She respected his honesty. “What about you if we fail?”
“I’m dead. How’s your AI?”
“Still annoying.”
< And still functioning okay. Unlike some I could mention.
Greenaway grimaced. “The Twist says it’s going on strike for better pay and conditions. My AI’s okay. Exchange?”
Kara nodded.
> Do it, Ishmael. But be careful.
< We already did. You humans, so slow. Greenaway believes what he said about you is true. Or at least his AI believes that he believes it. Doesn’t mean it is. But he’s not lying.
“How come other AIs are going bat-shit crazy?” she asked.
“We don’t know. Any consolation, it’s not affecting AIs in the Wild. You’re looking good, Kara. Time off suits you.”
“I saved your life once.” All she could think to say.
“It’s what you do,” Greenaway said. “What I was paying you to do. But I still said thanks. Good employer—employee relationships are important. You want a medal?”
“I want food. And a drink.”
He smiled. “I brought deli from Bristol. Gorgonzola ripe enough to drink with a straw. Salami. Sicilian red. Fresh baguette and figs.”
She gazed at him challengingly. “Some pre-cog a hundred years ago say that was going to be my favourite?”
He grinned and lost five years. “It’s also mine.”
“But maybe I should be going Up sooner rather than later.”
“A Wild SUT will be ready for you by tomorrow. Wherever you want. We’ll take my jitney.” He glanced over to where her Merc SUV was parked. “No offence, but… actually, screw it. Your Merc doesn’t drive itself, and that offends me.”
“Have the SUT at Jeff’s house. Marc’s adopted uncle.”
“Why? There are safer places.”
“I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “Only that I need to go there.” A geas as strong as the one that had sent Tatia roaming the stars.
He looked curiously at her then nodded. Looked into the distance for a moment as he talked to his AI. “It’s done.”
“You made up your mind quick.”
“Like you, I don’t have much choice.” His expression didn’t change, but there was suddenly something dangerous about him. “Not if I want to see Tatia again.”
She liked the touch of humanity, albeit violent. “Any idea how I’ll find them?”
He half smiled. “You been listening to anything I said?”
“Plan. Team. Nose wiper. Hate my Merc.”
Greenaway shook his head in exasperation. “Remember when we first met?”
How could she not? The penthouse office at the top of the Twist, that impossible building in Berlin. “You showed me a vid.”
“Of you killing a Gliese, to save it from live vivisection.”
“And now we know they grow on trees. Wasted sympathy.”
“Empathy,” he corrected. “That’s your talent.”
“Sorry?”
“Your latent talent,” he corrected himself. “You could be a very powerful empath. Except you don’t want to use or develop that talent.”
“I do not want to feel anyone’s pain, and I do not want to be anyone’s weapon.”
He smiled. “You’ve caused enough pain, over the years.” He grimaced, and held his hands up, as if trying to indicate that he was searching for the right way to phrase what he wanted to say. Or that he was being open, honest.
With Greenaway, everything – every word, every gesture, every act – was calculated. Caused enough pain as in you killed a lot of people. But so had he.
“It’s about being connected, Kara. Sensing how people are even if they’re a long, long way away. Like quantum entanglement, but weirder. And very few other people can do it.”
She’d go with him for now. “And this helps you how?”
“Helps us, Kara. Always us. It means you know, you sense where the people you’re connected to are. The direction to take. How close...”
Pieces of memory fell into place. “Son of a bitch. You really played me.”
“Don’t feel exclusive. You’re special, not unique.”
“So because I care, I’ll find 'em. Den mother, that’s me.” And a voice in her head said yes, this is exactly how it is.
“You don’t have to care. Only be connected emotionally or physically, like with that Gliese. Maybe there’s an object can act as a connection. What they used to call a keepsake.” He cocked his head to one side. “Talking of objects – is that a vibra-knife in your right hand?”
Kara took both hands from her pockets, leaving the knife behind. “Was it?”
“You’re not carrying a gun. You’re right handed. There has to be a weapon somewhere. Your right shoulder was more tense than your left.”
“I like the way it feels.” Unsaid but somehow hanging between them was the unspoken coda: sliding it into someone’s chest and through their ribcage. She thought of the piece of wood she’d pushed into Marc’s hand, and how she knew he was still alive. Was being a super-empath any stranger than being entranced by an elemental on Dartmoor, or Marc spending the night with one in Scotland? Kara felt a sudden and sickening revulsion for aliens, GalDiv and most humanity. But running away wouldn’t bring her people home “Call me Kara the Blade.”
He glanced at her. “Problem?”
“Only you.” He was about to speak. She cut him short. “Do not say to pull myself together. Do not be understanding. Accept that I’m pissed off. With you, with the world, with the universe itself.” She paused, then: “That simulity training. I’d used it before. This was different.”
“It had been adjusted,” Greenaway said casually. Too casually. “You’d used it with other Special Ops soldiers. But Keislack needed a crash military course. So the techs turned the dials up to eleven. Why? Were you living in each other’s heads?”
She moved a little away from him. The vibra-knife was suddenly in her hand. Kara smiled as it extended with a slight buzz. The blade was a blur extending from the hilt.
Greenaway stood
