Nik shrugs. “But right now, aren’t we just subsidizing a bunch of rich people’s vacations? That’s not sustainable. And anyway, the TEA will still be regulating it, right?”
“It’s not just about vacations,” I say. “There’s a lot of world-changing technology across the way there. And yes, the TEA remains in place. I’m sure whoever wins will make all the right promises about respecting the timeline and playing by the rules. But there’s no way these guys don’t look for any which way they can find to maximize their investment.”
“And yet”—Nik says, searching for his words—“you’re going along with it.”
His body shrinks a little after he says this, and I don’t know if he’s feeling me out or directly challenging me. “Our job is to babysit the toddlers trying to wreck the playroom.”
“So what’s my role here?” he asks, a little too eagerly, showing me his belly.
I throw him a little eyebrow before I say, “Given the complexities of all this, Danbridge decided I needed a hand. There are few people I trust in this world and Danbridge is one of them, so if he backed you, consider that a high compliment.”
His cheeks flush. He’s an approval seeker. Good to know.
At this point Nik notices Ruby hovering a few feet away. He tilts his head at it. “AI drone.” He leans forward in his seat to see the undercarriage. “Why does it have googly eyes?”
“Aftermarket upgrade,” I tell him. “Gives me something to focus on when I talk to it.”
“And it impairs my visual acuity,” Ruby says.
“You always manage to get out of the way when I throw my boot at you, so clearly it’s not that bad,” I tell it. “Say hello to Nik.”
“Hello,” Ruby says.
“Don’t these things usually have female voices?” Nik asks. “And why does it have an accent?”
“Because it’s sexist that an assistant drone would come bundled with a female voice, so I changed it. The accent, I just thought that would be funny. Ruby, show him your party trick.”
Ruby whirs a bit closer. “Nik Gaston Moreau. Age twenty-seven, graduated at the top of your class from Stanford, degree in criminal justice. Two years with the TEA. Currently living in Watertown. You’re allergic to shrimp, and you are currently participating in an online auction for a pair of vintage Air Jordan 13 sneakers, which for the record, I believe are counterfeit. You’re active on a dating app, which you haven’t logged in to recently, but you should, because you have a match with someone who seems to fit your profile quite well—I predict an eighty-one percent chance of compatibility. I could tell you what kind of pornography you prefer, but I imagine it would make you uncomfortable. Or, more uncomfortable, given the current rate of your pulse.”
“What kind of middle name is Gaston?” I ask.
“That’s…I mean, my mom’s dad. But…that’s creepily accurate. I know there’s no such thing as privacy anymore, but shit.”
“That’s artificial intelligence for you,” I tell him. “Ruby is like a floating secretary. Answers questions and reminds me of appointments and keeps notes and is just generally a pain in my ass.”
It also helps sometimes to let me know if I’m situated in time or not, but I don’t tell Nik that.
“I’m only a pain in your ass because I do my job,” Ruby says.
I wave it off. “Let’s start the tour.” I stand up and hold out my hand. “The Tick Tock. Headed by chef Mbaye Diallo, who designed the menu and all the food offerings in the hotel. Make sure to have the thieboudienne. Fish stew from Senegal. Out of this world.”
“I’ve been to Diallo’s restaurant in Queens,” Nik says. “Had to wait three hours to get a seat.”
“Three hours?” I ask, with a laugh that’s probably a little condescending.
He shrugs. “I’m a food guy.”
I glance toward the kitchen. “Introduce yourself later. Don’t tell him I sent you.”
Nik doesn’t say anything to that, which is good. I lead him out the glass doors to the circular balcony, the highest point above the lobby, so high it makes me a little dizzy to look down, but I do anyway, and those lines at the check-in desk are still pretty long. Fantastic.
I lead him on a winding path and point out the various amenities, level by level. “A lot of this is normal stuff you’d find in a hotel. But we also have some things unique to the Paradox. There’s a costumer on-site for period-specific clothing. We have a doctor and a medical suite that handles vaccinations and screenings. No sense in coming back with a plague. And we have a linguist, who hooks you up with an earpiece translator. With me so far?”
“Linguist, doctor, costumer,” Nik says.
We make it to the lobby. Cameo gives me a glance as another old man—this one, at least, not a walking billboard for racism—is arguing for another room. “You don’t understand,” the man is saying. “My room is haunted…”
“Sir, I assure you…” Cameo responds, but the rest of the conversation tumbles into the din as we make our way toward the security office.
I nod over my shoulder. “That tall drink of nonbinary water over there is Cameo. They know everything. If you need something, ask, you’ll get a decent answer.” I point across the way. “That’s Reg’s office—he’s the manager—and next to it is the security office, which we will get to in a little bit.”
I point down the two hallways that lead to the wings. “To the right is the Atwood wing, and to the left is the Butler wing. Each wing has two hundred and six rooms. The room numbers in Atwood are even, in Butler they’re odd. Got it?”
“Atwood even. Butler odd. Four hundred and twelve rooms total.”
“All right, kid, you can math,” I tell him. “Downstairs is next.”
We get to the next level down—underground now—into the circular hallway around the ballroom, the outside of which is lined with hallways and meeting rooms and bathrooms and storage rooms. The inner circle is a giant oak wall that leads into the heart of the hotel. I take Nik inside the curved space, which is huge, empty, and dim.
“This is Lovelace, where we set up for events and tomorrow, for the summit,” I tell him.
“Is this the bottom level?” Nik asks.
“There’s a bunker below this, because when they built the hotel they wanted someplace safe to go in case the timeport blew up. Now we mostly use it for storage.”
“What time does the party start?”
I try to remember the plan I was putting together, which until an hour ago was preliminary, but now I guess we’re going with it. “I’m going to tell them ten a.m. and they’ll respond however they like.”
“How many people in here?”
“Room has a stated capacity of four hundred fifty-two and I’ll tell them I want no more than a hundred max and they’ll tell me how many they want.”
“You know what Danbridge didn’t tell me?”
“Hmm?”
“That you were such an optimist.”
“Do this job long enough and you and I will be on the same page.”
* * *
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