Dreams

intheTower

Part3AndrewVrana

ThelookinMonika’seyesasshedeliveredthelatestupdateontheaftermathofthatbitternightthathadalmost—almost—caused Silvan to abandoneverything was too alarming

tobeignored.He had made a big

mistake last time she hadbeen in his office; hehad lethisanger,andevenworsehisfear, show through inMonika’s presence. He hadshownherhishumansideandever since then she had beendistant and visibly shakenwhenever she was aroundhim.Ashelookedathernow,sitting in front of his desk

while he stood over her,wringingherhandsinherlapandbreathing tooheavily,hehad the horrible feeling thathis sturdy right hand wasfraying, cracking under thepressure.

“What is it,Monika?”heaskedher.“Whatelsedoyouneedtotellme?”

“Nothing,” she saidimmediately. “It’s just…”She took off her glasses and

placed them on the desk,rubbing her eyes. “It’s justeverything.Allofit.I’mtiredandI’mguiltyandIjustwantthisalltobeover.”

“It won’t be over nowuntilit’sdone,”hesaid.“Oneway or the other. Imademychoice, and apparently theymade theirs. I didn’t wantwar. That’s not on us. Theyare responsible for their owndeaths.”

Monika let out asputtering cough-like soundthatmayhavebeenasobandcovered her eyes with herhands.Silvanstaredather inconfusion for a momentbefore reaching a tentativehand out to touch hershoulder. She jerked awayfromhistouchandlookedupathimwithwildredeyes.Atthat moment he knewdefinitively: the respect she

showed him was not out offriendship or admiration butrather fear—the kind asuperstitiouspeasanthasforaking who proclaims himselfdivine.He removed his handand walked around his deskto sit at his big chair on theotherside.

“Ineedtoknow,”Monikasaid. She donned her glassesso that her dewy eyes wereobscured somewhat behind

the glinting lenses. “Tell mewhat all this is for, really. IgetProjectUnify,Ireallydo.But I don’t understand why.Tellme.I’vebeenblindlongenough and I deserve toknow.”

“I suppose you’redemanding an explanationthen?”

Shenoddeduncertainly.Silvan sighed, long and

slow; the time had finally

come to be honest with her.Heowedhernothingless.Hepausedandstaredoutthroughthe window at the cloudlesssky, wondering how toconvey hismind to her, howtodecipherhisdreamsforthedreamless. When he lookedback he saw she was staringat him eagerly, almostimpatiently.

Hungry.“Well,” he began, “I

guessIhavetostartfromthebeginning then. The verybeginning.” He paused andstared at the patterns in thewood of his desk, seeingshapes in it he knew no oneelse saw. He had stared atthese patterns whilerehearsingthisveryspeechinhishead,unsureatthetimeifhewouldeverneedtogiveit.“Manyyearsago,”hebegan,“longbeforeIfoundedSilvan

Technologies, theAgeof theCorporation dawned andtransformed capitalism—changed it from a system ofeconomics to a system ofgovernance. For the firsttime, at least officially, ourelectedleadersandthepeoplewho elected them no longerhad the power, not truly.Thoseatthetopofthecapitalhierarchy could use theirmoneyaspoweroveranyone

and everyone. And whyshouldn’t they? Those whoare successful, or come froma successful lineage, areusually inherently far moreintelligent than the masses.Why leave the power in thehands of a horde of idiotswhen they will be equallysatiated with the illusion ofpower? The only thing thatmakessenseistolettheelitemindsguidesociety.

“But it’s a ravenousworld we’ve created.Obviously, corruptionabounds. Rather than thesmart and successful onesbuilding the world we allneed, we have a group ofgreedy dogs fighting eachother over who gets thebiggestshareof thekill,whohas the most power over theothers. They get so…sodistracted by the melee that

they forget about the world,andprogressstagnates.Poweris the bane of the corporatesocietyevenas it is thebaneof humanity itself. Thereforeit must be removed to usherin the perfected ideal, thepost-capitalist dream, thefuture of the world.”Glancing up, he saw a timidlook on Monika’s face andrealizedhisvoicehadbecomelouder and more harsh. He

took a moment to composehimself.

“How do we attain suchlofty aspirations?” hecontinued more calmly,speaking the words he hadgone over in his headcountless times before. “Thisquestion tortured me fordecades as I took advantageof a system I despised,building the greatestcorporation the world has

ever seen. Then one day,sitting in this room, lookingout that window there, Irealized I had alreadyanswered the question. Iwaswellonmywaytopossessingwhat I needed to drive theworld into the future, and itwassomethingmuchcleaner,much more wieldable thanrawfinancialpower.”

Heletthathangintheairuntilshesaid,“Whatisit?”

Looking her dead in theeyes, he said, “Control.Power gives you control, butonly until someone elsecomes along with morepower. Total controltranscends power, so thatpower becomes meaningless.So to lead society into thefuture, all I need is totalcontrol.”

Monika laughed politely.“Andhowwillyoudothat?”

“Have you not beenpaying attention?” Hegrinned. “When I owneverything,only I candecidewhatmeaningwealthhas.Allof the money goes throughme.”

“Andmoneyispower.”“Exactly.”“But only you will be

abletoderivepowerfromthemoney, when you owneverything.”

“Right.”“You won’t own

everything,”shesaid,leaningbackand staring thoughtfullyout the window. “You and Iboth know that. It’s simplynotpossible.”

“Ifyouhadn’tpointedoutthat unfortunate truth,” hesaid,“Iwouldhavemadeyouleavemyoffice immediately.I won’t own everything. Butthat’s a problem I took care

of.”“How so?” She was

looking at him with stonyeyes,almostbacktoherusualself.

He would have liked tohave toldhereverything, justto have another person thereinto whom he could siphonsomeofhisdoubtsandfears,butitwassmartertoleaveheroutofit.Asloyalasshemaybe, as vital to his continued

existence as they both knewshewas,shewasonlyhuman.Shecouldbebroken.

“On that you’ll just havetotrustme.”

The instant defeat in hereyestoldhimthatshewould,thatshedidn’thaveachoice.

19“Baz, what time is the manfrom Silte Corp calling?”Chrisaskedthequestionoverhisshoulderasheworkedtheknotinhistieuptohisthroat.Hethenstartedpullingonhispants—the ones fresh fromthe dry-cleaner, not the ones

he hadworn into theCapitolthatmorningforthevote.

“11:30,” Baz said fromthewidescreenthatChrishadhadbuiltintothewalldirectlyacross from his desk whenhe’d moved in. “That’s sixminutes thirty-six secondsfromnow,SenatorColmin.”

“Do I look presentable?”Hehad just finishedwithhiscuffs and now stood in fullview of the screen’s camera,

which was his virtualassistant’sperceptiontool.

“Perhaps you might dosomething with your hair,SenatorColmin.”

“Good eye.” Chris ran asoft hand through his neatlytrimmed, gray-flecked brownhair,smoothingoutanysignsof the excitement of the lastfifteen minutes. As anunmarried member of theUnited States Congress, he

hadtokeepuptheappearancethat sex was something hejust did not do, even thoughnobody with a brain reallybelievedthat.

“Iwouldn’t put your feetup on the desk,” Alana said,smoothing out her pants asshesteppedoutoftheoffice’sspacious closet, “unless youplan to put some shoes on.”Shewaswearinganot-quite-formalnavybluesuitthatwas

exactly what Chris wouldexpect a senator from NewYorktowear.

“I wouldn’t put my feetup on the desk anyway,”Chrissaid.“It’sexpensive.”

“Why not?” Alana askedplayfully.“Youdon’twanttotrample the desk like youtrampledthelivesofmillionsof unemployed workers andtheirfamiliesthismorning?”

“Yeah,yeah.”Fearingan

economiccollapse,Chrishadpreviously been among themany who had sought toforceSilteCorptore-employmostof its laid-offpersonneland have its subsidiaries dolikewise, but three days ofviolent protests with a deathtollinthethousands(manyofthem demonstrators, but thatwas beside the point) hadforced he and many of hiscolleaguestotrustSilvanand

hiscorporateempire—ifonlyto stay true to the media-guided public opinion. So hehad voted against theemergency action. Hecouldn’t help but wonder,considering Silvan’sinfluence, whether theoutcomeofthevotewould’vebeenanydifferentregardless.There was a lot of moneycoming out of that tower inDallas, enough to make all

sortsofthingshappen.“Baz,” he said to the

elderly generic male face onthe screen, “does SenatorShelley have a clear wayout?”

“Just a moment…okay.It’s clear now, SenatorColmin.”

“Good,” Chris said.“Alana,untilnexttime.”

“Next time,” she said,smoothing out her sleeves,

“maybe we should do thiswhen you have a little morethan twenty minutes tospare.” She obviously hadn’tbeensatisfied,butChrisknewherwell enoughnow to pickuponthatwithoutherhavingtosayit.

“Goodbye, SenatorShelley,” he said formally.He walked her to the doorand looked down the hall inboth directions before

ushering her out and closingthe door to the sound of herechoing footsteps. He hopednoonehaddecidedtoleaveanearby office before she gotfarenoughaway;itwouldnotbegoodatallforalibertarianlike himself to get caughthaving a secretmeetingwitha neo-progressive, especiallyin his first term inCongress.And if somebody found outthey were fucking…well, he

could only imagine thecareer-ending articles hisacquaintances wouldgleefully send himaccompanied by messagestelling him how much theyhad always secretly hatedhim.Hewouldhavetoretreatback to Texas and hope thescandal didn’t prevent himfrom getting some type ofrespectable corporate jobbefore his last government

paycheckranout.Circling around to sit at

his desk, he finger-combedhis hair one last time,preparingforthemeetingthatthemessagefromaSilteCorpHR-bot had so adamantlyimplored he be present andalone for. Chris assumed theposition,placinghishandsonhis chair’s armrests anddonning a practiced smile—friendly, but not so friendly

that he would not be takenseriously.

Whenthecallnotificationcame up on screenBaz said,“Putting him through rightaway,SenatorColmin.”

“Hello, Senator Colmin,”the man’s voice said whilethe screen was still black. Asecondlaterhisnarrow,well-lined face showed up on thescreen,andChrisleanedbackin surprise. The man’s hair

was grayer and his eyelidswere heavier, his mouthtighter, but Chris recognizedthemanrightaway.

“Nelson Hergeman,” hesaid, relaxing his shouldersand dropping the mock-friendlyact:thiswasafriend.Well, he was a friend to theextent that he was the manwho had been appointed bySilteCorptomakesureChriswonhisprimaryandmade it

to Washington as juniorsenatorforthestateofTexas.“Howhaveyoubeen?”Chrissaid. “You know I neverreally thanked you for, well,this.” He gestured at theofficearoundhim.

“It’s time to repay Mr.Silvan and SilteCorporation,”Hergemansaid,completely ignoring Chris’spolite greeting. “We got youin office,” Hergeman

elaborated. “Now you helpus.”

“Oh, I see.” Somethingwasn’t right about the wayHergemanspoke—orthewayhisfacedidn’tseemtoreflecthis words in any noticeableway; in fact, he wasunsettlingly wooden to thepoint of appearing inhuman.“Iunderstand,”Chrissaid.“Imean, I’ve been wonderingwhen you guys would reach

outtomewithallthat’sgoingonoutthere.”Nottomention,he thought, why youscheduled this meeting forafter the morning vote. Hadthey been testing him byseeing where his allegiancewould fall when leftunhindered?

There was no questionthatChrisowedeverythingtoSilteCorp.When he initiallysetoutonthecampaigntrail,

he made no secret about hisfull support of the CorporateFreedom Act in its presentstate and promised that hewould not vote for anylegislation that wouldimpinge on the rights ofcorporate persons. Knowing,obviously, this would havelimitedappealamongawearyvoter base, he had beenrelyingongaininganedgeintheprimarythroughgenerous

corporate contributions;whathe had gotten instead was avisit at his North Dallasheadquarters, in person (forthe one and only time—therest of their meetings wouldbe in vid-calls), by NelsonHergeman. The man haddiscussed a few ideologicalpoints with him for a whilebefore telling him that SilteCorporationwouldbewillingtowin him the senate seat if

hewouldagreetoservethemwhenevertheyneededhimto.Wantingnothingmoreatthatmoment than to gain onemore step on the politicalladder, Chris had taken thestylus firmly in hand andsigned the tablet screen.Withinaweek,theonlyotherserious contender in theprimarydroppedoutsuddenlyand mysteriously. Twomonths later, the two other

candidates who posed anyreal threat to Chris’scampaign dropped out of therace, and in November hebeganmakingpreparationstocome toWashington D.C. tojoin his fellow freshmansenators. Hergeman had senthim one final message:“Congratulations. You willhearfromus.”

It seemed that time hadcome.

“We have a bill,”Hergeman said. “It has yournameon it, alongwitha fewothers, but you’re front andcenter. You’re going tointroduce this billWednesday,andthevotewillbe Thursday. It will pass thesenate and house and willobviously not be vetoed bythepresident.”

“Okay,” Chris saidslowly, trying to ignore the

weird motionlessness of thefaceonthescreen.“Andwhatis this bill? More corporatefreedom? If so, I can’tguaranteeitwillpass.”

“No.” Hergeman shookhis head mechanically. “Thebill gives artificialpersonalities, intelligences,and other entities legalpersonhood. The Freedom ofNon-PhysicalPersonsAct.”

Out of respect for the

man,Chrisforcedhimselfnottolaugh.Afterashortsilencehe said, “Are you sure youwouldn’t rather me proposeincreased freedom forcorporate persons? Thatmight have a better chancethanthis.”

“It will pass.” Thestrange, emotionless way hesaid it made Chris believehim.

Sponsoring a bill wasn’t

allthatmuchtoaskofChris.Infact,havinghisnameonamajor, polarizing bill couldbe a great step to a possiblefuture presidential run. Butthisbill inparticularwasjustridiculous. There may befifteenor twentymembersofCongress on the ideologicalfringeswho thought that, forone reason or another,artificial personalities shouldhaveequal rights; aside from

those, everyone saw thepossible long termimplications—like what willhappenwhen a true artificialintelligence is created andinstantly possesses all therights of a natural humanbeing. The fear was just tooingrained to allow them toendorse such a thing. Not tomention the fact that half ofthem—includingeveryseniorsenator over the age of 65—

still refused to update theirofficeswith virtual assistantsliketherestoftheworld.Thisbillwouldbeatoughsell,andnotonlywoulditnothelphisfuture presidential campaign,it might actually prevent italtogether. He should say notoHergemannowandjoininthe mocking derision aimedat whomever they picked totakehisplaceonWednesday.

But he didn’t have that

option.“Give this bill to my

assistant,” he said to thescreen, where Hergeman’sfacedidn’tevenacknowledgethatChrishadsaidanything.

“Thatwillbeallfornow,Senator,”Hergemansaid.

“All right.” Chris pouredhimself some ice water fromthejugonhisdeskandtookasip.“Beforeyougo,”hesaid,“whyexactlydoesSilteCorp

need a bill like this to pass?Are your secretariesthreatening togoonstrikeorsomething?”Hechuckledbutquickly stopped when herealized the joke had notmade so much as a dent inHergeman’ssteelexterior.

“I’m not permitted toanswerthat.”

“Understandable,” Chrissaid.Then,decidinghe’dhadenough of this

uncharacteristicversionoftheman he had once known, hesaid,“Youknow,forasmuchlifeasyou’re showing today,I’d say you’re an artificialpersonality.”

Stillnotevenagrinfromthe other man. Hergemanonly said, “We will be intouch, Senator.” And withthatthemeetingwasover.

Draininghisnearbyglassof water, Chris got up and

moved around the desk,straighteninghis tieand shirtcollar. He looked around theroom and sighed; onWednesday he wouldprobably become the subjectof a day’s worth of jokesfrom the news analyzers andpoliticalsatiristsoftheworld.It would blow over,eventually—italwaysdid.Ormaybe it wouldn’t need to.Hergemanhadsoundedpretty

sure,andChriscouldn’tdenythatSiltealreadyhadaheavyhand in the day-to-daydealings in Congress. Hewould just have to trust themasters and play along, dohisjob.

“Baz,” he said, “I’mgoingouttolunch.Givemeasummary of that bill.EverythingIneedtoknowtonot look like toomuchof anidiot on Wednesday. That

includes outside facts anddata.”

“Right away, SenatorColmin.”

Pocketing his tablet,Chris said, “Just think, ifthings work out Wednesdaythen maybe someday you’llbeasenatorandsomeonewillbe taking your orders.” Hecouldn’t help but flash anirreverent smile at the screenas he sauntered out of the

office—a smile that quicklydiedwhen he realized that ifthe bill passed he mightactually have to start givinghis virtual secretarypaychecks.

And that was a scarythought.

20For at least the hundredthtime in the last five daysJason,huddledononeoftwobeds in a little passengercabin aboard the containershipMVWyles, tried to call

Sabrina through the non-Ecom app he had put on hertablet. For at least thehundredth time, he was leftdisappointed. No, he wasmore than disappointed: hewas utterly demolished, tornbytheguiltofabandoningherand aching with worry atwhatmighthavehappenedtohis last remaining friend.While there was no way ofknowing if his calls and

messages were even gettingthrough,hedidknowthatnooneelsebutSabrinawouldbeable to receive them,regardlessofwhomightbeincontrol of her tablet now, sohekepttrying.

