tried to kill me. If they’re looking in my direction, they’ll be looking in yours. Anything unusual today?”
She shook her head. “No. Sam—what we talked about on Tuesday: did you mean it?”
Petrovitch squinted back into the past. “Tuesday? Running away together? Yeah, I meant it. You, me and a whole lot of other people. That’s going to have to wait, though. Did you know the EDF have mined the bridges across the Thames?”
“I heard. What does it mean?”
“Mean? Tactically, it’s prudent, but only if we think we might lose. I just don’t see how that’s possible, now the EDF is here in force.”
“If you were commanding the Outies, who would win?” She wore a faint smile.
Petrovitch leaned back and thought about it. The longer he sat, the more worried he became. Eventually, he hunched back over the rat.
“Yeah, okay. Maybe not win. But they’re not trying to, are they? What they want—for now—is half the city, and the Union has just offered it to them.
“It also places both of us on the wrong side of the line, Sam. I’m not going to let them do that.”
“They’ve done it already, and I doubt any representations you make to MEA are going to change it. Get your people together, strip your building and head south.”
“I will not go.”
He imagined her stamping her foot. “Sonja, the Outies have been locked out of the Metrozone for two decades. They’re the ones who were too deranged to be let in. All they’ve had to do is breed and wait for the moment to take revenge. Now it’s finally here they’re not going to play nice because you asked.”
She sprang her arms out wide to encompass the park, the tower, everything that had belonged to her father. “This is mine and I will not give it up!”
“They’re not going to respect your property rights. They will kill you and everyone around you, and they won’t even care about making it quick.” Petrovitch put his hand on his forehead and tried to press his incipient headache out. “Seriously, even I have to start thinking about other people. It’s not about us anymore.”
Sonja was silent for a moment. Then she turned to someone behind her, said something that Petrovitch couldn’t pick up, then faced him again.
“Nothing is more important than my father’s… legacy. I’m sending Miyamoto to protect you.”
Petrovitch screwed his face up. His headache wasn’t getting any better. “Yeah. That position is already taken.”
“So where is she?”
“In bed with a broken rib,” he admitted.
Sonja raised her eyebrows. “My point precisely.”
“
“At least no one’s going to notice he’s there.”
“Very funny. If he’s coming over anyway, I need him to bring me one of the virtuality head jacks, and any documentation Sorenson might have left. I may as well see if I can make use of this extra hole in my skull.”
“I’ll see to it,” she said. “Sam?”
“Yes, Sonja.”
“What are you planning?”
“A revolution. A whole new way of doing things. No one has to die, no one has to be overthrown. There’ll be no blood or fire—just light. It’s going to be brilliant.”
“And you’re going to have to be alive to start it. Miyamoto’s on his way, Sam. Don’t make it difficult for him to do his job.”
“Yeah. Okay. I need to make some more calls. Think about what I said, though. As soon as the news about the bridges spreads, the roads are going to be full of refugees all going in one direction. It won’t be so easy then.”
He cut the connection, and punched in Pif’s name. He had no idea where in the world she was, and wasn’t surprised when a sleepy voice eventually answered him.
“Sam?” There was no video, just the soft hiss of interference and the rustling of sheets.
“Pif. Where are you?”
“In bed. I have a plane to catch at stupid o’clock in the morning.”
“No, where are you? Geographically.”
“Pasadena.”
“
“Seattle. I’m at the University of Washington for a lunchtime presentation.” There were more rustling noises, and a click. She was sitting up with the light on.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
“What sort of question is that?” She sounded scandalized, and he didn’t care. “Of course I’m alone. This is Reconstruction America: you can’t book even a twin room without a copy of your marriage certificate.”
“Sorry, sorry. You have to get out of the U.S.A., and you have to do it as soon as you can. Canada will be fine. When you get to Seattle, hire a car, drive to the border. But you have to go straight there, skip your lecture.”
“It’s not that crack you made about Stanford, is it?”
He sighed. “No. Wish to whatever god you believe in it was. It’s the CIA. They killed Harry Chain, and one of Marchenkho’s men: I was with them both when they died, and I’m starting to get belatedly paranoid.”
“Whoa. Stop, Sam. Chain’s dead? And now the CIA are trying to kill you?”
“Yeah. Pretty much. Something almost took apart the Metrozone during the Long Night. It’s that something they want to find, and either terminate it or capture it. The only people who know what that was are me, you, Maddy and Sonja.”
“But you destroyed the Jihad.” She paused. “Oh Sam.”
“I cut it a deal. Not that the Yankees are going to believe me one way or the other, especially after I fragged one of their agents. It’s all gone
“What have you done, Sam? Where is the Jihad now?” Her voice kept fluctuating, louder and softer.
“Pif?”
“I’m trying to get dressed, and one of my shoes is under the bed.” She strained. “Got it.”
“There’s no more Jihad. That’s gone forever. But I kept the source code.”
She knew him too well. “You idiot. You genius-level idiot. Now I have to find a way of getting to Mexico, and it’s midnight.” A bag was hurriedly packed and zipped. “You realize that if they haven’t yet figured out it was definitely you, my sudden disappearance might be what tips them off? And you still called me?”
“Yeah.”
There was a knock on his door. Petrovitch felt his guts tighten.
“Hang on,” he said to Pif. “In!”
The door opened. McNeil poked her head around the corner. She saw he was in the middle of a conversation and mimed that she’d wait outside, but Petrovitch waved her in.
“It’s fine,” he continued. “Give me a call when you get to wherever it is you’re going to next. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He put the rat back in its case and pushed it to one side, trying to recall McNeil’s first name again.
“Fiona.” He noticed the data card gripped between her thumb and forefinger.
“Was that Doctor Ekanobi?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Petrovitch took a swig of his coffee, and it had gone cold. He forced the mouthful down, face contorted. “Next stop, Seattle.”
She perched on the edge of his desk, hooking one jean-clad leg over the other. She slid the data card across toward him. “It’s a day early. Hope that’s all right.”
He picked it up and rolled it over and under his fingers, from one gap to the next until it reached his pinkie. Then he reversed the movement and span it back. His knuckles ached.
She stared, transfixed. “Neat.”
Petrovitch realized what he was doing and waggled his middle digit. “Physiotherapy exercise. I lost this one in… in an accident.” He put the card down. “Do you know where Hugo is?”
