Agency

40 Baby Steps

Ask her to tilt the trolley forward,” Ash said, “into the vertical, supporting it there as you step out.”

He assumed that Verity couldn’t hear her, but would hear him if he responded.

“Mute is one tap,” Ash said, “maxillary central incisors, either one. Unmute is another tap.”

He touched his upper front teeth with his tongue. “Why?”

“It might fall on you, if you step off when it’s unsupported. This isn’t a real combat drone, but a hobbyist’s reasonably accurate reconstruction of a research prototype for one.”

“Hold on,” he said, and tapped his teeth again. A familiar close-up of tweed. “How’s that going?”

“Kind of a ratchet, with a safety catch.” Metal clanged against metal. “One more. Okay. Now the charger.” She must have knelt, the tweed dropping out of sight, brown hair very close to the cameras. “Good to go.” She stood.

“Another favor?” he asked.

“What?”

“If you could tilt the trolley forward, into the vertical, and steady it there, while I step off? This is my first time on the actual drone. I’ve only walked in the sim.” He tapped his teeth. “How did you know it was tilted back?” he asked Ash.

“Trigonometry,” Ash said, he assumed likewise muted.

Verity reached behind him, over his head. The angles Ash had used altered, as Verity grasped what he now recognized as the trolley’s handle, bringing it forward. “I have my toe in front of a wheel,” she said.

He tapped again. “May I try now?”

“No sudden moves,” Verity said.

He advanced the left foot, then lowered it, finding the floor. “Good?”

“It’s on the floor,” she said.

He repeated the sequence with the right foot.

“You’re clear of the trolley,” she said.

“May I keep walking?”

“Your call.”

He took two more steps, then extruded the small wheels from their housings beneath the feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Wheels,” he said. “They’re individually powered. But it can also freewheel, for skating. I haven’t skated yet.”

“Why doesn’t it have hands?”

“It has manual capacities,” Netherton said to Verity, and surprised himself by partially raising the arms, “but I haven’t yet had any demonstrated.” The wrists tapered smoothly to complexly irregular stumps. He flexed his own right hand, inadvertently causing several odd-looking elements to snap out, then instantly retract.

“Don’t do that,” Ash said. “Some are dangerous, others merely intimidating. You’ll frighten her.”

Verity looking down at him felt familiar from using Wheelies, in the county, though the drone was quite a bit taller.

“Did Eunice choose you for this?” she asked.

“Sorry,” said an unfamiliar voice. In a gap between the partially opened doors, a woman’s face. “Checking to make sure you got through.”

“Who are you?” Netherton asked.

“Kathy Fang.”

“What’s out there?”

“Our fabrication floor.”

“Retract the wheels,” Ash said. “Walk. It’s not a Wheelie Boy.”

Netherton drew them up, into their slots in the feet, as the woman opened the doors wide. A man stood directly behind her, bearded, wearing small orange plastic bowls over either ear.

Netherton took a step forward. Another.