of paper out of her pocket and frowned at it.

"Two-twenty south Industrial Road," she announced to no one.

The limo whirred to life and eased into the street.

"Julius Jame Jentleson! Pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mister Lanutria. Here! My card," The small, khaki-clad man produced a perfectly black square of cardstock, lettered in lavender.

Conrad snatched it out of Julius's hand and looked it over, then passed it over to Margo. Margo frowned.

It said:

Queue Securities

A Quartex Company

Julius Jame Jentleson

External Auditor

"Never heard of ya," Conrad said.

"Quartex? Really? You haven't heard of us? Quartex! 'Stake your claim on the future, with Quartex!' Quartex?" The little man seemed positively perplexed.

Margo shook his head. "Afraid not, Dear."

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't be terribly surprised about that," said Julius with a wan smile as he tipped his hat back and scratched the back of his head, "Our parent company contracts out to homeland firms with stake on Kandar. But hey forget all that: I'm from Queue Securities, a subsidiary focused on providing urgent, high value financial services to companies in our partner network. Sorry to interrupt your lovely afternoon out and about, but I am here on business."

"Financial services…? I'm pretty sure we didn't sign up for…" Margo bit his lip.

Conrad shook his head and tried to shoo the little man off. "Whatever this is about, it can wait until tomorrow morning. During business hours."

"Well, that's just the trick of it, Conrad. It can't wait. This is a matter of vital corporate interest for the Gaean Authority, and aren't we all partners of the Gaean Authority?" Julius's tone leaned more and more fervent, his eyes wide, as he grasped Conrad's wrist in a steely grip, "We're on the same team, Conrad, and sometimes we need to give a hundred and ten percent for the good of the team. Y'see, they tell me there's reason to believe that Colleen Lynxpin, our dear Madam Governor, just might plan to break ranks and split for Bugland with who knows what kind of valuable trade secrets. What with all the hullabaloo at the office today, they've called me in to check on things, minimize the damage, and so on. Since that would be bad for the Gaean Authority, and that'd be bad for all of us, don'tcha think, Conrad?"

Conrad tugged and tugged against Julius's hand, but couldn't get away until Julius himself let go. Instinctively, he stepped behind Margo, a wary look on his face. The gears had started to turn in Margo's head. "You're talking about treason. The office isn't wrapped up in anything like that, it couldn't be. Colleen's been too busy."

"Then, it'll be a quick audit!" Julius smiled, "Listen, Marg, can I call you Marg? I don't wanna bother you anymore than is strictly necessary. And I'm sure you're on the up-and-up, but as a matter of colony security and so on, I am going to need you to comply, alright?"

"Just do what he says, Marg," Conrad said, holding onto Margo's hip, inching back toward the door to their building.

"Ah, well… Just what is it that you need?" Margo asked.

"Hand over her calendar, let me rifle through it a bit, and I'll get outta your hair." Julius said.

"Her calendar? I'd be blacklisted from the industry for handing over her info." Margo said.

"Could be prison time in it for you, if you don't." Julius said.

Margo raised a hand and chewed on a cuticle as he thought.

"I assume you have an account with CitiShare? And if I put the calendar under clearance-lock you can access it there?" Margo asked.

"Yessir, Enterprise Five clearance, too. C'mon, let's get this show on the road." Julius said.

Margo looked up at the sky, clucked his tongue, and nodded. 

Colleen had just stepped out onto the tarmac strip in front of the Kingfisher Chemical Processing Plant, her limo parked in the bus loading zone, when her phone rang. Not particularly special given the circumstances, but the worst of the flood of phone calls had died down, and on impulse she checked the screen.

"Margo," she sputtered, and hastened to accept the call, "Margo, darling!"

"Well hello Miss Popular, looks like I finally got through." Margo's voice rang through loud and clear. "Colleen, sweetie, hi!"

"Oh, it's so good to hear your voice," Colleen said, "crazy day, huh?"

"Tell me about it!" Margo said. "Just catching up on this interview. Lotta detail there, but good of you to get ahead of the whole thing. Take control of the narrative. You did great."

"Not bad, huh?" Colleen said. "I hear traffic all over the city is in shambles because of it, but what are you gonna do?"

"Uhm, ah, how'd you make out? You okay?" Margo asked. "Where are you?"

Colleen looked up at the smokestacks of the chemical plant, "Oh, don't even ask. It's been awful—"

"—I bet—"

"And where've you been? What happened?"

"The bugs searched us and sent us all home. I'm so sorry, I just circled back around to the office to try and find you, but—"

"Oh, Margo, sweetie don't worry about that, really. It's perfectly fine. Hell, it sounds like you earned a week off."

"Funny. Be careful, I might take you up on that." Margo laughed. "After the vote, of course."

"Of course." Colleen smiled despite herself.

"Well anyway, hey! Tough question for you."

"Shoot."

"Right. So, a guy — uh, an auditor — dropped by my apartment. He said he was from some place called Queue Securities, out of Quartex? Do you know anything about them?"

"I do, actually, yeah. Is that your tough question?"

"No, it's just. Hrm, I'll get right into it. He was asking for your calendar, so I decked him. Right in the jaw, got him really good. Should be in an ambulance by now."

"Oh, Margo, you perfect angel," Colleen grinned up at the sky and wondered if Margo was looking at the same one. Wispy clouds snaked overhead.

"My question is: This seems bad. Nuclear, even. And I mean, with Idyll Days coming up… What's our play here?"

"Margo! Margo, Margo, Margo; you perfect gem, put a ring on my finger already," Colleen sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. "You just take that break. Take a month. Hell, skip town forever. Fuck off to space. Sell out to the bugs. I don't give a shit, anymore."