“Do you even know how to use one of those things?” the I.I. teased.
It’s a keypad, Maynard, Karl responded. Yeah, I know how to use it.
“And you know which end to talk into?”
You’re lucky I can’t physically smack you.
“It’s just another silver lining to being dead,” Maynard said.
The psychologist took a long, slow sip from his coffee before punching in the number on the phone.
“You remember his number?” Maynard asked incredulously.
I do. Karl was grateful for his firm memory, as he wouldn’t want to risk looking up his friend’s number on his cerebral computer. He was inclined to leave as sparse a trail as possible.
The speaker showed its age by buzzing like a tin can of wasps each time the sharp ringing tone played. Both he and the I.I. winced internally at the sound, hoping for a swift answer.
Even though it was only a loose handful of seconds, it felt like several hours before a voice interrupted the sound of the phone ringing.
“Hello?” a man greeted. His voice sounded groggy, like he had been asleep when Karl called.
“Thompson?” the psychologist said. He wanted to be sure that his friend’s number hadn’t changed or that he hadn’t misdialed.
The man on the other line hung up.
“Well that was rude,” Maynard commented.
I expected that, Karl started. That was Thompson, alright. He’s always had a bit of a paranoid nature.
“Can we trust him?” Maynard wanted to know.
Karl didn’t answer right away. He felt certain that his old friend was honest and loyal, but his mind knew that some years had passed since their last meeting. A number of things can change a man while time marches incessantly forward. Who knew what kind of person Thompson had become?
Karl was a psychologist, however, first and foremost. He understood the patterns of human nature, at least as well as a human can. There was no likely timeline he could imagine that would lead Thompson to a life of dishonesty—at least where his friends were concerned.
Maynard could hear the musing, but decided to keep his commentary to himself, for which Karl was grateful.
The man stared at the phone’s handset for a few seconds, as if some form of paralysis had fallen over him.
“What now?” the voice in his head broke in.
Shh, Karl thought. Wait.
They didn’t have to wait for much longer before the handset started to ring. Karl didn’t let it get to a second ring before pulling the device up to his ear and hitting the receive button.
“Terrace, is that you?” the same dozy voice asked before the psychologist had time to say anything.
“It’s me,” Karl replied.
“You know not to reach me here,” Thompson started. “It’s been almost a year since this phone’s rang, and for good reason.”
“You didn’t dial his cerebral computer?” Maynard inquired.
Karl ignored him. “It’s important,” he told Thompson.
“I know,” his old friend said. “I get the news as soon as it happens.”
“So you know about my… exodus?”
“More than the cops looking for you do, apparently,” Thompson said. “How are you holding up?”
“As fine as I can be,” Karl explained. “However, I don’t know how long that’s going to last.”
“I see,” Thompson hummed. “You need shelter.”
“I do.”
“I’ll meet you on the light rail. Arapahoe station. Twenty minutes,” Thompson stated between sharp inhales. “Don’t delay.”
“I won’t,” Karl said.
Thompson
“Are you gonna tell me anything about this guy before we go and put our lives in his hands?” Maynard seemed agitated—bit more afraid than Karl would assume an I.I. to be.
Like I said, he’s an old friend of mine, the psychologist started to explain. We went to school together. He was skilled with all kinds of hardware-to-software interactions, and after a while I think he found school a little… boring.
“Aww, so he’s a little troublemaker, is he?” Maynard inferred.
The man gave an audible sigh and turned down the tunnel that led to the Arapahoe station. There were few people around them, just the remnants of afternoon shoppers and a couple day drunks loudly reminiscing about some film or another.
He got into a bit of a legal bind when he was caught stealing the school’s server equipment, Karl continued. They kicked him out of school, and once his probation was over, he went right back to lifting machinery for his private use.
“What did he want all the technology for?” Maynard asked.
He was a bit of an idealist, Karl said internally. A hippy anarchist, if you will. Strong distrust of the establishment, and an even stronger love for the downtrodden. He would help eco-terrorists when they raided animal labs by shutting down the security systems or covering their tracks.
“Sounds like a good man to have as a friend,” Maynard replied without a hint of sarcasm.
Yeah, well that was almost ten years ago, Karl said, playing devil’s advocate. He was in with some dramatic individuals. Who knows where he owes his loyalties—willingly or not.
Maynard seemed to be deep in thought as Karl scanned the faces of each passing person for Thompson. The psychologist felt like he could almost hear the humming of concentration from inside his own brain until Maynard spoke up.
“If your friend is as talented as you say he is, he might be able to do more than just hide us,” the I.I. said.
How do you mean?
“Providing that he’s not in the pocket of some sinister overlord or another, he might help us identify our traitor.”
Are you so certain there even is one? Karl mused, though without much conviction.
“You know as well as I that there is,” Maynard retorted. “At least one! You can’t honestly believe that was the orchestrated attack of slog-minded radicals, can you?”
Radicals have been known to pull off even more complex attacks, Karl argued.
“I don’t buy it,” Maynard said plainly. “Why would they frame you, then?”
They had to frame someone.
“No,” the I.I. replied. “There was an agenda here more sophisticated than mere hatred for installed intelligences. This was too
