doubleZero | Page 5

dropped it on its wheels, the fenders and chain making a disproportionate amount of noise. The bike was old, but it did its job. He jumped up onto it, and raced down the street.
Even though it was Saturday and he wasn't expected at work, he still cycled at his customary madman pace. Close now to the bank, he swung the bike to the left across the intersection just as the opposite light turned red. It looked like a risky move, but he knew that corner well.
He heard a thunk and felt himself rolling up onto the hood of a car. "Jesus Fuck!" he yelled, more scared than angry. He righted himself and looked through the windshield into the equally frightened face of a middle-aged woman. He clambered off the car's hood and picked up his bike. Its frame had a new dent, but it was hardly the first. He crossed to the driver's window. He still had too much adrenaline shooting cold through him to even know if he'd been hurt, though he didn't think so. "There's no advance turn at that light on the weekend," he said, as indignantly as he could, his pounding heart and shortness of breath audible as a crack in his voice.
"But there was an arrow!" she protested apologetically.
"Look," he said, pointing at the sign above the light, "Mon to Fri, 7 a.m. to 6 p.m."
"But," she said, pointing.
A little green arrow flashed, pointing to the left.
The woman didn't catch much of what the young man said as he stomped away with his bike in tow. Something about f-ing relays and why too kay.
3
A week later, most everything had returned to normal: phone service was consistent, almost everyone was back at work, and the police relaxed their martial law stance. At First Dominion, the team worked long hours, double- and triple-checking to make sure that everything really was working as well as it seemed to be. Julie hated that this was the real testing ground for their work.
But their spirits were high. Lloyd was in his heaven, strutting into the office each morning with little gifts for the others--croissants and fresh juice, monogrammed pens--projecting his specialness onto the two who supported him. He even had them up to his parents' chalet the weekend after The Date Change. Julie learned quickly on the ski slopes, looking, with her black clothes and thin, muscular frame, like a panther in the snow. Fix spent most of the day tumbling over himself, bursting out laughing. After a while, he was doing it on purpose, throwing himself downhill. The other skiers were not impressed with the sight of the young man in jeans and an old postal parka leaping about, making divots in the snow.
Alone with Fix in the Control Room, Julie said, "You know, I'm actually getting to like him. You've got to admit, he pulled off a miracle there. Sorry. You were amazing, too. But there's something about his brand of amazingness that's just so visible."
"I think he was raised to be like that," Fix replied. "Look at that girlfriend Trina of his. She was bred in some Dutch lab for the sole purpose of being a wife to someone like him."
"She was nice."
"Did you talk to her?"
"Yeah, and she was nice."
"What did you talk about?"
Julie paused. "Boots. And our hair. Okay, I get your point."
"His dad's successful, but his brother--! Did you look through that scrapbook of Trent's his mom brought out? In his Junior Achievement group he bought out all the other kids and had them working for him. And he just kept going. There were clippings about him from The Financial Post, Maclean's. I bet he's the richest guy his age in Canada. Makes Lloyd look like a grocery-bagger. At least Lloyd's girlfriend is prettier than Trent's wife."
"So what if they're all disgustingly successful? If it wasn't for people like Lloyd's family, we wouldn't have had this project to do. How much money do you have in the bank?"
"I took most of it out before New Year's." Julie shot him a look. "Hey, I didn't know for sure if we were going to be able to pull it off. But I've got about a hundred and fifty in an account."
"And if you lost that, would you care? Not for more than a couple of weeks, right? But if Mr. Hayes and his insurance empire suddenly had corrupt data in all their policies and he went bankrupt, well, I'm sure it would mean more to him."
"Speaking of bankrupt," Fix asked, "have you talked to Carol yet about compensation for the little miracle we performed for them?"
"Not since we accepted the contract. I guess it's time to have that conversation. Let's go find Lloyd."
Carol Martin closed the door behind her. She was in her early forties, with