The Peripheral (18 page)

POWER RELATIONSHIPS

I
n the middle of a walking forest of black hats stood a white-haired woman with bright blue eyes. The men seemed no more to see her than they saw whatever Ash was flying, which Lev said they couldn’t, though they felt the turbulence, each one reaching up to hold his hat as he walked through it. They walked around the woman as she stood there, looking up at what they couldn’t see, one gray-gloved hand holding a little hat against the downdraft.

There was a new badge, beside Lev’s, Ash’s, Wilf’s. A sort of simple crown, in profile, gold on cream. The others dimmed now. “We’re in privacy mode,” the woman said. “The others can’t hear us. I am Detective Inspector Ainsley Lowbeer, of the Metropolitan Police.” Her voice in Flynne’s head, sounds of crowd and traffic muted.

“Flynne Fisher,” Flynne said. “Are you why I’m here?”

“You yourself are why you’re here. If you hadn’t chosen to stand in for your brother, you wouldn’t have witnessed the crime I’m investigating.”

“Sorry,” said Flynne.

“I’m not sorry at all,” the woman said. “Without you, I’d have nothing. An annoyingly seamless absence. Are you frightened?”

“Sometimes.”

“Normal under the circumstances, insofar as they can be said to be normal. Are you satisfied with your peri?”

“My what?”

“Your peripheral. I chose it myself, I’m afraid on very short notice. I felt it had a certain poetry.”

“Why do you want to talk to me?”

“You witnessed a peculiarly unpleasant homicide. Saw the face of someone who may be either the perpetrator or an accomplice.”

“I thought that might be why.”

“Some person or persons unknown have since attempted to have you murdered, in your native continuum, presumably because they know you to be a witness. Shockingly, in my view, I’m told that arranging your death would in no way constitute a crime here, as you are, according to current best legal opinion, not considered to be real.”

“I’m as real as you are.”

“You are indeed,” said the woman, “but persons of the sort pursuing you now would have no hesitation whatever in killing you, or anyone else, here, now, or elsewhere. Such persons are my concern, of course.” Bright blue, her eyes, and cold. “But you are my concern as well. My responsibility, in a different way.”

“Why?”

“For my sins, perhaps.” She smiled, but not in any way Flynne found comforting. “Zubov, you should understand, will pervert the economy of your world.”

“It’s pretty fucked anyway,” Flynne said, then wished she’d put it another way.

“I’m familiar with it, so yes, it is, though that isn’t what I mean. I don’t like what these people are doing, these continua hobbyists, Zubov included, though I do find it fascinating. Some might think you more real than I am myself.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m very old, elaborately and artificially so. I don’t feel entirely real to myself, frankly. But if you agree to assist me, I shall assist you in return, insofar as I can.”

“Got a male version of this? Peripheral?”

The Detective Inspector raised penciled eyebrows. “You would prefer one?”

“No. I don’t want to be the only one who’s seen this, been here. I
need someone who’ll back me up, when I go home and tell them what’s going on.”

“Zubov could arrange it, I’m sure.”

“You’re after whoever sent that gray knapsack thing to kill her, aren’t you? And that asshole who brought her out on the balcony?”

“I am, yes.”

“I’ll be a witness. When it comes to trial. I would anyway.”

“There shall be no trial. Only punishment. But thank you.”

“I want that peripheral, though. And fast. Deal?”

“Consider it done,” said Lowbeer. The other badges undimmed, the din of Cheapside flooding back, now with an added booming of big church bells. “We’ve had our chat,” Lowbeer called up. “Thank you so much for bringing her by. Goodbye!”

Cheapside was the size of one of the badges then, then smaller, gone. Flynne blinked across at Lev. He was seeing her, she saw, and so was Wilf Netherton, but Ash’s weird eyes were fixed on blank veneer.

“Actually, Inspector,” Ash said, “I believe we can borrow one. Yes. Of course. I’ll speak with Mr. Zubov. Thank you.” She turned to Lev, seeing him now. “Your brother’s sparring partner,” she said. “Your father keeps it in Richmond Hill, brings it out to remind Anton of his folly?”

“More or less,” Lev said, glancing at Flynne.

“Have them send it over in a car. Lowbeer wants it here.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t ask. You wouldn’t have either. She said that we need a male peripheral, soonest. I remembered that it was there.”

“I suppose it’s the easiest way,” said Lev. “Who’ll be using it?” He looked at Flynne.

“Bathroom’s in the back?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Excuse me,” she said. Stood.

