Page 21 of Scion

“Sure. Along with vaporization at the other end.”

“I figured if they’re yours, you might be able to tweak that part slightly. Or, you know. Just remove it.”

Old Woman looks very displeased as she considers. I can see her wanting to say that it’s impossible. She really wants to say it.

“In theory,” she mutters eventually.

“Great. You should get onto that. After you give me ’net access.”

“Still a no, dear.”

“Really?” I run a hand through my hair. Vaguely disbelieving. “Themis is a big place, but it’s an awful one to hide in when you’re being chased by people like this. We need resources.”

“I have resources. And assuming you still want to know about Oceanus, my conditions haven’t changed. They won’t change.” No absent-mindedness, no gentle grandmotherly… ness… in her words. “No Keres. No AI. You involve them, and that file is gone.”

The sound of my teeth grinding must be audible even to her. She ignores it.

“Fine.” There’s not really time to argue, even if I thought it would do any good. This is so far beyond eccentricity that it’s not funny—not that it ever was—but we’re about to have five hours of pretty unavoidable alone time. Whether I can get some real answers from her without killing her will be an interesting experiment. “How long for you to do the recode?”

“An hour?” She crosses her arms when I make a face. “Or thirty minutes, if I don’t bother tweaking the vaporization part.”

“An hour it is. I’ll get some supplies together.”

“Good idea.” She hesitates. “And Azure? About Themis. We’re going to have to keep a low profile. I’m not exactly popular there.”

“I’m not exactly surprised.”

She mutters something unsavoury, and we start preparing to leave.

THE INSIDE OF THE TOXIC waste container is about as comfortable as I expected.

“My back’s not going to thank me for this tomorrow,” groans Old Woman, shifting stiffly opposite me. Our feet are almost touching in the middle of the two-metre-wide plastic box. Her deep, deep, deep wrinkles are highlighted by the harsh blue of the light bar I thought to grab just before we left. She looks like a ghost. Albeit the ghost of someone who lived about a hundred years too long.

“We should have brought cushions.”

She stares at me. “Why didn’t you bring cushions?”

I shrug. “Why didn’t you?”

“I didn’t know what to pack for a toxic waste container ride. Blast it all. They were right by the…blast it.” She shifts again, this time with considerably more irritation in the motion. Her mood’s not helped by a sudden force pushing us left as the drone carrying us swings around a corner. She almost topples sideways. I pretend not to notice. She glares anyway.

“Who’s trying to kill you?” I ask it simply and casually. Normally I’d wait for Old Woman to be in a more receptive mood, but I suspect this trip isn’t going to be conducive to that, and I’m sure as hell not going to waste the next five hours listening to her complain. “I know you know.”

Old Woman’s shadow vibrates as the light bar between us shifts slightly. Her expression doesn’t change from elderly grump, but my revs are active and I can tell immediately that I’m correct. Not that there was much doubt, but still.

“You’re right. I do.” She holds my gaze. “I just don’t feel like telling you, dear.”

“Really? Really? What the hell?” I slam my fist against the container’s wall; there’s an echoing boom and the entire thing quivers with the impact. Old Woman flinches. “I’ve been pretty damned patient up to this point, but this is ridiculous. You hire me to keep you alive, then cut me off from every conceivable one of my tools. You know who’s trying to kill you—information that could, you know, also really help—and you won’t tell me. Or tell me why they want you dead. And yes,” I say as she opens her mouth, “I remember the damned file. I don’t care any more. I’m not convinced I can keep you alive long enough to get it.”

I gesture emphatically to finish. It’s partly theatre, even if the irritation is real; I’m pretty confident in my ability to stop her from being killed. If I’m being honest, I’m much more concerned about the possibility that all this excitement is going to do the job anyway. I’m good, but I can’t fight natural causes.

A long silence follows. I refuse to break it.

Finally, Old Woman closes her eyes. Exhales.

“Fine, Azure. Let’s adjust the deal. You answer every question I ask between here and Themis—honestly. Humour me that far, and I’ll tell you everything.” Thrown by my little outburst, but more in a grandmotherly, dismayed-by-a-tantrum sort of way. Like she’s placating a child.

Still. Heart rate steady, breathing steady, pupils steady. She’s not lying.