Agency

109 After the After-Party

She wasn’t sure who’d decided to come here, unless it had been Joe-Eddy, wanting to sleep in his own bed. She certainly didn’t want to be back on the porn couch, though she had no idea where she’d be sleeping when that became an issue. But somehow they’d all made it down to the basement garage, crowded into the private elevator she’d used on her first visit: Caitlin, Stets, Virgil, Manuela, Sevrin, Kathy Fang and Dixon, and her, to be met by the security freelancers who’d taken her up to the Airstream with Manuela, after the hammock ride, and by Carsyn, to Manuela’s delight. The drone had been with them too, and at one point had had Wilf, Rainey, and Ash in it, as well as Conner. She thought that Wilf and Rainey might have said good night at some point, though that would have been after Rainey’s delight at the latest Qamishli news. After Eunice’s word earlier, that things were now at least somewhat better, had come word, from Ash, via Lowbeer, that the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists clock was being reset to two minutes to midnight, where it had been prior to Qamishli. Verity had had no idea that it had been that close to midnight to begin with, but Ash had explained that that setting, dating to 2018, reflected climate change and increased use of information warfare to undermine democracy.

But by then it had become apparent that nobody in their party would be going to jail, and that Stets wouldn’t even have to pay more in fines than had been anticipated. Pryor, Conner had announced, had left the country. As, apparently, had the entire board of Cursion, Gavin evidently with them. She’d felt sorry for Gavin, in that, as Cursion’s board had sounded like what Conner described them as, a bag of dicks. While Gavin, from her own career experience prior to working for Stets, hadn’t really been that exceptionally dickish a top executive.

There had been two black limos waiting in the garage, huge, cartoonish, armored-looking, and they’d split into two groups to take those, each with three security people, to what she’d shortly discovered would be a private early-morning pre-opening of Wolven + Loaves, no doubt the result of Virgil’s PA abilities. They were all around the single longest table now, the front window blacked out with the kind of curtains photographers use, the limos parked outside on Valencia.

Joe-Eddy was seated opposite her, Caitlin on her right, Manuela on her left. Manuela had Carsyn to her left, and something was going on there. They definitely seemed to be enjoying one another’s company. The drone was standing to Joe-Eddy’s right, a few inches from the table, a chair having been removed for it. Stets was beside Caitlin, with Grim Tim, Sevrin, Kathy Fang, and Dixon making up the rest of the other side. Joe-Eddy grinned at her, his white goggles slightly lopsided. “You met the Apple guy,” he said to her.

“I did?” It was all running together now, the after-party.

“I met the people who make the albino angel mouse felt stuff Caitlin did the décor in,” said Joe-Eddy. “They were awesome.”

“They were drunk,” said Caitlin, “but nice.”

“So was the Apple guy,” said Joe-Eddy. “Not drunk, though.”

Everyone, it had turned out, had ordered the Egg McWolven and some variety of coffee. And these were arriving now, along with two trays, the color of the Tulpagenics glasses, of coffees.

“Wish we could talk,” she said, under her breath.

We can later. Or when you’ve gotten some sleep. It’s okay for you to relax now. We’re over the hump. Somewhere new.

“Qamishli, that’s really okay?”

Everybody’s going to have a hangover tomorrow, not just people who were at our party. They’re all celebrating. The Russians will make some noises, for a while, but they’re really all celebrating too. Eat your breakfast.

“We should have a toast,” Joe-Eddy said, Verity wondering if he’d read the Helvetica. “A shadow’s been lifted.”

“The president,” said Kathy Fang. “She got us out of it.”

Verity saw Joe-Eddy smirk.

“Eunice says it was the president,” Verity said to him.

“The president,” said Kathy Fang, raising her coffee, and they all clinked mugs, toasting the president.

Conner, in the drone, thrust its manipulator’s thumb-equivalents up in support, and she heard Ash’s voice join in as well.