Paolo Bacigalupi - The Doubt Factory

Moses went back to watching the feed. Tank didn’t move.

Moses looked up. “What?”

Tank shrugged. “You watch her a lot.”

“That’s the job,” Moses said.

“Long as you’re watching her for biz, and not ’cause you’re getting all wrapped up in the target.”

Moses made a face of irritation. “I’m the one who picked the target.”

“I’m just sayin’, you’re spending a lot of time looking at a girl.”

Moses glanced back to the video feeds and the girls beside the pool. The one called Sophie had left, but Alix and Cynthia were still there. “I’m detail-oriented.”

“Detail-oriented on tight blouses,” Tank said.

Moses glared. Tank was smart enough to back off. “Sorry,” he muttered, and dropped his welding mask over his face.

Instant defense. The kid clamming up, putting up his walls. Moses almost felt bad that he’d made Tank close up like that.

You’re better than what he had before , Moses reminded himself.

Tank said something else, muffled by the mask. Moses assumed it was another apology.

Kook wandered into the computer lab. She was drinking something the color of luminescent slime and loaded with stimulants as she got ready for another coding session. Her electric-blue hair stuck out in wild directions, tousled from sleep. As she passed, a wave of sweet herb, seemingly embedded in her skin, wafted over Moses and Tank.

“Morning,” she mumbled as she stepped over power cables and plug splitters.

“It’s afternoon.”

“It’s morning in the Philippines,” Kook said. “That’s all I care about.” She plopped down in front of the computer gear they’d set up for her work.

Tank said something else from behind his mask.

“What’s that?” Moses asked.

Tank pushed up his defense. “I said I’m going to need more money.” He gestured vaguely toward where they’d set up his workshop, waving his wire and torch. “I’m almost out of iron.”

Moses nodded sourly. They were starting to burn through money now, all of it going faster as pieces fell into place. He needed to plan another cash run soon. Someplace nice and far away that wouldn’t cause any disruptions in the surveillance that they knew was always there, circling overhead, gazing down from cameras in streets, peering over the shoulders of convenience store clerks, and watching from traffic cams, evaluating them all as they moved under suspicious eyes.

First Rule: You’re always watched .

Second Rule: See rule one .

“How’s the coding going?” he called to Kook.

“Fuckers think they’re smarter than me,” she answered. She was bringing flatscreens to life, twenty-nine-inch monsters casting an ethereal glow across her features, blue and green and red glitter on her eyebrow and nose piercings. A solid wall of monitors ringed her, four huge workstations, filled with tiny windows, strings of code, rotating street views from security cams, the pulsing equalizer beat of her music. Below her desk, open motherboards and fans hummed and glowed, a spiderweb of chips and backup hard drives.

Kook stuffed in her earbuds and started typing. More task windows opened. Dozens of windows now, long cascades of computer code flowing past under Kook’s command. Her pausing and reading and then going on, comparing chunks, some of it regular computer code—C++, Java, and ancient COBOL—other parts in compiled binary. Kook read it all, immersed in the language of machines. The four blazing monitors around her cast a glow like the flare of a nuclear explosion on her features. She sucked the green slime drink through a straw and rubbed her eyes and stared into the rivers of code. “Fuckers think they know shit,” she muttered.

“You think you can be ready in time?” Moses pressed.

“What?” She pulled her earbuds out.

“Are you going to be ready?”

“Just got to surf the wave.” She toasted Moses with her toxic drink. “It’ll take me right to shore.”

Tank snorted. “Yeah, Kook, you keep on surfing, girl. Let us know when you ride that wave in from crazy.”

“Beat it, Tank. I’m not stoned enough to ignore you, and that’s all that’s keeping me from feeding you to Adam’s rats.”

Unlike with Moses, Tank didn’t seem to be bothered at all by Kook’s threats. With Moses, a wrong word turned Tank cautious. With Kook, he never flinched.

“That reminds me,” Tank said. “We’re going to need more rat food. Adam’s complaining about it.”

“So Adam can put it on the list,” Moses said absently. “He can get it when he’s getting the party supplies.”

Tank shook his head vigorously. “If you let Adam do it, he’ll buy them gourmet cheese. I thought you said we were supposed to be watching money. Adam will buy them some big wheel of English aged cheddar, and he’ll have us all eating dog food.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him.” He tried to turn back to the streaming video, but Tank still wasn’t leaving.

“Is there something else?”

“I just think you should stop looking at her all the time,” Tank said.

“I think you should mind your own business,” Moses said, but to his surprise, Tank didn’t back down. The boy’s brow furrowed. He hunched in on himself, but he pressed on anyway.

“You almost screwed up when you cloned the key card.”

“How was I supposed to know the headmaster was just going to come after me like that?”

“How were you supposed to know?” Kook glanced over. “Your uncle would have called that sloppy.”

“You didn’t hear what that man said to me,” Moses protested.

“Still put the wrong kind of heat on us,” Kook said.

“I got the man’s keys cloned, didn’t I?”

Kook was looking at him now, more seriously. “Sure you did. In the most public and obvious way. It made you stand out. It probably put your face on some camera. And it made you look like a thug. You’re not a thug, and you made yourself look like one.”

“It’s the target,” Tank said stubbornly. “She’s got him all screwed up.”

Moses shot him another look. “She does not.”

Before the argument could continue, Adam came into the computer lab. He was wearing a sports coat and slacks, his hair still wet from the shower. “Do I look rich or what?” He turned in a circle, looking pleased with himself, then stopped when he saw the expressions on everyone else’s faces.

“What did I do?”

“What makes you think everything’s about you?” Kook asked.

“Because I’m a narcissist?”

Kook snorted. “I’ll give you that.” She jerked her head toward Moses. “We’re talking about Wonderboy getting wrapped up in the target.”

Adam blew out his breath. “Yeah. That was sloppy with the headmaster.”

“He let her bite him, too,” Tank said glumly.

“Are you serious?” Kook looked interested. “You should probably get a rabies shot.”

“Don’t be nasty,” Moses said. “She doesn’t have rabies.”

Kook snorted and went back to her coding. “And there you have it. He’s wrapped up in her.”

“Girls are trouble,” Adam warned. “I try to tell you that.”

“I’m fine,” Moses said.

“If you say so. Now, do I look okay to go out in public or not?” He stood straight, grinning, waiting for the approving inspection.

“You really are a narcissist,” Kook said.

“I’m a good-looking narcissist,” Adam shot back.

“You look perfect,” Moses said. “No one will notice you—” He broke off. A white rat was poking its nose out from the pocket of Adam’s jacket. “Uh…” Moses pointed. “Are you planning on taking that with you?”

Adam frowned as he plucked the rat from his pocket. “I could’ve sworn I locked them all up.”