Episode 1 - The Beam

chests.
    “It’s fine, Kiki,” said Natasha, petting her dog in short, quick strokes.
    Kiki accepted his owner’s reassurances without protest or disagreement.

“Isaac.”
    After touching his flashing countertop to take the incoming call as voice-only with track-and-follow (necessary because he always paced while talking), Nicolai Costa said his one-word greeting, then listened as Isaac blabbed on for three full minutes to unburden himself. Yes, Nicolai was Isaac’s speechwriter. Yes, he was Isaac’s right-hand man, and yes, he was his chief advisor. But really, the core of Nicolai’s value to Isaac was as a buffer. Nicolai wasn’t responsible for giving Isaac information so much as he was responsible for intercepting information that would only worry or confuse him. And on the other side of the buffer, it wasn’t Nicolai’s job to act on Isaac’s fears and worries so much as to listen to them, then assure Isaac that it would all be okay. Nicolai didn’t precisely do most of what Isaac wanted done. It was Nicolai’s job to determine what actually needed to be done versus what was just Isaac being Isaac, then to handle things in whatever way he saw fit.
    “They threw shit at her, Nicolai. Tomatoes. Fucking tomatoes , like Vaudeville. It took fifty police to stop what almost became a full-scale riot. She’s terrified. Well, of course, this is Natasha, so she’s not outwardly terrified, but she is just the same. I can see it. But she’s also… hang on, Nicolai.”
    Nicolai had seen this move before and knew what was coming. Isaac was going to run out to his patio to say something he didn’t want Natasha to hear. Despite taking the call as voice-only, Nicolai could almost see Isaac scamper outside in his mind. Couldn’t Natasha see right through it? His departure had to say more than his words ever could.
    Nicolai paced, waiting. He crossed the bank of windows looking out onto the city night below. As he passed his grand piano, his fingers feathered the keys. He kept promising himself he’d learn to play it one of these days, but a man only had so much time. Right now, he had his work writing for Isaac, plus his private creative writing projects. The piano would have to wait.
    “You still there?” said Isaac’s voice. It seemed to be right in front of Nicolai.
    “Where would I be?”
    “I’d know, if you’d use video like a normal person.”
    “Not everyone wants to be on video all the time, Isaac. What if I’m naked?”
    Isaac made an impatient noise and continued. “Anyway, I was going to say that Natasha is hurt . Not like injured, but like… well, you know how she is.”
    Nicolai knew. Natasha had practically grown up in the spotlight, and appreciation was, for her, like blood to a vampire.
    “I understand.”
    “The rioters were from our own party, from the Directorate. I don’t like it. It makes us look like a mob.”
    “Of course it was our people,” said Nicolai. “Enterprise don’t riot.” And it was true. There were plenty of Enterprise members in the rabble (there were more Enterprise than Directorate below the line, actually, seeing as Directorate received support from their party whether they worked or not) but those poor Enterprise were starving artists, not disgruntled workmen. Artists didn’t rise up. When artists took a gamble and failed their way into ghettos, they sat in dark corners, slit their wrists, and listened to Morrissey drawl on from a century in the past.
    “What does that mean?”
    “Nothing, Isaac. Is she okay?”
    “She’s fine. But I have a speech tomorrow. A speech to these… these fuckers .”
    Nicolai couldn’t help but chuckle, keeping the sound low in his throat. He paced his apartment as Isaac’s voice followed.
    “I’ll rewrite your speech,” Nicolai said. “This could be good. Don’t worry. I can spin anything.”
    Isaac blurted. “How could it be good?”
    “Unrest over inequity should actually work in our favor , not against us. Sure, Natasha is your wife and you’re Mr. Directorate, but where’s most of the wealth outside of Directorate leaders? Is it in the Directorate?”
    “Well… no…”
    “Of course not. So do you see what I’m saying?”
    Isaac was probably nodding. It was an affect some people had when they took most of their calls via video.
    “So get some rest,” said Nicolai. “Tell Natasha I said it’ll all be fine. I’ll get you a new draft of the speech and you’ll see. This is good. We want the