Alexander Jablokov - Brain Thief (31 page)

Oleana, Len, and Magnusen got to Near Earth Orbit just as the rocket lifted off. They had had an argument over what kind of nozzles Foote had recycled, with Magnusen insisting on a Soviet Proton model while Len plumped for a Japanese H2-A. They were as precise and impassioned in their terminology as wine snobs, and with as little actual practical result.

While they yammered, Bernal sat in the front seat of their minivan.

Naomi reached in and handed him a handkerchief.

“At least. . .” Bernal wiped his eyes. “At least she died doing exactly what she wanted to do.”

“That doesn’t make it a bit easier,” Naomi said. “It won’t actually help to pretend it does.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

When he was done, he folded her handkerchief up, finally noticing the embroidered monogram. For Naomi, this was probably a kind of business card. He reached it out to her.

“Keep it,” she said. “I have plenty.”

_______

The parking lot
 filled with police vehicles, fire trucks, Homeland Security sedans, and gawkers. The fire was out. Police and looters battled vigorously over the remains of the cowgirl.

Yolanda had driven off, with a promise that Spillvagen would be hearing from her lawyer. Bernal would be interested to hear how the case went.

Spillvagen had consoled himself by taking off with a cowgirl fingertip the size of a bowling ball, with a clean, dark-red fingernail, barely damaged.

Had Hesketh really existed? Bernal found himself wondering. He could see a theory where Patricia Foote was someone who communicated with something she interpreted as an artificial intelligence, on whose behalf she acted, but which was actually nothing more than a sophisticated vehicle control with no consciousness or will of its own.

Or that Hesketh had been an innocent AI with no homicidal tendencies until falling in with a bad-actor human being, who had corrupted it. If Madeline had been around, he suspected that would have been her theory.

He would never be sure.

“Muriel was there, wasn’t she?” Spillvagen said. “On the roof. I saw her.”

“Yes,” Bernal said. “She was there.”

The sun was rising. It was time to get some breakfast. Despite the fact that he had never liked the food, Bernal was sorry Near Earth Orbit was gone.

Something touched his cheek. He jerked, turned around.

A breeze that had come up with the sun had blown a scorched shred of the summer dress off the roof and into the rear of the Voyager. As Bernal watched, it too drifted out over the parking lot. It had seemed like a sign, for a moment, but was nothing of the sort.

Life was full of that sort of thing.