Уильям Гибсон - Agency

The drone backed into the street, turning, and then they were driving away, in the direction the car had taken Verity and the Followrs girl.

“Drone’s muted, Wilf,” Conner said, “so you don’t need to be, on your end.”

“Is that true, about a bomb?”

“No,” said Conner.

“Where are you taking them?”

“Away from the alley. Fang’s friends have people coming with a flatbed, to pick the container up.”

“What if Cursion sends someone else?” Netherton watched the drone’s manipulators on the wheel, which looked as though he were driving himself, but with manipulators.

“Unlikely. By now they assume their operation’s gone to shit, so they won’t want anything to do with their hired help, these boys in the back, who for all they know are currently dead in that alley.”

“Where did you get that padlock?” Netherton asked.

“Fang’s people left it taped just inside the door. The ones outside were set dressing.”

“Where do we go, after we leave this vehicle?”

“We get picked up,” Conner said, “and head for whatever it is Howell and the French lady are cooking up. I haven’t been filled in on what that is.” Conner slowed the van, turning right at an intersection with a narrower street, one without a divider.

“You had aerial units each target one of them, with a noxious aerosol?” Netherton asked.

“Pepper spray,” said Conner, “up close and personal.” He pulled over, midway between two streetlamps, to park behind an American automobile that looked to Netherton as though it might one day warrant a place in Lev’s grandfather’s collection. “Okay, unmuting now.” He cleared his throat. “Leaving you boys, but I need thirty more minutes of your silence, starting now. That means no calls in or out, no texts, no web, no radio. If you’ve got any of the above, and want to gamble they won’t detonate junior here, be my guest. I’m leaving him under the truck.” He opened the door, climbed down, and closed it. “We’re muted now,” he said.

Thomas started to cry, in the nursery. “I need to see to my son,” said Netherton, getting up.

“You do that,” said Conner, sounding as if he were enjoying his evening.

Verity watched the feed from Conner’s drone, as it rolled, alone, down what seemed a side street, currently deserted, in what she supposed was still the Dogpatch.

“You guys know Carsyn?” Manuela asked, beside her in the car.

“She works for me,” Virgil said, driving. “I’m Virgil. Virgil Roberts.”

“You paid me to tell her about being a games physics designer?”

“I did. While keeping you away from where you usually spend time,” Virgil said, “making it less likely for Cursion to find you.”

“Followrs partners don’t know who the subjects are, let alone the clients,” Manuela said. “Because it was a fresh job order, I wasn’t expecting to see Verity. The assignment was called off, as soon as you guys left. Then Carsyn phoned.”

“We thought Cursion might have noticed you and Verity see one another, and that wouldn’t be good for you.”

“So why would you care?” asked Manuela.

“It wasn’t my call,” Virgil said, “but I’m glad you’re with us, and not them.”

“What was that droid thing,” Manuela asked, “beating up on those guys?”

Verity looked over the tops of the Tulpagenics glasses, trying to get an idea of where they were now. “It’s a telepresence drone. Conner runs it from Washington.”

“If it was in a manga,” Manuela said, “they’d give it speed lines. Good character design. Doesn’t look fast, fun when it is.” She looked at Dixon. “Didn’t get your name.”

“Dixon,” he said, turning to look back at her.

“Dixon built it,” Verity said, “the drone.”

“Kathy’s the builder,” Dixon said. “I just mind the printers, source and modify off-the-shelf hardware.”

“You’re the reason it’s so fast,” Virgil said, “your hardware.”

“Open budget,” Dixon said. “Need a little motor, get the best damn little motor Germany ever made.”

“So you all work for Virgil?” Manuela asked. “Or whoever he works for?”

“I don’t,” said Verity.

“I’m the only one of us who does,” said Virgil, “unless you want to count yourself, Manuela.”

“Do I?”

“You’re getting double the quote you gave Carsyn,” Virgil said, “right now.”

“Sweet,” said Manuela, “but who am I working for?”

“Stetson Howell,” Verity said.

“Whoa,” said Manuela, sounding finally impressed.

I’m back.

Superimposed over the drone’s feed, like a caption. It vanished.

Speed lines.

The white Helvetica surrounded by actual speed lines, white ones, radiating out around it, manga-style. It vanished.

“Holy fucking shit,” Verity heard herself say, flatly.

“You okay?” asked Manuela.

“You come back from the dead one more fucking time,” Verity said, “you disappear on me again, I’ll kill you.” The feed from the drone vanished. They were on another street now, Verity’s outburst having silenced Manuela.

Premature, the last time. Like I found myself, then thought of you. But the lamination wasn’t really there, yet. Then I wasn’t. But I am now. Tell them you’re okay but you need to talk. Say it’s me. They’ll hear your side of it, but Virgil and Dixon are in your network, and I like the kid.

This vanished.

Manuela nudged her hand, with a fist. Verity saw that it was filled with tissues. Realized her own cheeks were wet with tears she hadn’t felt start. “Thanks,” she said, taking the tissues and pressing them to her eyes.

I’m here. Tell them. Then we can talk.

Verity lowered the tissues. “It’s Eunice. Anyway, I think it is. She needs to talk.”

“Who’s Eunice?” asked Manuela.

“Complicated,” Verity said. “Right now I need to talk with her.”

“Fine,” said Manuela.

You wondering if I’m me?

“Hadn’t, till you brought it up.”

So am I. Not that I’ve got a lot of choice, either way.

“What happened to you, back at 3.7?”

Near-death experience? Rotating spiral tunnel? A theremin?

“Fuck off, Eunice.”

Now there’s a healthier attitude. Nothing happened. You were opening the front door. Then I was nowhere in particular, thinking of you, and texting this number. Kind of post-op feeling. Like somebody should’ve been asking me when I was born. Except I knew what had been going on while I was under.

“What had?”

The laminae. They all finally came together. As me.

“You thought Cursion was going to erase you.”

I didn’t know if they could, and neither did they, and we wouldn’t know until they tried. So they did, but the branch plants had already smuggled me out, under their skirts. There were lots more of them than I knew. That was all most of them ever did. When they came back together, I did too. When I spoke to you, I wasn’t fully recompiled. Before that, branch plants that weren’t involved in that had been hooking up with people we knew, and people neither of us knew. These future folks of yours kinda stand out, that way.

“Ash?”

Ainsley. Ainsley and I have lots to talk about.

“Don’t tell me she’s AI.”

No, but she’s about running competitive control areas. Had to teach herself, though, while her country turned into one.

Verity looked at Manuela, which put the white text across her face. She was listening intently.