The Peripheral (19 page)

WHILE THE GETTING’S GOOD

S
hould we go out to him?” Ash asked.

Ossian, Netherton knew, had shut down the elevator, and probably other things as well. Anton’s sparring partner, whoever was operating it, would be staying on this level.

“Don’t,” Flynne said, from where she stood at the top of the gangway, looking out across the darkened garage.

“What’s he doing?” Netherton asked Ossian, who seemed to be peering narrowly at the locked bar, but was actually observing the former Pavel via some in-house system.

“Pacing backward,” Ossian said, “then forward. Doing something complicated with his hands.”

“Integrative workout,” Flynne said, coming back in. “Marine thing. Used to do that a lot, before he got disabled.”

“What happened to him?” Netherton asked.

“War.”

Netherton remembered the headless figure on the stair in Covent Garden.

“Dusting off his jacket,” Ossian announced. “Looking at his hands. Has mastered the thing’s night-vision toggle, by the way. Starts this way, at a relaxed trot.” He looked at Flynne, obviously seeing her now. “Quite the entrance, your man,” he said. “Military, was he?”

“Haptic Recon 1,” said Flynne. “‘First in, last out.’ He’s maybe got stuff going on from the embeds, like my brother does. VA tried to figure it out.”

“Victoria and Albert?” Ash asked.

“Veterans Administration.”

Netherton went to the door, saw the nearest arch pulse as the sparring partner came loping beneath it. He would have preferred cloud AI to whatever this instability might be, that Flynne was suggesting. Why had she brought this person, and not her brother?

Now it was coming up the gangway.

“Maybe dislocated a finger,” it said, in the doorway, the accent reminding Netherton of hers. Left hand, little finger extended. “Rest of it’s okay. More than okay. They all like this, these things?”

“That one’s optimized for martial arts,” Netherton said, which caused it to raise an eyebrow. “A training unit. It belongs to our friend’s brother.”

Ash produced the Medici. “Come here, please.”

It crossed to her, finger extended, like a child. She placed the Medici against the finger. “Sprained,” she said. “The discomfort will be gone now, but try not to do much with it.”

“What’s that?” asked the peripheral, looking down at the Medici.

“A hospital,” said Ash, tucking it away.

“Thanks,” said the peripheral, making a fist of its injured hand, opening it. It went to Flynne, put its hands on her shoulders. “Macon figured this was what it was,” it said.

“Told him not to tell you much,” she said. “Afraid it might not work.”

“It’s like I’m okay,” it said, taking its hands from her shoulders, “then I decide it’s a dream and I’m not okay.”

“It’s not a dream,” Flynne said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a dream. Don’t know that any of us are okay.”

“Never sprained anything in a dream,” the peripheral said. “Kinda got it, when I was out there, if I wasn’t careful I could break its neck.”

“You could,” said Ash. “Assume it’s human. It is, genetically, for the most part. It’s also a very considerable piece of property, which we’ve borrowed in order to have you here.”

It came to attention, with an audible click of its heels, massive chin
tucked comically in, saluting crisply, then flowed back into that easy, perpetually off-balance stance that hadn’t quite been Pavel’s. “Macon,” it said to Flynne, “thinks this is the future. And Burton, he told me it was.”

“He’s at your place, now, Burton?” Flynne asked.

“Was when I left. Maybe gone now.”

“He pissed with me?”

“Doesn’t have time, looks to me. Somebody’s bought themselves the next level up, at the statehouse, and they’re leaning on the sheriff. Tommy wants to talk to me about some old Memphis boys.” Netherton found its grin terrifying. “Burton says they’re just doing it to fool with you and him,” it continued. “Said to tell you that needs some attention on this end.”

“What kind of attention?”

“Says they need to get them the governor now,” it said, “while the getting’s good. You don’t have enough money for that.”

“That would be Ossian and Ash,” Netherton said, causing Flynne and the peripheral to both turn and look at him. “Sorry. But if it’s a matter of any urgency, I suggest you bring it up now. The London School of Economics, at your service. Some unofficial undergraduate aspect of it, at any rate.”

Now Ossian and Ash were staring at him.

“It’s only money,” he said to them.

TANGO HOTEL SOLDIER SHIT

L
ev’s backyard was the same as before, walls too high to see over, stone paving with a few flower beds. She’d come out here with Conner, leaving the others in the kitchen with Lev, who was making them coffee. A tall blonde she figured was Mrs. Lev had been there when they’d come up, but she’d left, fast, giving Wilf a seriously shitty look. They were telling Lev about money to buy the governor, and she’d had a feeling that wasn’t going to be a problem for them, but that they were telling Lev like it was. Then they’d get to tell him they’d solved it. She’d done that herself, working. Seemed to her Lev would be happier not having heard about it in the first place.