There wasn’t much elsetodoonthehulkingcontainership—at least not for him.Dellia, who was sharing thiscramped cabin with him,spentmostdaysexploringthe

vessel and discussing thingswith the captain andengineersofwhichJasonhadlittleknowledgeandevenlessinterest.Hechosetolimithisonline presence to be safe,despite Captain Redding’sassurances that he was quiteuntraceable aboard theWyles(“Don’t forget, I’ve been apartof this littlemovementahell of a long time now,” hewouldsay).Theship’slounge

had a small library with realbooks, a few old pinballmachines,andapooltableinneed of serious refurbishing—so Jason had no reason tohang out in there. Since hehad no interest in exploringwith his cabin-mate, all thatwasleftwasthediningroom.The food was surprisinglyedible, but what really drewJason in was what the crewreferred to as the ship’s bar:

several boxes of a strangeassortmentofliquorandwinefromallaroundtheworldandaseeminglyendlesssupplyofbeer that the cook madehimself in a spare pantry, alltucked away in a lockedcloset in the kitchen. As apassenger, Jason wasn’trestricted by the on-dutydrink limits imposed on thecrew, and he took fulladvantageofthisfreedom.He

had grown particularly fondof the cook’s heavy stout,black asmolasses and nearlyas thick. Apart from meals,Jason only left the cabin tovisit this so-called bar, andthatwashappeningmoreandmore frequently. Avery, thecook,hadtakentodigginginhischestpocketfortheclosetkey as soon as he saw Jasonenterthediningroom.

Jasonsethistabletonthe

bed beside him and nearlyreachedforthegrowlerfullofbeer the cook had lent himbefore thinking better of it.Hehad learnedahard lessonafter the first few nights,when he had taken hisdrinking too far and foundthat hangovers combinedhorribly with the motion ofthe ship to create hours ofmorningmisery.Andanywayno matter how much he

drank, he always woke upback in this cramped, mustycabin on this aging shipheading wherever the peopleabovehimdecidedheshouldgo next; his own life’s pathwasoutofhishands.Gettingsloppy drunk again wouldonly make his problems thatmuchharder todealwith thenextday—andprobablymakeDellia’s opinion of him sinkeven lower. Sometimes he

regretted following her ontothisboat.

But where would he benowifhehadstayedbehind?Probably, he knew, in thesamesituationhewasinnow,only instead of two sideswantinghimdeaditwouldbeall three—or however manysides there were now; it washard to know for sure.Whatwas once the Anti-Corpmovement was now myriad

groups,fightingasmuchwitheachotheraswithSilteCorpanditsallies.

There were two curtknocks and the dented metaldoor swung inward. Dellia,wearing blue coveralls, herhair pulled into a tightponytail, gave Jason aperfunctory greeting as sheenteredthecabinanddroppedonto her own bed, leaningback tiredly against thewall.

Shelookedathimandsmiledthenglancedaroundtheroomsilently, seemingly deep inthought. This introspectivesilence was something shedid a lot; Jason found it athoroughlyrefreshingtrait.

Finally, just before hewas going to ask her whichpartof theshipshehadbeento today, she said, “I was intheengineroom,justnow.”

“Ah,” Jason said, sitting

upstraightandscootingtotheedge of his bed. “Does thismean I get to hear all aboutthe thermodynamics of boatengines now?” He may beable to talk over her headabout computing technologyandsoftwareengineering,butshewas apparently an experton almost everything else.Her enthusiasm to explainhow most anything andeverythingworkedwas often

tiring—and usually hard tofollow.

Withaplayfulrollofhereyes,Delliasaidsardonically,“Well I am dying to talkabout it.” She alsomoved tothe edge of her bed so theywere a few feet apart.“Actually,” she said in asemi-hushedvoice,“IwantedtotalkaboutsomethingelseIsaw down there. There’s thisdooratthebackoftheengine

room, looks really newcompared to everything else.I went through it and it waslike a big storage room orsomething. Obviously arecentaddition,liketheybuiltan extra room into the cargospace down there. Anyway,this place was full of someseriously heavyweight techequipment. Servers, satellitereceivers, other stuff Iwouldn’t begin to have a

name for. Most of it’s notrunning, from what I couldsee. Iwanted to look aroundmore, but an engineer camein and didn’t seem happy tosee me there, so I got outquick.”

“Tech equipment,” Jasonrepeated slowly. “That couldmeana lot. It’s probably justwhat they need to give themthe computing power theyhave. Or more likely what

they need to keep this placeoffthegrid.”

“Oh come on,” she said.“Even I know that can bedone on a single beefed-uptabnowadays.”

He smiled and shook hisheadathernaivety.“No.Notout here. Not with so manypeople connected. Theywould need at least twoindependentsatellitereceiversand a transmitter, not to

mention a couple ofextremelysecureservers,anda—”

“OkayIgetit.Therewasalot,though.Andmostdidn’tseemlikeitwasbeingused.Iwould show you, but I don’twant to risk getting caughtaround there again.” Sheleaned in towards him,closing even more of thedistance between them.“Jason,don’tyouseeit?The

captainisn’t justsomecasualhired pawn of the post-ACpeople. This place is afloating base. It’s the…it’slike the core of whichevergroup it is we’re workingwithnow.”

“Maybe,” Jason saidhesitantly.“Butdoyoureallythink so? It’s just abunchofequipmentinstorage.Imean,maybe they’re justtransportingit.Thisisacargo

ship,right?”She shook her head.

“This is why you shouldleave the cabin once in awhile. Every time we stop,they only take containers offthetoptwolayersofthestackand replace them with newones. At every port it’s thesame containers being takenoffandreplaced.Myguessis,ifwelookedinsidetheotherswe would find more

equipment or people or—something.”

“That is interesting.” Abase of operations in themiddleoftheseawouldmakesense.Anditwouldhardlybea surprise compared toeverything Jason had seenthese last few weeks. But…“Butitdoesn’tmatter.Idon’tthinkeitherofusneedstogetany more involved. You’retheonewhodidn’twantthese

people having any controloveryou.”

“Fair enough.” Shepropped her pillow againstthe wall and leaned back onit, slumpingwith thewearofanotherdaydoingwhateveritwas she did out there—probably a little ofeverything: exploring,working with the crew,learning.Sherecededintohercontemplativestate,andafter

a while her eyes foundJason’s tablet, still lying onthebed.

“Youstilltryingtogetintouch with Sabrina?” sheasked.“Anyluck?”Hervoicewas more inquisitive thancurious; she had shown onlylimited patience in hisdwelling on his decision toleave.

“Nothing,” Jason said,absently grasping for the tab

and looking at his ownreflection in the blackmirrored screen. “I know it’sgetting pointless, but whatelse can I do? My otherfriends are either toodangeroustotalktooroffthemap completely. Sabrina isall I have, really, in theoutsideworld.TheonlyoneIcantrust.Anditwouldbemyfault, wouldn’t it? I mean ifshe…ifshe’sdead.”

“No,” Dellia said,resolute. “You and her andme—we were allmanipulated. It’s no one’sfault but those people whohide behind masks andavatars, and that man whostands in his tower at SilteCorp. You and I have nomore control over this thanpieces on a chessboard.Whatever happened, it’s notyourfault.WhenSabrinagets

yourmessages—”“If she gets my

messages.”“When she gets your

messages,” Dellia said moreforcefully, “she will contactyou. Until then, it makes nosense to waste your timesendinghermoreorworryingaboutsomethingyoucan’tdoanythingabout.”

“Iknow,”hesaidweakly.He placed his tablet on the

near corner of the littlebedsidetablethatwasstackedwithbothoftheirbelongings.Her side was significantlylessorderly thanhisandwasspilling over into his neatassortment of basicnecessities.

She was right, in anycase. She usually was. Butwhat she didn’t know, whathehadn’ttalkedtoherabout,was the tiredness of running

around, the anxiety of beingonthewrongsideofsomeofthemost powerful people onthe planet, the fear ofprobably never having anormal life again; it was alltoomuchtodealwith.Maybehis endlessly contactingSabrina was useless, but atleast it was a distraction.Giving that up meant hewouldhavetofindanewone.

“Thanks,” he said

sincerely. “For saying that. IthinkIneededit.”Shesmiledbriefly and nodded. “If youdon’tmind,”hesaid,“maybeIcouldgowithyoutomorrowand you could show mearoundtheship.”

“Absolutely,” she said.Shegot up from thebed andunzipped her coverallshalfway. “But you mightwant to find something towear that’s a little more

durablethanshortsleevesandjeans. I like to get into sometricky places.” She yawnedand let her dark hair falldown around her shoulders.“I’ll be in the shower if youneed me,” she said groggily,stretching out so that herfingers brushed the lowceiling.As she stretched, thezipper on her coveralls wentdown several more inches,exposing bare flesh well

belowhernavel.Shecalmlyzippeditback

up, looking a lot lessembarrassed than Jason felt,andsaid,“WhenI’mdonewecangogetsomethingtoeat.”

“Sure,” Jason said,watching her turn and enterthebathroom.Shegavehimahalf-glanceoverher shoulderbefore closing the door and,though he might haveimagined it, he thought she

wasgrinningathim.Eatinginthecafeteriaata

proper mealtime could benice. Wanting to avoid thecrew, he had mostly eatenmeals either very early orverylate—orjustsnackedonpackaged food from theship’smakeshiftcommissary.He still didn’t feel likemixing with the sailors, butthe thought of eating dinnerwith Dellia seemed to

diminish his reservationsaboutminglingwiththecrew.

Smiling inwardly, hebegan rummaging around inhis bag for some freshclothes.

21Over twenty years in theprofessional world—plus afew odd jobs in high schoolandcollege—andforthefirsttime in his career Mike wasgoingtotheofficedrunk.

See how the great chiefadministrator has fallen, hethought, shuffling heavilyinto the elevator. He hadn’tintended to get drunk on hisway in, but this morning’shangover had beenparticularly nasty and acouple painkillers with a tallglassofwater justhadn’tcutthrough theblindingmurk inhishead.Soafewsipsoflastnight’s leftover bourbon had

turned into a few gulps,which had then turned into acareless binge-drinkingsession rivalling his dormroom days in college. It hadstarted in the kitchen thenspilled out into the hallwayandcontinuedall throughthelonely ride along theskyways. When he hadstepped off the cart, he hadbeensurprisedbythewobblyfooting and thought for a

moment the building wasshaking. No, you’re justsmashed,youidiot.Notthatitreally mattered, anyway; hewas usually halfway therebeforelunchthesedays.

Numbingrealitywasalotbetterthanfacingit.

Herepeatedthisoverandover in his head as heshuffled sloppily to theelevator and up to his office,desperately seeking to

rationalize his new low. Thehalls of Silte Corp’s upperechelons were unusuallyempty; Mike wasn’t sure ifthatwas because hewas lateorearly.

“Good morning, Mr.Torres.”

Mikelookedupsharplyatthe sound of Elle’s dailygreeting, suddenly realizinghe had made it all the wayinto his office already.

“Morningelle,” he slurred.“Hey, I haven’t checkedmy,uh, my tab. Do I have any—mmph…’scuse me. Do Ihaveanything?”

“AmessagefromMonikaLeutz,” Elle said. “Sherequests youmeet her in herofficeat9a.m.”

“Dammit. Why?” Calmdown.“Imean,didshegiveareason?” He stood swaying,staringdownatElle’supside-

downfaceonhisdeskscreen.“No,Mr.Torres.”“Tellher—tellher I’llbe

there.” A meeting in half anhour? And with Leutz, theone person he really didn’tseeing him in his presentstate. She would know forsure,takeonelookathimandsee the drunken stupidity onhis face.Thiswas it, thedayhehadbeendreading,thedayhis crumbling life crashed

down in earnest. “And havesome coffee sent up,” headded as an afterthought: hislast desperate attempt toavoid what a small part ofhim had seen coming allalong.

When the initial shockwore off, he realized howpeculiar—suspiciouseven—itwas for Leutz to be callinghim to her office rather thancomingdownherelikeusual.

Whatever the reason, itcouldn’t be good. Had theyalreadycaughtontohis littledrinking problem? Was thisjustagame,awayforher tocatch him at it officially?Ormaybe it was about his lackofprogresswiththespyinghewassupposedtobedoing.Hehad gotten so tired of Lomconstantly hounding him forupdates that he had orderedthe artificial personality to

stop bothering him. WhileLom wasn’t technicallyrequired to obey orders fromanyonebuthisowner, tellingLeutz’s personal secretary tostay out of his businessprobably hadn’t been a greatidea.

The coffee arrived, andhe greedily grabbed it out ofthe office delivery unit,scalding his tongue on thefirsthastygulp.Buthedidn’t

care: a burnt mouth wasinfinitely better than facingLeutz’s icepick stare whileshe considered the manypossible ways she coulddiscipline him. Takinganother, longer drink, hestood up to get his bloodflowing and walked over totheonlysectionofwindowinhis office that he leftunshielded from the outsideworld, the one on the corner

facing the southeast side ofthe city. The sun was highenough that it didn’t obscurehisview—but thenwhatwasthere worth looking at now,anyway?

The night of the attackstill hung as a nightmarearound theapartment;heandMeredith only ever referredtoitas‘thatnight’andneverbrought it up aroundNatalie,whohad—thankfully—stayed

soundly asleep through theworst.Theriotshadbeenbad,with smoke and gas andsmoke filling the streets andflames engulfing parked carsand older buildings frombefore the era of structuralfireproofing. But it had beenthe aftermath that hadconvinced Mike that he andhis family were about to diegruesomely.Aftermostofthefireshadsubsided,orinmany

cases succumbed to fire-extinguishing foam sprayedby automatic dispensers builtinto theouterwallsofnewerand renovated buildings, thegunshots had started—audible even seventy floorsup—as the Guardian policeand the Silte mercenariesopened fire on the rioters allaroundthecity.Accordingtothe ONN livestream onMike’s tablet, the rioters had

been heavily armed andescalated the situation into avery real, very deadly battle,which explained why thedistantpopsandlowrumbleshad gone on for nearly threehours—hours that felt likedays, huddled together withMeredithby thecouch,awayfrom any windows. Towardsthe end of the night, as thesurreal sounds of deathdwindled (moving north

towards Silte headquarters,Mike found out later), twomonstrous blasts shook theroom so violently Mike waswaitingforthePlazatotoppleover.Thathadbeenwhereheand Meredith had screamedand woken up Natalie,forcing them to calmthemselves and lead theirdaughter out of the room tokeepherblissfullyignorantofwhat was going on below.

Aftertheexplosion,thebangsand crashes ceased and theonly noises they heard werethe helicopters flying allaround, shining spotlightsbetween the buildings until apale dawn crept up over thecity.

On the skyway ride towork the next morning, therising sun had revealed asmoldering battleground inthe streets below. Here and

there the city’s olderbuildingswerehalf-burntanddeteriorating in the gentlemorning breeze. VirtuallyeverybuildingasfarasMikecould look down any streetseemedtohavecontributedinsome way to the glass dustblanketing the sidewalks.Along the street, blackenedmetal frames stood outblaringly in lines of bullet-peppered cars; there seemed

to be no order to which hadbeen burned and which hadbeenspared.Evenfromthirtystories up Mike could makeout the bodies by the dark,drying globs of beet-redblood stretching out beneaththem along the pavement.Thereweresomany,somanywho died…for what? WasSilte so vilified among themassesthattheywerewillingto become these strange,

blood-drained lumps of meatonthepavement?

His coffee forgotten,Mike looked out at the cityfor a long time—longer thanit took for the dark brownliquid in the plastic cup tobecome tepid and stale. Thecity had been cleaned upsignificantly; many of thevictims of the Great Layoffhadbeenmore thanhappy totake minimum-wage jobs

with the state to help cleanup, thoughsomeperhapshadhelped cause the destructiontobeginwith.Allaround,thesigns of chaos were stillthere, though, like gapingwounds that hadbeenpoorlydoctored, sanitized withcheap liquor and covered upwithducttape.Mikelookedashort way down the street atthe blackened, cracked roadwhere one of the bombs had

gone off, taking out the sideof a skyscraper adjacent tothe Silte building. Bothbombs had been destined forheadquarters, but neither hadmade it far enough to domore than blow out some ofthelowerwindowsandthrowa few of the active officesinto mild disorder. Mikelookeddownat thebarricadeand the legion of heavilyarmed guards stationed

around the perimeter. Everyday the building wasbecomingmore of amilitaryfortress, and every day thiswasbecomingmoreofawar.

Whose side was he on,really?

“You will need to leavesoon for your meeting, Mr.Torres.”

“Thankyou,Elle.”Pulling himself from the

window reluctantly, Mike

went back to his desk. Helooked briefly at the cold,half-drunk coffee beforeaddingtoitafewsplashesofscotch and swishing itaround.Hedownedthecup’scontents in seconds. LetLeutz see it, let her banishhim from the office, let herthrowhimandhisfamilyoutintotherealworld.Hedidn’tcare.Thatwouldbeeasier todeal with than the bodies in

thestreets.

