“We are indeed,” he said to Ash, surprised at the awe he felt.
“Are what, indeed?” the woman in the stub asked. She had a plastic bottle of what looked like water in one hand.
“In,” said Netherton, rattled. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you could hear me. Do you have a phone?” Thinking of an implant, but then he remembered that she wouldn’t.
“They took them both,” she said.
“How are we communicating?”
“It must have a speaker. And a microphone.”
She meant the drone, he decided. “You’re Verity?”
“You first.”
“Wilf,” he said, “Wilf Netherton.”
“Where are you?”
“London.”
“Why am I speaking with you?”
“Eunice,” he said, “though I’ve never spoken with her myself.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
She frowned. “She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” he said, “but I’m here to offer assistance.”
She was up now, stepping forward.
“I can’t see you, when you’re that close,” he said.
“Cams?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t see them.”
“They probably look like small round holes,” he said, “about two millimeters in diameter.”
Extreme close-up of gray tweed. The high-resolution texture of an alternate universe.
“Like Robertson heads,” she said, whatever that might mean.
39
Stumpy
Verity glanced over at the brown doors. Beyond which Kathy Fang and Dixon supposedly worked their field of mandibles. “Your name’s Will?”
“Wilf. Netherton.”
“What do you do, Wilf?”
“Public relations.”
“Where?”
“London.”
“Who for?”
“Freelance,” he said. “Where are we?”
“Oakland.” She remembered Eunice’s final message. How she should trust the people the barista took her to. “If you’re in London, why didn’t they just put me on a phone?”
“Who?”
“Kathy Fang.”
“I don’t know her.”
“Eunice bought this thing from her. You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“I know someone who knows Eunice. Or knows of her. It’s complicated.”
One of its feet moved then, or tried to, but was restrained by the lower of the two heavy canvas straps. She took a step back.
“Why can’t I move its foot?” he asked anxiously.
“It’s strapped in.”
“Into what?”
“The kind of trolley you’d use to move a washing machine. Two wheels, balloon tires, handle at the top?”
“I see the handle in the rear display. Hadn’t realized what it was. I’m restrained?”
“Gyros,” she said, becoming aware of the faint hum of their engines as she said it. “You’re top-heavy without them, so they’ve strapped you in to keep you from falling over. Sounds like they’re running now.”
“Could you free me, please?”
She considered the length of the thing’s arms, imagining it reaching up to strangle her, then saw that it seemed handless as well as headless. “And you’re still plugged into the charger but the light’s green now.”
“Would you mind unplugging that as well?”
“Want me to get them in here?”
“Who?”
“Kathy and Dixon. They built it.”
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d rather you did it.”
“Have you seen it?”
“I’ve seen a model of it. In an instructional sim.”
“Stumpy as it is, it’s still intimidating.”
“Stumpy?” He sounded disappointed.
“Might be a meter, a little over?”
“I’d assumed it would be taller.”
“If it weren’t quite as wide as it is through the shoulders, it would look like SpongeBob.”
“Who’s that?”
“You don’t have SpongeBob, in England?”
“No,” he said.
“I’m not even sure I can get these fasteners undone. Don’t move at all, until I tell you to. When I do, move slowly. This is creepy.”
“Sorry,” he said.
Approaching it again, she bent, standing the water bottle on the floor, to study the identical friction-lock devices that held the two straps taut. She caught herself waiting for Eunice’s instructive pictograph hands to appear. “Damn.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing. Let me concentrate.”
40
Baby Steps
Ask her to tilt the trolley forward,” Ash said, “into the vertical, supporting it there as you step out.”
He assumed that Verity couldn’t hear her, but would hear him if he responded.
“Mute is one tap,” Ash said, “maxillary central incisors, either one. Unmute is another tap.”
He touched his upper front teeth with his tongue. “Why?”
“It might fall on you, if you step off when it’s unsupported. This isn’t a real combat drone, but a hobbyist’s reasonably accurate reconstruction of a research prototype for one.”
“Hold on,” he said, and tapped his teeth again. A familiar close-up of tweed. “How’s that going?”
“Kind of a ratchet, with a safety catch.” Metal clanged against metal. “One more. Okay. Now the charger.” She must have knelt, the tweed dropping out of sight, brown hair very close to the cameras. “Good to go.” She stood.
“Another favor?” he asked.
“What?”
“If you could tilt the trolley forward, into the vertical, and steady it there, while I step off? This is my first time on the actual drone. I’ve only walked in the sim.” He tapped his teeth. “How did you know it was tilted back?” he asked Ash.
“Trigonometry,” Ash said, he assumed likewise muted.
Verity reached behind him, over his head. The angles Ash had used altered, as Verity grasped what he now recognized as the trolley’s handle, bringing it forward. “I have my toe in front of a wheel,” she said.
He tapped again. “May I try now?”
“No sudden moves,” Verity said.
He advanced the left foot, then lowered it, finding the floor. “Good?”
“It’s on the floor,” she said.
He repeated the sequence with the right foot.
“You’re clear of the trolley,” she said.
“May I keep walking?”
“Your call.”
He took two more steps, then extruded the small wheels from their housings beneath the feet.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Wheels,” he said. “They’re individually powered. But it can also freewheel, for skating. I haven’t skated yet.”
“Why doesn’t it have hands?”
“It has manual capacities,” Netherton said to Verity, and surprised himself by partially raising the arms, “but I haven’t yet had any demonstrated.” The wrists tapered smoothly to complexly irregular stumps. He flexed his own right hand, inadvertently causing several odd-looking elements to snap out, then instantly retract.
“Don’t do that,” Ash said. “Some are dangerous, others merely intimidating. You’ll frighten her.”
Verity looking down at him felt familiar from using Wheelies, in the county, though the drone was quite a bit taller.
“Did Eunice choose you for this?” she asked.
“Sorry,” said an unfamiliar voice. In a gap between the partially opened doors, a woman’s face. “Checking to make sure you got through.”
“Who are you?” Netherton asked.
“Kathy Fang.”