The sky was duller, out here in the garden, than when they’d taken the copter to that Cheapside. Like a dome of Tupperware.

“This the future, Flynne?” Conner asked.

“Trying not to worry about it. Neither of us is crazy, and we both think we’re here.”

“Thought I was,” he said, “crazy, then Macon came over and put that thing on my head. Opened my eyes and saw you. ’Cept it’s not you. That’s not crazy?”

“Don’t frown. Too scary, on that thing.”

“Say you got some guy who’s hearing voices,” he said, “so you matter-transport his ass to Venus, okay? So would he still be hearing voices, or would he think he was crazy because he was on fucking Venus?”

“Were you hearing voices?”

“Sort of trying to, you know? Just for something different to do?”

“Shit, Conner. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not, now,” he said. “But who the fuck are those people?” Looking back into the house, through glass doors.

“Big guy’s Lev. You’re in his brother’s peripheral. He borrowed it.”

“Four-eyed lady?”

“Ash. She and Ossian are gofers for Lev, or like IT? Other one’s Wilf Netherton. Said he was human resources, but the company he works for is mostly imaginary.”

“Any idea what they’re up to?”

“Not really, even if everything they’ve told me so far is true.”

“How’d it start?” he asked.

“Netherton fucked up.”

“Looks like he would,” said Conner. He looked at her. “You want me to take them out?”

“No!” She punched him in the arm. Like punching a rock. “Want to go back to your sofa? I can call Macon.”

“Don’t have a lot to offer you by way of thanks,” he said. “Just the first thing came to mind. Owe you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I woke up in this, though,” and she touched her face, “and thought of you. We both might live to regret it.”

“Whatever it is, I’ve got these fingers. Just tell me what to do, or not to.”

Ash’s badge. “Edward,” Ash said.

Another badge beside Ash’s, this one yellow, with two scarlet nubbins, one above the other. “Flynne? Macon put me through.” Voice, no image.

“What’s up?”

“In the trailer. With you.”

“Where’s Macon?”

“Over at Conner’s. This is kind of embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“I think you maybe need to pee.”

“What?”

“You’re getting restless. Here.”

She imagined Edward in Burton’s chair, watching her on the bed. “You want me back?”

“Just for a minute?”

“Hold on. Ash?”

“Yes?” Ash said.

“I need to go back for a minute. Can we do that?”

“Of course. Come back into the house, we’ll find you a place to sit.”

“You hear that, Edward?”

“Okay,” he said, “thanks.” The two-nubbins badge was gone.

“Come back in,” she said to Conner, “I need to go to the trailer for a minute.”

“Why?”

“Edward thinks I need to pee.”

He looked at her, over the cheekbones. “Guess he can’t do it for you.” He started toward the house. “I’ll keep that in mind, though,” he said.

“Why?”

“Next time, I’m using the Texas catheter off the Tarantula.”

“This way,” said Ash, as they entered the kitchen. “You can do it in the gallery.” She put down her coffee. Flynne followed her, Conner taking up the rear. Left down a wide hallway, then right, into a very large room.

“It’s too big for the house,” Flynne said.

“It extends into the two houses adjacent,” Ash said.

“Fake Picassos?” She remembered some of them from high school.

“Someone would be in a very awkward position if they were,” Ash said. “Sit here,” pointing at an ancient-looking marble bench. “You’re more accustomed to transitioning, now, so in theory you should be able to inhale, close your eyes, exhale, open them.”

“Why close my eyes?”

“Some find it unpleasant not to. Mr. Penske can wait with you.”

“Conner,” he said. “Planned to.”

Flynne sat. The stone was cold, through the peripheral’s jeans. She was facing two large paintings she’d been seeing on screens all her life. “Okay,” she said, inhaled, and closed her eyes.

“Now,” said Ash.

Flynne exhaled. Opened her eyes. It was like being flipped on her back, but with no actual movement, the Airstream’s illuminated Vaseline ceiling way too close.

Edward was right. She needed to go.

“Hold on,” he said, as she started to sit up, “got to get this off.” He had his Viz in. He lifted the crown off her head.

“Burton here?” she asked, as she sat up the rest of the way, dizzy.

“At Conner’s, with Macon.”

“Janice?”

“Up at your house, minding your mom.”

Flynne stood, unsteady. “Okay,” she said, “be right back.” She veered slightly, on the way to the door, corrected for it. Heard the shots as she opened the door. Maybe three on automatic, then two more, spaced, like a different gun. Not close, but not that far either. She looked back at Edward. “Shit.”

His Vizless eye was wide.

“Who’s on duty?”

“Bunch of them,” he said. “I can’t keep track.”

“Find out what it was,” she said, and stepped out. Listened. Sound of bugs. Creek rushing. Wind in the trees. Went into the toilet, the spring on the door twanging. Undid her jeans, sat there in the dark, a universe away from Picasso. Remembered to toss some sawdust down into the hole when she was done.