***As he stood outside themenacingdoor,Mikerealizedthiswas thefirst timehehadever even been to Leutz’soffice. First and last, hecouldn’t help but think. Justas he was about to knock,Lom’sboringfaceshowedupon the little screen above the

lock. “Right on time,” Lomsaid, and then the dooropenedautomatically.

“Come on in Mike,”Leutz called from the otherside of the vast room,whichwasat least twice the sizeofMike’soffice.“Haveaseat,”shesaid.Hecrossedtheroomto her desk, noting howornate and expensive thefurniture and décor were;Leutz had never been very

subtle.With a feeling of

dispirited acceptance, Mikedroppedintothesoftchaironthe near side of the heavymahogany desk and waitedforhertotellhimhisfate.Helookedatherface,madeboldbyhis apathy, and she staredback, caressing her glasseswithasharpfinger.

“I’d offer you a drink,”she said, “if you didn’t

alreadysmelllikeyousoakedyour suit in cheap whiskey.”Hereitcomes,Mike thought.“Really, Mike,” she said,leaning back, crossing herarmsandtakinghiminwithapredator’s gaze. “You didn’thave this problem beforeProject Unify, as far as wecantell.I’vechosentoignoreitupuntilnow,butthat’snotan option anymore.” Shesighed—and then did

something that took Mikecompletely aback: sheremoved her smart glasses.Her blue eyes lookedabsurdly out-of-place withnothing to hide behind; herage suddenly showedblaringlyonhertiredface.

“What is it, Mike?” shepleaded,softnessinhervoice.“The stress? I need to knowhowIcanhelpyou.”

“It’s…”Mikebegan.But

what would he say? That hewasscared?Thathecouldnolonger deal with beingcomplacent in bribery andmurder and all the othercrimes Silvan committed onhisquestforpower?Thetruthwas, Mike wasn’t exactlysure what his problem was,but he did know that thesourcewasSilteCorp.

“It’s nothing…,” hebegan stubbornly; then,

honesty seeping throughuncontrollably, “It’severything. It’s the violence.It’s being trapped in thePlaza.It’sthe…theguilt.”

“Huhhh…”Thenoiseshemade was something like asigh.“Well,Mike,you’renotalone. Everyone in thisbuilding feels the same wayyou do—it’s just we’ve allgotten so good at pushing itdeepdown.Youknow, cram

everything behind theseinauthentic shells orsomething like that.” Shelooked away, twirling herglasses absently in her hand.But rather than her usualboredom,herlookwasoneofpoorly-masked worry.“You’re different, and that’swhy you are so important.But I guess that’s also yourbig fault, isn’t it? The truthis…the truth iswe—no Iam

scared, and if I can’t rely onyou…well then I guess I’mallaloneuphere.”

“I’msorry…”Mike said,unsure of what else to say.This whole situation wasbeginning to make himuncomfortable; this womansitting across from him wasmore human now than shehad ever shown before, andthe effect was strange.Somewheredownbeneaththe

scotchhefeltpity.“Don’t apologize,” she

said. She opened a drawerandpulledoutasmallplasticpillbottle,poppeditopenandslid a circular white pill intoher palm. “Take this.” Shehanded it over toMike,whostudieditinhishand.

“It’sokay,”Leutzassuredhim. It’s Sobril, a new drugfresh from the OpenLifeR&D department. It negates

theeffectsofalcohol,tosomeextent.After all this chaos isover these things will be onshelves in every conveniencestore and supermarket in theworld. Take it.” Mikeshruggedandflippedthelittlepill into his mouth,swallowing it with a gob ofsaliva. “Give it a fewminutes,”shesaid.

They sat there in silencefor aminuteor twoand then

allatonceMikefelthisfuzzydrunkenness receding,leaving not even a headachein its wake. “That’samazing,”hesaid.

“Isn’t it?” Leutz had puther glasses back on and washerusualstonyselfagain,herbrief little show ofvulnerability gone as quicklyas it hadcome. It almost feltto Mike like it hadn’t evenhappened at all. “No more

hangovers,” she said. “Nomore worrying about drivinghome. Keep this bottle. Anddon’t even think aboutdrinkingonyourwaytoworkagain.Gotit?”

“Yeah—uh…yes, ofcourse.Thankyou.”

“Good,” she said. “Thenwe can move on to yourassignment.Lomhasn’tgivenme much to feel good aboutatthispoint.”

And there it was: thesecond hammer blow. JustwhenMike got rid of one ofthe worries gnawing at hisinsidesshesmackedhimbackto reality with the other. Hehad never been aprocrastinatorbefore—andhestill wasn’t. He simplybelieved people’s privacyshould be left alone. If hecould discover anything newthrough normal means fine,

but he wasn’t going tobecome just like one of thehackers they were fightingagainst; he wouldn’t drop tosuch a low level. But whatwouldbethecost?

After a few moments offocusingonsomething inherglasses’ display, Leutz said,“It’s time for a progressreport,Mike.Haveyoufoundanythingyetornot?”

“Well, not really.” Mike

spoke carefully and—hehoped—calmly. It was onething to reveal his lack ofprogress; it was somethingentirelyworse tomakeLeutzsuspect he was somehowinvolvedwithherenemies.“Imean, I haven’t noticedanything.”

“Oh, Mike, you don’tthink we’re only expectingyoutonotice things,doyou?Perhaps before I failed to

convey the level of intensitythis task involves.” Shesighed and drummed herfingers on the wood desk.“You haven’t seen anyunusual behaviorwhatsoever? Anything atall?”

“Well, there issomething.” He had to bringit up now, as much as hehated the idea. She probablyalready knew, anyway.

“Bellowe is…” he loweredhisvoice,eventhoughitwasridiculous to think anyoneelse in the building couldeavesdroponthemuphere.“IthinkCarl Bellowe is havingan affair with DianeSalpollo.”

Leutz stopped her eyemovements and focusedcompletely on Mike. “Anaffair…No, Idon’t thinkso.But you definitely know the

two have been meetingprivately?”

Nodding, Mike said, “Atleastonce,lateatnight.”

“Hmm.” She paused,thoughtful. “I think we canrule out a sexual relationshipbased onwhatwe know, butthisisthefirstI’mhearingofsecret meetings between thetwo. We don’t have anysurveillance footage of thetwo meeting privately, so

theymustbecoveringitup—with a high enough level oftechnical skill to warrantoutsidehelp,noless.Thefactthat they conveniently endedup on the same floor islooking less and less like acoincidence. Good work,Mike.”

Surprised at this praiseand at her certainty that hisassumption about a romanticrelationshipwaswrong,Mike

simplysatthere.Sincehehadentered the office and satdown in this chair hisperspectivehadgone througha complete reversal, and hecouldn’tbelievehisluck.Buthis newfound smugness diedon his face when he sawLeutz’sseriousglare.

“Okay then,” she said.“Your next job is to get inthere and find out whatthey’reupto.You’regoingto

jointhem,Mike.”“Join them? Are you

askingmeto—?”“Absolutely. It may take

awhile, but I suspect they’llhave a much easier timeaccepting someonewho is asnew to Silte headquarters asyou, especially if they knowabout this guilt you’ve beengoing through lately. Get inthere.Dowhatever you needto.You don’t have access to

anything that could harm us,and you shouldn’t be in anytype of danger as long asyou’re in the Plaza. Theywouldn’t risk doing anythingdrasticrightunderournoses.”

“I…I understand,” hesaid. I need a drink, hethought.

“Excellent,” she said.“You can report to Lom assoonasyougetin.Though,ifyou’d rather come here in

person to report, I won’t beupset.”

Thesmilesheflashedhimthen was an even moreunsettling sight than thebodiesinthestreets.

22“I’m coming up, Captain,”Dellia called as she brieflypaused her ascent up thecarpeted stairway to theWyles’s musty littlewheelhouse. “So put your

dick away and turn the pornoff.”

“Noneofthatgoin’onuphere,MissDellia,”Lesterthecaptainyelledback,hisvoiceechoing off the rusty, off-white metal walls. “That’swhat I got a private cabinfor.”

Grinning brightly, Delliaclimbedthelastfewstepsandemerged intoacloudofstalesmoke and sweaty air: the

now-familiar perfume of thecaptain’s nest. She foundLester in his usual position,lounging back in his bolted-down chair with his workboots up on the desk besidethe console, his arms behindhis head and a cigarettesmoldering between his lips.Assheapproached,hetookadeep drag and put hiscigarette in an ashtraybyhisfeet.

“I’daskhowIearnedthepleasureofanothervisitfromyou,” he said, “but I think Ialready know why you’rehereagain.”

Therewasonlyoneotherchair in the wheelhouse—anuncomfortablemetalseatalsobolted to the floor.Dellia satin it and spun it around toface the captain’s seat. “Youknowme toowell,” she saidwryly. “It’s not that I don’t

like talking with you oranything, but there aremoreurgent thingshappeningrightnow.”

“Yeah, I know.” Lester’sface darkened slightly as hegazed out through thewindow, squinting at thesunlight shining off the tallstack of shipping containerson the center of the ship.Afterawhilehelookeddownand grabbed his dying

cigarette for one last dragbefore he snuffed it out.“We’ll dock in Savannahbefore dawn,” he saidsolemnly. “I won’t tell youhow close I was to crossin’the Atlantic first and takin’the long way around. I stillhaven’t had word if we’vebeen discovered.” He swunghislegsdown,satstraightup,andturnedtofaceherwithanuncharacteristically morose

look. “He may be dead,” hesaid. “Nkimba.” His Gulf-coast drawl stressed the ‘N’when he said the name. “Isent him out on thespeedboat. Maybe not quiteenoughgastogettothecoast.DefinitelynotasolidenoughIDtobesafeifhedoesmakeit there.” he paused sullenly.“Either way, if anyone wasfollowing us, they’ll befollowing Nkimba now. At

least until they realize theboat they’re following isabout a hundred times toosmall.”

“I’m sorry,” she said,looking through the largewindows at the churning seato avoid his eyes. “But youknow why I have to get toGeorgiaandtheCDCassoonasIcan.”

When she turned to lookathimagain,hewasback to

his absently jovial self.“Yeah,yeah,”hesaid.“Ijustalways imagined humanity’ssavior as some sort of buffaction hero guy orsomething.”

“Well I’m not the onewhocansaveus,”Delliasaid,turning her chair to face thefrontoftheboat.“Thathonorgoes to a little mutant strainof Silvan’s virus thatprobably would’ve come

about eventually on its ownwithout my interference. I’mmore like a conduit or acatalystorsomething.”

“Whatever you are,”Lester said, “I’d put mywholecrewatyourdisposalifthat’s what it took.” Heturned back to his consoleand control panels andproduced another cigarettefrom a battered pack in hischest pocket. He stuck it

between his lips, lit itwith asilver zippo and suckedheavilyonitforawhile.

“So we’ll make it toSavannah before dawn?”Dellia asked. “Like latetonight?”Sheturnedherheadaway to avoid breathing inthesmokehewasexhaling.

“No,” he said. “Earlytomorrow morning. Aroundfour.”

“Four a.m.” She got up

fromherseatandgrabbedtherail along the wall to steadyherself against the boat’srocking. “Then I’ll be backhere at three-thirty. I’mcountingonyoutogetmeoffof the boat quickly andquietly.”

“Oh, don’t you worryabout that. They’ve alreadyworkedthatstuffout.”Heputhis feet up again and leanedbackasfarashischairwould

allow,puffingonthecigarettethat stuck out of his mouthlike some absurd paper andash tongue, trailing smokecurls to theceiling.“Seeyouin the morning, then, MissDellia.”

She nodded and left thecaptain to his relaxation,holdingherbreathagainsthismost recent puff of smoke.Shewentdownthefirstsetofstairs, but instead of

continuing on down to thelevel where the cabins andfacilities were she wentbehindthestairsandoutontothedeck.As soon as shegotoutside,thelateafternoonsunhit her face, making hersquint and turn away, so shewent around the toweringwheelhouse section to theport side of the deck. There,she leaned on the rail andlooked out at the steadily

rollingwater,breathinginthebrine and the fishinesswafting up in the spray offthe sea. As far as her eyescould see there was nothingbut white-crested, slowlychurning ocean stretching onlike infinite space. If shestayedhereafewmorehours,she might just be able tomake out a slim strip ofdistant land before it becametoo dark for her to see

anythingmorethanthemoonand stars and theirshimmeringmirrorimagesonthe water’s surface. Thenthere would be nothing elseuntil the lights of Georgia’scoastglitteredinthedistance.

The wind whipped herhair around over her face.Time to do something aboutthat,shethoughtasshesweptit to the side.Shehadgottenby unnoticed without much

effortupuntilnowbecauseofthe help the crafty AChackers had given her, butthathelpwouldendnow;shedidn’t want it anymore if itmeant she was under theircontrol. So the hair wouldhave to come off, just tomake ita littleharder forherto be recognized. And shecouldwearbaggierclothestomake her gender and bodytypemoreambiguous.Maybe

she could borrow some stufffrom Jason. Would that betoo much to ask of himconsidering what she wasabouttodo?

But right now she didn’twanttothinkaboutthat.

Right now she justwantedtoleanonthisrailandwatch the slow, monotonousrollingof theocean.The sunwas hot on her neck and thewind whirled her hair

everywhere, but there wassolace in that blue-greenvastness; something in thestretching depths made theentireworld’sproblemsseemsmall and insignificant. Theoceans were old—billions ofyearsold—andtheyhaddonethis same dance whilecontinents rose and collided,while lesser seas formed anddriedup,whileentirefamiliesof organisms evolved and

went extinct in what wouldseem like brief moments tothe oceans if they hadmindsto observe such things.Oceans shaped the land, theybirthed life, consumed death—and they would probablybe little changed long afterthe last complex life wasgone from the earth. It waseasy to forgetabouteven themost desperate situations ofhumanity’scivilizationswhen

youthoughtabouttheoceans.Eventually, though,

Delliawouldhavetoturnherback on the soothing water.So she did; she pushed offfrom the rail and navigatedherwaybacktothedoorandthendowntothelowerdeck,her mind never fully leavingthe peaceful scene she hadturnedawayfrom.

23“Congrats on your billpassing. Glad you’re on mysideforonce.”

As Chris read themessage from Alana for thethirdtime,hestillhadtrouble

believingwhathadhappened.He had never heard ofanything getting done thisfast in Washington—at leastnot in the last fifty years orso. After he gave hispresentation,thelatemorningvoteontheFreedomofNon-Physical Persons Act hadbeen a narrow success. Amerehourlater,ithadpassedthe House overwhelmingly.And now, a few minutes

before 5 p.m., the presidenthadgivenhissupport,andthemocking messages and callsChris had been expectingbefore the vote were insteadwordsofcongratulation.

Not that he wascomplainingoranything.

Running his handsthroughhishairtosmoothoutthe day’s excitement, hestraightened up in his deskandmadesurenothingbelow

his lapel would be in thecamera’s view; he wouldn’twantthewaterpitcheroroneofhisdeskornamentsgettingin the shot and making himappear unprofessional for thefinal interview of the day. Ithad been his idea to do thisinterview in his own officerather than a more typicalsetting like a conferenceroom or somewhere outsidewiththeCapitolbuildingasa

backdrop. This particularinterview was something hehad agreed to reluctantly, sohewasat leastgoingtodoitfrom the comfort of his owndesk,inhisownoffice.

“Two minutes, SenatorColmin,” Baz said, poppingup on the wall screen acrossfromthedesk.

“Great,”hesaid.“Letmesee the shot. Give me astandardbackground.”

Uponthemassivescreenhis image from the shouldersup appeared in front of ahulking white marble pillarwithanAmericanflagdrapedfromapoleofftotheside.Heusedthescreenasamirrortostraighten his collar andadjust his tie. For once, hewashappywithhowhishairlooked,buthewishedhehadthought of bringing in amakeup artist: the shot was

close, giving his face muchmore exposure than he wascomfortablewithattheendofa very long, tediouslyeventfulday.Butthatwastheprice of celebrity, as fleetingasitwasinthissensationalisttown.

“Dotheyknowwhat’sofflimits?” Chris asked. Thiswas Bare Facts News, acitizen-driven online newsoutlet dedicated to getting to

‘the truth’—not one of thecorporate media giants thatprobably wouldn’t press himon anything more dangerousthan what he thought of theAnti-Corpprotesttragedy.

“I have briefed them onthe topics you requested beoff limits,” Baz said, “and Iwillbestandingbytocutthefeed at your discretion. Tenseconds,Senator.”

“Switchitover.”

“—and, in a stunningshow of cooperation, the billlater passed the House andreceived executive approvalfromthepresident.”Thehost—Brendan Drex, if Chrisremembered correctly—barelylookedthirty.Hehadatrendy, over-styled haircutand a stubbly beard, and hissuit was an informal tancolor, with a green shirt andno tie; it was as if he had

done everything he could tomake the average viewerknowthatthiswasalternativemedia.

“This swift action hascaught analysts by surprise,”Brendan Drex said. “But wehope to demystify thesituation if we can, startingwith our first guest of theevening.With us on a videocall from Washington isSenator Chris Colmin of

Texas, primary sponsor andsole champion of the so-called AI Act. SenatorColmin,thankyouforjoiningustonight.”

“Thanks for having meBrendan.”

