I need to sit down with index cards and plot some things out for Fermi Resolution stuff, but in the meantime lemme just noodle along with this.
Inside was one of the old basement labs this place used to have, back when they thought it was smart to breathe chemical fumes all day. The factory hadn’t used them for that since the day the EPA guy showed up and started shouting; now it was just tables and desks not worth moving, and boxes of old paperwork not worth looking at. The overhead lights still worked, but damned if I knew why.
There was also a smell, enough of one that I stopped short, wiry guy dragging me or not. “What the hell, Joey? The sewage line back up?” I asked as I fumbled for a respirator mask and goggles. There was an old pair by the door, but the stench was bad enough to keep me from being fussy.
“Sewage line? Yeah, you could say that, Miguel.” Joey looked for a second like he wanted to cry, or worse, giggle. He got himself under control with a shudder, and more blinking. “And it’s not just backing up. That’s too…”
I waited until the silence got obvious, but Joey didn’t come up with whatever word it was that he wanted. That worried me more than the almost-giggle did. Joey was one of the smart guys on my cleaning staff. He was a burnout, but you could tell he had more school than I did. And he showed up on time and did his job, burnout or not. Didn’t give an attitude, didn’t show up strung out or hung over, and didn’t steal anything. I figured he was just a pothead who had filed off one too many sharp edges, but that wasn’t my problem until he made it mine.