“You going back?” Janice asked her, now. “Tonight?”
Flynne bit into the sandwich again, nodded.
“Maybe you don’t want to eat all of that now. They were worried about you puking, before.”
Flynne chewed, swallowed. “That’s a first-time thing. People who use them get used to it. I need food. Need to be able to stay there longer.”
“Why do they call them that, ‘peripherals’?”
“Because they’re extensions? Like accessories?”
“Anatomically correct?”
“Didn’t think to check.”
“Put that in Hefty Mart, there goes the neighborhood. Probably there goes vintage flight sims too, ’cept for old folks and the church people. Could Madison learn to pilot one?”
“Guess he could.”
“Nobody’s going to kick the one they got you out of bed for eating crackers. Macon showed me a screen-grab.” Janice smiled. “Impressed you told Burton and them a lady needed time to collect herself.”
“Lady fucking did,” Flynne said.
“You don’t think that’s really the future, do you?” Janice asked, her best game face, no tells.
“Or am I batshit insane, you mean?”
“I guess, yeah.”
Flynne put what was left of the sandwich down, on the plastic Janice had brought it in. “Might as well be. We went upstairs, in an elevator, and there was this big fancy old house. Then out onto a kind of walled patio in back, at night, with these two Tasmanian tigers.”
“Extinct,” said Janice. “Seen ’em CG’d on Ciencia Loca.”
“These aren’t really them. They tweaked Tasmanian devil DNA. I could smell all the different flowers, dirt, hear birds. It was almost dark. Like the birds were going to sleep. Weird.”
“What was?”
“Hearing birds. Because we were right in the city. Too quiet.”
“Maybe it was too late.”
“Quiet as here, at night.”
“So what do you think it is?”
“If it’s a game, it’s not just another game. Maybe a whole new platform. That would explain the money.”
“Would it explain how they can fix the state lottery?”
“They aren’t telling me it’s a game. They’re telling me it’s a future. Not ours exactly, because now they’ve messed with us, even just first getting in touch, we’re headed somewhere else.”
“Where?”
“Say they can’t tell. That it’s not like time travel in a show. Just information, back and forth. Minute later here is a minute later there. If I waited a week to go back, it would be a week later there.”
“What’s in it for them?”
“Don’t know. Lev, it’s his house, but really it’s his dad’s other house, so doing this is like Dwight gambling on Operation Northwind. Rich man’s hobby. He pays Ash and Wilf and another guy to run it for him, handle the details. But Wilf, he fucked up, over some woman, and somebody else got in here, where we are, and hired those dead guys from Tennessee to kill my family.”
Janice made her eyes wide as she could. “Brain ’splode.”
“Don’t have the luxury of ’sploding,” Flynne said. “Whatever it is, it’s rolling. With a lot of moving parts, and my brother thinks he can steer it. He’s making deals with Corbell Pickett, he’s setting terms with Lev and them, and it’s about me. Not about me, but I’m the one who saw that asshole. I might be the only one who saw him.”
“Then the first order of business,” Janice said, reaching over to squeeze Flynne’s hand, “is you getting a say in what’s going on.”
44
Minus Flynne, the peripheral seemed to occupy less space. It was seated where she’d sat earlier, looking at Lev, where he leaned on the edge of the desk. “Things went well,” he said, looking from Netherton to Ash, who was seated in the other armchair. “She’s quite something, isn’t she?”
“I’d spoken with Lowbeer earlier,” Netherton said, “and she’d agreed that a little time outside might be a good idea.” Actually this had been Lowbeer’s suggestion, but Flynne’s visit had gone so well that he felt he deserved some credit. Flynne herself had insisted on going out, for that matter, but it had been Netherton, happening to glance in the direction of Ash’s vase of flowers, who’d suggested the garden. Then they’d found Lev in the garden with Gordon and Tyenna, out to distribute their expensively modified DNA among the hostas.
“Yes,” said Lev, giving him a look, “Lowbeer phoned me as you were on the way up.”
“She’ll be back,” said Ash.
“Lowbeer?” Netherton asked.
“Your polt girl. We do have her attention. Though she isn’t going to do just anything we suggest.” She was looking at Netherton.
“Indeed.”
“You’re supposed to be good at manipulating people,” Ash said. “Frankly, I’ve never been able to see it.”
“I have my moments,” said Netherton. “Results aren’t always replicable. Actually, I’ve noticed that you’re rather good at it yourself.”
“Stop it,” said Lev. “Ash is a bit more of a generalist, while you’re highly specialized. I’m quite satisfied with that.”
“My difficulty,” said Netherton, “is a lack of context. Until you tell me what Lowbeer wants done, what she intends to do, I’ve nothing to work with.”
“What did she tell you when she phoned?” asked Lev.
“I told her that I thought it was best to tell Flynne that this isn’t a game. She agreed, that I should begin to explain the stub, to the extent that I understand it. Which, I gather, really isn’t that much less than your own understanding. Is it true, that you’ve no idea what or where this server is?”
“None,” said Lev. “We assume it’s in China, or is in any case Chinese, but that’s assumption only. Someone has a device that sends and receives information, to and from the past. The act of doing so, initially, generates continua. Unless those continua are already there, some literally infinite number of them, but that’s academic. It’s massively encrypted, whatever it is. It took Ash and Ossian months to find their way in, even with the willing help of several experienced enthusiasts.”
“Perversely difficult,” said Ash.
“But,” asked Netherton, with no real expectation of a meaningful answer, “what does Lowbeer want?”
“To learn what happened to Aelita, and why,” Lev said, “and who was responsible.”
“If your taste runs to perverse difficulty,” Netherton said, “getting that out of Daedra and her cohort, assuming they know, should provide it. But that’s not something I want any part of.”
Lev looked at him, then, and he didn’t like it.
45
I’ll talk to Burton,” Flynne said to Janice. “You talk to Macon. Need the head measurement right away, and printed out.”
“What’ll you do when you get him there? Seriously, honey. That’s a lateral move.”
“I won’t be alone. And I need a witness, somebody to confirm my version. Then we can double-team Burton, if we have to.”
“That why you wouldn’t just take Burton in the first place?”
“I guess. I’m winging it, Janice.”
“You are that,” said Janice.
Flynne turned, reaching for the door handle.
“Hold on a sec,” said Janice. “Costume department.” She was flipping through Burton’s hyper-tidy rod of mostly raggedy clothes, across the front of the Airstream, everything facing in one direction, on identical hangers from Hefty Mart. Janice pulled out something long, shiny, coppery brown. A robe he’d won in a mixed martial arts contest in Davisville, last winter. Ripstop nylon with maroon lapels, a screaming American eagle fabbed across the back. Like a boxer’s robe. She was surprised he’d kept it. “Perfect,” said Janice, holding it open for her.
“That?”
“You just went to the future, hon. Or somewhere they say’s the future. Major event.”
“It’s too big,” Flynne protested, shrugging into it.