“Now, Senator, as amember of the LibertarianParty you have previouslyspoken out against equalrights for non-humanintelligences. Many people

are wondering, why thesuddenchangeinyourstanceonthisissue?”

So they were coming athim hard right away. Thiswould be that type ofinterview. Chris would sparwith them, then—it wassomething he had masteredwhilehewasstillinbusiness.“Well, Brendan,” he said,“first of all, this issue isclearly non-partisan, so me

being a libertarian hasnothing to do with it.” Hepaused to takeadeepbreath,buyinghimselfafewsecondsof thought. “I, like many ofthe senators andrepresentatives who voted infavor of the AI Act today,have evolved on this issuethroughout my politicalcareer. I’ve come to realizethat theeconomicbenefitsofartificial personalities having

legal personhood supersedethequestionofwhetherornotthey can be consideredhuman.”

“I see,” Drex said, andChris smiled inwardly,feeling like he gained theupper hand. But then Drexcontinued, “And theseeconomic benefits youmentioned, they include thefact that corporations cannowclaimnon-humanvirtual

entities—office equipment,which they are not legallyobligated to pay—asemployees, for tax purposesorotherwise?”

“Yes,and—”“And, according to

parameters outlined in thebill, since artificialpersonalities, while legallypeople,canstillbeownedbycorporations or individuals,any salaries they do receive

are available to their ownersasnon-taxableincome.Isthatcorrect?”

“Well,yes,but—”“Furthermore, artificial

personalities’ programmingstill forces them to followordersgiven to themby theirowners,” Drex went onmercilessly. His eyes werefierce as they stared straighton at Chris, never onceglancingawaytochecknotes

orreadaprompter.“It looks,SenatorColmin, like this billis a dream for the nation’smost powerful corporations.YouwerepreviouslybasedinDallas, were you notSenator?”

“I was,” Chris said,feelingtheheatreddeningtheskinonhisface.Keepitcalmand civil, he remindedhimself; itwouldnotbewiseto let thevoters seehim lose

histemper.“Silte Corporation’s

headquarters for over adecade, of course.” BrendanDrex said. His attack wasrelentless, and Chris washavingtroublefindingaplaceto break it down. “Acorporation,”Drexcontinued,“that contributed to yourcampaign when you ran forstate office. We have aninsidesource—”

“Excuseme,Brendan.”“We have an inside

source—speakinganonymously—who tells usseveral major companies inthe Silte family have beenillegally using artificialpersonalities in executivepositions for some weeksnowatleast.SenatorColmin,what are your ties to SilteCorp?”

Finallygivenachance to

speakonhisownterms,Christook a deep, calming breathand,withwhatlittleevennesshe could muster, said, “Youknow as well as I that anyofficial ties to SilteCorporation would be illegaland unethical. I can assureyou that I value Silte Corp’svoice on an equal level withall of my constituents. Andby theway, if such practiceshad been going on at Silte

Corp we would haveinvestigated and prosecutedthem to the fullest extent ofthe law.” After months ofconditioning himself, this liewas easier for Chris to tellthan the truth would havebeen.

“So reports that you hadnohandinwritingoradvisingtheAIActbutweresimplyapuppet in getting it to a votearefalse?”

“Absolutely, they arefalse,” Chris said, havingtrouble keeping his voicecalm now. “I can assure youthat any such reports arecompletelyscurrilous.”

“I’ll take your word onthat for now.” Drex leanedback in his seat and lookedsmugly through the screen,taunting Chris with his eyes.“But I’m sure you willunderstand that we will

continuetoinvestigatethis.”“I look forward to seeing

the results,” Chris said,returning the smile with afalse one of his own.“Brendan, I’m sorry, but I’mgoing to have to go. As youcan imagine, things are verybusyaroundhere.”

“I understand, and thankyou…”

In an act of mercy Bazcutthefeedatthatpoint,and

Chris was spared fromanother second of keepingthat stupid smile on his face.Why the hell is Silte lettingBFN continue to exist? Theywereobviouslytoodangerousto be left alone. The majormedia outlets were all undercontrol; the only one whoseparentcompanywasn’tintheSilte family was ONN, andtheir level of bias in thereporting of the last few

weeks made it clear Silvanmust have bought theirloyalty some time ago. Theindependent news groups,however, were largely stillwild.Anditwasoneofthesetiny, self-important citizennews sites (who had nocorporate sponsors and whowere working as much forpure love of truth as formoney) that would be theundoing of everything. No,

Silvan wouldn’t—couldn’t—let that happen. Chris woulddo his part by never doinganother interview withanyone outside of SilteCorp’s control, if that waspossible.

“An urgent call comingin, Senator,” Baz said,appearingon the screenonceagain.

“Who is it?” But ratherthan answering him, Baz put

thefaceofNelsonHergemanuponthescreen.Hergeman’smechanical features werestretched ever-so-subtly intothebeginningstagesofanger.Or was it disappointment?His facewas as hard to readas it had been a few daysbefore, during their lastmeeting.

“Your performance justnow was regrettable,”Hergeman said. “From now

on, you only do interviewsweapprovefirst.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris said,waving a hand. “Anyway,why haven’t you shut downBFNyet?Orboughtthemoutorsomething?”

“Bare Facts News mayhavetiestotheAnti-Corp,orthe People AgainstCorporatocracy, or anynumberofothergroups.Theyremain difficult to bring

underourcontrolfornow.”The significance of this

revelation of weakness byHergeman took Chriscompletely aback; he couldfind no words to respond.Wasn’t Silte Corp supposedtobewinningbynow?

“Wehaveyournexttask,Senator,” Hergeman said.“Weneedyoutostartmakingfriends. Not just people wecan buy off; we need people

to be loyal, like you. Peoplewho would not benefit fromSilteCorporationlosing.”

“Doesn’tsoundtoohard,”Chris said, absentlystraightening his desk up tothe state he always left it ineachday.

“Youhaveaweek.”“Itakeitback.”“Find five people by our

next meeting,” Hergemansaid. “The group should be

diverse and influential.People with power, but whohavedifferentcapabilitiesandareas of expertise than you.The goal here is swayingpublicopinion.”

“Got it. I think. You’rebeingalittlevague.”

“You are our captain inWashington.Weneedyou toname your commandingofficers.”

“Ah, I see.” Chris liked

this analogyverymuch.“It’sclear now.” He flashed agenuine smile to the screenwhich Hergeman did notreturn.

“One more thing,Senator.” Now his facesuddenly was easy to read,anditwasn’tapleasantsight.“Another moment of idiocylike that interview just now,and we will reevaluatewhetherwehaveanyneedof

youanymore.Goodbye.”“Shit,”Chrishissedwhen

Hergeman’s face was gone.He had a feeling thatinterviewwasgoing tohaunthim for a long time.Nowhehadtobeonhisbestbehavioror risk testing a threat fromSilteCorp—somethingoneinhispositionshouldavoidlikea strip club full of freelancenewsreporters.

Yawning, he picked up

his tablet, which was stillopen to the message fromAlana. The belated reply hesent read, “Thanks, but Ithink I stirred up a massiveshitstorm. I’m going to needsome allies moving forward.I’ll explain more in person.Meet me for room servicedinnerattheHilton?”

As he sent the message,he wondered tensely if hisloverwouldcomethroughfor

him. Regardless ofHergeman’s request, Chrisneededfriendsrightnow,andAlana justmight be the onlyonehehadintheentirecity.

24What was it that Leutz hadsaidearlier?Somethingaboutneeding Mike, about himneeding to be sober so hecouldhelpher?Wellheknewshe hadn’t said anything

about not drinking at all, notexplicitly. Thiswas her faultfor not being clearer. Fearhad kept him from touchingany more alcohol until afterlunch;ithadbeeneasytonotthinkaboutdrinkingwhenthedelivery unit dinged andopened to reveal a superbsalmon filet with sautéedveggies in a creamy lemonsauce.Butwithhisbelly fulland his eyes finding the

seductivecrystaldecanterfullof20-yearsinglemaltscotch,his fear had waned. He hadspent the remainder of theafternoonwithglass in hand,sitting at the window andwatching the cleanup crewsand private police goingabout their business like antshundreds of feet below,disconnected from him inways they probably wouldneverunderstand.

Today therewouldbenoworking late, no creeping upto Natalie’s bedroom doorand poking his head in tocheck on her, no easing intohisownbedsoasnottowakeMeredith from what littlesleep she got these days.Todayhewasleavingat5:30onthedot, just likeeveryoneelse.Andthiswouldn’tbethelasttime,evenifthiswastheonly time he had an excuse

for leaving early thatinvolved work—or a type ofwork,anyway.

“Okay Lom,” he said,leaning over his desk screen.“You know the plan. Guidemethroughthis.”

“Certainly, Mr. Torres,”Lom said, his drab faceoccupying the top left cornerof the screen. The virtualassistant was still assubservient as ever despite

the fact that, as of just hoursago, he was now legally aperson. “I am detecting aslight speech impairment andheavy breathing,” Lom said.“PerhapsImayadviseyoutotakeaSobriltablet.”

“Advise all you want.”Mikewasn’tdumbenoughtogointooloadedtodothejob,buthecertainlywasn’tdoingitcompletelysobereither;heneeded to be relaxed enough

tomakethiswork.“Yes, Mr. Torres. You

may wish to know that Mr.Belloweispreparingtoleavehisoffice.”

Grabbinguphisbriefcaseand tab,Mike hurried out ofhis own office. Time thisright and don’t screw up.“Elle, close everything uphere.”

“Yes, Mr. Torres,” Ellesaidfromthedoorscreen.

Hehurrieddown thehalland mashed the elevatorbutton, fearing thatLomwasabouttopopuponhistabandsay that Carl was already atthe elevators two floorsbelow. But just as the dingtold him his elevator hadarrived, Lom said, “Mr.Bellowehaslefthisoffice.”

“Excellent,” Mike said,stepping into the elevator,which was vacant (Lom was

makingsure thatheandCarlwould have privacy on theirride down). He pressed thebutton for the 56th floor.“You take over from here,then.”Mike folded the tabletand slid it into his pocket,cutting off the virtualsecretary’sresponse.

After the doors slid shut,seconds went by without theelevator moving. Lom hadcontrol of this elevator now,

and he knew to start thedecent only when Carl’sfingerpressedthecallbutton.Mike was putting a lot offaith into the secretary togetthis right. Though even if itall worked smoothly Mikewasn’t sure he could do hispart. There was too muchworkingagainsthim.Not theleast was the fact that Carlhad no reason to trust him.Mike had been Carl’s boss

even before all this, beforeUnify; holding power overpeople did not alwayscultivatetrust—morelikelyitbredenmityandresentment.

The elevator beganmoving, and Mike tried hisbest to look likehenormallydid on his way out of theoffice—but that was a hardthingtodowhenyoutriedtodo it. Two floors down theelevator stopped, the doors

opened and in stepped CarlBellowe, his face showing awearinessthatsaidhedidnotreally care for conversation.He didn’t even acknowledgeMikeashestoodbesidehim.When they were movingagain,Mikeworkedoutwhathe was going to say in hishead.Thiswas the importantpart; if this was not genuinetheremightbenonextstep.

But just as he was about

toaskCarlifhewouldliketoshare a cart (under the guiseof discussing some recentreport), theotherman’shandfound Mike’s and pressed asmall strip of paper intoMike’s palm. Standing inbewilderment, Mike watchedthe Carl leave the elevatorand hurry down the hall—then Mike sped through thedoors before they closed andstrode promptly down the

hallwaytocatchupwithhim.But when Mike rounded thecorner,Carlwas already in acart and moving through thecheckpoint.

“Dammit,” Mike saidunderhisbreath.

He turned his attention,then, to the slip of paperclutchedinhisfist.Helookeddownandsawnothingbutthecryptic words ‘Diane’sapartment. 10 tonight.

Alone.’ As he folded thepaperandputitcarefullyintohis chest pocket, preservingthe evidence, Mike wasn’tsure whether he should beworried or relieved. Orscared. Surely they didn’tknow he was onto them orthat he suspected them ofsomething. He had neverdoneanythingtoleadCarlorDiane to think he had anti-Siltesentiments.Somuch for

the plan, he thought, thoughhe couldn’t help but feelrelief that things weren’tgoing quite the way heexpected: now whateverhappenednextwasoutofhishandsand—moreimportantly—offhisconscience.

***

It was barely 9:45 that nightwhen Mike got tired of

waiting. He had been sittingonastoolat theislandinthecenter of the kitchen, staringbackandforthfromthefrontdoor to his tablet’silluminated screen ever sinceMeredith disappeared intotheir bedroom half an hourbefore. They had beenarguing about…something.He had no idea what it hadbeen, but it had turned,predictably, to his drinking.

He looked down at thecounter, where his glass layin three big chunks. Manytinyshardsswaminabathofamber spreading out intendrils away from thewreckage; probing fingers ofstickybrownstuffcarriedthetiny, knife-sharp fragmentsacrossthecoldstonetoleavesparklingsiltdepositsalloverthecounter.Hehadn’tmeantto break the glass; he hadn’t

even meant to slam it downso hard. But in the heat ofargument she had interpretedthis accident as an act ofanger and left the roomwithoutanotherword.Letherbemad,Mikethought.Idon’tcare.Ihaveworktodo.

Sick of waiting aroundand letting his anxietysimmer, and wanting toescape his wife for a while,Mike decided he would start

that work early. He got upfrom the island—andstumbled to his knees. Hepushed himself groggily tohis feet and stepped towardsthedoor.The floorbecameatenuousropebridgespanningthe windy chasm betweentwo mountains. He reachedoutforwheretheguideropesshould have been as he tookanother step, but his handsfell through empty air.

Standing still and breathingheavy, he waited until hisequilibrium had returnedenough to stop his swayingand then made for the door.In what felt like a fewseconds he had made itthrough the heavy woodenportalandwasout,down thehall and knocking on DianeSalpollo’sdoor.

“Hey, you all right there,Torres?”Afirmhandgrasped

hisshoulderandalegnudgedthebackofhiskneejusthardenough that Mike stumbledforward. He turned and sawthe grinning face of CarlBellowe, lit eerily by thehall’s nighttime safety lights.He looked so polite andfriendly that Mike waspositive he was beingcompletelyinsincere.

“You’ve been drinkingagain, huh,Mike?”Carl said

lightly. He pushed downalmost unnoticeably onMike’s shoulder and Miketeetered,nearlyfalling.“Lookatyou,”Carlsaid.“Webettergetyouinside.”

The door opened slowlyandDiane appeared,wearingonly awhite robe and a pairof wooly socks; she lookedjustasmock-cheerfulasCarl.“Yes?” she said, showingperfect teeth. “What’s going

on?”“Mike’s had a few too

many,” Carl explained. “Ithink we’d be horribleneighbors to let himgo backhomelikethis.Youknow,hiswife isn’t handling his littlehabittoowell,Ihear.”

“Yes, yes, of course,”Dianesaid.“Comein.”

Carl’shand,stillgraspinghisshoulderasthoughitwerestaunching up some horrific

wound, steered him into theroompastDiane.Mike’seyeshad to adjust to thebrightness, and then he sawanapartmentalmost identicalto his own, except that itwasn’t filled with thepersonal belongings they hadbrought over fromhis house.HesawrightawaythatDianewas a very tidy person;actually the place seemedfairly barren of anything

beyond the furniture andexceedinglysubtledecorativeitems that had come witheach apartment. He guessedthis lackofcluttercamewithnothavingafamily.

“Oh,Mike, you big piss-drunk moron,” Carl said.WhenMike turned to lookathis two hosts he saw theywerenolongershowingtheirfalse smiles. In fact, theirlooks were purely hostile,

their eyes four hollow,menacingholes.

WithoutahintofconcernDiane said, “Give him abreak,Carl.Hislifeisjustsohard.”

“You came early,” Carlsaid. “Not tomention you’recompletely wasted. Whatwereyouthinking?No,don’tanswer.Weknowaboutyourdrinking problem. Hell,everyoneattheofficeknows.

Not so good for morale andunity, but that’s beside thepoint.The fact is, if youhadcomeat10o’clockandsoberthis would have been a loteasier. We had a strict planfor keeping this secret, andhidingthingsfromLeutz-and-Coisn’tgettinganyeasier.”

“Gettoitalready,”Dianesaid, annoyed. “Mike, weknow all about your littlemeetings with Leutz. We

know everything about yourspyingproject.”

“Everything,”Carladded.“We’ve talked about

getting rid of you,” Dianesaid. “Not me and Carl, no.But people we know. Withyou being drunk more oftenthannot lately itwouldn’tbehard to make it look like anaccident—orsuicide.”

“Luckilyneitherofusisasadistic maniac,” Carl said.

“We had assurances from aclose acquaintance that youweren’t a threat. That in factyoucouldbecomeafriend.”

They both paused andMike felt like he wassupposed to say something.Buthecouldn’tthink;hehadhardly been able to followwhat the pair were saying tohim. “How do you knowabout—aboutmeandLeutz?”heaskedstupidly.

“Surely it won’t be asurprise,” Carl said, “to findoutweareconnectedhighupin the Anti-Corp—or whatusedtobetheAnti-Corp.It’sjust ‘the movement’ thesedays since all of the affiliategroups are infighting orselling out to Silte ordisappearingaltogether.Well,anyway, our friends know alot—andImeana lot.Scary.Probably know more than

evenLeutzherself.”“How…?”Mikecroaked,

swaying dangerously in thelight of the entryway. “Howisthatpossible?”

