Another voice, this one indistinguishable. Shaun caught my eye and nodded. He?d have Becks running it through a filter as soon as we finished listening, trying to clean it up enough to determine the speaker. That was all we could really do.
?And I?m telling you, they?re getting too close. With the Meissonier girl gone, we can?t steer them anymore. There?s no telling how many of those damn bugs she planted around the offices. I told you we couldn?t trust a spook.?
I caught my breath as Rick started swearing under his. Only Shaun was completely silent, his lips pressed into a tight line. Unaware that he was being listened to, Tate continued: ?I?m in her little boyfriend?s portable office. If there was any spot she wouldn?t bug, it?d be the one where she was doing her own share of the sinning.?
?He really didn?t know her very well,? Rick said, in a bitter, distant tone.
?Neither did we,? Shaun replied.
?I don?t care how you take the rest of them out,? Tate barked. ?Just do it. If the CDC couldn?t finish them off, we?ll find another way. Understand me? Do it!? There was a slam, as if a receiver was being thrust rudely into its cradle, followed by the sound of footsteps. The hiss continued for a few more seconds, then cut off as suddenly as it had started.
?They only cut and save when there?s sound being received,? said Shaun needlessly. We all knew how Buffy?s saver bugs worked. Plant them and they?d press anything they heard to file, going dormant to save their batteries when the space around them was silent. She must not have been listening to her files. Just saving and transmitting them, serene in her own certainty that her side was the right one.
?Tate,? snarled Rick. ?That fuck.?
?Tate,? I said. My eyes were burning. Finally sliding my sunglasses back into place, I looked from one to the other. ?We have to see the senator.?
?Can we trust him not to be a part of this?? Shaun asked.
I hesitated. ?How good is Becks??
?Not that good.?
?Fine.? I swiveled back to my screen. ?Screamers on everyone. Get the whole team online. I don?t care where they are, I want them here.?
?Georgia??? said Rick, uncertainly.
I shook my head, already beginning to type. ?Shut up, sit down, and get started. We have work to do.?
* * *
Every life has a watershed moment, an instant when you realize you?re about to make a choice that will define everything else you ever do, and that if you choose wrong, there may not be that many things left to choose. Sometimes the wrong choice is the only one that lets you face the end with dignity, grace, and the awareness that you?re doing the right thing.
I?m not sure we can recognize those moments until they?ve passed us. Was mine the day I decided to become a reporter? The day my brother and I logged onto a job fair and met a girl who called herself ?Buffy?? The day we decided to try for the ?plum assignment? of staff bloggers to the Ryman campaign?
Or was it the day we realized this might be the last thing we ever did? and decided not to care?
My name is Georgia Mason. My brother calls me George.
Welcome to my watershed.
?From Images May Disturb You,
the blog of Georgia Mason, April 8, 2040
Twenty-two
It took two hours and seventeen minutes to gather every blogger, associate blogger, administrative employee, system administrator, and facilities coordinator employed by After the End Times together in one hastily opened virtual conference room. Our conferencing system has eleven rooms, and the eleventh had never been successfully hacked, but Buffy ?built? them all. The code was hers, and I didn?t feel like we could trust it anymore. We would have invited the volunteer moderators?leaving them out didn?t seem right?but we didn?t have a way of contacting them without using unsecured channels. And that was the last thing I was willing to do just now.
With Becks, Alaric, and Dave?who was finally back from Alaska, having acquired several hundred hours of footage, and a minor case of frostbite?working in tandem, we almost had a functional replacement for Buffy. Alaric and Dave did most of the heavy lifting of setting up the room, freeing Becks to keep trying to sift through Buffy?s data. There was a lot to sort through.