Fifty Degrees Below - Kim Stanley Robinson [140]
He swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Do they—is it known where it is?”
“Yes. But I think I can help with that.”
“Oh well. Sure. I wanted to show it to you anyway.”
“Tell me where to meet you.”
He descended and crossed the park. His heart was beating hard, his lip throbbing. Everything seemed transparent at the edges, the branches tossing and crashing in slow motion. What a slow pace time had when you paid attention to it. At the corner of Broad Branch and Grant he stood in a shadow, listening to the city and the roar of the wind, watching the luminous cloud pour south overhead. He shivered convulsively, started to hop and dance in place to regenerate some heat.
She turned the corner and he stepped out into the light of a streetlamp. She saw him and quickly crossed the street, banged into him with a hug, started to kiss him but drew back. “Oh my God sorry! Your poor face.”
“It doesn’t feel that bad.”
“Let’s go to your place,” she said.
“Sure.” He turned and led her into the park. Under the trees he took her by the hand. He followed the cross trail; even if she couldn’t see it, the footing would be better.
“Wow, you’re really in here.”
“Yes. So now your surveillance knows I’m here? How did that happen?”
She tugged at his hand. “You know your stuff is chipped, right?”
“No, what’s that?”
“Microchips.”
He stopped, and she stood beside him, squeezing his hand, holding his arm with her other hand. This was how the gibbons often touched.
“You know how everything now is sold with an electronic chip in it? They’re really small, but they bounce a microwave back to a reader, with their ID and location. Businesses use them for inventory. All kinds of stuff.”
“How do they know what stuff is mine?”
“Because you bought most of it with credit cards. It’s easy.” She sounded almost exasperated; she wanted him up to speed on this stuff.
“So they always know where I am?”
“If you’re within the range of a source beam. Which you are most places in D.C.”
“Shit.”
She squeezed his arm. “But not out here.”
Frank started walking again. For a second he did not remember where they were, and he had to stop and think about it before he could go on.
“No one will be able to track us up in my tree?”
“No. The usual chips don’t have much range. Someone would have to be out here with a scanner nearby.”
“Is my stock still rising?”
“Yes.”
“But why?”
“Not sure. Whatever you’re up to at NSF, I guess.”
He looked over his shoulder. “Maybe it was meeting you that did it.”
“Ha ha.” He could tell by the drag from her hand that she wasn’t amused by this.
“But we’ll be okay now,” he repeated.
“Yes. Well, in terms of being tracked tonight. But if someone came out here it might be different. I brought a reader wand with me, and I think we can clean you out. Maybe even move all the chips somewhere else, so it will look like you’ve moved. I don’t know. I’ve never dechipped anyone before.”
Frank thought about this as they crossed Ross and made the final drop to the edge of the gorge. Under his tree he took out his remote and called down Miss Piggy. He looked at the remote.
“I bought this with a credit card,” he said.
“Radio Shack?”
“Jesus.”
She laughed. “I just guessed that. But it’s in your records, I’m sure.”
“Shit.”
Miss Piggy hummed down out of the night, looking like the ladder you climbed to get into the flying saucer hovering overhead. Frank showed her where to grab, where to step. “You go first and I’ll hold it steady. That’ll be better.”
Up she went, quick and lithe, soon a black mass in the stars overhead, like a burl on the trunk. It took her a while at the top, and he shook his head, thinking she must think he was nuts. When she was off he climbed swiftly, pulled through the entry hole. “Sorry, the last part can be the trickiest.”
“No problem. This is so cool!”
“Ah. Thanks.” He sat down beside her. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it. We used to have a tree house in our backyard.”
“Really! Where was this?”
“Outside Boston. My dad built it in a big old tree, I don’t know what kind it was, but