The woman looks up and gives Randall a wave. With a shock, I recognize her from the other day. The one Randall walked home with.
Before I’ve fully processed this, Randall’s introducing us. “This is Dr Geeta Thompson.”
“I wondered when you were coming in today,” she says.
“Something came up.” He gestures to me, and I give her a polite nod.
“Right.” She looks me over, her smile cooling but not quite disappearing. She glances at Randall, synching.
I don’t know why this infuriates me, but I do know I don’t appreciate the gleam in her eye whenever she looks at Randall. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I straighten out my fingers and try to relax. Finally, the connection between the two of them eases.
Geeta flashes me a smile. “This way. We have much to discuss.” Inside, the hallway takes us past locker rooms and laboratories. “Vector Agronomy prides itself on being at the forefront of the rehabilitation of the region around New Worth. The initiatives we’ve spearheaded are what have made Emergence in our lifetimes possible,” she says, as if I’m just another colleague visiting the site.
>>We’ll need a quiet area, preferably away from prying eyes. Off the network,>> I tell Randall.
<
Geeta flutters her hand toward two double-doors. Their glassed-in windows frame shelves of leafy plants. An onsite greenhouse. “We’ll save a tour of the plants we’re currently testing for reintroduction later,” she says in a courteous voice as we turn down another hallway.
At the end, there’s an elevator her eye scan allows us to access. My skin crawls as the three of us enter. Lifts are always logistically tricky. But Randall and Geeta are taking no small risk in bringing me here so openly. I have to trust that much.
The doors open two levels down. The sub-basement? I didn’t think I’d be back underground so soon. We approach a small laboratory. As Geeta unlocks the door, Randall walks a bit further down the hallway, then turns back, satisfied we’re still alone. Inside, Geeta switches on the lights and pulls a drop cloth off a table of lab equipment. Randall shuts the door behind me.
She glances up from an old console computer. “We can talk freely in here, don’t worry.” She levels another curious look my way. “I’ll need to run some tests.”
“I understand. And data security?”
“Nothing’ll leave this room.”
Randall gives me an I-told-you-so look. Got plenty of them playing Partners in Crime, and a real one’s just as annoying.
Geeta glances at the equipment on the table. Some of it looks like early-generation versions of Finola’s gear. “Hang on. Need to get one more thing.” Geeta walks to the storage closet along the back wall and soon disappears among its dusty shelves.
<
I stiffen and pull my gaze away from the closet as cavalierly as I can. >>Of course you’d say that.>>
He growls, and it’s almost like the digital feedback I’d get from him whenever I frustrated him during our synch chats. Almost.
>>What?>>
<
I cross my arms. >>No, I don’t. We’re on acquaintance settings, remember?>>
<
I stare at him, my mind suddenly blank.
Geeta breezes back over and gestures for me to take a seat on the lab bench. Gratefully, I comply. Even though she’ll be the one poking me with needles, it’s better than whatever that was with Randall. She pulls a catheter out of her purse, the wrapping on it carrying the reassuring brand name of a pharmacy chain. At least her equipment’s in better condition than Charon’s. I push back my sleeve.
She misses the vein and digs the needle back and forth in my arm before she finally lucks out. “Sorry,” she says at my hissed breath. “My samples usually aren’t living.” No shit.
She siphons off a pint of blood and creates a set of slides, with different dyes and additives for each one. Then she settles down in front of a microscope. She cycles through the first couple of slides rather quickly, then whistles after taking a long look at the next one.
She blinks up at me in awe. “I heard this kind of thing was possible, but…” She shakes her head. “I’ll need to isolate the data structure, then who knows if I’ll be able to decipher it. No guarantees.”
“I understand. Thank you.” Rifling through her equipment, I find a needle and the tubing necessary to transfuse the remaining blood back into my body.
Beside me, Randall goes stock-still. Geeta gives him a concerned look. “What is it?”
He turns to me. “Tahir Ahmed wants to talk to you.”
Chapter Twenty
“How did he–” I cut that thought off. Tahir must’ve found Randall’s apartment and reached out to him as a matter of course.
<
I know what he’s asking. The utility’s undeniable. To be able to sit in on their conversation, even interact if I want, would be huge. All I have to do is upgrade Randall’s permissions. Let him back into my mind. Nonverbals, near-instantaneous sharing, practically everything we had before we were disconnected.
I close my eyes, take a breath, and let him in. I flush all over, very aware of Geeta’s presence, as undeniable pleasure washes over me. Anger, resentment, from both of us, builds up, harmonic resonance almost a physical pain as we flash through the last few months. Then something snaps, and all is as it should be. Rik in my head. His hurt at being separated, the confusion and desperation when we found each other again, and the surprise at my real identity – all that swirls in the background, subsumed by the more immediate relief at being reunited.
