Maelstrom (r-2) by Peter Watts

Author:Peter Watts [Watts, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf
Published: 2001-03-18T05:00:00+00:00

"Thanks for dropping in." Canned voice, no graphic.

Desjardins flipped his own voice filter on. "Got your message. What can I do for you?"

"We have a mutual interest in biochemistry," the voice said pleasantly. "I have information you might find useful. The reverse may also be true."

"And who are you, exactly?"

"I'm someone who shares your interest in biochemistry, and who has information you might find useful."

"Actually," Desjardins remarked, "you’re a secretarial app. Pretty basic one, too."

Nothing disagreed.

"Okay then. Pocket whatever you've got and tag it the same way you tagged your invite. I'll pick it up on my next sweep and get back to you."

"Sorry," said the app. "That doesn't work from this end."

Of course not. "So what would work for you?"

"I'd like to meet."

"Fine. Name a time, I'll clear a channel."

"Face-to-face."

"Well, as I—you mean in person?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"I'm suspicious by nature. I don't trust digital images. I can be at your location within forty-eight hours."

"Do you know my location?"

"No."

"You know, if I wasn't also suspicious by nature, I sure as shit would be now," Desjardins said.

"Then an interest in biochemistry is not all we have in common."

Desjardins hated it when apps did that—threw in little asides and lame witticisms to appear more human. Of course, Desjardins hated it when people did that, too.

"If you'd like to choose a place and time we could meet," the app told him, "I'll be sure to show up."

"How do you know I'm not quarantined?" For that matter, how do I know you'renot? What am I getting into here?

"That won't be a problem."

"What are you really? Some kind of loyalty test Rowan's siccing on me?"

"I don't understand."

"Because it's really not necessary. A corpse of all people should know that." Whoever the app was negotiating for had to be corpse-level at least, to be so confident about travel clearances. Unless the whole thing was some kind of pointless and elaborate put-on.

"I'm not administering a loyalty test," the app replied. "I'm asking for a date."

"Okay, then. Pickering's Pile. Drink'n'drug in Sudbury, Ontario. Wednesday, 1930."

"That will be fine. How will I know you?"

"Not so fast. I think I'd rather approach you."

"That would be a problem."

"That is a problem. If you think I'm going to amble innocently into the clutches of someone who won't even give me their name, you're sadly in need of a patch."

"I'm sorry to hear that. However, it doesn't matter. We can still meet."

"Not if neither of us knows how to tag the other, we can't."

"I'll see you on Wednesday," the app told him. "Goodbye."

"Wait a second…"

No answer.

Oh, man. Someone was going to meet him on Wednesday. Someone who evidently could drop down onto any place under geosynch at 48 hours' notice. Someone who knew of a link between Channer Vent and ßehemoth, and who seemed to think they could find him without any identifiers at all.

Someone was going to meet him whether he wanted to or not.

Achilles Desjardins found that a little bit ominous.

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