The Peripheral

50

Should we go out to him?” Ash asked.

Ossian, Netherton knew, had shut down the elevator, and probably other things as well. Anton’s sparring partner, whoever was operating it, would be staying on this level.

“Don’t,” Flynne said, from where she stood at the top of the gangway, looking out across the darkened garage.

“What’s he doing?” Netherton asked Ossian, who seemed to be peering narrowly at the locked bar, but was actually observing the former Pavel via some in-house system.

“Pacing backward,” Ossian said, “then forward. Doing something complicated with his hands.”

“Integrative workout,” Flynne said, coming back in. “Marine thing. Used to do that a lot, before he got disabled.”

“What happened to him?” Netherton asked.

“War.”

Netherton remembered the headless figure on the stair in Covent Garden.

“Dusting off his jacket,” Ossian announced. “Looking at his hands. Has mastered the thing’s night-vision toggle, by the way. Starts this way, at a relaxed trot.” He looked at Flynne, obviously seeing her now. “Quite the entrance, your man,” he said. “Military, was he?”

“Haptic Recon 1,” said Flynne. “‘First in, last out.’ He’s maybe got stuff going on from the embeds, like my brother does. VA tried to figure it out.”

“Victoria and Albert?” Ash asked.

“Veterans Administration.”

Netherton went to the door, saw the nearest arch pulse as the sparring partner came loping beneath it. He would have preferred cloud AI to whatever this instability might be, that Flynne was suggesting. Why had she brought this person, and not her brother?

Now it was coming up the gangway.

“Maybe dislocated a finger,” it said, in the doorway, the accent reminding Netherton of hers. Left hand, little finger extended. “Rest of it’s okay. More than okay. They all like this, these things?”

“That one’s optimized for martial arts,” Netherton said, which caused it to raise an eyebrow. “A training unit. It belongs to our friend’s brother.”

Ash produced the Medici. “Come here, please.”

It crossed to her, finger extended, like a child. She placed the Medici against the finger. “Sprained,” she said. “The discomfort will be gone now, but try not to do much with it.”

“What’s that?” asked the peripheral, looking down at the Medici.

“A hospital,” said Ash, tucking it away.

“Thanks,” said the peripheral, making a fist of its injured hand, opening it. It went to Flynne, put its hands on her shoulders. “Macon figured this was what it was,” it said.

“Told him not to tell you much,” she said. “Afraid it might not work.”

“It’s like I’m okay,” it said, taking its hands from her shoulders, “then I decide it’s a dream and I’m not okay.”

“It’s not a dream,” Flynne said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a dream. Don’t know that any of us are okay.”

“Never sprained anything in a dream,” the peripheral said. “Kinda got it, when I was out there, if I wasn’t careful I could break its neck.”

“You could,” said Ash. “Assume it’s human. It is, genetically, for the most part. It’s also a very considerable piece of property, which we’ve borrowed in order to have you here.”

It came to attention, with an audible click of its heels, massive chin tucked comically in, saluting crisply, then flowed back into that easy, perpetually off-balance stance that hadn’t quite been Pavel’s. “Macon,” it said to Flynne, “thinks this is the future. And Burton, he told me it was.”

“He’s at your place, now, Burton?” Flynne asked.

“Was when I left. Maybe gone now.”

“He pissed with me?”

“Doesn’t have time, looks to me. Somebody’s bought themselves the next level up, at the statehouse, and they’re leaning on the sheriff. Tommy wants to talk to me about some old Memphis boys.” Netherton found its grin terrifying. “Burton says they’re just doing it to fool with you and him,” it continued. “Said to tell you that needs some attention on this end.”

“What kind of attention?”

“Says they need to get them the governor now,” it said, “while the getting’s good. You don’t have enough money for that.”

“That would be Ossian and Ash,” Netherton said, causing Flynne and the peripheral to both turn and look at him. “Sorry. But if it’s a matter of any urgency, I suggest you bring it up now. The London School of Economics, at your service. Some unofficial undergraduate aspect of it, at any rate.”

Now Ossian and Ash were staring at him.

“It’s only money,” he said to them.