Withanexasperatedsigh,Dianesaid,“Thisispointless.Let’s just move on. We canexplainwhenhehasaclearerhead.” She looked at Mikewith eyes of measureddistaste and said, “You stillhave those pills in your

pocket, don’t you? Take onenow, before we climb. Ourplans will really fall apart ifyou miss a step and splat atthebottomoftheshaft.”

“What are you…?”Mikereached into the pockets ofthepantshehadbeenwearingalldayand felthis folded-uptab on the left and a smallcylinder on the right. Heclosed his fingers around theobjectandbrought itcloseto

hisfacesohisunfocusedeyescouldsee:itwasthebottleofSobril pills Leutz had givenhim. Between Carl’ssuspicious invitation and theargument with Meredith,Mike had completelyforgotten about theexperimentalsober-updruginhis pocket. He looked up atDiane,mouthagape,andsaid,“You knew about these.How?”

Ignoring him, Dianeshrugged off her robe,revealing beneath it a T-shirtand skintight shorts that justreachedthetopsofherknees.She backed onto a benchalong the wall and quicklydonned a pair of slip-onsneakers. “Follow,” she said,standingup.“Andpoponeofthosethings,willyou?”Miketookoneoutofthebottlebutdidn’ttakeityet.

As Diane walked offtowardthelivingroom,Miketurned to look at Carl—buttheothermanwasholdinghisarm out to indicate Mikeshouldgofirst.SoreluctantlyMike followed Diane. As hesteppedfromthekitchenintothe living room, he noticedthat there actually was aslight difference betweenDiane’s apartment and hisown: this one’s windows

were in alcoves a few feetdeep. This didn’t affect thedimensions of such a largeroom much, but somehowMike noticed the slightlysmaller size. And he soonfound out the reason for thisdifference. Diane went overtoasmallhangingtapestrybythe nearest window andpulled it back, revealing ametal door painted the samebeige color as thewalls. She

opened thedoorby sliding itupward, revealing a darkcavityinthewall;somewhereinside,a faint light turnedonandMikesawaladderonthefar wall that disappearedabove the doorway. Theladder started about a foothigher than the floor theywere standing on and belowwasnothingbutblackness.

“If you fall,”Diane said,“don’t scream. You may

catch yourself on the waydown, if you’re lucky. Theshaft goes all theway to thefiftieth,wethink.”

Nodding slowly, Mikepopped the Sobril in hismouth and chewed,grimacing at the pill’s bittertaste. He watched as Dianepulled herself into the shaftand began her climb, and hewaited for the Sobril to takefull effect before he dared

follow.Hehadthethought,ashisheadcleared,thatthiswasinsane,thattherewasnowayhewasgoing to gowith twonow-confirmed enemies ofSilteCorpupthissecretshafttowherever it ended up.ButCarl was nudging him frombehind, and now that hiscoverwasgone(orhadneverexisted,ifheunderstoodtheirbrief explanation correctly)he wasn’t exactly safe

anymore regardless ofwhetherhewentwiththemornot. He eased himself to theedge, stooping beneath thelow door frame, and reachedacrossthevoidfortheladder.

After the first few rungs,Mike felt his inebriationgivingwaytoasensiblestateof mind. He suddenly feltvery apprehensive of thiswhole thing and ponderedgoingbackdownandrunning

from the apartment. Theywouldn’t do anything to himhere; Leutz had been prettysureofthat.Butallthoughtofescape quickly died whenCarl began climbing below.Mike looked up but all hecould see was Diane’s slimbuttocks flexing as sheclimbed. He looked awayawkwardly and kept his eyeson the cold metal rungs hishands grasped, one after

another.Astheywentfurtheraway from the glow fromDiane’sapartment,dimlightsbegan to turn on one by oneover Diane’s head. Mikewasn’t sure howmany lightsflashed on up above him ashe climbed on and on; hedidn’t have to count them toknowitwasalot.

“How far does this thinggo?” he wondered aloud,beginning to feel a little

weakness in his forearms.When nobody answered, hesaid, “Are we going to theroof?”

“Be quiet,” Diane hissedfrom above. “The walls arethin.”

It wasn’t long, though,before Mike’s question wasanswered. Diane stoppedabruptly and reached a handover her head, where Mikecould now see there was a

ceiling.Shepulledona latchand thenswungopenadoor;through itwere the stars in acloudless night sky. AfterDiane disappeared throughthe open hatch, Mikescrambled up the last fewrungs,pulledhimselfoverthetop and found himselfstandinginalonelycornerofthe uppermost roof of thePlaza—behindthehelipad,infact.Windriffledhishairand

fluttered his partiallyunbuttonedshirtasitmoanedlanguidly around the top ofthe tower, parting the silenceof the air far above the citywithawhisperofahowl.Hewent over to stand besideDiane and, following herdreamygaze, lookeddownatthe vast array of neon colorsthat brilliantly shone throughthe gloom saturating thestreets of Dallas. Was this

why they brought him here?For theview?Theclimbhadlefthimtootiredtobeafraidand now he was starting togetimpatient.

By the time Carl hadjoined them, Mike decidedhe’d had enough. “Why didyou bring me here?” hedemanded. “What do youwantfromme?”

“We could kill you, youknow,” Carl said, in a

perfectlylevelvoice,catchingMike completely off guard.“Make it look like anaccident.Noonewouldhaveany trouble believing poor,drunken Mr. Torres finallyhadenoughof theworld andleaptofftheroof.”Helookedat Mike’s horrified face andlaughed.

“The elevators,” Mikesaid,backinghimselfupuntilhis legs hit the raised

platform of the helipad.“They have cameras. Andguards.PeoplewouldknowIgotupheresomeotherway.”

“Calm down,” Dianesaid.“Andgetawayfromthehelipad. It’s a minute till10:04 and Garrett’s neverlate.”

Mike stepped away fromtheplatformbutmaintainedagoodamountofdistancefromthe other two, whose eyes

were turned upward to thesky. Terrified now, Mikesaid, inahalf-whimper,“Areyou going to kill me?” Theysaid nothing, continuing tolook up.Mike followed theirgaze and saw blinking redandwhitelightsapproaching,growing larger and larger asthey slowly descendedtowards the Plaza roof. Inanother minute, a largehelicopter—one of those that

had ferried them toand fromwork before the skywayswerefinished—toucheddownontheplatform,andthedooropened. Standing there,silhouetted from the lightinside and waving, was thepilotnamedGarrettThurman.Mike suddenly recalled amysterious message the manhadsenthimjustafterhewaspromoted,congratulatinghimonthenewjobbeforehehad

eventoldhiswifeaboutit.Ifall he had heard tonight wastrue,thenthingswerestartingtomakemoresense.

“Let’sgo,”Dianeshoutedoverthetremendousracketoftheblades.

“We don’t have to forceyou,”Carlyelledslowly,“butwecan.Ifweneedto.”

What other optiondidhehavebuttogowiththem?Hecould make a break for the

trapdoor, which was stillopen, and probably startclimbing down before theycould catch him.Butwhat ifin his haste he slipped? Hewould fall a long way,probably hitting his headseveral times in the narrowspace: certain death, or atleastpermanentsevereinjury.He stillwasn’t sureCarl andDiane weren’t going to killhim, but he didn’t think they

would. He seemed to recall,through the fogginess ofalcohol, they had said theywanted him as a friend. Infact,herememberedthepilot,Garrett, telling himsomethingofthesamenatureonthedayallthishadstarted.Hewouldprobablybesafeifhewent—atleastfornow,fortonight. Somehow he knew,though, thatstepping into thehelicopter would change his

life forever. God damn heneeded a drink.Why had hetakenthatstupidpill?

Screaming now out ofboth impatience andnecessity, Diane said,“What’s it going to be,Mike?”

Rather than acknowledgeher, Mike set off boldly forthe helicopter. He mountedthestepsupontotheplatformand jogged over to the

grinning pilot, who helpedhiminsideandturnedtohelptheothertwo.Oncetheywereallin,Garrettclosedthedoor.“Didn’texpecty’allsosoon,”the pilot said, his gazelingeringonMike.“Settlein.I’ll get us moving.” Hehurriedofftothecockpit.

Carl and Diane choseseats on opposite sides, soMikewasforcedtositnexttoone or the other. He took a

seatnexttoCarl,whowasonthewiderside,soMikecouldput more space betweenthem.Asthehelicopterbeganits wobbly ascent, GarrettcamebackoutandwenttositbyDiane.“Scoochovertheremissy,”hesaid.“Thankyou.”

“Are we on our way?”Diane asked, smiling at thefriendlypilot.

“We are,” Garrett said.“About twenty minutes with

the low-profile route. Youknow,” he looked at Mike,“wehavetomakeitlooklikewe’re doin’ what we’resupposed to do and give ourfriendstimetocoverupwhatwe’reactuallyupto.”

“Where are you takingme?”Mikeblurted,unabletokeep the nervousness out ofhisvoice.

They all stared at himsilently for a while and then

Diane said, “To see theproduct of Silvan’s grandvision. Peering down atbloodstains and bombed-outcars is one thing, but youneed to develop a deeperunderstanding of yourcomplacency—and all of itsimplications.”

“You’resheltered,Mike,”Carl said, his face wooden.“You have no idea how badthings are out there. Silte

hired the best of the best tokeep order, but all that didwas give the violent ones anopposing army. It’s war outthere, no matter how themediatriestohideit.”

“You don’t think I knowthat?”Mikesaiddefensively.

“Maybe,”Garrettsaid,alltrace of his jovial attitudegone. “But knowing’s a lotdifferent fromunderstanding.”

Mike couldn’t think ofanything tosay to that, sohestayed quiet. Nobody spokeforalongtime;inthesilence,Mike’s fear of whateverwaited at their mysterydestination grew intoborderline panic. He thoughtdesperately of diving for thedoor as soon as they werewithin jumping distance ofthe ground but realized howpointlessthiswouldbeifthey

were landing somewherewhere they had friends. No,they had him: the patheticanimal that had followed itscaptors into the cage.By thetime a gentle lurch initiatedtheir descent, his legs hadbegun twitching anxiously,trying to anticipate theunknown.

Buthedidn’tdoanythingstupid.HesatthereasGarrettwent to the cockpit and the

helicopter eventually toucheddown and Carl and Dianestood and moved toward thedoor. Based on the shortdecent, Mike guessed theyhad landed on the roof ofanotherbuilding,andnowhisthought of fleeing seemedeven more foolish. The pilotcamebackout into the cabinand stood by the door,pausingwithonehandrestingon the handle and the other

absently scratching thestubbleonhischin.

“I’ll stay here,” Garrettsaid. “Wemay need a quickescape.But remember…”Hepaused and gave Diane agrave look that was almostcomical in its sincerity. “Ifyou get into trouble and wedo have to get outa herequick, then we ain’t goin’back to the Plaza. It’ll befugitives’livesfromnowon.”

Dianenodded,unshaken.“I’m staying too,” Carl

said. “Too risky if there’sthreeofus.”

“Right.” Diane noddedagain. “Well Mike, afteryou.”

With a heave from thepilot, the door slid open andMike’s ears were floodedwith the roar of the bladeswhirling overhead. Hestepped carefully down onto

one giant leg of the big red‘H’ painted across a helipadand looked around to gathersomeclueastowherehewas.Thebuildingtheyhadlandedonwasonlyabout two thirdsthe height of most of theskyscrapersaroundthem.Theroofstretchedoutalongwaytotheleftandrightandtherewere a few similar butsomewhat smaller buildingsclusteredaroundtheonethey

wereon.Auniversity?Or…“Hospital,” Diane

shouted, inches from his ear.“Comeon.”

She tookhisarmand ledhimatabriskpacetoalargeset of doors leading into thebuilding.She jammedahandinherpocketandpulledoutawhite ID card—somethingMike hadn’t used or evenseen for years. He wasvaguely surprisedwhen there

turnedout tobeaslotonthesecurity panel where Dianeswipedthecard;hewasevenmore surprised when thedoorsswunginwardtorevealashorthallway,attheendofwhich were wide whiteelevator doors. Mikefollowedherintothehallway,and the doors closed behindthem, sealing out the nightand the noise of thehelicopter. The overhead

lights in the hall were paleand dirty.On the left side, asmallboothwithwindowsallthe way around jutted outfrom the wall: a securitystation. But there was noguard. Diane went to thebooth and leaned over ascreen built into the counterof the security station wherepeople in the hallway couldaccessit.

“Theguard’sout,”Diane

said over her shoulder, tap-tapping away on the screenout of Mike’s sight. “He’sone of ours. A lot of peoplehere are. I tell myself it’sbecausepeoplewhoworkinahospital really care about thesafety and welfare ofhumanity, but really it’sbecause a lot of thesepeopleremember when a Silte-owned medical holdingscompanyboughtacontrolling

interest in this place andturned their happy hierarchyinto a finely-tuned corporatebureaucracy. Old doctorsdon’tlikeitwhentheirtenureno longer gets them thebiggest, juiciest grantchecks.”

“This is safe, isn’t it?”Mike glanced nervously at acamera mounted above theelevator. “I mean, flyingaroundthecityinahelicopter

andlandingonahospitalroofin the middle of the nightisn’texactlysubtle.Andwhatthe pilot said—what Garrettsaid…”

Finished with whatevershewas doing on the screen,Dianeturnedtofacehimandsaid, “Believeme,Mike, it’sall been taken care of.Anyonewhochecksthelog,”she jabbed a thumb backtowards the security booth,

“will see thatwe came in onofficial hospital business—ortwo peoplewho look exactlylikeusdid.AsfarasSilteandGuardian are concerned, therealyouand I are still inmyapartment having that nicemeeting about you joiningour club of traitors. Really,this is safe. We just like toprepare for any possibleoutcome, and to have agetaway planned in case we

needit.”“But…”Ignoring him, she turned

andmadefortheelevator,herdarkponytailbobbingagainsther neck as she walked,matching the rhythm of herimpatientgait.Mikecoulddonothing, now, but follow herand hope that her confidencewaswell-founded.

Theelevatordooropenedimmediately when Diane hit

the call button. He followedher in, silent and morose.When she saw his face shesaid, “Lighten up, Mike.Remember, if we get caughthere it’s only me who’sfucked.Youcanjusttellthemyou’re spying for Leutz andnodoubtshe’llconfirmthat.”

“You’re forgetting thatthepeopledoingthecatchingthese days are mercenaries.”Mike noticed she pushed the

B2 button, the very lowestfloor. “It will be hard toexplain myself when mybrainsareonthewall.”

At that, Diane laugheduntilthedoorsclosed.

Whenthedoorsslidopenagain they were in a shorthallway almost exactly likethe last one, except this onehad no security booth andended in a single light bluedoor.Thedoorhadnohandle

that Mike could see—only aplain black card-reader, likethe kind cheap hotels stillusedonalltheirrooms.DianeproducedherIDcardagainastheywalkedtowardthedoor.

“Obsolete,” Mikeremarked. “And not verysecure.”

“This part of thehospitalis old, and they intentionallyhaven’t renovated it inmanyyears.” She slid her card

through the black reader andthe door began to slowlyswing outward. “Don’t askmewhy.AllIknowis,thisisasafeplaceforourfriendstowork away from the all-seeingeyesofSilte.”

Through the door thehallway ended abruptly at athree-way intersection.Dianestopped him just inside theclosing door and said,“Before we go on, I need to

explainsomethings.”“I’m not stopping you,”

saidMike.“You’renotdumb,Mike,

and you have more officialinformation than me. Youknow by now this so called‘mindvirus’isSilvan’swork.What you probably don’tknowisitspurpose.”

“To neutralize knownenemies,” he said, “and tokeep potential enemies too

scared to fight.” He hatedhimself for saying it socalmlyandeasily,buthehadlong since overcome theshock.

“No,” Diane said,prompting him to raise hiseyebrows in bemusement.“Though,” she said, “that iswhattheywantyouandmetobelieve. The true purpose isfar worse. Sickening. Mike,what I’m about to show you

isn’t easy to deal with. It…well,you’llsee.Thisway.”

When they were movingagain, she led on down thehallway to the right. It waslargeandwhiteanddimlylit,the kind of dreary hospitalcorridor where they mightstick the patients whoprobably would never gohome.Buttheredidnotseemtobeanypatientshere.Therewerelongwindows—mostof

them either dark or shutteredby blinds—that looked intolarge rooms. The only lightsoutside the hallway camefrom a few rooms here andthere with glass walls thatMike was pretty sure werelabs; occasionally heglimpsed thebackofawhitelab coat as someone leanedoversomepieceofequipmentor another. Mike couldn’thelp but admire their drive,

being in here well after 10p.m., making those last fewcalculations before theyrelented and got some sleep.Hetriedtorememberthelasttimehehadbeenthateagertoget hiswork done—probablynot since his days at SilvanVentures, back when he wasstill trying to display hisvalue and get that next littlepromotion on his way to thetop. But these people were

different. They were in hereworking overtime trying tosave humanity from the evilcorporate empire, weren’tthey? Looking for a cure toSilvan’s plague? Mike couldguess that much withouthaving to have Diane tellhim. These people weredifferent from him, and yetsomehowthesame.

