Upload by Mark McClelland

Author:Mark McClelland [McClelland, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781300206705
Publisher: Mark McClelland
Published: 2012-09-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

After about half an hour of tossing and turning, his mind racing with thoughts of how to get rid of the motor home, Raymond heard Scorpio announce an urgent message from an FBI agent named Berman.

"Play it."

A man with a droning nasal voice informed him that his presence was required at the lab, no later than 3:00 PM. Raymond looked and saw that it was 12:15 PM now.

There would be no time for sleep.

"You also have a message from Anya."

"Play it."

Anya's voice came over the speakers, asking where he was and whether he was okay. She had tried to contact him at the lab, but he wasn't there.

"Tell her I'm sleeping. I'll see her at 3:00, at the lab."

He spent the next couple of hours making arrangements to dispose of the motor home. He found a black-market buyer who specialized in such business. "Buyer" was an ironic term, as Raymond would have to give up the motor home and pay a handsome fee on top of that. But the deal was quick and relatively painless. In a few days, the motor home would deliver itself to its new owner. It was to be delivered to a repair shop in nearby Ypsilanti, called Jim's Garage. Officially, an insurance company would pay for the vehicle, as if totaled in an accident. It would be stripped of all personal belongings, painstakingly cleaned, and either scrapped or put into service doing who knows what. Raymond decided he would worry about selling the land itself after he uploaded, if at all.

Then there was the matter of getting the second NBC to the bunker. Raymond called his delivery robot to the motor home, loaded the cardboard box into its cargo bay, and scheduled a second nighttime delivery to Property Disposition. If all went well, the NBC would arrive at the bunker early the following morning.

"Mosby." It was Scorpio's voice, coming from Raymond's wrist relay. "You're expected at the lab in fifteen minutes."

Raymond stood in his bedroom, staring at his v-chamber. He was struck by how odd it was to hear his wrist relay while in his motor home. Typically, he would have been contacted via the motor home's comm system, but cleanup routines were rapidly depersonalizing the entire motor home. His v-chamber would soon know nothing of Nurania, nothing of his underworld dealings. The shake machine would have no record of his preferences. The climate control system would be restored to factory defaults. From the kitchen came sounds of robot components twitching, humming, clicking through the self-tests that followed deprogramming.

It occurred to Raymond that Scorpio had contacted him by his secret name, without first confirming that it was safe to communicate openly.

"Scorpio, this location is no longer safe. The lab isn't safe." Raymond paused. The digital heart of his home was being dismantled. "Nowhere is safe."

"Acknowledged. Records updated accordingly."

Raymond suddenly craved a favorite song, an old song sung by a woman, in a language he believed to be Bulgarian. He didn't have many artistic associations, but this song had a strong connection for him.

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