Уильям Гибсон - Agency

“Table for two, coming up in Wolven,” Eunice said. “Verity goes straight to the back, secures it as the tech bros are getting up, while Joe-Eddy orders, brings it to the table. Execute.”

And Joe-Eddy was out the door, heading down the stairs, Verity not far behind him.

The stools along the counter at the front window, she saw as she entered, were occupied by soft grunge girls in pastel plaid flannel. Two had pink hair, the cursor going to the one with LATINX crewel-worked in fancy capitals across her shoulders, who Verity assumed was the Tulpagenics employee.

She headed for the rear, where a pair of Filson-clad, meticulously bearded young men were indeed pushing back their chairs as she arrived to claim their table. Seated, she watched Joe-Eddy paying for and collecting their breakfast.

Said he knew what you wanted.

He brought over two McWolvens and two black coffees, on a larger gray tray. As he arrived, phones began to ding and chirp around them, notification tones, bringing an instant cessation of conversation, everyone but Verity looking at their own small screen.

“What’s that?” Verity asked, as Joe-Eddy put down the tray. She hadn’t had any notifications turned on since she’d split with Stets.

“Presidential tweet,” said Joe-Eddy, looking at his own phone. “But it just says negotiations are ongoing. ‘We got this,’ basically.”

Democrats called her tweets “Churchillian,” someone had said, while Republicans called them “Orwellian.”

Looks like we have Gavin incoming.

“We do?”

He has people watching. Doubt it’s anything to do with the Tulpagenics kids over there. But they want me to see him coming, otherwise he wouldn’t be walking the last two blocks. They’d have dropped him at the door. Eat up and get moving, Joe-Eddy.

“What?” Joe-Eddy asked. “I’m chopped liver?”

Table for two. ETA in five.

Joe-Eddy started finishing his McWolven.

“Why’s he coming here?” Verity asked.

I shut Cursion out, when you and I met, so he had the cams installed. Now he only gets your half of any conversation we have, when we’re in the apartment, and I’m doctoring that anyway, which I doubt he knows. He’ll use the excuse of having the convo he promised you to try to get more of a sense of what I’m up to.

Thumbnails opening, on Gavin walking past 3.7, headed their way. One of them framed his face, unsmiling in close-up, the drone evidently flying directly in front of him, unnoticed. First time she’d seen him not smiling. Maybe this was just resting-Gavin-face. “When you first had them shut out,” Verity asked Eunice, “why didn’t they just come and get their hardware back?”

Because they need to see what I can do. They just don’t want me doing too much of it.

The thumbnails closed.

“I’m out of your way,” Joe-Eddy said. He drank the last of his coffee, stood, picked up the tray, his plate and mug on it, and carried it to the bussing cart.

Verity got to work on her own McWolven.

When Gavin entered, she’d nearly finished it.

He smiled, from beneath the brim of a black bucket hat. He was wearing Tulpagenics’ other option in frames, fake tortoiseshell with fake gold trim, bordering on sexy librarian.

Gavin, hey.

“Eunice,” he said, smile widening. “Verity.”

Only sees what I text to him.

“Coffee?” Verity asked. “I’m still working on this one.”

“I will, thanks,” he said, and went to the counter.

Nothing I’ve been able to see in their comms suggests they’re onto us, but a total lack of supposition that we’re up to anything suggests that they are. Probably passing notes under tables right now, because they don’t know what I might be able to read or overhear.

“Okay,” Verity said, barely voicing it, watching Gavin’s back at the counter. Thumbnails opened, aerial drone views of Valencia, the cursor darting between individual pedestrians, none of them familiar.

He has enough backup outside for an abduction, but I think he’s just here to test the waters.

He brought a mug of coffee, taking the seat Joe-Eddy had vacated, and removed his hat. “It’s Wednesday morning,” he said. “You started with us Monday afternoon. How are you liking it, so far?” He smiled.

I’m not liking you knowing where I’m having breakfast, Verity considering saying, then decided it would be pointless.

Keep it vague.

“It’s been interesting,” Verity said, “as I assume you’d expect.”

“You’re getting along?”

“I’d say so.”

“I ask,” he said, “because, as you may or may not know, Eunice has chosen from the start to exclude us entirely from your interactions.”

Thinks they got an idea of us together for the first time, last night. They still can’t hear me, on your earbud, and they probably haven’t guessed that I’m spoofing your side of our conversation.

“I assumed we’d be monitored,” Verity said. “If we weren’t, you’ve missed out on some long discussions of her favorite film.”

He tilted his head. “Favorite film?”

“ Inception .”

“Haven’t seen it.”

“It’s about dreams,” Verity said.

Eunice opened a thumbnail, angle down, on the back of Gavin’s head, from the wall behind him. Verity resisted glancing up to look for the drone. He had the beginning of a bald spot.

Like when you said my name, in your office, that first time? I woke up in a dream.

Gavin brightened, obviously having read this. “Then I’m watching it this evening.” He smiled. “We’ve assumed you’ve needed some quiet time, Eunice, to get to know Verity, and vice versa. Naturally, though, we’ve been curious about how things have been going.” He wore, she now saw, an earpiece identical to hers.

“When I called you,” Verity said, “after Eunice and I first met, I was having a hard time getting my head around the idea of her. I think she’s mostly gotten me over that, but who built Eunice out?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but my own agreement specifically forbids me discussing that with anyone not named in it.”

“Here,” said Eunice, abandoning Helvetica as a thumbnail opened, “let’s try it this way.” Her avatar had morphed again, the fade still rising to the curly-topped plateau, but attitude had softened, maybe even bone structure. “That’s my first question too. Who put me together? What for? You didn’t think I’d be curious?”

“Personally,” he said, “I can understand your asking, but I’m not in a position to discuss it.” Smiling.

“My second question,” Verity said, “is what steps you imagine would be necessary to bring an initial version to market?” Channeling Virgil wrecking an underprepared pitch.

He smiled, hitting her personal smiles-per-encounter limit. “Someone suggested, this morning, that you yourself would make an interesting candidate for an in-house user-modeling study. Model the app after the app whisperer.”

“Do you have the capacity for that?” Verity asked

“We have Eunice. Think of it as reverse engineering.”

My ass.

Verity caught the avatar’s smile. “You’re reverse engineering her?”

“Would you be interested? I doubt anyone knows what a contract for that would look like. But we’re definitely interested.”

“I’m definitely not interested.”

“It’s out of the blue,” he said, “but in the meantime, there’s our inability to document your interactions. An initial period of privacy seems understandable”—he smiled—“at least to me, but in terms of your contract with Tulpagenics, it’s not going to fly.”