Fifty Degrees Below - Kim Stanley Robinson [141]
“Nice.”
“This is smaller,” she noted, and pulled closer to him. They sat side by side, cold hands entwined on top of her legs. The wind was tossing the tree gently north and south. “It’s like a nest.”
“Yes. We can get out of the wind if we need to,” he said, indicating the tent behind them.
“I like it out here, if it doesn’t get too cold.”
“Let’s use it as a wind-block, then.”
They shifted into the lee of the tent, bumping against each other as the tree swayed.
“It’s like being on a train.”
“Or a ship.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
They huddled together. Frank felt too strange to kiss; he was distracted, and it was hard to get used to the presence of someone else in his tree house. “Um—do you think you could show me what you mean about the chips?”
She dug in her jacket pocket, took out a short metal wand, like the devices used by airport security. “Do you have some light?”
“Sure,” he said, and clicked on the Coleman lamp. The lit circle on the plywood floor gleamed under them, ruining their night vision. The wind hooted and moaned.
She had him bring his belongings to her one by one. Sometimes she would get a beep as she passed the wand over them, and these she put to one side. Clock, lightweight sleeping bag, some of the clothes, even the little stove.
“Damn,” he said.
“Yeah. That’s the way it is. You’re not as bad as some. A lot of your gear must be pretty old.”
“It definitely is.”
“That’s the way to do it. If you want to get out from under surveillance, you have to go back in time.”
“You mean only use old stuff?”
“That’s right. But really you don’t want to get yourself entirely clear, that would trigger interest you don’t want. But there are levels and levels. You could make it so that nothing on you tells where you are at any given moment. That might not even be noticed. The program would just use the stuff you do have, like your phone. It would assume you are where your phone is.”
“I see. Damn.”
“I know.” She had finished with his things. Now she leaned away from him, sweeping the foot of the platform methodically, right to left, coming back to them by a foot or so per sweep, then past them and to the wide part at his head, and around the corner. Then inside the tent. It was a small platform, but she was being thorough. “I don’t think it’s known that you’re up in a tree. Before you told me, I thought you were just camped out in the woods, on the ground. I wonder if anyone’s come out to ground-check you.”
She waved the wand over him, and it beeped.
“Uh oh,” she said.
She moved him. It wasn’t where he was sitting. It was him.
“Maybe my clothes?”
She grinned. “We’ll have to check. Get into the tent.”
They brought the Coleman lamp inside with them, zipped down the tent door. Frank turned on his little battery heater, and they watched its element turn orange and begin radiating. The wind was still noisy, and they could feel the tree swaying, but the warm air cocooned them.
She helped him unbutton his shirt, pull it off. The air was still cold. “Your poor face.” She ran the wand over him. It beeped when she held it over the middle of his back.
“Interesting. That’s the same spot it was on me.”
“You were chipped too?”
“That’s right.”
“By who?”
She didn’t answer. “Here, turn your back to the lamp. Have you got an extra flashlight? Yes? Good. Here, let me.” She inspected him. He could feel her fingers on his back, poking and then squeezing. “Ah ha. There it is.”
“You sure it isn’t just a blackhead?”
“Actually it looks more like a tick, you know how when you pull off a tick and part of it breaks in you?”
“Yuck. You’re grooming me.”
“That’s right. Then it’ll be your turn to groom me.” She kissed the nape of his neck. “Hold steady now. I brought some tweezers.”
“How did you get yours out?”
“I had a hell of a time. I had to use a barbeque tong. Like a back scratcher. I watched in the mirror and gouged it out.”
“Back stabber.”
“Yes. I stabbed myself in the back, but I’ll never do it to you. Except