Hellbent

44 Running the Same Race

A half-drunk glass of milk rested on the kitchen island. Standing just inside his front door, keys still in hand, Evan stared across the open stretch of floor at it.

There was filmy white residue up one side where Joey had sipped.

He unlaced his boots and then crossed to the kitchen.

He picked up the glass. It had left a circle of milk on his counter. Beside it a pile of crumbs rested next to a torn-open box of water crackers. The inside bag was left open, the crackers exposed to the air, growing stale.

What kind of feral creature ate like this?

The rest of the world could be filthy and chaotic and lawless. But not in here. After scraping through the underside of society, Evan needed to return to order.

He washed the glass by hand, dried it, and put it away. There was another glass missing from the cupboard, an empty spot leaving the left row incomplete. It occurred to him that two glasses had never been out of the cupboard at the same time. He nudged the clean glass into place, the set of six still down one soldier.

Maybe she needed another glass upstairs.

Maybe that’s how people did things.

Joey could have used more time with Jack. The Second Commandment: How you do anything is how you do everything.

Evan put away the box of crackers, swept the crumbs into his hand, dumped them into the garbage disposal. He waved his hand beneath the Kohler Sensate touchless kitchen faucet, turning on the clean blade of water so he could run the disposal. There were smudges on the polished chrome.

Who touched a touchless faucet?

He cleaned off the smudges and then got out a sheet of waxed paper and used it to wipe down the chrome. It prevented water spots. When he was done, he sprayed and paper-toweled the counter, washed his hands, got an ice cube for Vera II, and headed across the great room and down the brief hall.

The door to his bedroom was open.

He didn’t like open doors.

The bedspread on his Maglev floating bed was dimpled where someone had sat and not bothered to smooth it back into place.

The door to his bathroom was open.

One of Joey’s sweatshirts was tossed on the floor by the bathmat. One corner of the bath mat was flipped back. With a toe he adjusted it.

The shower door was rolled open.

The hidden door to the Vault left wide.

He took five deep breaths before proceeding.

“Joey,” he said, stepping into the Vault. “The milk glass—”

The sight inside the Vault left his mouth dry. An adrenaline antihistamine reaction.

Various monitors had been yanked off the wall and rearranged on the floor, data scrolling across them. The computer bays had been dissected, torn from their racks. Cables snaked between hardware, connecting everything by no evident design.

Joey lay on her back like a car mechanic, wearing a tank top, her sleek arm muscles glistening with sweat. She was checking a cable connection. She rolled over and popped to her feet.

“Check this shit out!”

“I am. Checking this shit. Out.” Evan picked Vera II up off the floor, nestled an ice cube in her serrated spikes, and eyed her accusatorily: I left you in charge.

Joey breezed past him, using her bare foot to swivel a monitor on the floor so she could check the screen. The scent of girly soap tinged the air, lilac and vanilla, anomalous here among the weapon lockers and electronic hum.

She laced her fingers, inverted her hands, cracked the knuckles. “You are looking at a beautifully improvised machine learning system—262,144 graphics cores devoted to a single cause. Tracking down David Smith.”

Evan figured maybe he could forgive the milk. And the crumbs. And the smudges on the faucet.

He set Vera II back on the sheet-metal desk. She was now the only item in the Vault in the proper place.

He looked at the open door to the Vault and the rolled-back shower door beyond and bit his lip. Managed the words “Good job.”

She held up a hand, and they high-fived. “At least now you and Van Sciver? You’re running the same race.”