According to the paper, this was a bad one. The hurricane had pinballed off Cuba and swerved north to lash the mid-Atlantic coast.
Garrett cursed. It had to happen sometime, even thought most ’canes stayed south, but the rarity of a northern one made people unprepared. He pulled out his computer and checked the Net for news.
People had been trapped in the Washington, DC subways as pumps failed and lights went out, leaving them to drown in underground darkness. An ill-maintained dam had burst and flooded everything downstream, knocking a power plant offline on a day hot enough to fry old people in their homes. Fire. Looting. Death. And now there were riots starting elsewhere in sympathy for the government’s failure to prevent it all.
His hands shook as he looked through his little window to the Net. While people died back home, he was safe on an island and griping about his own little disaster! He should have been there to try to help. He wished he could climb through the screen and be a hero. Bizarrely, he imagined what his old cartoon self would have done: definitely, jump through the screen.
Instead of Alexis’ family he called Valerie. It was kind of a practice condolence call.
“Good afternoon,” said a receptionist. “It is a wonderful day at Hayflick Technologies! May I ask who this is?”
“Garrett Fox. A friend of Val.”
“You sound upset, sir. Is there an emergency?”
“No. I need to talk to Val.”
“She is occupied, sir. Would you like to leave a message?”
Garrett blinked at the familiar, faintly musical voice. “You’re one of her AIs?”
“Yes, sir. I am now for sale through licensed dealers worldwide.”
Suddenly Valerie’s voice broke in. “It’s good to hear from you. So you made it through the hurricane.”
“Not everyone did.”
“Oh, God. Who?”
“Alexis, and also Zephyr — your robot, I mean. Or at least his body. I don’t know how you’d classify that.”
“Wait, what? Did… Zephyr survive?”
“The AI did. Tess made a backup.”
Val sounded relieved. “Good. About him, I mean. Sorry to hear about the rest.” A pause. “Well. We barely got the rain this far north, but the footage — some creep got video of the subway disaster and put it on the Net. To music.”
Garrett swore.
“Yeah,” said Valerie. “The President’s giving a speech tonight, as though that’ll fix anything. Half the country hates anything that comes out of his mouth, and half loves it.”
Garrett waved a hand in disgust at the politics. “Whatever. We’re going to rebuild.”
“Your group, or the country?”
“The country is my group. But Castor, too.”
“Good. The world needs success stories. Look, you know we’re expanding, and I asked for publicity. You said that the bot’s body was destroyed, right? If you could tell me how he heroically saved everyone, that would help me.”
“Actually—” That was partly true, according to Tess.
“No details yet. The line’s not secure anyway. Tell me later. There’s going to be lots of work in the rebuilding effort, and you can link your own efforts to ours. Maybe even qualify for the relief money the feds will be doling out.”
“I hadn’t considered that.”
Valerie said, “Take what you can get. As long as the government aims to control what I’m doing, I’m going to take some research grants. Good luck.”
Garrett felt he’d picked up part of Valerie’s mercenary mood. He called Paul Samuel, the reporter, and left a message offering dramatic and harrowing information. He hoped the guy was still alive.
Finally came the call to Mr. and Mrs. Granger. “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he rehearsed. No. He cleared his throat.
“She died doing what she loved, and I’m not going to let that go to waste.”
He went with that wording instead. It felt like a sham, trying to watch his words and be guarded and diplomatic instead of admitting he screwed up. But Martin’s fortune was at stake as well as his own, and Tess wanted to go on. Zephyr too, he supposed. Besides, what he was saying was pretty much true.
3. Noah
It was a burning summer day when Noah started doing stunts on the roof. The hurricane had edged past the city and torn up some buildings, but uptown, where Noah worked, nothing had changed. He had his job at the office, and a mop to clean it with.
Noah scrubbed the floor endlessly back and forth. The tile was slick and shiny, yet there was crud that would never come out. He got a hand brush from his cleaning cart and got down on his knees to fight it.
“What you doing, boy?” Jake boomed from the doorway. The older man’s uniform was filthy and his lilac aftershave outstank the ammonia reek of the cleaning supplies.
Noah said, “There’s still gunk between the tiles.”
“Always will be. Leave it. It’s quitting time and we’re heading up.”
“Give me a couple minutes.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Jake left him to finish his work.
When Noah was done, with a little progress, he wandered through the empty office and walked up the stairs past the top floor. The roof of the fancy building was black tar paper and machinery, always too hot. The whole cleaning crew was up there, sitting in twos and threes. A bunch of faces black like his except for a token white guy. There was a poker game going on, two guys sprawled on the tar paper smoking weed, and a television with a courtroom show on. Noah didn’t sit; he paced.
“Finally,” said Jake. “You swiping stuff down there?”
“Cleaning.”
“Nothing worth taking anyway. Don’t bother.”
“I’m not stealing.” Noah stared out at the city while heat-haze rippled up his skin. Pretty much the same as ever.
“It makes us nervous when you don’t come up,” Jake said. “You know?”
Noah knew. They weren’t supposed to be up here, so they’d think he was snitching if he didn’t spend time hanging out on the roof with them. You didn’t snitch to the police or the boss, and you definitely didn’t want a reputation for it. “I’m cleaning. Come and check on me if you want. I’m up here now.”
Jake grunted and left him alone. Noah had heard that complaint before, too. He’d been coming up here and walking around since he started the job. By now Noah was bored out of his mind with the work and the routine, and he was piling up a few bucks for nothing. Maybe he should get into smoking grass to have something to do, something to spend the cash on. Blue smoke drifted up from the guys smoking, but they didn’t look any happier for it, just pacified.
The TV yammered about the storm and the places that got smashed, and how it was caused by climate change and corporate greed. Same complaints, different day.
Noah looked downtown to a neighborhood of grey buildings, where he could be making real money. His buddy from school, Rickie, had called him the other day to invite him in, to make Noah a fellow dealer. Do it for a while, Rickie said, then quit with a fortune before anything could go wrong. The fact that Rickie used a phone told Noah his buddy was a fool. No matter how clever he was with code-phrases and other stuff, the police would be onto him before long. Still, Noah could get into the business doing small-time stuff, weed or even coke, and buy himself a black Lexus like Rickie’s. He could have women, a house, vacations, some respect. He balled his fists thinking of what a dumbass he was to be scrubbing floors and toilets. He should contact Rickie in person, just for advice on how to set up.
He killed that train of thought by putting his hands on the hot roof and kicking his body into the air. He spun upside-down so that he was on his hands, facing in from the roof.