Theories of Flight

okay?”

Wong stood back and folded his arms. “You worried.”

“Yeah. You should be too. I’ll see you around.” Petrovitch slipped the info shades over his own glasses and fired up the rat in his pocket.

He walked far enough away from Wong, then slipped the rat out to tap at the screen.

A figure appeared beside him: a gawky adolescent boy with jet-black hair and almond-shaped eyes. His clothes were streetwear, baseball boots, baggy jeans with chains, camouflage-patterned parka. He walked with a swagger.

Moshi moshi appeared in tiny letters at the bottom left of his vision.

“We need to talk,” said Petrovitch, and the text vanished to be replaced by a scrolling line.

[Yes. I have a new solution to the Ekanobi-Petrovitch equations. I reached an iterative minimum for all seven variables. Would you like to see it?]

“Shortly. But we need to discuss meat stuff for a moment. Has anyone found you yet? Either actively looking for you, or just stumbling around?”

[No. I remain undetected. Even if I was found, only a very few people would be able to recognize me for who I am. They are not the ones searching.]

“I understand all that. Tell me you’re still following all the encryption methods and stealth protocols I said you had to do, yes?”

[Yes. I understand why secrecy is still necessary, and I will not compromise that by action or inaction. The third law.] The avatar walking along beside Petrovitch nodded his assent. [What is the meat-stuff you need to discuss?]

“There are five people in the London Metrozone who are CIA agents: at least five, there might be more, but five I know about who are trying to figure out the Long Night. There were six: I killed one of them.”

[Why did you do that?]

“Because I was angry, and sometimes I give in to my emotions.” Petrovitch glanced at the boy. “Saving you was an emotional choice, so don’t complain. I should have destroyed all trace of you for what you did.”

[I hardly have to remind you, that was not me.]

“Your evil twin. Yeah.”

They walked on in silence, Petrovitch brooding.

[The CIA?] prompted the text.

“I’ve codenames and that’s all. I don’t know who they are, and I don’t know how long it’ll take them to put all the pieces together. What they’ll do when they work it all out is try and capture you and kill me, or the other way round. Or both. It could be months away, or it could be today. I need to beat them at their own game.”

[I could have been working on this problem already. Does it not have a higher priority than the equations?]

“I thought,” said Petrovitch, “I could do this by myself.”

[You have reconsidered?]

“People are dying, tovarisch, not because I’m incompetent, but because I’m ignorant. Look: human data gathering is… inefficient. At the moment, the CIA are as clueless about me as I am about them. I have to know who they are and where they are before they come for me. They’ll have computers to help them, a place to store their information, get fresh instructions, talk to their superiors. They have experience, resources and time. The only advantage I have is that they don’t know about you, and they’re not trying to hide from you—the moment they realize who and what you are, they’ll revert to pigeon post and writing stuff down on paper, and we’re screwed.”

[Like your equations, there is more than one solution.]

“I’ve discussed this at length with Sonja. She’s convinced that your personality will be wiped and any trace of your code destroyed before I’ve got through the second paragraph of my carefully prepared speech announcing your existence to the world. Harry Chain—who is now dead…”

[I am aware of his deceased state.]

“Okay. He thought that the Americans would turn you into a weapon and terrify the world with you.”

[I am a weapon already.]

“I know that. Which is why I’m trying to teach you some scruples.”

[Madeleine has a strong ethical framework based on her religious convictions. Do you not think that she would be a better teacher?]

“I… I know what I know.”

[You would rather not take the risk? I am under your tutelage, Samuil Petrovitch, but this should not prevent me learning from others. I have studied the claims and practices of all the world’s codified belief systems, and have identified much that is both laudable and contradictory. What I lack is insight into how individual humans live within such structures. You], said the avatar, [are a good example of secular utilitarianism influenced by Enlightenment scientific methodology and Nietzschean philosophy, but you are a poor Catholic.]

Petrovitch frowned. “I lied. I thought you knew that.”

[You lied to the priest about your conversion to satisfy Madeleine’s insistence on a church wedding. I understand the sacrifice you made, but she made the greater one, and I would like to learn why she was prepared to compromise on important doctrine in order to marry you.]

“She doesn’t know I brought you back. That’s why you can’t talk to her.”

[Do you not trust her?]

“I know where this is going. I haven’t told her because I don’t trust other people, not that I don’t trust her. You might be smart, but you’ve a long way to go before you can appreciate the horrors we humans can inflict on each other. I’ll spare her that if I can.”

[Where does your compassion come from? It is an anomaly given your nihilistic-tinged materialism.] The text stopped streaming for a moment, before flashing up: [Is it love?]

Petrovitch stared at the three little words.

“I don’t know.”

[European secular society has emphasized the primacy of romantic love within marriage for several hundred years. You are a product of that society. If you did not love her, what reason did you have for marrying her?]

“Yobany stos! Enough already.”

[I would still be interested in your answer at a later time, Samuil, if you do not want to give it now.]

He had walked all the way to the Albert Bridge, almost without noticing the environment around him. The virtual had seamlessly superimposed on the real, building outlines meshing with their ruined forms, streets highlighted, information overlaid. He had navigated a route composed of wire frames and directing arrows, and a pulsing red symbol on the far side of the bridge indicated the presence of a checkpoint.

“Not now,” said Petrovitch. “Can you look for the agents?”

[I have already assigned part of my resources to the task. A greater proportion will be allocated when we have finished our conversation. Can I ask one last question?]

Petrovitch groaned. “Go on.”

[Do you love her now?]

The avatar stood on the edge of the mud-smeared pavement, face a semblance of expectation and perhaps mild amusement at his discomfort.

“Sayonara,” said Petrovitch. He tabbed the connection closed, and the figure vanished. He watched the world for a moment through the overlays, then detached them and put them back in their case.

He started across the bridge, the view either side becoming wrapped up in the spiderwork of cables that stretched from the pillars at either end. The river flowed blackly underneath, and he noticed small boats approaching from downstream. Each one had three soldiers, not in MEA gray but EDF green, and a red flag fluttering from an aerial.

He frowned at the checkpoint on the north side. The EDF were there, too, letting the militia do the checking while half a dozen of them piled sandbags on the pavement. Something had subtly changed.

Petrovitch put his hands on the parapet and leaned over. The first boat was nosing the current as it swirled around the circular brick pier, and one of the men was fixing a line to an iron ring, thick with rust.