In the narrow steel toilet-shower room off the little room in the back, its door closed behind her, she looked into the mirror.
Unbuttoned the black shirt, finding a bra she hadn’t been aware of and breasts slightly larger than her own. Not hers, and that was comforting, and so was the small flat mole over the left collar bone. Which was why she’d looked, she realized, buttoning up the shirt, though she hadn’t understood until she’d done it.

She wondered if it needed to pee. She didn’t, so she’d assume that it didn’t. It drank water, Ash had said, but didn’t eat. Whoever had cut its hair had done Carlota proud.

She turned, opened the door, and returned to the room Netherton had pretended was his office at Milagros Coldiron. He and Lev were gone. Ash stood by the window, looking out. “Where did they go?” she asked.

“Up to the house. Netherton and Ossian will wait for it to arrive. I hope you like jaw.”

“Jaw?”

“It has a rather prominent jawline. Extremely high cheekbones. A sort of fairy-tale Slav.”

“You . . . know it?” Was that the word?

“I’ve never seen it with a human operator. Only with cloud AI from its manufacturer. It belonged to Lev’s brother.”

“He’s dead, Lev’s brother?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Ash.

Okay, Flynne thought. “Is it athletic? Like this one seems to be?”

“Extremely. Quite off the scale, actually.”

“Good,” said Flynne.

“What are you up to?” asked Ash, her eyes narrowing until Flynne could only see her upper pupils.

“Nothing Lowbeer doesn’t know about.”

“Quite good at power relationships, are we?”

“How long till it’s here?”

“Half an hour?”

“Show me how to call Macon,” Flynne said.

PAVEL

L
ev’s entranceway was cluttered with parenting equipment. Miniature Wellingtons, coatrack clumped with bright rainwear, a push-bike reminding Netherton of the patchers, things to hit balls with, many balls themselves. A few stray bits of Lego edged fitfully about among lower strata, like bright rectilinear beetles.

Netherton and Ossian sat on a wooden bench, facing these things. The end nearest him was smeared with what he assumed was partially dried jam. Anton’s sparring partner was expected momentarily, from Richmond Hill. Ossian had rejected his suggestion that they wait outside.

“Had the nannies shitting themselves, that did,” Ossian said now, apparently apropos of nothing.

“What did?”

“Your buggy, there.” Indicating, Netherton at first thought, the burdened coatrack. “Against the wall.” He pointed. “Cloaked.”

Netherton now made out the outline of a folded pushchair, currently emulating what happened to be nearest, in this case grubbily off-white wall and the brown tartan lining of a weathered jacket.

“The grandfather had it sent from Moscow,” Ossian said, “when the girl was born. Diplomatic bag. Only way to get it in.”

“Why was that?”

“Has a weapons system. Pair of guns. Nothing ballistic, though. Projects very short-term assemblers. Disassemblers, really. Go after
soft tissue. Take it apart at a molecular level. Seen footage of doing that to a side of beef.”

“What happens?”

“Bones. It’s autonomous, self-targeting, makes its own call of threat levels.”

“Who would pose the threat?”

“Your Russian kidnappers,” said Ossian.

“It does that with a baby aboard?”

“Being shown pandas against the trauma, by then. Headed home, nannies or no, in armed evasion mode.”

Netherton considered the faintly visible, harmless-looking thing.

“Zubov’s missus wouldn’t have it. Never gotten on with the grandfather. Sided with the nannies.”

“How long have you worked here, Ossian?”

Ossian regarded him narrowly. “Five years, near enough.”

“What did you do previously?”

“Much the same. Near enough.”

“Did you train for it?”

“I did,” Ossian said.

“How?”

“Misspending my youth. How did you train to stand up smart and lie to anyone?”

Netherton looked at him. “Like you. Near enough.”

A shadow darkened one sidelight. Chimes sounded.

“That would be itself,” said Ossian, standing, tugging down his dark waistcoat. He turned to the door, squared his shoulders, and opened it.

“Good evening.” Tall, broad-shouldered, in a dark gray suit. “Pleased to see you, Ossian. You may not remember me. Pavel.”

“Quick about it,” ordered Ossian, stepping back.

The peripheral entered, Ossian closing the door behind it. “Pavel,” it said to Netherton. Pronounced jawline, strong facial bones, eyes pale and somehow mocking.

“Wilf Netherton.” Offering his hand. They shook hands, the peripheral’s grip warm, careful.

“The garage,” said Ossian.

“Of course,” said Pavel, and strolled ahead of them, toward the elevator, entirely at home.

THE SOUNDS HE MADE

T
his Pavel had cheekbones you could chop ice with, Flynne thought, but his voice was nice.

“Personality’s AI,” the Irishman said. “We’ll have that turned off before your man moves in.”

“I’m Flynne,” she said.

“Pleased to meet you,” said the peripheral, eyeing the Irishman like he had no fucks to give.

