Saturday, November 8
8:00 a.m.
11 hours left
Agent Carlisle did not call me in the morning as he had promised, and when I glanced out the window I saw that his car was gone. It didn’t shock me, but it did annoy me since Nick had trusted him to watch over me.
Jordan was making breakfast in the kitchen, nimbly cracking eggs and frying up an omelet for me.
It struck me that Jordan hadn’t slept—of course he hadn’t, he was an Artificial—and I wondered what it would be like to be him, standing here in the apartment for hours on end thinking about whatever robots think about while I slept in the other room. Knowing that he was there, vigilant and alert, should have reassured me, but in a way it felt a bit eerie.
I had slept, however. Better than I thought I would, in fact. It was probably just a result of being so mentally spent and emotionally drained from everything that’d happened during the week.
The bombing.
Seeing Trevor again.
Saying a final, brutal goodbye to my daughter.
Hoping to distract myself from my thoughts and the jagged terrain of those memories, I checked my slate and found a message waiting for me: “How are you? I had to get a new slate. I hope you don’t mind me writing to you this early.”
“Who is this?” I dictated to my slate, surprised to be getting a message at this time on a Saturday, especially from someone my slate didn’t identify.
“Oh. Sorry. Nick.”
My first reaction: Ah. Perfect!
Then, hesitation: Wait. Make sure it’s really him.
“What’s my quirk?” I replied.
“Which one?”
“When I’m writing a sermon.”
“Listening to electronic dance music while hoping no one will show up and tear a cotton ball apart anywhere in your vicinity.”
“Ah, so it is you.”
“Yes.”
He sent a request through to switch to video, something I only then realized I could’ve done myself a few seconds ago to check if it was him. When I accepted, I saw that he was standing outside with a dark bank of clouds stretching out beyond him.
Scruffy. The shadow of a beard. I liked the look.
“So?” he said.
“So?”
“How are you? I just wanted to make sure you’re alright.”
“I’m good,” I said. “You?”
“Fine. Listen, did Agent Carlisle leave yet?”
“His car’s gone. There wasn’t any trouble last night.” Even though I didn’t entirely trust Agent Carlisle, I didn’t want Nick to be alarmed, so I didn’t bring up the fact that he hadn’t followed up this morning to see if I was alright. “Thanks for sending him here.”
“Okay. I wanted to let you know that I won’t be around for the next couple of days. I’ve arranged for an agent to be on call in case you need anything. I’ll send you his contact info.” A small pause, and then, “I’ll check in on you when I get back—if you don’t mind.”
I would love that, I thought.
“I would appreciate that,” I said.
“Okay. Take care until then. I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.”
After our goodbyes, I hung up but stared at my slate.
He’d called me, yes, and he wanted to call me again.
It’s just to check on you. He’s just doing his job, just being professional.
No, it’s more than that. He’s interested in me.
And the feeling was definitely mutual.
I noted his wording: He hadn’t said check up on me, but check in on me. He wanted to see me again.
You’re reading too much into this.
Maybe. Probably.
But maybe not.
Despite all that was burdening me, when I thought of Nick I couldn’t help but smile.
With him on my mind, I shifted my attention to getting out of town as I’d decided to do last night.
Since the Purists were now aware of who I was, I didn’t like the idea of traveling alone across the country. It would obviously cost more to bring Jordan with me to Seattle since, as a cognizant Artificial, he would need his own seat on the plane instead of just riding in the cargo hold with the service droids and checked luggage. However, it worked out for me since he would be by my side on the flight and could protect me if it came down to that.
So, while I ate breakfast, I had Jordan book us a flight to Seattle.
Sometimes when you fly last minute like this you can get good deals, but that wasn’t the case today. With purchasing Naiobi’s gravesite, the new furniture, and now this airfare, my supply of credits was lower than it had been in years. However, right now I wasn’t really worried about long-term investing or anything along those lines. I was just concerned with leaving town, getting someplace safe, and hopefully—if things worked out—reconnecting with my brother.
Jordan told me that our flight would leave at 11:43. “They’re saying that because of the bombing earlier this week there’ll be enhanced security measures so we should get to the airport by nine.”
Since it was already after eight, I went to my bedroom to pack a bag for the trip, not looking forward to going through security at the same airport where my parents had been killed.
* * *
He wonders how he should feel at this moment.
Thankful? Afraid? Apprehensive? They are hard to pin down. Feelings are.
He finds that they overlap and intermingle. More like currents contradicting each other than islands standing alone in the sea.
Is there even such a thing as feeling only one feeling at a time?
So it is in this moment.
A mixture.
He’s not quite certain why Kestrel is exhibiting such urgency to leave. However, she did reveal last night that someone had shot at her, so that was likely one of the precipitating factors.
The fact that she wants him to come along is affirming.
Just as if he were a Natural.
As if he were alive.
An equal.
And they would be visiting Trevor.
He can prove to you once and for all that the CoRA is real, that your mother’s consciousness lives on.
Yes. A chance to confirm his beliefs. A chance to turn faith into knowledge.
So then.
Looking forward to the trip, he cleans the dishes, puts them away, and then waits for Kestrel to return.
* * *
Nick’s night had not gone as planned.
The private NCB jet he’d arranged for after the suspect’s death had ended up having mechanical problems and it’d postponed his trip to Seattle until this morning—in fact, he was only now boarding to leave.
He hadn’t heard from Ripley, so he assumed there hadn’t been any problems during the night—and Kestrel had stated that things were calm there as well. However, just to make sure, he sent Ripley a message asking him to give him a call.
There was a lot on Nick’s mind.
The identity of the unknown assailants last night.
The suicide in the interrogation room and the search for the deceased man’s wife.
The potential terror attack later today at Terabyne Designs World Headquarters out west.
And of course, Kestrel Hathaway—seeing her again when he got back to town.
You went too far by contacting her just now.
No, you didn’t. All you did was make sure she was okay.
Yeah, and ask to follow up with her again.
Okay—but she said yes.
She said she would “appreciate” it. That’s not exactly the same thing.
Maybe so, but it was encouraging to him nonetheless, even if he couldn’t be certain about all the meaning that her answer might contain.
Nick had his choice of any of the nine passenger seats in the Bureau’s plane. He went with one in the back, beside a starboard window.
He’d already notified the NCB Field Office in Seattle that he was coming and had passed along the intel he’d gotten from Conrad and his people. However, considering the man from last night had mentioned an NCB mole, Nick had been careful to tell them to keep the information in a closed loop as much as possible.
If the Purists’ information was correct, this was going down, and it was going down this afternoon.
The Seattle office agreed to do a threat assessment and assign him a four-man tactical team. “They’ll be waiting for you at Sea-Tac when you land.”
“Great. I’ll let you know if I find out anything more.”
The pilot announced that he was finishing the final safety check. Nick buckled up and glanced out the window at the mounting clouds from a storm that was clearly heading their way.