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No, Charles sent bluntly. The forecast has been an hour or so for an hour
or so. Felipe?
I m with Charles, Felipe said. Better safe than sorry. Keep  em busy.
Garner Nanotech was mostly cleared out and surely the day s
bombings were already keeping the authorities busy. Brent asked,
What more do you have in mind? People in the auditorium are on edge. They
won t take well to more bad news on the TV.
There was an instant of  silence suggestive of consultation with-
out him, before Morgan answered. The fuel depot at Griffiss Field. My guy
is waiting.
Griffiss? That couldn t be a last-minute addition. For the airfield to
be an option now, the bombs would have been emplaced in advance.
Brent wondered, Why wasn t I in the loop?
Flame and charred bodies flashed in his mind. There was a moment
of imagined searing heat
Icy calm washed over him: a massive chemical intervention. Brent s
revulsion faded into abstract calculation: Was such drastic action exces-
sive? Why Griffiss?
Morgan: With Kim on the loose, it s best to draw attention away from
Utica.
Despite coursing hormones, Brent felt a touch of unease. How many
people at risk?
Can we signal the go-ahead? Felipe asked.
Tyra: Sure. Wired comm works. We can reconnect the router and send a
coded IM or e-mail. Or drive until you have cell-phone service. Or drive to the
airfield, if need be. It s not that far.
Morgan: No comm. After being offline since this began, a message now
will stand out.
Charles: Fine, Morgan. Send someone you trust.
Morgan: Done.
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SMALL MI RACLES
Brent s question had gone ignored. He/they tried again. How many
people is a fuel-tank explosion likely to kill?
We ll find out soon enough, Charles IMed. Brent, when the news hits TV,
can you keep a lid on things?
Text came and went on Brent s specs, but the physical backdrop of
auditorium and scared people remained. People Brent knew. People he
had once been pleased to call friends and colleagues, hanging on every
word from the TV newscast and worrying about their loved ones.
Now Brent/One ignored a question. We don t need to do this. Let s fin-
ish packing and leave.
For answer, there was another instant of  silence suggestive of pri-
vate consultation. And then, from Charles: It s happening, Brent. Call if
you need help calming people down.
The coup had come.
A room of fearful people reminded Brent of what he once had
been. Of the humanity of which he retained, however fleetingly, a trace.
He had to assert control and stop the needless and excessive violence.
One, two, three, aardvark.
An instant later, Brent found himself severed from the link.
Charles s parting shot remained on-screen: ROFL.
Rolling on the floor, laughing.
Brent banished the mocking text from his specs. No matter how
ably he had planted post-hypnotic suggestions, each had affected but
one mind and now two minds occupied each head. His control over
the other Emergent had slipped away.
From time to time sirens wailed outside. Kim s cell remained out of
service. Her heart thudded in her chest. She crept around the factory,
fleeing footsteps
Wondering if she were crazy.
So Alan Watts was being hard-nosed about bringing people to safety.
Was that so wrong? Maybe she should join the others in the auditorium.
She had passed close enough to the auditorium on one of her panicked
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tiptoe runs away from footsteps to have heard the TV through the wall.
The words were indistinct, but the pretentious breaking-news musical
motif was unmistakable. She could join Aaron and discover what those
sirens were about.
But what if she wasn t crazy?
She took the cell from her purse. Fondling it was oddly comforting.
Can t call, can t text, can t surf.
Wait! Why couldn t she surf ? The cell had a WiFi mode. And if she
could surf, she could e-mail.
Her hopes rose only to be dashed. She couldn t access any outside
website. The LAN was up so the transhumans can use their damned
VR specs? but there was no connectivity outside the building.
But maybe she could watch the news. She put in earbuds and set the
cell to TV mode. She had reception!
Only listening to TV could mean not hearing someone coming her
way. She unplugged the earbuds and squinted at screen crawlers.
There had been bombings in town. The bombings appeared to have
been remotely controlled, so local cell-phone and WiMax service had
been suspended preemptively.
Remote-control bombing. What must Sladja Sanders be thinking?
Thinking about Sladja, and about Aaron unable to get to her, was
easier than thinking about what Kim could or should do herself.
Yes, the guards were acting out of character. Maybe they should. Cir-
cumstances were out of the ordinary. Kim kept roaming the halls, try-
ing to decide, slipping away from any noise that might be someone
approaching. Until, in her wandering, she heard soft mechanical sounds
from the factory floor. She peeked through the gap between the double
doors
In time to see a loaded forklift turn into a cross aisle.
Brent/One tried to reconnect, and failed. He/they tried each of the
leaders individually. Morgan, the only one to respond, told Brent to
coordinate through Alan Watts.
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Brent/One indulged in a moment of speculation. Perhaps the other
Emergent guards mostly, and a few techies would listen to him/
them. Perhaps. More likely, the guards were loyal to Morgan. If so, hint-
ing at a countercoup would only make the situation worse.
Come what may, the Emergent must complete what had been
started today.
For a while, Brent/One concentrated on the shared virtual space.
It was text only, alas, not the VirtuaLife environment in which every-
one had rehearsed. Still, he/they saw progress. The reaction vats
for assembling bots were mostly disconnected. Several units had
been shifted to the loading dock. There weren t proper packing
materials those were to have come on rental trucks, in another [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]