The Peripheral

51

Lev’s backyard was the same as before, walls too high to see over, stone paving with a few flower beds. She’d come out here with Conner, leaving the others in the kitchen with Lev, who was making them coffee. A tall blonde she figured was Mrs. Lev had been there when they’d come up, but she’d left, fast, giving Wilf a seriously shitty look. They were telling Lev about money to buy the governor, and she’d had a feeling that wasn’t going to be a problem for them, but that they were telling Lev like it was. Then they’d get to tell him they’d solved it. She’d done that herself, working. Seemed to her Lev would be happier not having heard about it in the first place.

The sky was duller, out here in the garden, than when they’d taken the copter to that Cheapside. Like a dome of Tupperware.

“This the future, Flynne?” Conner asked.

“Trying not to worry about it. Neither of us is crazy, and we both think we’re here.”

“Thought I was,” he said, “crazy, then Macon came over and put that thing on my head. Opened my eyes and saw you. ’Cept it’s not you. That’s not crazy?”

“Don’t frown. Too scary, on that thing.”

“Say you got some guy who’s hearing voices,” he said, “so you matter-transport his ass to Venus, okay? So would he still be hearing voices, or would he think he was crazy because he was on fucking Venus?”

“Were you hearing voices?”

“Sort of trying to, you know? Just for something different to do?”

“Shit, Conner. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not, now,” he said. “But who the fuck are those people?” Looking back into the house, through glass doors.

“Big guy’s Lev. You’re in his brother’s peripheral. He borrowed it.”

“Four-eyed lady?”

“Ash. She and Ossian are gofers for Lev, or like IT? Other one’s Wilf Netherton. Said he was human resources, but the company he works for is mostly imaginary.”

“Any idea what they’re up to?”

“Not really, even if everything they’ve told me so far is true.”

“How’d it start?” he asked.

“Netherton fucked up.”

“Looks like he would,” said Conner. He looked at her. “You want me to take them out?”

“No!” She punched him in the arm. Like punching a rock. “Want to go back to your sofa? I can call Macon.”

“Don’t have a lot to offer you by way of thanks,” he said. “Just the first thing came to mind. Owe you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I woke up in this, though,” and she touched her face, “and thought of you. We both might live to regret it.”

“Whatever it is, I’ve got these fingers. Just tell me what to do, or not to.”

Ash’s badge. “Edward,” Ash said.

Another badge beside Ash’s, this one yellow, with two scarlet nubbins, one above the other. “Flynne? Macon put me through.” Voice, no image.

“What’s up?”

“In the trailer. With you.”

“Where’s Macon?”

“Over at Conner’s. This is kind of embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“I think you maybe need to pee.”

“What?”

“You’re getting restless. Here.”

She imagined Edward in Burton’s chair, watching her on the bed. “You want me back?”

“Just for a minute?”

“Hold on. Ash?”

“Yes?” Ash said.

“I need to go back for a minute. Can we do that?”

“Of course. Come back into the house, we’ll find you a place to sit.”

“You hear that, Edward?”

“Okay,” he said, “thanks.” The two-nubbins badge was gone.

“Come back in,” she said to Conner, “I need to go to the trailer for a minute.”

“Why?”

“Edward thinks I need to pee.”

He looked at her, over the cheekbones. “Guess he can’t do it for you.” He started toward the house. “I’ll keep that in mind, though,” he said.

“Why?”

“Next time, I’m using the Texas catheter off the Tarantula.”

“This way,” said Ash, as they entered the kitchen. “You can do it in the gallery.” She put down her coffee. Flynne followed her, Conner taking up the rear. Left down a wide hallway, then right, into a very large room.

“It’s too big for the house,” Flynne said.

“It extends into the two houses adjacent,” Ash said.

“Fake Picassos?” She remembered some of them from high school.

“Someone would be in a very awkward position if they were,” Ash said. “Sit here,” pointing at an ancient-looking marble bench. “You’re more accustomed to transitioning, now, so in theory you should be able to inhale, close your eyes, exhale, open them.”

“Why close my eyes?”

“Some find it unpleasant not to. Mr. Penske can wait with you.”

“Conner,” he said. “Planned to.”

Flynne sat. The stone was cold, through the peripheral’s jeans. She was facing two large paintings she’d been seeing on screens all her life. “Okay,” she said, inhaled, and closed her eyes.

“Now,” said Ash.

Flynne exhaled. Opened her eyes. It was like being flipped on her back, but with no actual movement, the Airstream’s illuminated Vaseline ceiling way too close.

Edward was right. She needed to go.

“Hold on,” he said, as she started to sit up, “got to get this off.” He had his Viz in. He lifted the crown off her head.

“Burton here?” she asked, as she sat up the rest of the way, dizzy.

“At Conner’s, with Macon.”

“Janice?”

“Up at your house, minding your mom.”

Flynne stood, unsteady. “Okay,” she said, “be right back.” She veered slightly, on the way to the door, corrected for it. Heard the shots as she opened the door. Maybe three on automatic, then two more, spaced, like a different gun. Not close, but not that far either. She looked back at Edward. “Shit.”

His Vizless eye was wide.

“Who’s on duty?”

“Bunch of them,” he said. “I can’t keep track.”

“Find out what it was,” she said, and stepped out. Listened. Sound of bugs. Creek rushing. Wind in the trees. Went into the toilet, the spring on the door twanging. Undid her jeans, sat there in the dark, a universe away from Picasso. Remembered to toss some sawdust down into the hole when she was done.

The spring made a different sound, opening the door from the inside. Four drones whipped past, in the light from the trailer, marked with duct tape.

“Who shot?” she asked Edward, stepping up into the Airstream.

“Had somebody on your property,” he said.

“Had?”

“I think so, but they talk that tango hotel soldier shit. Your brother’s on it, whatever it was. On his way back.”

“Bet it’s the fucking statehouse,” she said, sitting down on the bed. “Do me.” Gesturing at the baking sugar crown.

“What are you going to do?”

“Go back. Try to raise some money. Have Burton call me there. Ash can put it through. If you can’t reach him, tell Macon.”

“Conner okay?”

“Easiest person there to understand. Okay’s probably stretching it.”

He ran a cold dab of saline across her forehead, lowered the crown into place. Helped her lie back.

She took a breath, closed her eyes.