<
That jerks me back to reality. Slightly. >>Not sure yet. Link me in?>>
He does, though it takes me a moment to focus on it with all the competing information churning between us.
<
>>Play dumb,>> I tell Randall. >>See what he has to say.>>
His agreement flashes through me. Then, <
<
He’s not using the royal Aventine we, but that’s about all that can be said.
<
There’s a brief pause where I imagine Tahir’s grinding his teeth.
<
<
<
<
<
I laugh, then immediately clap my mouth shut with my hands. Randall gives me a wink. Being able to see his face as we synch adds a whole new dimension to the experience. What happens when that’s no longer enough?
<
<
<
>>You mean like having the drop hijacked?>> I break in.
Randall glares at me, but I ignore him, waiting for Tahir’s response.
<
>>You tell me. The client’s security never showed because apparently I was routed to the wrong location. That guy I picked up at the aquarium? He’s dead. And I’m pretty sure I’d be too if I didn
’t run.>>
That throws him, but only for a second. <
Rik tenses. He’s trying to be good, keeping his emotions in check to not confuse the connection, but his anxiety’s contagious.
>>I can’t do that. How do I know Aventine wasn’t in on it?>>
<
>>Don’t worry about that.>>
He’s quiet for a long moment. <
>>No. Not until I know what’s going on, Tahir.>>
<
<
And before I can react to Rik’s renewed presence, he does the same to ours. Not simply reverting back to the acquaintance settings, but severing our connection entirely. A headache crashes down on me, amplified by a slight twinge in my stomach.
“Why did you cut him off?” I nearly snarl.
“Your conversation was going nowhere.”
“That was my call.”
“He’s trying to confuse you. Let your guard down.”
I hold up my hand. “You don’t know him.”
“You don’t either.”
Casting about for a response, I remember Geeta. She watches us with a bewildered look on her face. “Uh, sorry about that.”
She shrugs, trying to appear indifferent, but her wide, brown eyes give her away. “Don’t mind me.”
I exhale slowly. Clearly Tahir was able to connect Randall to me, but the question is whether he’s disclosed that to Aventine yet. I’d like to believe he’d give me a chance to make things right, but after drinking from the hose of Randall’s distrust, I don’t know what to think anymore.
The laboratory walls press closer. We’re too vulnerable if we stay here. I yank out the needle tethering me to the lab and slap on a wound-heal patch from my satchel. “I should go.”
“Yes, we should,” Randall says. “As far as we know, your handler could have Vector staked out by now.”
I shake my head. “No. He would’ve told us that much.” At least I hope I’d warrant a heads up. Besides, he’d have no way of knowing if I was here. All he knew for sure was I had a connection to Randall, incidental or maybe something more. He could guess we’re traveling together or were connected somehow, but he couldn’t be certain of it. Until I confirmed it for him.
Randall rolls his eyes and turns back to Geeta. “You got everything you need?” She nods. “Good. We’re leaving. You contact me with what you find.” His eyes close momentarily. “My real ID has worn out its usefulness, so use the one I just sent you.”
He grabs a touchscreen from the table. “You don’t have one of these in your bag of tricks, do you? Might come in handy.”
I tuck it into my satchel. It’s a good idea, and it can’t be linked to either one of us, only Vector.
“But what about work?” Geeta asks. “What should I tell management?”
“Nothing. I left early today, and that’s all you know.”
“But–”
“We don’t want you any more involved than you already are,” I say. “The less you know now, the better.”
“If you’re sure…” She looks at me. “Will you be all right?”
“She’ll be fine. She’ll be with me,” Randall says impatiently.
A wrinkle forms in her brow. “But didn’t you tell him about the possibilities of rejection?”
Ah, crap. Before I can answer, Randall levels a glare at me. “No. She didn’t.”
The industrial neighborhood where Vector Agronomy is headquartered gradually gives way to housing developments and shabby storefronts the closer we get to the Promenade. Randall’s brooding presence shadows me as I dart along the edge of the crowds. I send him a synch request, but he ignores it.
Guess we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.
“You’re overreacting.”
“The hell I am.”
“We just have to figure things out before I can’t function anymore,” I say over my shoulder.
“You make it sound like it’s no big deal.”
“What can I do about it? Nothing. So we just have to take things as they are.”
He grabs my elbow. “You should’ve told me.”
I shrug him off me. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary.”
“Then what’s stopping us from getting you a transfusion or something so… you know can’t hurt you?”
“The data’s safer inside me than out.”
