Agency

77 Event Horizon

Someone out of frame passed Stets a small glass of what Verity assumed was espresso. “Thanks,” he said, looking up briefly at whoever it was. He took a sip. This feed, Verity assumed, was via a camera in the Airstream aerie’s foldaway screen, which put him on the in-built couch opposite. “Where are you now?” he asked her.

“Not sure,” she said, assuming he couldn’t see her, “being driven somewhere. What have you been up to?”

“Trying to figure out whatever it is that we seem to have agreed to help Eunice’s branch plants do. They aren’t very communicative.”

“I was texting with one, earlier. It got me in touch with Joe-Eddy. Virgil tells me you used to try to think of things for him to do for you, but couldn’t.”

“Do you know Guilherme?” he asked.

Verity blinked. Hearing Stets mention the Manzilian felt like a category error, as if the moon were to inquire after the cantaloupe you’d bought the day before, both being spherical. “Not to speak to. I’ve seen him at the apartment.”

“Eunice’s network consists mainly of the branch plants, so human company can be a relief.”

“I thought it would all be people,” Verity said, “from what she said.”

“You already know most of the people,” he said, “but this, for instance”—and he raised his hand toward the camera—“is due to the network.” He did something that replaced his selfie feed with one from the top of the stairs, overlooking the broad floor below, under sunlight through blue tarps. Cables everywhere, helmeted climbers dangling. More workers than she’d seen here before. Lengths of glittering white fabric were being hauled up by electric winches.

Below this, she saw five identical, red, rectangular machines, each with a small pair of black rubber tires at the nearest end. “What is it?” she asked. “What are those red things?”

“Caitlin’s design. Fabric’s by a company I backed. Those are Honda EM5000 electric-start generators, power in case someone cuts ours tonight when we most need it. The branch plants ordered them. Tricky piping the exhaust out. Hope we don’t need them.”

“What is it you’re doing?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Then how did she design for it?”

“Someone suggested, a few months ago, that we get married here, before the place is finished. That was the impetus for this design. She already had the space entirely modeled for the reno design. Knows where every eye bolt is, up there. The fabric doesn’t need to be edged or hemmed, and she worked with standard lengths from the factory.”

“But you’re not getting married here?”

“Definitely not planning on it.”

“But you don’t know what it’s for?”

“I’m not sure the branch plants know themselves.”

“But aren’t we all looking the end of the world in the mouth, about now? And you’re up here hanging fabric art?”

“Lowbeer’s take is doing this demonstrates trust, and that we can cooperate.”

“How about Caitlin?”

“I’d ask her, but she’s video-conferencing the technical details of an aerial drone display above the building, an extension of the fabric work.”

“What if you do it and nothing happens?”

“A little pre-apocalyptic gathering? Why not enjoy it? Have to go now. I’ll see you there.”

“Is this what happens when Virgil’s not here to tell you shit’s crazy?”

“I don’t need Virgil to tell me that about this.” He grinned as his feed closed.