The spring made a different sound, opening the door from the inside. Four drones whipped past, in the light from the trailer, marked with duct tape.

“Who shot?” she asked Edward, stepping up into the Airstream.

“Had somebody on your property,” he said.

“Had?”

“I think so, but they talk that tango hotel soldier shit. Your brother’s on it, whatever it was. On his way back.”

“Bet it’s the fucking statehouse,” she said, sitting down on the bed. “Do me.” Gesturing at the baking sugar crown.

“What are you going to do?”

“Go back. Try to raise some money. Have Burton call me there. Ash can put it through. If you can’t reach him, tell Macon.”

“Conner okay?”

“Easiest person there to understand. Okay’s probably stretching it.”

He ran a cold dab of saline across her forehead, lowered the crown into place. Helped her lie back.

She took a breath, closed her eyes.

BOOTS ON THE GROUND

N
etherton stood in the entrance to the gallery. Flynne’s peripheral was seated on a bench, three meters away, back to him, apparently viewing Lev’s father’s two best Picassos. The sparring partner stood nearby, facing the doorway, hands in its trouser pockets. “Good distance right there,” it said.

“Yes,” said Netherton, who’d been about to step closer.

“This a museum?” asked the sparring partner.

“A private gallery,” Netherton said. “In a home.”

“They live in a museum?”

“They live with art,” Netherton said. “Though the man who actually owns it lives elsewhere.”

“Didn’t have so much art, he could live here,” it said. “As much space as that parking lot downstairs.”

“I’m Wilf Netherton.”

“Conner,” it said.

“If you have questions,” Netherton said, “I can try to answer them.”

“She said you fucked up,” it said.

“Who did?”

“Flynne. Said this was all happening because you fucked up.”

“It is, I suppose.”

“How?”

“I was less than professional. With a woman. One thing led to another.”

“Led to a lot.”

“I suppose it did—” said Netherton, forgetting and taking a step forward.

“Stop,” it said.

Netherton did. “Do you know Flynne very well?” he asked.

“High school,” it said. “Best friend’s sister. Smart. She’d have left, gone somewhere, hadn’t been for their mother.”

Netherton wondered if Flynne’s peripheral was taking in visual information, and if so, where it was going. Then it turned.

“Where are they?” Flynne asked. “Something’s happening. Need to talk to them. Now.”

“Ask him,” the peripheral said, meaning Netherton.

“Still in the kitchen,” Netherton said.

She stood, turned. “Got the money to buy the governor yet?”

“I imagine they already have quite a lot of money, on your end. It would be more a matter of finding a way to apply it.”

“Find them.” And she was out the door, headed for the kitchen. The sparring partner swept past him. Netherton followed, noting that it didn’t regard him as sufficient threat to not allow him to take up the rear.

“Good evening,” said Lowbeer, her voice unmistakable. In the entrance to the kitchen, with Lev and Ash. “And this would be Mr. Penske.”

“Problem back home,” Flynne said. “Shooting.”

“Who’s shooting whom?” Lowbeer asked.

“Just went back for a minute. Shots, on the property. Edward heard our guys talking, like they’d engaged somebody. What about buying that governor now?” This last to Lev.

“A matter of acquiring majority stakes in the two firms who most directly enabled his election,” Lev said. “Ossian is on it.”

“You’re understandably concerned,” said Lowbeer, to Flynne.

“My mother’s in the house. Nobody’s supposed to be able to get on the property. Had drones up.”

“Can you check on the situation there and report to us, please?” Lowbeer asked Ash. “We’ll be in that charming room upstairs. Unfortunately I’ve only a little time now, but I did want to meet Flynne in her peripheral—” She smiled. “And of course Mr. Penske. And I’ve a proposal. A course of action.”

Ash asked something, briskly, in yet another synthetic language. Listened to the reply they couldn’t hear. “Ossian’s on the phone, with Edward,” she said to Flynne. “The situation there is under control.”

“What about my mother?”

Ash asked a shorter question, in what was already a different language, listened. “She wasn’t disturbed. Your friend is with her.”

“Janice,” said Flynne, visibly relieved.

“If you’re satisfied for the moment,” Lowbeer said to Flynne, “please join us upstairs. You’re entirely central to my proposal. You’ll join us as well, Conner.”

Netherton saw the peripheral silently query Flynne, who nodded. “Don’t know shit about any of this,” it said, to Lowbeer.

“You’re boots on the ground, Mr. Penske, as we said in my youth,” Lowbeer said. “We’ll need that.”

“Never good news,” said the peripheral, though it didn’t seem particularly displeased.

“Lead the way then, Mr. Netherton,” said Lowbeer.

Netherton did, imagining, as he climbed the stairs, a better world, one in which a relaxing drink would be waiting in the sitting room.