Remington gave her a look that said everything. “I don’t care if my own grandmother needs a subarachnoid evacuation. Once I’m past those doors, I’m not coming back till tomorrow.”
Susan laughed. “I’m not waiting until we’re outside.” Using one finger, she made a show of muting her Vox. “See you at the main exit in ten minutes.”
“Or less,” Remington promised, dashing off into surgeons’ territory.
Susan went in the opposite direction, determined to let nothing stop her from reaching the front exit unmolested.
Remington took Susan’s hand as they stepped out into sunshine and damp late-morning air. Birds whistled at one another from the branches of trees planted in clumps at regular intervals along the sidewalk. She could still remember when the decision was made to add regular greenery to the city blocks in the hope of straining carbon dioxide, heat, and pollutants from the air. Many of the trees had died; but the city had diligently replanted until the living trees finally outnumbered the lampposts along the streets. Insightful city planners had chosen small, hardy varieties, planted them in groups to shade one another and capture rainfall, and placed them in elevated beds to form a barrier to runoff salts. Porous paving materials helped guide the roots but still supplied them with water, and cracked sidewalks had become a rarity.
Songbirds flitted through these poor excuses for makeshift forest, their nests perched high in the branches and protected from would-be meddlers by wrought-iron fences surrounding the trunks. Gaily painted bat houses hung from the limbs to help keep the insect population in check by night and day; the creatures’ “protected” status made it a crime to harm them or disturb their boxes.
People whisked along the sidewalks, while glide-buses, trams, and occasional cars whooshed past them on the city streets. Whenever she walked in the city, Susan believed she could sense the slight vibrations of the subground u-ways and elevated e-rails, although her father and others insisted these things were undetectable and only someone with an overactive imagination could feel them.
Remington released Susan’s hand and consulted his Vox. He punched a few keys. “If you’re still keen on skating, we can take the fifteen bus, the eight tram, or . . .”
In no hurry, and enjoying the feel of sun and wind, Susan interrupted. “Let’s walk.”
“Walk?” Remington’s brows inched upward. It would take them most of the morning. He shrugged. “Walk, it is. But after a day and night on call, I might not have the energy left to skate once we get there.”
Skating had seemed like a good idea at the time, but a new idea had crept insidiously into Susan’s mind, planted by several conversations and the research project. “That’s all right. I’d kind of like to sightsee, do some window-shopping, and there’s a building not too far from the mall I want to discover.”
“Oh?” Remington took her arm. “Any particular building? Or just your generic hunk of concrete with windows?”
Susan smiled. “I’d like to check out USR, U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men. My dad’s worked there since as long as I can remember. Now I’m researching a product for them, and I realized I’ve never seen it. Not ever.”
Remington accepted that explanation with barely a nod as they continued their walk.
Susan looked at him. “Can you say the same? I mean, have you ever been to the place your dad works?”
“Well, my dad co-owned the supermarket down the block from our house, so I’ve been there a couple” — he paused dramatically — “hundred thousand times. But I’ll bet a lot of people whose parents work in factories and labs have no idea what those places look like.” He added quickly, as if concerned he might have offended her, “Not that I’d mind seeing the USR building. I’ll bet it’s amazing. It ought to have flashing neon signs and animatronic entryways.”
Susan laughed. “More likely it’s a drab, half-hidden, gray nothing of a building. You know what Nate said; they don’t want to draw attention to themselves in any way that anyone could construe as negative.” As that did not exactly make it a fabulous destination, she also felt the need to tack on something. “Though I’d still like to see it.”
“Then it’s settled. A walking tour through the city, followed by a glimpse into the world of USR and your father.” Remington spoke with genuine enthusiasm, for which Susan gave him credit. “Sounds like the perfect day.”
Susan squeezed his hand, wondering if he had any idea how much she appreciated his openness to unusual ideas and trying to find the words to tell him without sounding syrupy. A glide-bus pulled up to a nearby stop with a faint hiss of electric brakes. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man racing awkwardly to catch it as the waiting passengers funneled inside.
As the man flashed past, Susan took a closer look. In his midthirties, he had wildly unkempt blond hair that trailed him in tangles and several days’ growth of beard. Oddly familiar, he wore dirty blue jeans with multiple patches and a long trench coat that seemed inappropriate for the summer weather. Perhaps he had started out early, with the morning chill still in the air. Then, as he brushed past her and onto the bus, Susan felt herself repulsed, wanting to move as far away from him as possible. That clinched his identity in her mind: Payton Flowers, the schizophrenic she had injected with nanorobots, the man for whom Goldman and Peters had practically put out a bounty when he had not shown up for his last appointment.
Without time for explanation, Susan grabbed Remington’s arm and half dragged him toward the bus door. Payton was disappearing inside; and, as there was no one behind him, Susan worried the doors would close before she could catch him. “Come on!”
Though surely surprised, Remington ran with Susan. They reached the door in two bounding steps, and Susan managed to stomp a foot onto the platform, activating the mechanical sensor, just as the doors started closing. The doors froze in place, then eased fully open. Susan staggered in, pulling Remington behind her. He waved raggedly at the driver. Someday, Susan supposed, the glide-buses would become fully automated, obviating the need for direct human guidance. In that moment, she understood why people might feel threatened by positronic robots like Nate.
Payton Flowers took a seat near the front. The one opposite him was already occupied, so Susan kept walking down the aisle until she finally found a fully open seat, three rows farther on. She deliberately avoided the back of the bus. Since all public transport had become essentially free, covered by taxes, certain types of people had a habit of climbing aboard and spending the day staring out the windows. So long as they remained relatively quiet, and self-confined to the back of the bus, most of the drivers tolerated them and left them to their own devices. Susan wondered if Payton might have spent the last few days or weeks among them, which could explain why he had disappeared so completely.
Susan gestured for Remington to take the window seat. She wanted to keep herself free to slip up to Payton Flowers and try to talk to him en route. If impossible, at least she would be able to keep her eye on him so they could debark at the same stop.
Remington swung into the seat, and Susan sat down beside him. The bus glided smoothly back into traffic. The moment it moved, their seat belts clicked into place around them, automatically adjusting to fit snugly over their waists and chests. “You women really are fickle, aren’t you? What happened to our leisurely, sightseeing stroll in the fresh air?”