“Programmed to take the piss,” Ossian said. “Part of the sparring functionality. Makes you want to beat it out of them.”

The peripheral shifted its weight. It was well over six feet, taller than Burton, pale hair pushed to one side. It cocked a blond eyebrow at Flynne. “How may I be of service?”

“Go into the back cabin,” Ash said. “Lie down. Notify the factory that we won’t be needing the cloud.”

“Of course,” it said. It had to turn its shoulders a little, to clear shiny walls almost the color of its hair.

“I see why Anton kept murdering it,” Ossian said. “Mindless, but it’s always at you.”

Ash said something to him in one of their weird private languages.

“She says that that could be adjusted,” Ossian said to Flynne. “True, but Anton couldn’t be arsed. Not his way. I always hoped he’d do it sufficient damage that the factory couldn’t put it back together.”

“Macon has everything ready,” Ash said to Flynne. “I have him now. He’d like to speak with you.”

“Sure,” said Flynne. Ash’s badge appeared, then another beside it,
yellow with an ugly red lump. Then Macon. “That a nubbin, Macon? Got your own future-folks badge already?”

“Yours is sorry-ass,” Macon said. “Just blank. Get her to fix it for you.” He grinned.

“Kinda busy,” she said.

“Things okay?”

“Not messed up the way I was the first time. Saw a little more of the place. He ready?”

“Too ready, you ask me.”

“Burton know?” she asked him.

“As it happens,” Macon said, doing a side eye.

“He’s there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shit.”

“It’s all good. Set to go.”

“Let’s do this thing.”

“Ready when you are,” he said. The nubbin badge dimmed.

“Ash and I go in,” Flynne said to Netherton and Ossian. “Not sure how he’s going to take this. Thing to remember is to cut him slack, okay? He gets excited, you better back off, fast.”

Netherton and Ossian looked at each other.

“Okay,” Flynne said to Ash, and walked into the corridor, three strides to the back room, where the peripheral lay on the bunk, ankles hanging off the end.

“Pavel,” Ash said to it, around Flynne’s shoulder, “close your eyes.”

It looked at Flynne, then closed its eyes.

“Fifteen,” said Ash, Flynne presumed to Macon.

Flynne counted down in her head. At ten, she imagined the wobble. Kept counting.

“Zero,” Ash said.

The peripheral’s eyes opened wide. “Christ on a corndog,” it said, raising large hands until it could see them. It wiggled the fingers of
both, then each thumb touched each finger in turn, then back again to the index. Sat up like it was driven by a spring. Flowed to its feet.

“It’s me, Conner,” Flynne said.

“Know that. Macon showed me a screen-grab. You,” he said to Ash, “I saw something like you in a club in Atlanta. Boy there said it was a hyperspace elf, and technically an overdose.”

“This is Ash,” Flynne said, “be nice. Colors okay?”

“Colors? This better not just be a drug experience.”

“It’s not tetrachromatic,” said Ash, causing Conner to peer at her suspiciously.

“You feel okay?” Flynne asked.

He grinned wolfishly, scary on the former Pavel. “Goddamn. Look at all these fingers.”

“This way,” Flynne said, “but there’s two men out here. They’re with us. They’re okay. Okay?”

“Fuck yes,” said Conner, looking at his hands again. “Jesus.”

She took his hand, led him out. Ash was standing beside Ossian, Netherton behind them. “Conner Penske,” Flynne said to them, releasing his hand. “Conner was in the Marines with my brother.”

The three of them nodded, staring. The peripheral had a different way of standing now. Conner looked from one to the next, seemed to decide handshakes weren’t in order, and stuck his hands into the pockets of his gray pants. Looked around the cabin. “Boat? Dry dock?”

“Big fancy RV,” Flynne said.

He went to the window, bent, looked out. “My ass, out of here,” he said, probably not to them. Flynne was right behind him as he yanked open the door. He didn’t bother with the gangway. Did an acrobat’s flip, sideways, over the railing, and dropped, a good fifteen feet. Came up running, maybe faster than anyone she’d ever seen run, straight out across the garage, down the long line of what they’d said was Lev’s father’s car collection. As he ran, each long arch lit up with its glow stuff, so shallow they might almost have been beams, to fade again as
he passed below, and she hadn’t imagined there were so many, or how big this place was. And as he ran he screamed, maybe how he hadn’t screamed when what had happened to him had torn so much of his body off, but between the screams he whooped hoarsely, she guessed out of some unbearable joy or relief, just to run that way, have fingers, and that was harder to hear than the screams.

Then one last arch faded when he ran beneath it, and there was only darkness, and the sounds he made.