“It hasn’t been easy,reverse engineering

OpenLife’s antiviral drug,”Diane said, confirming whatMike had guessed. “They’vebeen at it for as long as I’vebeencominghere.”

“Antiviral? You meanlikeacure?”

“Yes.” She slowed herpace and let Mike move upbeside her. The hospital—every hospital under Siltecontrol—received a verylimited batch for testing and

training. If we could onlyfigure out how to make thedrug ourselves, we couldpreempttheirnextmove.”

“What’sthenextmove?”She looked over at him

somberly but didn’t answer.Then she turned away andsaid,“Thesedays,theideaofamonopolyisalmostabsurd.If one corporation controls amarket, there will always betwo or three other

multinational conglomerateswiththemoneyandresourcesto move in and steal marketshares.With thatsimplefact,monopolizing an entireeconomy is nothing morethan a fool’s dream.” Theyfinallyreachedtheendofthehallway and took anotherright into a similar butmuchshorter, narrower one. “Thatis,”shesaid,“unlessyoucangive up on controlling the

market and instead controlthebuyer.”

“I’m not sure I followyou.” She was bringing upone of his biggest problemswithProjectUnify, butMikecouldn’t see where ‘controlthebuyer’cameinasaviablesolution.

“Here we are.” Dianestopped.

Theyhadcometoanotherlong row of windows, only

this time the room beyondwas well-lit and occupied.There were hospital bedslining the far wall inside theroom. Each bed wasseparated from the next by acurtain, and each had apatientinapalebluehospitalgownlyingonit.Therewereeight in all, seven of whomwere wearing some type ofmodified smart glasses withblack lenses, bulky frames,

and built-in headphones.Theywereapparently asleep,but the one without thebeefed-up glasses, a pudgy,graymanwholookedtobeinhissixties,wassittingupandtalking with a youngerwoman,apparentlyadoctor.

“What’s going on here?”Mikeasked.

“Cognitivereprogramming,” Diane saidquietly. “Brainwashing.

That’sSilte’snextstep.”“Brainwashing?

What…?”“Yes, Mike,

brainwashing. What betterwaytoobtaintotalcontrolofthe economy?” She foldedher arms against her breastsand turned to look at him.“But brainwashing is onlyefficientifthevictimisweak-minded or has some priormental trauma. It just

wouldn’t be feasible on amassive scale. Introduce avirus that temporarily shutsdown parts of the brain thatcontrol conscious thought,though,andwhatyougetisaprogrammable human.” Sheturnedbacktothecoldglass.“All of those people wereafflicted with Silvan’s virus.Those devices on their headsare the prototypes ofsomething currently being

mass-produced and shippedout.Theyarewhatreprogramthe brains.When the cure isannounced, hospitals willrequestpatientsstayforthreenights; the first two are forreprogramming and the thirdisfortheantivirustoworkitsmagic.”

“Brainwashing,” Mikerepeated like a blubberingfool, staring at one of thewomen lying limp with the

device over her eyes; nowand then an arm or legtwitched. “For what? Tomake them more docile orsubservient?”

“To make them loyalcustomers.Forever.”

“Fucking Christ.” Miketurned away from the glass,not sure if he should believethis. “And those people inthere…”

“Guinea pigs.

Nonconsensual volunteers, ifyouwill.”Hervoicewaslowand she didn’t look at him.“Theytookthemfromoneofthe hospital shelters wherethey put the victims withoutfamilies. We needed to testthe reprogramming on realpeople,findouthowitworks.It’s the only way we canfigure out how to undo it.Becausewe’rerunningoutoftimetostopit.”

“No,”Mikesaid,grinningnervously. “This is crazy.Fucking insane. I don’tbelieveit.”

Diane’s sigh was longand laced with defeat. “Youwill,”shesaidandwenttothedoor.

Following along after abrief moment, Mike enteredtheroombehindherandwentover to join her and thedoctor beside the bed of the

man who was awake. Theman looked atMike blurrily.His hair was silver and hisfacewaswell-linedandroughwith sparse stubble. Hesquinted and stared at Mikewith hard black eyes untilMike became uncomfortableand looked instead at thedoctor, who was young andmight have been verybeautifulifshedidn’tlooksoutterly exhausted and

frazzled. She held a large-screened tablet looselyclutchedatherside.

“Dr. Watanabe,” thedoctorsaid,offeringherhandwhich Mike shook. “I don’tneed to know your name.Since you are here withDiane,Iknowwhereyouarefrom and that is already toomuch,Ithink.”

“Uh,right,”Mikesaid.“How long has he been

awake?” Diane asked,gesturing toward the man inthebed.

“Notlong,”Dr.Watanabesaid. She stifled a yawn.“Excuse me. I have gonethrough the preliminaryquestions. I assume you arehere for a demonstration?”Her dark eyes flitted brieflytoMike.

“If it’s not too muchtrouble,” Diane said. “This

one’simportant.”“Very well,” the doctor

said. “I trust you can handlethings yourself. I have otherpatientstoattendto.”

“Thank you doctor,”Diane said. “And get somesleep.”

Dr.Watanabe turned andstarted for the next bed,mutteringwhat sounded like,“Then who will do mywork?”

When they were alonewiththemaninthebed(whowas still staring squinty-eyedatMike),Dianewalked overto stand beside him. Hefinally looked away fromMike and fixed his gaze onDiane’s grave face, fromwhich he shrank backslightly. Mike realized nowthat the man wasn’t beingrude intentionally;heseemedtobeconfusedandmorethan

alittlefrightened.“Hello,” Diane said.

“What’syourname?”“Liam,”theoldmansaid.

“Are you another doctor?You don’t look like one.Neitherofyoudo.”

“We’re sort ofspecialists,” she said. “AreyoufeelingalrightLiam?Canyou talk to us for just a fewmoreminutes?”

“Sure,”hesaid.“ButI’m

really tired.Can youmake itquick?”

“Ofcourse. I justwantedtoaskyouafewthings.First,whatdoyouthinkaboutSilteCorporation?”

The man sat up straight.“What kind of a question isthat?IloveSilteCorporation!And all their subsidiaries. Imean, they’re the greatestcompanyinthehistoryoftheearth! Every one of their

products and services areunbeatable. How could I notlovethem?”

Looking ponderously atLiam,Mikewasn’tsureifheshouldfeelpityordisgust.Hesettledforamixofboth.Thissixty-something man lookedlike the type you saw sittingoff alone in the gloomycorner of a bar, drinkingdownthepainofaworldthatnever cared about his

happiness. And yet here hewasspewingoutacheesyadfor Silte Corp with theenthusiasm of a coked-uphigh school cheerleader. Itwasa scene thatborderedonthegrotesque.

“Wonderful,”Diane said.She opened a drawer in thetable beside the bed. “Yourthings?” Liam looked in thedrawer and then noddedslowly, as if not completely

sure. She proceeded torummage around inside it,digging for something in theclutter.“Ah,”shesaidafterawhile.“Ifoundyourtab.”Shepulledaveryold,bulkytabletout and sat it on the bed byLiam’slegs.

“My tablet,” he said,pickingitupslowly.

“IseeyouhaveanEgotoFlatbook,”shesaid.

“Egoto?” The old man

looked from the tablet toDiane and back again, hisface reverting back to thesquinty-eyed expression hehad shown Mike before,though this time Mike wascertainitwasadirtylook.

“Yes,” Diane said.“Egoto was not a subsidiaryof Silte when they madetablets. Nor, if nothing haschanged in the last day ortwo,aretheynow.SilteCorp

hasnoconnectiontoEgotoortheirproducts.”

“Piece of shit,” Liamsaid, slamming the tab downonthebed.Mikeflinchedandtookastepback,butthemanseemed calm enough, justsad.

“I’llgetanewone,”Liamsaid. Then he perked upagain, grinning stupidly.“That’s it! I’ll get anewonerightnow.”Hepickedupthe

tab, rested it on his plumpbellyandbegantappingonitmerrily. “Plenty of Siltecompaniesmaketabletsbetterthanthisjunk.”

Looking at Mike withraised eyebrows, Diane said,“Believeitnow,Mike?”

He watched the maneagerly tapping his tabletscreen for a while beforeanswering her. “Yes,” Mikesaid.“Idon’tneedtoseeany

more of this.” He turned hisback on the disturbing sightandstartedforthedoor.

Behind him Diane said,“Thank you for your time,Liam.”Themansaidnothing.

The walk back throughthe hospital basement waslongandsilent.Mikecouldn’tsay anything, and Dianedidn’t need to say anything;sheprobablyknewaswellashim that he had no choice

nowbuttojointhem.Shehadprobably known that themoment he stumbleddrunkenly up to herapartment door and fellsweetly, complacently intothetrap.

25WhenDelliahadfinallygoneas far as she could with herlimited styling skills, she setthe rusty scissors on thebathroom counter, ran onehandthroughwhatwasleftof

her hair and judged heramateur effort. It felt strangeand looked stranger. Shealmostwanted to cry a little:she hadn’t seen her hair thisshort since her first year incollege. But it didn’t lookterrible—or at least itwouldn’t make her tooconspicuous. It would giveheralittlemoreofadisguise,in any case, and that wasreallyallthatmattered.

Witha sigh, she squattedand used her hand and atowel to scoop up the darkclumps that had missed thetrashcan. She didn’t bothergetting every little hair; thebathroom had not been thatclean to begin with. Whenshe was done, she squeezedthelittletrashcanbackintoitsnook beside the toilet andstood up to give one lasthalfhearted appraisal of her

newhair.Itstilllookedweird,like her head itself hadchanged shape. She sighedagain and reached for hertabletsittingonthebathroomcounter, swiping it on to seethe time: it was nearingmidnight.No wonder I’m sohungry. She dusted a fewstray strands of off her bareshoulders and chest and puthershirtbackon.Sheshouldhave no trouble getting food

in the cafeteria this late; thiswas about the time themembers of the crew whoweren’tonthelateshifthungoutinthereanduseduptheiralcohol rations. She mighteven find the captain there,sincehewasgoingtohavetobeawaketostarttakingthemintoportinacoupleofhours.

She went through thebathroomdoorandfound thecabin empty. That was

strange; Jasonhad seemed tohave been settled in for thenightwhenshewenttotakeashower and cut her hair, andhealmostneverleftthecabinin the evening aside fromdinner. She knew he hadalreadyeatenbecausehehadgone on alone earlier to thecafeteria while she had usedthe moment of privacy topack everything she intendedto take with her off the ship

into her old backpack. Shelookedathisbedandsawhisown pack zipped up andready to go, and she felt alump of guilt form in herthroat. Next to the pack,Jason’stabletwaslyingthereon the ruffled blanket, sowhereverhewashewouldn’tbe gone long: he never wentfarwithout his tablet.Maybeshe would find him in thecafeteria getting food…or in

the liquor closet. She slippedher shoes on before goingthroughthedoor.

The walk down the longhallway that ran nearly thelength of the ship was calmand eerie.At night the lightsin the ship were dimmed toconservepower,andallofthesailorswere either asleep, onduty, or in the cafeteria. Theonly sound was the distanthum of the engines. She

quickenedherpacejusttogetawayfromtheemptiness, theunnervingsilence.

Therewasplentyofnoisecoming from the cafeteria,though. As she entered, sheheard conversations inEnglish, Mandarin andsomething that was probablyspoken in one of the CentralAfricancountries.Allaroundthe room there were shoutsand laughs and glasses

clunking on tables. The airwasheavy,litteredwithafewdifferent kinds of smoke.Delliadidn’thavetoscanthetables to know Jason wasn’there; she knew him wellenough by now to know hewouldn’thangaroundaplacelike this or these types ofpeople.

As she walked to theother side of the room, shecaught the eye ofAvery, the

cook, who quickly got upfrom the table hewas sittingattofollowhertothekitchen.

“You’re up late, Miss,”he said, when they were inthemuchquieterkitchenarea.“I barely recognized youwithout the hair. I guess ithadtobedonethough,right?So you need something tohelpyousleeporsomething?Igot abottleof somedecentmerlotinthebar.”

“Nothankyou,”shesaid.“Some food would be great,though.”

“Cod stew tonight.” Henoddedatahugesilverpotonthe stove. “Kept some warmcausesomeoftheguysliketoeat again after they’ve had afew. Want some?” He liftedthelidoffthepot,releasingaburstofsteamandgivinghera savory waft of what wasinside. She felt her stomach

gurgleatthesmell.“I’ll take a bowl,” she

said.Avery nodded and

opened a nearby cover,producing a bowl and aspoon. He ladled a generoushelping of cod stew into thebowl,handeditovertoDelliawith a grin and said, “Youknow where all the fixingsare,sojusthelpyourself.”

“Thank you.” She took

the bowl graciously,wincinga little at the heat on herfingers.“DoyoumindifIeatin here?” She gesturedtowardsthesmalltableattheback of the kitchen withbolted-instoolsaroundit.

“No problem,” Averysaid. “Probably better a nicegirl likeyoudoesn’thear thetabletalkanyway.”

“What, you don’t wantmetohearaboutallthefilthy

whores you’ve fucked?” Shecouldn’t get through thesentence without smilingbroadly. He gave her a slygrinand then turned tobeginserving the sailors whowerenow queuing up in front ofthe pot; apparently, Delliahadstartedatrend.

Leaving the cook to hisduties, shewent to the table,sat down, and then dug intoher bowl of stew with great

enthusiasm; she was hungryand the food was good. Infact, it was delicious, as shehad come to expect fromAvery’s cooking. As shelapped itup inamanner thatprobably drew the eyes of afewdrunksailors,shehadtheless-than-pleasant thoughtthatthismaybethelastgoodmeal she would have for awhile—maybe a very longwhile.After she left the ship

in the morning it would bevending machines and theoccasionalrun-down,off-the-grid diner, just like beforewhen she had been skulkingthrough the streets ofDallas.With that thought in hermind, she slowed down hereatingtosavorthetastymeal,gratefully nibbling everycarrot and slice of okra andletting each morsel of fishmeltinhermouthsothatshe

couldwringeverybitofspicyflavoroutofeachmouthfulofbroth. And yet the meal stillendedalltoosoon,theemptybowl staring back up at herafterward, forcing her torecall the barren life shewouldsoonreturnto.

That life was only a fewbriefhoursawaynow.

Getting up reluctantly,she dropped her bowl andspoon into the pile of dishes

soakinginthesoapywaterinone of the deep metal sinks.She then approached Avery,who had finished serving thetipsy sailors and was tidyingup, preparing the kitchen forbreakfast just a short whilelater.

When he noticed her, hesaid, “Sure you don’t wantthatbottleofwine?”

“I’m sure.” She watchedhimclearawaythestovefora

moment, then she thought ofsomething that had beenbugging her for a while.“Hey, have you seen Jasonlately?”

“Yeah.” He turned tolook at her, his heavyeyebrows turned down inwhat might have beenconcern.“Hecameinaboutahalf hour ago,” Avery said.“Not long before you did.Askedforliquor,soIoffered

himsomeniceIrishwhiskeyIjust opened. He took thewhole bottle. Said somethingabout drinking in themoonlight.Heseemedalittleupset.Issomethingwrong?”

“I don’t know.” Itsounded, though, likesomething was wrong. Shedidn’t let her concern showon her face. “I hope not. Ishould go, though. Thankyou,Avery. For all the great

food.”“You’re welcome,” he

said bemusedly, blinking ather as she walked past himand out of the kitchen. Sheignored the last dregs ofdrunkenmirthinthecafeteriaas she quickly crossed it andwent to the nearest staircaseleadinguptothemaindeck.

She found Jason almostimmediately; he was leaningback against the tall stack of

shippingcontainers,holdingabottleinonehandandstaringbroodingly out at the endlessblack water. A glance at thebottle inhishand toldherhehadbarelydrunkanyofityet,to her relief.He didn’tmoveorevenseemtonoticeherasshewalkeduptohimslowly.

“I think I can see thecoast,” he said withoutturninghisheadtolookupather. “The lights. When I

squint.”“It’s an illusion,” she

said. “We’re still too faraway.”Shedroppeddown tositnexttohim.“Whatareyoudoing here, Jason?” She saiditkindly,sweetly.

“I got a message,” hesaid.“FrommyfriendSeito.”

“That’sgood,isn’tit?”“No.”Now she was confused.

When they had first met he

had been upset about thisfriend Seito sending him amessage saying he would nolongerbe incontact. If Jasonhadregained thatconnection,why should he be upsetenough to drink alone in thedark?

“It was a regularmessage,” Jason elaborated.“Not secured. Not on ourspecial com app. A regularmessagethatanyidiotwitha

tabletandabasic spyingappcan easily trace.” He took aswigfromthebottle,wincingashe swallowed. “Stephwaswith him. They’re bothwanted. I just wonder whowillfindthemfirst.”

“Steph?”“Another good friend.

The one who was sick. Herand Seito were sort oftogether.”He eyed the bottlebut apparently decided

against taking another drink.“The three of us met incollege. We started non-Etogether.”

“That hacking group youtold me about?” He nodded.“Jason, I’m sure it will befine,”shesaid,placingahandon his arm. “It sounds likeyour friends can keepthemselvessafe.”

