A whirring noise came from the direction of Kesselring’s chalet, and a swarm of ornithopter bots rose into the sky, darting and weaving. The falcon saw them and its head twitched to the side, flexing its claws into the leather glove covering Kesselring’s hand.
“I don’t know what you mean, sir.” Jimmy shifted from one foot to the other, his head down. “You’ve been like a father to me, even more since Patricia passed. I can’t tell you how grateful I am—”
A bell chimed and Jimmy glanced into the augmented space of the Alps, at a church spire that climbed over the trees in a village nestled high above.
“I think it’s time, Mr. Scadden, that we dispense with the charade.” Kesselring looked at Jimmy, who stopped shifting and looked up to return his gaze. “Do you know anything about falconry?” In the background, Kesselring tensed his phantoms, monitoring the data flow around Jimmy’s networks.
“Not really, no.”
Lifting his arm, Kesselring whistled and set the falcon free. With two quick and powerful beats of its wings, it lifted up and soared across the grass, then sailed into the sky to chase the ornithopters.
“Raptors are not pets,” Kesselring explained, his eyes following the bird. “They are non-affectionate animals. Do you know what this means?”
Saying nothing, Jimmy shook his head. Wheeling overhead, the falcon shrieked as it caught the first robot, pinned it in its talons and dropped to the ground.
“It means they have no ability to deal with dominant or submissive roles. There is no love, no aim to please, just an opportunistic understanding that the falconer affords it the easiest source of food and protection. It’s a matter of convenience, not love.”
The falcon took several stabs at the robot with its beak. Kesselring whistled, and the falcon hopped toward him and then took to the air, the robot still in its grip. It landed back on Kesselring’s gloved hand, the bot clutched in the talons of one foot.
“When it comes down to it,” continued Kesselring, reaching to take the small bot from the bird’s grip. He presented it with another morsel of red flesh. “At most, it’s a matter of trust: the bird trusts the falconer not to steal its food and to provide protection, and the falconer trusts the bird to hunt and return when called.” He lifted his hand and set the falcon free again. “Now which one of us is which?”
Jimmy unclasped his hands from behind his back. His face hardened. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Herman?” He lifted his hands, palms up. “Terra Nova laid down, the world at your feet? Happiness indices are at an all-time high, the populations of the world lulled into a pssi-induced coma while it funnels money into your accounts. Don’t tell me you did this for truth and beauty.”
“These disappearances are becoming problematic—”
“Did you imagine this would be trouble free? There are a lot of people—governments, corporations—that don’t like what’s happening. Don’t tell me that you didn’t think sacrificing a few lives would be necessary to save billions.”
“And Nancy has come to me with concerns,” Kesselring said, “details of a private psombie army, promises of eternal life.”
Jimmy nodded. “So this is coming from Nancy?”
Kesselring shook his head. “Not entirely, but we have concerns.”
“These are not just empty promises,” said Jimmy. “We are on the verge of that promised land that we started all this for, leading the world toward Atopia, the world without borders that has no end.”
The falcon screeched in the sky, trapping another flying bot.
Kesselring stood still. “That Patricia and I started this for, not you.”
“And now she is gone, and here you and I stand.” Jimmy dropped his arms.
Kesselring paused. While they were talking, Jimmy added layers around this reality, sectioning it off from the multiverse. Kesselring’s agents fought for position, but it was difficult to resist Jimmy’s strength. Kesselring was cut off from the outside world now.
“Let’s speak plainly.” Kesselring stood and faced Jimmy. “I am ready to allow your”—he searched for the right words—“indulgences, and to fully protect and support you with my resources, as long as these indulgences serve our common interest. In return, you share with me what you’re doing.”
They watched each other while scenarios played out in the background. Kesselring could feel Jimmy’s networks probing, feinting, as they sized each other up, their private display spaces filled with timelines that spread out from this nexus point.
“Agreed,” Jimmy said finally.
Their networks exchanged access and safeguard requests. Kesselring nodded. “And find Robert Baxter, will you? This is getting embarrassing.”
Jimmy nodded and smiled. “The final battle has begun, Herman, you should be proud of what you’ve achieved. You will soon be getting everything you deserve.” He turned and walked toward the trees, disappearing into them and toward the access tunnel to go below.
Kesselring waited until he felt Jimmy’s presence gone, and then initiated a sweep, cleansing the area. The falcon squawked in the grass, busy ripping the guts of the second bot it had captured. He ignored it and reached out with one of his phantom limbs to open an invisible door. It swung open into blackness, and Nancy stepped through, closing the tunnel behind her.
“You see?” she said. “Do you believe me now?”
13
Humming to himself, Bunky flexed his motor cortex, feeling the thrum of his digger bots eating their way into the bedrock. After weeks of talking with underminers around the world, he was happy to get back to work. Thankfully, Sibeal and the glasscutters handled ongoing communications with the other groups, leaving him to get back to what he was really good at—digging.
It was a busy week, trying to juggle his contract work while working with Sibeal to search out and remove as much of the mystery crystal as possible. He offered to drop the contracts, but she insisted he keep them, saying they needed to maintain normalcy to keep their cover.
He didn’t mind. He liked being busy, and it helped keep him from wondering what happened to Zoraster. They hadn’t heard anything from the big monkey since they lost contact with him. Everyone feared the worst.
“What’s shakin’, Shaky?” he messaged to his partner who controlled the other half of their fleet of diggers. Shaky was two blocks west of him. They were both five hundred feet below Times Square.
“I’m drier than a witch’s tit, mate,” Shaky replied. It was the end of the day, or at least the end of the work day. He forwarded an image of a stallion charging across a grassy plain.
“Yes, I think it’s time for a beer at the White Horse, my friend.”
“One beer?!”
“Oh dear, did I say beer?” Bunky smiled. “I meant beers, my good man. Set those borer bots into a cross-grid…” He stopped mid-sentence and frowned. What the hell is that?
“What did you say, mate? The signal cut off. Hurry up, I’m thirsty!”
Bunky checked his networks. Bringing his awareness back into the pod of his construction mechanoid, he flicked the manual control switch for their largest tunnel-boring machine. It didn’t respond. Was it offline? He began running through a checklist.
“Hey, Bunk,” Shaky said, “I just lost contact with some of my diggers up three and four shafts.”
“Give me a sec.”
Out of the corner of an eye Bunky saw something, and reflexively he lifted one of his mechanoid’s arms. The next instant he was knocked backward as one of his pipe runners came flailing out of the darkness into him. Regaining his senses, he turned on all the lights in the tunnel, then leaned over to pick up the bot that smashed into him.