“Fremont,” he said. “Want to get there before the crowd gets more obvious.”
“Crowd?”
“Have to drive now,” he said, pulling away from the curb.
96
Junior Here
Guys,” said Conner, as the drone climbed adroitly up into the driver’s seat of the white van, its charger under one arm, and seated itself behind the wheel, “I’m gonna pretend like all of you are incapacitated or unconscious.” It closed the door. “Some of you may be both, but some of you aren’t either. I’m assuming all of you are armed, though, and have phones or other devices. And if none of you makes a move, I’ll be parking this truck somewhere and leaving you to your own resources. Otherwise,” turning the key in the ignition, “this drone’s detonating its onboard explosives. Won’t be much left besides the chassis. As the only one of us who’s not physically present, I’ve got zero fucks to give about how that goes. Your call.”
Netherton, watching the pile of five apparently unconscious men, in the upper half of the drone’s display, saw no movement whatever, aside from a possible eye-flicker from the one he took to be the driver, whose forehead seemed to be bleeding.
“If the driver hasn’t come to, pretty soon,” Conner said, putting the van in reverse and backing away from the container, which Netherton had just watched the drone padlock, “he may need an ambulance.”
The drone backed into the street, turning, and then they were driving away, in the direction the car had taken Verity and the Followrs girl.
“Drone’s muted, Wilf,” Conner said, “so you don’t need to be, on your end.”
“Is that true, about a bomb?”
“No,” said Conner.
“Where are you taking them?”
“Away from the alley. Fang’s friends have people coming with a flatbed, to pick the container up.”
“What if Cursion sends someone else?” Netherton watched the drone’s manipulators on the wheel, which looked as though he were driving himself, but with manipulators.
“Unlikely. By now they assume their operation’s gone to shit, so they won’t want anything to do with their hired help, these boys in the back, who for all they know are currently dead in that alley.”
“Where did you get that padlock?” Netherton asked.
“Fang’s people left it taped just inside the door. The ones outside were set dressing.”
“Where do we go, after we leave this vehicle?”
“We get picked up,” Conner said, “and head for whatever it is Howell and the French lady are cooking up. I haven’t been filled in on what that is.” Conner slowed the van, turning right at an intersection with a narrower street, one without a divider.
“You had aerial units each target one of them, with a noxious aerosol?” Netherton asked.
“Pepper spray,” said Conner, “up close and personal.” He pulled over, midway between two streetlamps, to park behind an American automobile that looked to Netherton as though it might one day warrant a place in Lev’s grandfather’s collection. “Okay, unmuting now.” He cleared his throat. “Leaving you boys, but I need thirty more minutes of your silence, starting now. That means no calls in or out, no texts, no web, no radio. If you’ve got any of the above, and want to gamble they won’t detonate junior here, be my guest. I’m leaving him under the truck.” He opened the door, climbed down, and closed it. “We’re muted now,” he said.
Thomas started to cry, in the nursery. “I need to see to my son,” said Netherton, getting up.
“You do that,” said Conner, sounding as if he were enjoying his evening.
97
Speed Lines
Verity watched the feed from Conner’s drone, as it rolled, alone, down what seemed a side street, currently deserted, in what she supposed was still the Dogpatch.
“You guys know Carsyn?” Manuela asked, beside her in the car.
“She works for me,” Virgil said, driving. “I’m Virgil. Virgil Roberts.”
“You paid me to tell her about being a games physics designer?”
“I did. While keeping you away from where you usually spend time,” Virgil said, “making it less likely for Cursion to find you.”
“Followrs partners don’t know who the subjects are, let alone the clients,” Manuela said. “Because it was a fresh job order, I wasn’t expecting to see Verity. The assignment was called off, as soon as you guys left. Then Carsyn phoned.”
“We thought Cursion might have noticed you and Verity see one another, and that wouldn’t be good for you.”
“So why would you care?” asked Manuela.
“It wasn’t my call,” Virgil said, “but I’m glad you’re with us, and not them.”
“What was that droid thing,” Manuela asked, “beating up on those guys?”
Verity looked over the tops of the Tulpagenics glasses, trying to get an idea of where they were now. “It’s a telepresence drone. Conner runs it from Washington.”
“If it was in a manga,” Manuela said, “they’d give it speed lines. Good character design. Doesn’t look fast, fun when it is.” She looked at Dixon. “Didn’t get your name.”
“Dixon,” he said, turning to look back at her.
“Dixon built it,” Verity said, “the drone.”
“Kathy’s the builder,” Dixon said. “I just mind the printers, source and modify off-the-shelf hardware.”
“You’re the reason it’s so fast,” Virgil said, “your hardware.”
“Open budget,” Dixon said. “Need a little motor, get the best damn little motor Germany ever made.”
“So you all work for Virgil?” Manuela asked. “Or whoever he works for?”
“I don’t,” said Verity.
“I’m the only one of us who does,” said Virgil, “unless you want to count yourself, Manuela.”
“Do I?”
“You’re getting double the quote you gave Carsyn,” Virgil said, “right now.”
“Sweet,” said Manuela, “but who am I working for?”
“Stetson Howell,” Verity said.
“Whoa,” said Manuela, sounding finally impressed.
I’m back.
Superimposed over the drone’s feed, like a caption. It vanished.
Speed lines.
The white Helvetica surrounded by actual speed lines, white ones, radiating out around it, manga-style. It vanished.
“Holy fucking shit,” Verity heard herself say, flatly.
“You okay?” asked Manuela.
“You come back from the dead one more fucking time,” Verity said, “you disappear on me again, I’ll kill you.” The feed from the drone vanished. They were on another street now, Verity’s outburst having silenced Manuela.
Premature, the last time. Like I found myself, then thought of you. But the lamination wasn’t really there, yet. Then I wasn’t. But I am now. Tell them you’re okay but you need to talk. Say it’s me. They’ll hear your side of it, but Virgil and Dixon are in your network, and I like the kid.
This vanished.
Manuela nudged her hand, with a fist. Verity saw that it was filled with tissues. Realized her own cheeks were wet with tears she hadn’t felt start. “Thanks,” she said, taking the tissues and pressing them to her eyes.
I’m here. Tell them. Then we can talk.
Verity lowered the tissues. “It’s Eunice. Anyway, I think it is. She needs to talk.”
“Who’s Eunice?” asked Manuela.
“Complicated,” Verity said. “Right now I need to talk with her.”