Therewasnomirthinthegrinonhisfacewhenhesaid,

“That’s not it. They wouldprobablybebetteroffgettingcaught now.” She waitedpatientlyforhimtoelaborate.“Steph,” he said tentatively.“Stephwasoneofthefirsttoget sick, that first night.LasttimeIheardanythingshewasfull-on zombie. Seito…Seitomusthavecaughtitfromher.The message he sent was avideo message. He wasfeverish and sweating and

covered in filth.And hewasbabbling like some kind ofderanged person. TalkingmostlyinJapanese, topeoplewho weren’t even there. Idon’t think he even knew hewastalkingtome.”Hisvoicebroke slightly towards theend.

Therewas a long silencebetween them as they bothstared out into the void thatwas the sea. Jason took

another swig ofwhiskey andoffered the bottle to Dellia,who took a small sip and setthebottleontheothersideofherself,awayfromJason.

“If it makes you feelbetter,”shesaid,wrappinganarm around his shoulders, “Ireally don’t think Silvanwants these people to die.There’ssomesolutiontothis.I don’t know where it willcomefrom,butI’mdoingall

Icantohelpfindit.”He turned his head

aroundandlookedather,hiseyeswentwidefora fleetingsecond. “Yourhair,” he said.“It’sgone.”

“Don’t you like it?” shesaid playfully. “I need toblendinwhenI’mbackinthereal world. I won’t have asmanypeoplewatchingoutformenow.”

Silently,hekepthisgaze

onherandshestaredbackathim. Somewhere in thatmoment, peering deep intohis blue-green eyes, she sawhis fear and pain andvulnerability—and sheaccepted it. And suddenlytheywerekissing.Hismouthtasted like whiskey and hisstubbly face scratched at herskin, but just then she didn’tcare. She didn’t care thatwhat she was about to do

wouldmakethemorningthatmuch harder. Just then, shedidn’t want to care aboutanything.

Grasping his hand, shepulled him up and led himalong the deck to the doorbeneath the wheelhousetower,downthestairs,andallthe way back to the corridortheirroomwasin.Shedidn’tneed to pull him along; hematched her rapid pace and

stayed right beside her,lookingoveratherfacefromtime to time. After far toolong they made it to theirdoor. The room was lit bynothing more than the sliveroflightstretchinginfromthehalf-openbathroomdoor.

As soon as the door wasshut,thelockslidhastilyintoplace, their mouths joinedonce again. Dellia movedbackwardsblindly,enmeshed

in Jason’s lean frame, untilshe felt the edge of his bednudging the backs of herthighs and dropped down onit. In less than half a beat ofherracinghearthewasontopof her and thewarmthof hisbody as he pressed into hermade her dig her hands intohisbackandpull himcloser.Theysomehowgotalloftheirclothes off while hardlyseparating their lips. He

pulledaway,lookingintohereyes, and softly ran hisfingers across one of hernipples then down along hersoft belly and to the heatbetween her thighs, sendingan electric quivering throughherbody.

But then he stopped,pushed away, his burningerectionpressingintoherhip,and said, “Is this all right,whatwe’redoing?”

“I don’t know,” she said.“Howdoesitfeel?”

Before he could answershe rolled him over,straddlinghiships,andkissedhim. She reached her handdown between his legs andheld him steady until hewasinside her. She beganthrustingrhythmically;afteramoment he got the idea andfollowed hermovements anddid not stop until they both

were shuddering in theirsweetrelease.

***By 3 a.m. Jason was safely,soundly asleep and Delliawasabletosilentlyfinishthelast of the packing she hadstarted earlier, before cuttingherhair.Shehadverylittleinthe lone backpack: a handfulof toiletries, a first aid kit, afew changes of clothes (the

same ones she had beenwearing and seldomwashingsince leaving her apartment),somepackagedfoodfromthecook’s commissary, and hertablet.Thatwasthesumtotalofhermateriallifenow.

But shedidn’tquitehaveeverythingsheneededyet.

Going into thebathroom,she slowly pulled the doorshutbehindher,reacheduptograb the circular ceiling vent

and dug in her nails, pullinguntil the cover popped off.She lowered it carefully andset it on the counter. There,sitting perfectly in the centerof thewhite plastic cover onthe counter, was her mostinvaluable possession—theoneandonlythingthathadtoleave the boat with her. Sheopened the little self-refrigerating container andpulled out two little vials of

herpreciousvaccine.Closingthe container backimmediately to protect itsdelicate cargo, she stuffedone vial into her pocket andclenched the other in herhand. Now that these twowere out of their coldhibernation, they would onlyremain viable for about twodays; she expected theywould both be used beforetheir time was up. She

grabbedthevaccinecontainerand left the bathroom asquietlyasshehadentered.

The half-light coming infrom the bathroom ignitedJason’s sleeping form, hisglistening bare flesh shininginthepaleglow.Delliastaredlongingly for amoment thenpulled her bag up onto herbed and stuffed the vaccinecaseintothepartthatheldallherclothes.Shewrappeditin

one of her shirts for safemeasure, though she knew itwould make little differenceto anyonewho knew to lookfor it.With that secured, shezippedupthebag,nowasfullas it was going to be, andslung it onto her back.Withone last glance at Jason, sheplacedthevialthatwasinherhand on top of a scrap ofpaper sitting on Jason’s sideofthebedsidetable.Thenote

was short—only a fewsentences—but it had takenher half an hour to come upwiththerightwordstosay.

That was it. She turnedher back on this briefbeautiful moment in thesavage mess of her life andwalkedquicklyandquietlytothedoorandoutoftheroom.

She found the captainsitting alone in hiswheelhouse, which was dark

exceptforthesubtleglowsofhis console screen. “So arewe on time?” she asked in ahushedvoice,takingaseatonhernormalstool.

“I almost thought youwere a deckhand withoutyour hair,” Lester saiduninterestedly. “Look.” Hepointed out through thewindow towards the front ofthe ship, and Dellia noticedfor the first time how close

the lights were: they werealmostthere.

Suddenly, she really didnotwant theship togo thoselastkilometers.

“Clearance from theport,” Lester said. “We’ll bedocked in less than a halfhour. If you don’t mind, Ican’t talk much once I starttaking her in. Concentrationandall.”

“Ofcourse.”Shereached

her hand into her pocket,grasped the small cylindricalobject she found there.“Anyway”shesaid,“I’llwanttogodownondeck so I canhopoffassoonasIcan.”

He shook his head. “Notimmediately. You’ll behiding in the stack until yousee me flash the wheelhouselights. Then you can getdown the plank as quick asyoucan.”

“Okay,”shesaidfaintly.They sat in silence for a

while, watching the lights,yellow and orange andghostly neon, come closerandcloser.“Lester, Iwant tosay thank you,” Dellia said.“Foreverything.”

Reddish light bathed hisface as he pulled on thecigarette between his lips.“You know this was justanotherjob,”hemuttered.

“Iknow.”Shegotupandcrossed over to him. Takinghisthicklycallusedhandintoherown,shepressedthelittlevial of vaccine into his palmand closed his fingers. “Findavein.Popthecap.”

He said nothing. Had hebeen expecting this? Shedecided no formal goodbyeswereneeded,soshelefttogofind a place in the stack ofcontainers where she could

seethewheelhouselights.Asshe descended the stairs shethoughtsheglimpsedhim,bythe hazy radiance of hiscigarette, leaning over thecrookof his arm,wasting notime in protecting himself.Whenhewasoutofsightshegot the feeling of beingcompletely,terriblyalone.

Rightbackwhereshehadstarted.

26Sitting by the curtainedwindow in the deep dark ofthehotelroom,ChrisColminshifted uncomfortably. Fromsomewhere in thevoid tohisleftcamethesoundsofslow,

nasally breathing as Alanaslept off her post-sexdrowsiness.Hewantedtojoinher,butthiswasoneofthosenightswherehejustcouldnotget comfortable; the bedwastoo hot and the covers feltabrasive on his bare skin.Even this cool leather chairwas starting to becomeunbearable,nomatterhowhemovedaroundinit.

Agitated and weary, he

rose tohis feet and turned tothewindow,pullingback theheavycurtainsjustenoughtofill the room with a palereflection of D.C.’s citylights. He stood there, tenfloors up, looking down onthe street below through thegrimy glass. If someonelooked his way from downbelow or across the street itcouldbebad:aTexassenatorinadowntownhotelwindow

at 3:30 a.m.wearing nothingbut a pair of briefswas easyfodder for the media’ssensationalists. But he didn’treally care. He knew heshould, but hedidn’t.Maybehewas just too tired to care.Fuckitall,whycan’tIsleep?

Turning his back on theorange-and-yellow glow ofthe restless city, his eyesfoundthepaleformofAlana,wrapped up in the flowing

blankets like theywere somekind of linen cocoon. Didcaterpillars dreamwhen theywere in the cocoon?Doesn’tmatter, he decided. She didnot appear to be sleepingdeeply enough to bedreaming anyway; she wastoo serene, her face toocontent—too attached to thelivingworld tobewanderingthrough dreamscapes.Maybethat was why he didn’t feel

bad about waking her up soshecouldshareinhismisery.Hewent over to the bed, satontheedgeandgentlyshookherbytheshoulder.

“Hmm?” she said, just alittle groggily. “No, I’mawake.Isittimealready?”

“Notquite,”Chrissaid.“Iwanttotalk.”

Alana sat up, stretchingeversoslightly,andstoodherpillow up against the

headboard so she could leanback against it. She let theblankets fall away, revealingpale pink nipples on breaststhatweren’tquiteashighandfirm as they probably oncewere.“Talkaboutwhat?”

“What we werediscussing earlier. Duringdinner.”

She sighed, long and fullof weariness. “I told youbefore, even if I didn’t have

moral and ethical objectionstoanillegalrelationshipwitha corporate entity, there’ssimply toomuch at stake forme. It’s no big deal for alibertarian to get caught inbedwithbigbusiness,butmyparty would make sure Inever held political officeagain. You’re forgettingwhichsideI’monhere.”

“I know exactly whichside you’re on,” Chris said,

calmly but with ice in hisvoice. “The losing side. Youknow as well as I that SilteCorp owns too many peoplein this city to not end up ontop,whatever thatmaymeanin the end. You’ve seen foryourself what happens topeoplewhoopposethem.”

“Are you trying to scareme?”

“I’m trying to helpyou.”He could see now that she

was much more interestedthan she had been at dinner.Maybe he had her already.Butjusttobesafe…

“Tellme,” he said, “whydid you take this job? Youknewwhatitwas,whatithasbeen for many years. Setasideallthispoliticalbullshitfor a second. Do you reallycare what Silvan or anyoneelsedoes,intheend?”

“Well,no,”Alanasaid.“I

mean, I don’t agree with thebloodshed and violence, butwhy should I care whatSilvan does? If anything, hisactionsgivemeplentyoffuelto rile up the voters for mynextreelectioncampaign.”

“Exactly.” Chris grinnedtriumphantly. “You can useSilte Corp’s success to yourbenefit.Sowhynothelpthemhelp you? Being a friend ofthe giant can do great things

foryourpoliticalcareer.Youknow, I wasn’t exactly thepublic’s first choice forsenator.”

That got her fullattention. “Are you saying,”she said, “that you wereinvolved in rigging anelection?”

“How naïve of you,Alana.” He exaggerated thesarcasm.

“Point taken.” She

shivered and pulled theblanket up over her chest.“But that doesn’t mean Iapprove. I don’t want thatkindofhelp,notwhenIhaveto sell my soul to get it. Iwon’tbeanyone’sslave.”

“You make it sound sodirty. You wouldn’t be aslavesomuchasa—afriend.Friends do favors forfriends.” Her look ofskepticism told him he had

reached a dead endwith thisline of argument. Christ,Alana, how Imisjudged you!He would have to try a newtactic, his final, desperategambit. If this didn’t work,well, he might have tostrugglethroughthenextfewweeksuntilhe foundanothercongresswoman who wasmistress material, not thatfinding someone new wassomething he wanted to do;

unlikehispreviousshort-termflingsandofficeromances,hewasactuallystartingtoreallylikeAlana.

“Okay, you won’t do itformoney and youwon’t doit for personal gain.” Hesighed, leaned forward,resting his elbows on hisknees and folding his handsout in front of him, and hecasthis facedown ina showofdefeat;ifshewasgoingto

buyithehadtosellittoher.“Congratulations. You’re therarest of the rare: a senatorwith some shreds ofconscienceleft.”

“OrI’mjustsmart.”“You are,” Chris said

looking up at her. “And I’msorry I tried to dragyou intothis. It’s just… It’s just…”Now he needed to throweverything he had into it.Heknocked down the mental

barrier that held back real,authentichumanemotions;heneededthistobegenuineandhehadmorethanenoughfearand inner turmoil to makethathappen.

“It’s just too much forme,” he said. “The pressure.Theexpectations.Themedia.It’sjusttoomuch.Iwasonlyinmy first term in theTexasSenate when I ran for thisseat. I was just testing the

watersfor thefuture.Imean,I had enough money for atrialrun,sowhynot?Ineverexpectedtobehere,andnowalloftheotherslookdownonme because I’m tooinexperienced to do the job.Most of them wererepresentatives or stateleaders before this.” Heturned his head away for amoment; maybe she wouldthinkhewastearingup,have

moresympathy.“The thing is,Alana,” he

said, facing her again, “I’mterrified. I don’t want to beinvolved in this any morethan you do. I never evenwanted to be here, not sosoon, but when the mostpowerful corporate entity inmodern history says theywantyou inoffice,youcan’texactly turn them down. Iwas scared of Silte then and

I’m scaredof themnow. I’msoscaredofthemthatIcan’tdoanythingbutbetheirloyalservant. Silvan’s own littlepuppetinWashington.

“And I’m lonely. You’rethe only one in this rat-infestedshitholeofacitywhoI can trust. You’re my onlyfriend.Soplease,pleasehelpme.Don’tdoitformoney,oryourself, or Silte. Do it forme. You care about me,

right?”“I—I do.” She was

strangely blank; speechless,perhaps.“Ido.AndIwanttohelpyou.Ijust—”

The piercing howl of thealarmclockcutheroff.Chrisstood up sharply and wentover to turn the little thingoff.When he turned back toherhesaid,“Youwereabouttosaysomething?”

“No.Nothing.Weshould

get going. If we’re out toomuch later the aides willcomelookingforus.”

AsAlana padded, naked,offtothebathroom,Chrisranhis fingers through his hairand reached for his pants,carefullydrapedoverachair.He allowed himself avictorioussmile.Shemaynothave shown it onher faceorsaid anything definitive yet,but Chris knew he had just

gotten thehardestpart of thejob done.One down, four togo. And he had a feeling, ashe pulled his pants on andlooked for his belt, that tofind four people who likedmoneyandpersonalgainalotmorethanAlanahewouldn’thave to go far. Not in thiscity.

27WhenJasonwokeupandfeltthe emptiness in his bed andin the room, he knew Delliawasgone.Heknewsomehowbefore noticing her missingbackpack and clothes and

before discovering the noteonthebedsidetable.

And when he saw whatwas resting on top of thefoldedpieceofpaperhewassure.

Thenoteshehadleftwaspainfully short: ‘I have togoonalone.Thisisveryhardforme,butIhavetodoit.Don’ttrytofollow.Usethevaccineimmediately. When this isover, ifwe’rebothstillalive,

findmehere.’Onthebottomoftheslipofpaperwerewhatappeared to be a set of veryspecific coordinates. Jasonused the notepad feature inhis ultra-secure non-E app tojot the numbers down thenusedamatchtoburnthenote,watchingtheflamesconsumethe paper with a mixture ofhurt and frustration, the fireturning his last bit ofbrightness into ash and little

embers that quicklydisappearedintheair.

Nowhewastrulyalone.In a numb state of semi-

shock, he took the vial andstuck the little needle in avein in the crook of his arm,popping off the second capwithhis thumbandwatchingtheclearliquiddisappearintohis bloodstream. He thenwent about his typicalmorning routine in a sort of

mechanical half-awareness.Hehadtodiginhisbackpackforsomeofthethingshehadalreadypackedawaywiththeexpectation that hewould begoing to shore with Delliatoday.Why did you have todo it? Why couldn’t I havehelped you? He tried not todwell on these maddeningquestions as he brushed histeeth and put on the clothesthat looked the freshest, but

hecouldnotescapethem;hersmell was still on him fromthe night before. He left thebathroomandfoundhishalf-empty growler of beer. Hetook a sip—and gagged onthe tepid black liquid, nearlyspitting it out everywhere.What was he thinking,anyway? Would this makeher come back? He took thebottle into the bathroom andturned it upside-down in the

sink, letting the ale bubbleout, down through the drainandeventuallytotheocean.

Thegrowlerstillglugginginto the sink, he went toDellia’sbedandsatonit.Helowered himself onto herpillow and breathed indeeply; it was full of herscent,thedelicateimprintshehad left behind to tormenthim.Hemight’ve stayed likethat, his face buried in her

pillowalldayuntilher smellbegan to fade, but just thenthreeboomingknockson thedoorbroughthimbacktotherealworld.

