Agency

98 Black Shark

Ash’s sigil appeared. Netherton, having gotten Thomas down for a nap, had just reached the partially closed nursery door. He slipped out, closing it behind him. “Yes?”

“Eunice,” said Ash. “She’s back.”

“Wasn’t she erased?”

“She was, but she’s having a conversation with Verity as we speak.”

“How’s that?”

“They wiped their single iteration, on both the APL servers they were somehow managing to use. Which makes it unlikely they could do another, but we aren’t sure whether they even thought of that. Her laminae spirited a copy of her out, piecemeal, prior to their erasure. She’s been recompiling, since, and that’s only just now completed.”

“Were you expecting this?”

“Not at all, though now we would, knowing this much more about the capabilities of laminar agents.”

“Where did they take her bits, then?”

“Into global distribution. Their system’s based nowhere in particular, with multiple redundancies. The aunties are impressed by its architecture.”

In the kitchen, Netherton opened the fridge. “I’ve been with Conner, in the drone,” he said, taking Rainey’s pomegranate juice to the counter and pouring a glass. “He’d just beaten five men unconscious, or a good facsimile thereof. Verity, and the girl those men had been sent to capture, left in a car, with Virgil and Dixon. Do you know where they were going?” He drank half of the juice.

“To Howell’s penthouse project. We need the drone with her there, to protect her.”

“There’s been scarcely any need for me to operate it.”

“You did, though, initially. And essentially, at the time.”

He drank the rest of the juice. “Where is Conner now? The drone, I mean.”

“Adjacent to Howell’s building.”

Netherton put the glass in the washer and returned the juice to the fridge. “I’ll see how they’re doing,” he said, and went back to the couch. He sat down beside the controller and put it on.

“Where’s the accent from?” asked a young woman with dark red hair, squatting before the drone, against a shadowy blue background.

“Marines,” said Conner.

She was in the lower half of the display. In the upper half, behind the drone, more of that same blue, and a faint light, moving. “Where are we?” Netherton asked.

“A space we assembled at street level,” Ash answered. “You’re in the anteroom of a larger space. We launch from there.”

“Launch what?” Netherton asked.

“You,” said Ash.

“Going flying, Wilf,” said Conner.

Madison’s sigil appeared, before Netherton could respond to this. “Getting a call,” he said to Ash. “Excuse me.” He muted. “Hello?”

“Madison, Wilf. Talk?”

“What is it?”

“The Black Shark,” Madison said, “the performance data. Got it.”

“Got what?”

“One-man Soviet attack helicopter, NATO reporting name Hokum-B. My Finn demanded classified performance data, in exchange for the rest of what he had on your project. Found it for him, about an hour ago. Swap’s all done.”

“Have you told anyone else?”

“Nope.”

About to tell Madison he’d tell Lowbeer himself, it occurred to him that this call was almost certainly already doing exactly that, as they spoke. “Would you mind letting Ash know? Tell her I’ve too much on my hands now to deal with it myself.”

“Will do. Finn gave me a walk-through, before we shook on it. All clearly labeled as project documents, except for one file of helmet-cam footage.”

“Of what?”

“Afghanistan, if the Finn’s right. Thinks he recognizes a mountain range.”

“Mountains?”

“An explosion. Janice doesn’t like it. Thinks it might be the last thing someone saw.”

“Lowbeer can sort it out,” Netherton said. “Get it all straight to Ash. And thank you, Madison. You’ve been a tremendous help. Have to go now.”

“Always a pleasure, Wilf. You take care.”

“What did you say you were launching?” Netherton asked Conner.

“Us,” said Conner. “Haven’t flown for years.”