Where’ve you been?” Rainey asked, Thomas slung on her hip in the kitchen, as Netherton let himself in. “I tried to phone you.”
“In Lowbeer’s car,” he said. “It must have been blocking calls. There’s a situation.”
“The stub—?” Her eyes widened.
“It’s still there. Not war, no. Our software agent there is threatened, apparently. I’ll have to break our rule, I’m afraid.” Their first post-Thomas protocol: not working from home in the evening.
“Good.” He saw her relief.
He took the controller from his jacket pocket, fumbled with it.
“What’s that?”
“Neural cut-out for an anthropoid drone.” It unfolded, becoming a symmetrically blobby silver-toned tiara. Again he noticed its array of small black holes. They held cameras, he assumed. “I have to go there now. With Ash. She’ll work from home.”
Thomas, looking at him, winced fiercely and began to cry.