Startled,Jasongotupandcrossed the room, taking adeep breath before slowlyopeningthedoor.Standinginthehallwasoneof thecrew,amanwithskinasdarkasthesea and a head of close-cutblack hair with ornate

swirling designs shaved intoit. Jason recognized the manasoneofthedeckbosseswhowasoftenwiththecaptain.

“Cap’n say come you towell-house,” the deck bosssaidinathickAfricanaccent.“Heneedyoudere.”

“Okay,” Jason said, nothaving theslightestcluewhythecaptainwouldwanttoseehim. “I’ll go up in a littlewhile.”

“No,”thedeckbosssaid.“Cap’n say come now. Saycarry you I if you not comenow.”

“I’mcoming,”Jasonsaid.“Noproblems.”

The deck boss turned tolead the way and Jason wasleft wondering why thecaptainneededhimsobadly.Was Jason about to getkickedofftheboat?Afterall,Delliawas the important one

and now she was gone. Hewas merely anotherdisposable pawn used forgettingherwheretheywantedher.Nowtheycouldcasthimoff to fend for himself in aworld where everyone whomattered wanted himcaptured…or dead. Butmaybe being kicked off theboatherewouldn’tbesobad.He could always look forDellia, as impossible as it

wouldbe to findher. In fact,thatseemedlikethebestideaintheworldrightnow.

Thedeckbossstoppedataflightofstairstothesideofthehallway.TheycurvedandwentupbeyondJason’ssight,vanishing into the unknown.Up there lay either his deathor his salvation; whicheveroneithappenedtobewasoutofhishands,justasitalwayswas, justas ithadbeen from

the moment he hadbefriended the cunning,awkward StephanieWashington so many yearsago. That day had changedthe course of his entire life,even if it had takenadecadetofullymanifest.

He went up the stairs,emerged into the mustywheelhouse.

“Jason Delaney,” Lestersaid, his voice muffled by a

cigarette pressed between hislips.Hewassittingacrosstheroomonawide chair behindaclusterofpanelswithknobsand switches and a largescreen. “Youknow, I hadnoidea who you were, really,when they toldme youweregettin’ on this boat. Joans.”He said the lastword almostas an afterthought, but itmade Jason’s gut clenchanxiouslynonetheless.

“Wheredidyouhearthatname?”hesaid,asfirmashecouldmanage.

Lesterchuckled.“Anyonein the movement who caresabout history knows thatname. You’re sort offamous.”

Now Jason was reallyconfused. “You’re involvedwiththem?”hesaid.“Imean,likereallyanactivemember?Not just someone on their

payroll?”AftersomesilenceLester

said,“Doesn’tmatter.Iknowmy history and I know whoyouare.Iknowwhatyoucando and I think from now onyou’re gonna do it for me—forus.”

“I’m not sure I knowwhatyoumean.”

“Joans,” Lester saidsimply.

“Yes?”

“In a few hours, whenwe’re out to sea, I’m gonnashow you some tech you’venever seen before. Stuff thathasn’t even been inventedyet, as far as consumers areconcerned.Andyou’regoingto use that stuff to help ustakedownSilte.”

For a while Jasonconsidered that. “Fairenough,” he said eventually.“But first tell me which

factionyou’rewith.”“The one that wants to

takedownSilteCorp,”Lestersaid sardonically, “and sendSilvanplummetingoutofhispenthouse window to be astain on the road. Does itmatterwhoI’mwith?”

“Guess not,” Jason said.“AndwhatifIrefuse?”

The captain sighed,blowingoutacloudofsmokeat the same time. “I hoped I

wouldn’thavetosaythis,”hesaid,“butwhatever.”Hetooktwo long drags on hiscigarette before continuing.“If you refuse then you stayonboard anyway, and whoknows? Maybe two, threedaysouttoseayouloseyourbalanceandfallovertherail,never to be seen again.” Heturned and looked right atJason.“It’suptoyou.”

Thatsettledit,then.Jason

didn’t know what, exactly,this man and his associateswanted, but he knew forcertain thathecouldn’tswimthe distance a boat couldtravelinthreedays.

“I guess I have nochoice,”hesaid.

“Good,” the captain said.“Meet me down at the stackinhalfanhour. It’s timeyousaw what’s really going onaroundhere.”

28The days were bad, but thenightswereterrible.

At least during the daySkexka was distracted fromher aching hunger by thewind whipping her hair

wildly around her face andthestolenscootershakingandrumbling between her thighsasshedroveitfrom8a.m.to6 p.m. each day with veryfew breaks. The scooter wasold—a relic of the gasolineera—but it was the onlyvehicle she could find stillstreet-legal in the state ofTexas that could make thetrip from Houston to Austinwith no stops at charging or

gas stations. Plenty of e-carscould make the normal tripwithoutacharge,butshewasforced to follow anexhausting ‘untraceableroute’ that took twelve daysand every gallon of gas the180 mpg scooter could holdin its tank and in the threespare tanks mounted aroundthe seat. Even with thebacktracking and loopingaround, shecouldhavemade

it inacoupledayswithacarif she had taken the majorroads. Of the many rulesvalenC, the current leader ofthe AC, had given her,stayingoffhighwayswas theoneshehatedmost.Shehatedit so much that it was nowpractically all she thoughtabout.

Untilnightcame.Every evening Skexka

pulledthescooterofftheroad

atthepredeterminedpointonher map. Some nights shestayed in wooded areas,sometimesabandonedstoragebuildings; anywhere shecould stay out of sight andrelatively safe was goodenough. One night she hadstayed up until dawn,cowering in fear behind adumpster,whilesomekindofstreet gang flashing big gunsandwearingMexicanflagsas

capes had chosen the vacantlot she was in for their all-night gathering. Not that shewould have slept muchanyway. If it wasn’t thehunger pains or the ache ofriding,itwasthefearofbeingcaughtortheroughgroundorthe snakes and spiders andscorpions and all other kindsofdisgustingcrawlingthings.This was how it was everynightbecausevalenCsaidno

hotels, because you had topay for hotels and Skexkacouldn’t risk paying foranything and leaving a trail.ValenC had lots of rules ontopofthat:nobuyinggas,nobuying food, no buyingwater, no buying cigarettes.Fuck she hated that last one.Her one and only carton hadrunouton the thirdday, andshe hadn’t been able to getany when she had stolen a

small bit of food during onerisky excursion into a Wal-Mart—an endeavor she waspretty sure valenC wouldn’tapproveof.

Butwhathadheexpectedhertodo?Drinkfromstreamsand puddles? Forage foracorns and roadkill and half-eaten trashcan sandwiches?Make it to Austin on gasfumes and dreams ofcomfort?Shebroodedonthis

everynightasshenibbledherrationed granola bars (whichhad run out three days ago)and sipped from the waterbottle that she filled in sinkswhenever she stopped atpublicrestrooms(becausesherefused to squat in roadsideditches to piss and shit). Shewas angry and she hurt allover, but mostly she wastired. Physically andmentally. Shewas absolutely

sick of all of this secretive,risking-her-life, runningaround bullshit. She was aslave to whichever greedyassholes had hijacked themovement’s ideology thisweek. No, not quite a slavejust yet. A slave couldn’tleave; she could technicallygowhenevershewanted.Andthey would never find herbecause she was at least asgoodathidingherselfasany

of them were at searching.Shehadlongsinceearnedtheright to walk away. It wasSkexka who had found theDellia woman; Skexka whohad obtained the ProjectUnify report after SilteCorp’s servers becameunhackable; Skexka who hadtracked Adelson to theHoustonWarehouse.Yethereshe was, errand-girl to thefaceless masters, obediently

lyingonacoldstonefloor inan abandoned garage on theeast side of Austin,fantasizing about handingover her priceless stoleninformation and walkingawayfromtheso-calledAnti-Corp,and thecivilizedworldingeneral,forgood.

Darkness had just filledthe oil-stained garage, whichwassupposedtobeherrefugeuntildawn,whenshedecided

shecouldn’ttakeitanymore.With a shake of her

grimy,greasyhairsheslippedherheadbandonandgrabbedher backpack full ofeverythingsheowned: itwasexceedingly light. Shewheeled the scooter to thedoorand through thegloomylobby and then out into thenight. She didn’t careanymore about valenC’sstupid rules; shewas tiredof

itall.Shedidn’thavetoridefar

down the street to find aconvenience store,which sheentered and then excitedlypurchasedacartonof regularCamel’s with some cash shekeptforemergencies.Shehadthe first one lit before sheevensteppedoutoftheshop,earning admonishments fromtheclerkinsomegenericEastAsianaccent.Standingbeside

the scooteragain, she suckedthat first cigarette down inunder a minute, feeling theheavy buzz as nicotine filledher body for the first time inseveraldays.Shelitasecondimmediately and put fivemoreunderherheadband fortheridetovalenC’shideout.

The scooter barely madeasoundasshespedalongthebusy city streets; its tinyengine’s noise couldn’t even

begin to challenge the bustleand music of the Austinnightlife.Skexkatookitallinand wondered how valenCwouldreactwhenhesawherthereadayearly,havingusedmain roadsduringoneof thebusiesttimesofthenight.Shefound that she really didn’tcarewhathethought,becauseshe was leaving themovement regardless—thatwascertain.Aslongashegot

what hewanted hewould besatisfied. And she had whathewanted.Ithadcostatleasta dozen lives and well morethan the ten grand she hadbeen given to fund theoperation, but in the end shegot it. The encrypted folderwasameaslytwentygigs:notevenabliponher tab’sharddrive. Whatever it was, itwasn’tmuch.

And getting it had been

almost too easy. They hadgone into the HoustonWarehouse under the falsepretense of extracting LorneAdelson, who had access tothe information in question.Thatpartnearly fell through;the shitbrain hired thugsstarted shooting long beforethey needed to. But thedetective got in and gotAdelsonout,thethugsdiedinpools of blood, and the

woman and Adelson drewmost of the Guardian goonsout long enough for Skexkatoslipinabackdoor,findtheSilte representative’s office,hack into a desk screen andpilfer the data she needed.The escape to her waitingscooterand supplieswas justas simple; the only difficultthingwastheguilt.

Oh,theguilt.Shemightnevergetover

it, the guilt of leading fourpeople—one of whom wasbasically an innocentbystander—to their deaths,while several others died inthechaosthatensued.Butshehadtoforgetaboutitfornow.Once the stupid files weretransferred she could moveon and find a way to keepliving.Shejusthopedthatshecouldfindalifefreefromallof this madness. Maybe she

could keep going on thescooter—withoutalltherulesthis time.With her relativelyhefty payment for theretrieval and delivery, shecould get a decentsecondhand e-car and crossthecountryforyears,stayingin hotels and sleeping inproper beds. Or maybe shewould venture down throughMexico to South America,losesocietyinthejungleand

reconnect with a simplerexistence, then move ondown south as far as a carcouldtakeherandstareoutatthe sea—the last one youcould cross that would carryyouawayfromcivilization.Itsoundedsobeautiful,butfirstshehadtofinishthejob.

If she had stuck tovalenC’s rules and map, itwouldhavetakenheranotherfulldayofridingtoreachthe

hideout; going her own waygot her there in twentyminutes, just as she wasflicking away the butt of thelast cigarette from herheadband and fishing in herbag for the pack. She onlysmoked like this when shewasreallyanxious.Orscared.Justnowshewasboth.

The hideoutwas actuallya lush apartment in a newishupscale high rise building in

the northwest part ofdowntown. She didn’t botherputtingherfreshcigaretteoutas she walked in; the huskyyoung man at the front deskglanced at her as shewalkedpast but said nothing. Shewalked right to the elevator,filling the lobby with smokealltheway,andgotin,takingit up sixteen stories with nostopsontheway.Therewasading when the button under

the16litup.“A little early, aren’t

we?” The man’s voicereached her just as the doorbegantoopen.

Skexka jumped anddropped her cigarette, butthen, seeing who it was, shesighed and hastily pulledanother out and lit it. Theman out in the hallway waswearing a neon pinkbalaclava over his face, the

kindthathadbeenpassedoutby the thousands during theRussian mass-demonstrations.Basedonhismask,hisimmenseheightandthe bulging barrel chestSkexka knew this man wasIo, valenC’s right-hand man(or broken lap-dog,depending on yourperspective).

“Hello, Io,” she said,steppingoutintothehallway.

“Didn’t feel like sleeping ingarage. Tired of this. AndvalenC’s rules absurd.Wanted to finish on ownterms.”

Iojustsmiledatherforawhile,andthenhesaid,“Stillhave that unique way oftalking, huh? Cute. Heyyou’ve got some ash…” Hereachedacallousedhandout,apparentlytryingtobrushoffabitofcigaretteashthathad

stuck to her shirt right overher leftbreast,butshejerkedaway.

“Fuck off,” she said,brushing the ash awayherself.

“Youknow,”hesaid,“wecouldgodownthehalltomyplacebeforeyougoseeVC.Igot some cheap wine and asoftbed.”

“I haven’t showered in aweek.”

“So what?” He leanedtoward her and inhaleddeeply, exaggeratedly. “YousmelljustthewayIwantyouto smell. And I bet you’reachingforitafterallthattimealoneontheroad.”

“Isaidfuckoff,”shesaidfiercely. But as she lookedinto his ravenous eyes sheknew at that moment that ifhewasdeterminedshewouldhave no hope of defending

herself against his sheer sizeand strength. In as cold andeven a voice as she couldmanage, she said, “I’m surevalenC will be pleased toknowwhyyoukepthimfromgettingdeliveryforsolong.”

The way his beady eyesstared back was so full ofdisgust she thought hemighthit her. In that stare she sawalloftherageandexhaustionof being a mediocre hacker

forced to lick the feet of astronger master in order toavoiddrowninginthetideoftheirchangingworld.

“Follow,” he saidhollowly. He turned andopened the door across fromtheelevatorandshefollowedhimthroughit.

Theapartmentwasbig—the front room’s ceiling wastwofloorsabove—butitinnowaymatchedtheornatedécor

of the lobby; valenC hadreally made himself at homehere. The front room wasempty except for a stack ofcardboard boxes on onewalland a grime-streakedrefrigerator on the oppositeonenext toabuilt-inelectricstove. In the next roomSkexka could see what musthavebeen tenmilliondollarsin servers and high-endcomputing equipment.

Countless LEDs and screenlights lit the dark, and shecouldseevaguemovementasAC people worked atwhatever important taskshadbeenassignedtothem.Ratherthanheadingforthishacker’sden,Ioledhertothestairsontheothersideanduptowardsacloseddoor.

“In,” a hoarse voice saidthemoment they reached thelanding. The voice appeared

to have come from the dooritself.

Io opened the door andledthewayinside.AsSkexkafollowed, she was nearlyfloored by the stench: stalecigarettesmixedwithstewingsewage and ripe cheese. Theroom was dark and when Ioclosed the door behind themit became even darker. Theonly light came from threelarge screenson the farwall,

allshowingblackscreensthatglowed strangely. In thepalelight she saw a large chairbelow the screens, facingaway from the door, but therestoftheroomwasemptyasfarasshecouldsee.

“Closer,”thehoarsevoicesaid from the chair. Skexkatook a few tentative stepsforward until the voice said,“That’s enough. You’reearly.”

“Yes,”Skexka said. “Butherenow.Havefiles.”

“You do,” valenC saidfrom his chair. “You brokemy rules.” No part of hisbody was visible, but shecould just see the pale domeof a bald head reflected ineach of the three screens.“Not good,” he said. “Youshould not have broken myrules.”Hisvoicehadaforcedsuperiority, like he was a

spoiled child talking to adespisedservant.

“I did,” she said. “Takeday out of payment.Whatever. Don’t care. Justtransfer so I can leave. I’mtired.Donewithallofthis.”

The man laughed slowlyand unnaturally. “Done?” hesaid. “Yes, if you say so.GiveyourtabtoIo.”

She handed the tabletovertoIo,whowalkedacross

the room and handed it overthe chair to his master.Seconds passed, perhaps afull minute. Io turned fromthechair andwalkedback tohis sentry post by the door,passingoff the tab toSkexkaashewalkedby.Thetabwasopened to her wallet app,which was showing a$100,000 transfer madesecondsago.

“Thanks,”shesaid.

“Noproblem,Mylah.”It should not have

surprisedherthatheknewthenameshehaderasedfromheridentityhalfadecadeago,butthe sound of those twosyllables on his unseen lipsstucklikeaknifeinherspine.Suddenly she was so scaredshewasshaking,andshefelther cigarette fall out of hergaping mouth and onto thefloor.Shewantedtoturnand

run, but for some reason shecouldn’tmakeherlegswork.

“You left a trail behindyou,” valenC said calmly,coolly. “If you were stilluseful I might forgive this,but you’re all used up now.Andon topof that, it soundslike you’ve lost your faith inthecause.”

When the icy metaltouched thebackofherneckshe closed her eyes, blinking

outasingletear.“Should’ve taken my

offer,” Io mumbled justbeside her ear. “Now youhavetodiecock-hungry.”

“Leave her thereafterwards,” valenC said.“Andstayoutforawhile.”

A cold hand turned heraround.

The gun slid gently,tenderlyuptoherforehead.

She never opened her

eyes.

Tobecontinuedin

DreamsintheTower

Part4

Comingsoon

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