The whole point of what we do is to obscure where the data is at any point in time. Not on the network vulnerable to attack. Nor copied to a datakey or card too easily stolen or corrupted. Instead, it’s hidden in plain sight, underneath a courier’s skin. My skin.
“Besides, we have plenty of time before we need to worry about the curdle.” We’ve only burned a full day. Symptoms won’t kick in for real until tomorrow.
He glances up and down the street. “Maybe we should go back to the lab.”
“And what? Get in Geeta’s way? Distract her from her work? Don’t know about you, but I could use a break. Preferably not somewhere where we’re sitting ducks.”
“What if it’s your symptoms?”
I cross my arms. “It’s not.” Even if it is, the stash of painkillers Geeta gave me as we left Vector will have to be enough to hold me over.
“But what if it is?”
“Still need to lie down.”
Randall shakes his head, frustration welling up, but he pushes it back with a sigh. “Then where to now?”
Good question. I pull up my map of New Worth. Too many places are out of bounds with Aventine on the hunt. This sector of the Terrestrial District has a large Disconnect population. I skip over a section in yellow automatically, then realize my mistake. That’s it: the areas Aventine has deemed too dangerous because of the Disconnect unrest. Places where they can’t guarantee proper backup.
“The Bower.”
“No way. You’ll get eaten alive. Both of us.”
I keep walking. “Doesn’t matter. A den of Disconnects is the safest place for us right now.” I glance back at him. “Besides, you’re the one who considers them friends.”
He gives me a pointed look. “They’ve certainly proven to be more reliable.”
If he’s trying to hurt me, it almost works. “Well, I’m going. You can still figure a way out of this mess if you walk away now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then let’s go.”
He mutters a curse, but at least he stops trying to change my mind.
The yellowed-out part of my map covers a wide swath of the Bower. The northernmost edge dovetails with a couple of blocks I canvassed when I was tailing Breck and some of the other scrappers. They were their hunting grounds for a reason. Lots of tight walkways, heavy Disconnect traffic, and a number of buildings and storefronts that have cycled through so many tenants, half are empty at any one time.
When we get close to the start of the Bower, I veer toward a clothing store. Randall swallows his objections when I pick out a hastily printed shirt for him and a zip-up sweater for me. Can’t help the newness, but the disposable styles signal us as people who can’t afford better. Randall purchases our clothes using his new ID. Before leaving the store, we slip them on over our clothes. Hopefully it’ll be enough to blend in.
“Have you been in this neighborhood before?” I ask. The buildings constrict around us. Not even the mirrors get enough of the faint reflected light down here.
“Yes.” He practically spits the word out, but whatever else he’s thinking is hidden behind his stony demeanor.
“I grew up a couple of blocks away.
Avoided the area for the most part even back then,” I offer, trying to draw him out.
“They’ll know we’re connected.”
Part of me wants to say no, they won’t, but that’s not true, is it? They’ll figure it out eventually, even if we pass a cursory first examination. The eyes often give us away. The eyecast commands telegraphing our preoccupation with our implants. If not that, they could always get close enough to see the slight discoloration along the back of our necks. More obvious on someone like Randall with his pale skin than me.
“Then we’ll just have to convince them we mean no harm.”
“The whole city’s ready to boil over, and you think you can convince them we have their best interests at heart?”
“We have to, if we’re going to have a safe place to crash for a few hours.”
His shoulders bunch, and I’m momentarily glad I’m not subjected to his unvoiced frustration. “Fine,” he says flatly.
When we slip into the Bower, crossing an invisible line between relative safety and uncertainty, the quiet unease is similar to my very first job where the rally cut off my access to the lifts. But the sight of the checkpoints ripped from the corners of buildings, their dismantled entrails scattered across the ground or strung up overhead cheers me slightly.
Randall hasn’t shed his discomfort, but, on him, he just looks pissed off which, thankfully, deters most people we pass. We have a tail though, a cocky kid in his early teens that picked us up as soon as we entered the neighborhood. If Randall’s noticed, he gives no indication. Just as well.
We pass an old restaurant that’s been converted into a shelter for Disconnects. The wide front windows reveal dozens of people in the well-lit interior. Families and individuals alike sit at the dining tables that have been arranged in a semicircle to face a man standing at an improvised podium made from dusty old computer towers. Part-priest, part-politician, he makes a speech of some sort to the rapt audience.
Randall eyes the shelter carefully and sends me a synch request. <
I nod as we move past, not looking at it directly, but intensely aware of all the Disconnects inside. Gathering places like this one aren’t uncommon for people who feel cut off from the rest of society. Sometimes they provide services for community members with mental and emotional issues – often ones who were denied implants in the first place. But after listening to Randall, there’s a lot more of them, and reasons for disconnecting, than I realized.
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