Page 121 of Coldwire
I don’t know if they’ll move once I lower the gun. I start to step backward for the door with my aim still in place, watching Nik when he picks up his bag. He says, “We’re going. Don’t come after us, and we’ll leave you alone too.” The kids don’t respond. They let us get to the door, and it’s only when I’m stepping out into the hallway that I hear the slight noise one of them makes, the indication that they were silent because we’d scared them.
Nik closes the door hard after himself, doing his best to latch it despite the misfitting frame.
“I didn’t know—”
“They’re looters,” Nik explains, cutting me off. “They’ll scope out rich residents who haven’t set their security alarms with high enough parameters and enter while they’re oblivious in their Pods. Usually they’re in and outwithin seconds. Not enough time for police to catch them after the alarm goes off.”
I take a shallow breath. I’m struggling to fill my lungs.
“They’re not going to find much in that apartment.”
“No.” Nik hurries down the stairwell. I focus on following him, mimicking the rhythm of his steps so that there’s only one set echoing along the levels. “I have to assume they’re trying all the apartments. This isn’t a particularly wealthy neighborhood to begin with.”
As promised, a car is waiting on the street when we emerge from the courtyard and back through the alleyway. I hear the faint announcement of a loudspeaker drone coming from the next street, and Nik hisses,“Quickly.”He slides into the driver’s seat; I get into the passenger, tossing the small handgun to the floor. The vehicle is only fit for two people at the front—the rest is left for the trunk. With another glance over his shoulder to check on the roving police drone, Nik starts the engine with a press of the button and steps on the accelerator to drive.
“Aren’t you going to switch to self-driving?” I ask after a minute of his erratic turns.
“I’d like to be in control right now.”
We go quiet while Nik navigates with his glasses, leaning forward on every map instruction to peer at the approaching street signs. I’m still shaken over almost shooting a bunch of children, so I have no particular penchant for chatter, my hands clutched in my lap. Each time I think Nik is about to say something again, I realize he’s only mumbling under his breath to complain about the illegibility of the smaller signs from afar.
I can’t imagine him doing this before his attacks on Atahuan soil. Squinting. Navigating himself on location.
Before long, we approach the city border, coming upon the toll booths on the other side of Threto from where we entered. Through the tinted car windows, I count the national soldiers guarding the area, all of them wearing exo-suits not dissimilar to the ones NileCorp issues.
“Put your mask on.”
I retrieve my scrunched mask from my pocket, looping the straps around my ears. The car cruises right up to the barrier, and Nik rolls his window down, his arm casually propped to the side. He gestures wordlessly to me. The soldiers salute. A light flashes from the booth to scan the number plate, the thermal cameras overhead confirm that we’re not running fevers, and the barrier lifts.
Nik rolls his window back up and drives through.
“That was easy,” I mutter.
“We’re logged for an official’s ill-behaving daughter and a low-wage hired driver.” Nik flicks a finger at the dashboard, turning the headlights on against the gloom. “Besides, we’re exiting, not entering. They’re most worried about keeping journalists from getting in. Less worried about government cars getting hacked to take people out.”
I fall silent again, watching the window as the vehicle climbs up a ramp and picks up speed on the expressway, leaving Threto behind. The landscape shifts. The road grows long and bumpy.
I try to sit back without fidgeting. The entire vehicle jolts every few miles, and I jostle up and down too. The screen on the dashboard has an automated bot for instructions. On the third jostle, I start to notice that there’s an emoticon popping up every time the car shudders, pulling a face with us.
I snort.
Nik glances over.
“Look,” I say, pointing at the dashboard.
He’s watching when the car jostles again. On normal setting, the screen in the middle shows the speed we’re going at and the temperature outside. When the car flies up a few inches off the rough ground, the settings disappear briefly to show >:0 instead.
Nik scoffs. “Wonder which kid in the corporate department designed that.”
“I don’t think it was a kid.”
Nik raises an eyebrow. He keeps his gaze forward, paying attention to the dust clouds on this stretch of the expressway. “No?”
“No. Old man. Engineer in his last year before retirement.”
The car must be somewhat listening—its system always awaiting a driver’s verbal commands to collect maps or switch radio stations—because its screen flickers, then displays :) for a brief second. Whatever system they’ve got installed there is the same as the restaurant servers and bank guards. They can comprehend the conversations happening around them. They’re only not given the capacity to come up with replies any more complicated than “Let me do that for you” or “Let me put you in touch with a human.”
“Fine,” Nik says. “I think that was confirmation that you’re right.”
