NET 432 by Jeff Demers

Author:Jeff Demers [Demers, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-28T04:00:00+00:00

3

I pull my hand from the page and stumble backwards, touching my face gingerly where Wyatt had hit me. Hit Luka. I’m back in the replica apartment in my mind, standing almost exactly where Luka was lying a moment before. Fireflies swarm over the mess around me, zipping from stack to stack as they continue their clean-up.

One buzzes over. “Perhaps we should purge this new data and focus on the job at hand. These memories are compromising our efficiency.”

That’s true, I should delete the memories, but something doesn’t feel right. Wyatt and Luka fought over this job, over what we are meant to steal. What if it’s a weapon? Something a brute like Wyatt should never get his hands on? I should watch the rest of the memory—it’ll only take a minute.

“But you don’t have a minute,” the firefly says, and I realize my body is slowing to a stop in the physical world, the humans waiting impatiently below me as the autopilot cautiously hobbles me down the stairs. Only a few seconds have passed in real time.

I slide back up to my body and stumble as I take control from the autopilot, almost crashing down the last few steps. Wyatt looks amused, and I resist the temptation to tell him I know what a bastard he is, that I’ve seen what he’s done.

As I step onto the landing, I see a door here, a terminal next to it flashing red.

“Okay, bot. Do your thing,” Wyatt says. “And make it snappy.”

Better prepared this time, I hook into the terminal and slide onto the network. My fireflies make quick work of the lock, and the red light snaps to green. When I retract my cable, Mei lets out a low whistle.

“I told you Luka did a good job,” she says, grinning.

“Whatever. Just get in there and cut the power.” Wyatt holds the door open for her as she slips through. I move to follow, but he closes it.

“She goes in alone for this part.” He moves to the far side of the landing, where he takes a moment to scope out the stairs leading down before sitting against the wall with a sigh.

A few moments pass in silence, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Wyatt take a small tube from his jacket pocket. With one hand, he unscrews the cap and presses the vial to an injection port on his wrist. I notice his knuckles are scraped and bruised, artifacts of the beating he gave Luka.

Wyatt glances at me, then away. He almost seems embarrassed.

“Just something to calm the nerves.”

I look away, uncertain how to respond, and spin my main process off into the apartment in my mind. I may as well check out that last memory while we wait, especially if Wyatt’s just going to be high. Once more, I fan the pages out before me.

“So Luka didn’t do half bad on you,” Wyatt says.

With a start, my mind snaps back to physical space. I search for something to say, but then notice he isn’t talking to me.

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