Applause. Javier’s hands stilled in the muck. Of course. Rory.
“I think this is a very interesting time for vN,” Rory was saying. She smiled at the camera. She winked. “I think it’s really time for us to find out who we really are. To find our true identity.”
He’d been so fucking stupid.
He leapt clear of the garden with worms trailing from his dirty fingers.
The seastead’s governing council needed to hear Javier’s plan before they decided whether to support his quest to save the world.
“Can you just give us a bit more detail, Mr Peterson?”
That was Dawnelle. She and another woman, Mailene, were on the council because they ran the steads tower farms: two glass towers roughly the size of missile silos populated primarily by bees and humans who hadn’t much experience working with bees. Dawnelle and Mailene, Phaedra had explained, were ex-Mormons. They ran away from home a year ago. Javier was unclear whether they were sisters, or sister-wives, or both. The rest of the stead had a prediction market going on the matter.
Javier put on his most confident face. “Well, first, I’m going to Seattle, to meet up with Dr Daniel Sarton. He has a copy of Amy’s stemware. And Amy’s the only one who can stop Portia.”
The council nodded. They were with him, so far. There were seven of them, three women, three men, and one who refused to be identified by gender, called Estraven. This one sneezed, and the others all paused to utter their respective blessings, and to shake hands with each other. They didn’t really believe in covering their mouths, apparently. Sharing germs was probably some method of encouraging group bonding. Commies.
“Once I meet him, I’m going to get him to print out a copy of Amy. Probably in a puppet vN.”
“Puppet vN?”
“They’re early prototypes. At least, that’s what one of my boys told me. They don’t really have a built-in persona; they need a pilot. I’m hoping to get Sarton to install Amy into one of them. First, though, he’s going to have to figure out a way to keep Portia out of that printing. The copy he has – the copy he stole from Redmond – has Portia included in it. But if anybody can figure it out, he can.”
He saw nodding. Nodding was good.
“Amy’s the only one who knows how to put Portia back in quarantine, or whatever it is that’s going to keep that old bitch from purging the world of a s-significant pportion of human l-life.”
“Dude, are you doing OK?”
This came from a very skinny kid with dishwater blond hair and extraordinarily blue eyes. His name was Seamus. According to Phaedra, he was a child prodigy. Something about printing out viruses. The winter of his first year at Mudd, he attempted suicide. Then he came to the stead. He was Tyler’s best friend.
“It’s the failsafe,” Javier said. “It causes me to stammer, sometimes.”
“Wow, man. That blows.”
“You’re telling me.”
Seamus was the only one who laughed. This was not a good sign.
“So, the success of your plan is contingent on making contact with this Dr Sarton?”
The question came from Chandra, the other woman on the council. She was from India. From Mumbai, specifically. Where one of the islands was headed.
“Yes,” Javier said.
Chandra held up her reader. “Are you aware that Dr Sarton has died?”
It took only a pico-second for him to process, but that tiny sliver of time seemed to stretch infinitely. One moment he was telling the council how he was going to bring Amy back – how he was going to have her right in front of him, and beg her forgiveness, and kiss her, and get her to smile again, get her to save them all over again – and then he was realizing just how long that might take. How alone he would be for most of it. Then time snapped back, and he saw Chandra’s rather smug little smirk.
“No,” he said. “I wasn’t aware.”
“Balls.” Beside him, Phaedra was consulting her own reader. Javier saw the obituary headline, but didn’t bother to read it. Of course he was dead. Rory had probably tested out their fancy new killing ability on him, first.
Rory. Of course.
“But that’s OK,” he said. “Because I have a plan B.”
“You do?” Chandra asked.
“You do?” Phaedra repeated. She looked seriously doubtful.
Javier nodded. “Of course I do.” He leaned forward. The next part was crucial. They weren’t going to like it. “But if you want me to follow through on it, I’m gonna need off this rig. And I’m gonna need some money.”
“For travel?”
“For hookers.” He gestured with a flat palm about three feet off the ground. “Little ones.”
7: Fake Plastic Love