Agency

64 Minimum of Drama

What’s happening?” asked Rainey, close by Netherton’s head, startling him. He, or rather the drone, was just then being hauled rapidly out of the hotel suite in San Francisco.

He muted. “Leaving the hotel,” he said, “hurriedly.”

“Why?”

“Someone’s revealed Verity’s whereabouts, on a public medium. Ash is concerned that Cursion will find her here.” They were passing that alcove, with its mirror, acrylic chair, and asymmetrical floor lamp. Virgil was pulling the drone behind him in its wheeled travel corset. The squashed-circle format gave Netherton a sense of what was going on but, with the drone in motion, was simultaneously disorienting. “Sorry,” he said, “best I concentrate.”

“Do,” Rainey said, squeezing his shoulder, which felt peculiar while he was accessing the drone. He unmuted.

“So we’re hauling ass,” said Conner, now evidently back from the Rose Garden. Conner was louder than the others accessing the drone, a larger presence.

“Someone put Virgil on Instagram,” Verity said, “someone else identified me.” She was carrying the large black case with their controller in it, big enough to require both hands but evidently not very heavy.

The elevator door opened. Virgil pulled the drone into a confusion of brownish-red reflections. “Who’s expected, downstairs?” he asked.

“We don’t know,” said Ash. “We hope to get out before anyone arrives.”

“Liable to get kinetic if we don’t?” Conner asked.

“Optimally,” Ash said, “we exit the lobby with a minimum of drama, and immediately board our transport, attracting as little attention as possible. Should it go sideways, Mr. Penske, please remember that we don’t want headlines about a bipedal drone attacker. Far too exotic, here.”

“Roger that,” said Conner, as the elevator stopped, its door opening, Virgil hauling them both out. Behind them, Netherton saw Verity quickly slip on a pair of large black sunglasses and step out.