Up Against It - M. J. Locke [23]
Anger surged in him. “What do you want, I said?” Then confusion. Carl’s death had occurred less than an hour before. Geoff wasn’t even sure whether his parents knew yet. How could she know?
She lifted her hand, almost too quickly to see. If Geoff had not been looking right at her hand, he would not have noticed the globe she tossed upward. It grew into a big, flimsy bubble, which settled over them. Cool, moist velvet touched his face and hands, and then they were encased in a globe. Through the bubble’s faint rainbow traceries, he could see their surroundings clearly, but the sound of the boys playing across the plaza was noticeably muffled and distorted. He had not noticed how many motes were out till they fell in a soft haze around the bottom seam of the bubble.
“Assemblers?”
“Yes. My own creation.” A quick grin. “Repels ‘Stroider’ motes and distorts sound. Only lasts thirty seconds at this gee-level, so I need to make this quick. We know it was you who made the skeletons dance today.”
Geoff gasped. He had all but forgotten about it. “What— How can you—” He drew a breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rolled her eyes. Then she wiggled her fingers—link up?
Grudgingly, he brought up his own waveface and touched her fingers. In response, he saw an image of himself dropping the triggering proteins into the fountain.
“Wait, there weren’t any cameras in that location! How did you—” He bit his lip to avoid incriminating himself further. She just smiled.
“No cameras you know about. Don’t worry; you covered your tracks well enough. Nobody caught you at it but us.”
“‘Us’ being the Viridians?”
“Duh.” She went on. “The police are investigating, but they think a university student did it. Besides, they’ll be busy now with the disaster. You’re safe enough, for now, as long as you don’t spill.
“So. Here’s the deal. We were suitably impressed by your stunt. We can teach you more. A hell of a lot more.”
The Viridians hacked their own DNA. He did not want to admit it to this young woman … or whatever he, she, or it was … but the notion of being in close proximity with them for any length of time made his skin crawl.
She read his expression, and shrugged. “Your call. If you change your mind, just go to this café and tell them you are a friend of mine.” She transmitted the name of a restaurant—Portia’s Mess—and an address.
“No thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” She gave him an arch stare. “One thing you should know. Bug hacking is harder to control than you think. Doing it solo can get you into serious shit. We’ve all been where you are right now, so we get it. But. If you try something stupid, we will be all over your shit in no time.”
His fingernails dug into his palms. “And there’s one thing you should know: I don’t take well to being threatened.”
She shrugged. “Nothing personal. But if you screw up and hurt or kill somebody, the first ones they are going to blame are us Viridians. And we don’t take well to being scapegoated.”
“Well, I’m not stupid, and I don’t plan to let anyone get hurt. My art project didn’t hurt anybody.”
She shrugged. “Just continue with the nonstupid approach, then.”
With a flick of her fingers, she severed the wave connection. The bubble around them burst. Glimmering motes swirled around them on the breeze.
He was almost too irritated to ask, but did anyway. “I can’t exactly ask for you if I don’t know your name.”
“Good point.” She flashed him another smile. “Call me Vivian.”
Her fingertips brushed his forearm as she passed him. She strode away. He didn’t know which disturbed him more: the way his skin crawled at her touch, or the intense erection he got at that dazzling smile.
* * *
He reached his flat. Motes swarmed in with him as the door opened. They filled the small space with their distinctive scent of mint and acetone. Mites—little mechanical insects—also scurried in as the door closed. Geoff stomped a “Stroider” minicam, in a flash of rage, kicked several others out the door, and slammed it