Crashland by Sean Williams Page B

then chose the seat farthest from them, on the opposite side of the circle. Maybe he just didn’t like people, she thought.
    â€œPK Beck will guide you to your drones,” said Forest.
    Clair made herself physically comfortable and concentrated on navigating the new windows opening in her lenses. There was a quick tutorial, a practice simulator, some FAQs . . .
    â€œThey’re going to a lot of trouble to look after a couple of kids, don’t you think?” bumped Devin.
    â€œ Three kids,” she shot back. “You forgot to count yourself.”
    â€œI’m here voluntarily. Besides, my relationship with them isn’t in question.”
    â€œNot with them, maybe. I still don’t understand why they’re letting you tag along.”
    â€œI’m the closest thing to a specialist anyone has when it comes to Improvement and the dupes. Apart from you, I guess. You blew everyone else up.”
    Clair supposed his explanation made sense, and maybe they thought that she was more likely to trust him because they were roughly the same age. Boy, had they gotten that wrong.
    Sargent folded out a tray from the arm of Clair’s seat and placed her snack next to her. Clair glanced up and said thanks, wondering if Devin had a point. Was Sargent being weirdly servile or just practical? Clair couldn’t decide.
    â€œYou should eat,” said Forest to Jesse. “How long since your last meal?”
    â€œUh . . . it’s fine.” Jesse looked up from fiddling with the hood of his armor, which he had flipped forward to provide a HUD to make up for his lack of modern lenses. “I’m not hungry.”
    â€œYou ate nothing in New York.” Forest came around the chairs to stand over him. “I know, you are an Abstainer. I understand. But we have only fabbed food here. If you do not eat that, you will starve.”
    â€œThen I’ll starve, okay—or are you going to force-feed me?” he snapped. His anger quickly evaporated. “Sorry. I just don’t want anything now, really. Some water. That would be good.”
    Forest nodded.
    Clair reached between their couches to touch the back of Jesse’s hand. He looked down and flipped his hand over. Their fingers tangled in soothing knots.
    â€œYou must think I’m stupid,” he said.
    She shook her head. Not stupid, just different, and stubborn. That was something they had in common. He might have inherited his beliefs from his father, but it was his right to defend them, and no one could take that right away from him. She actually felt proud of him, although worried at the same time.
    â€œPlease don’t starve to death,” she said.
    â€œThat chocolate smells amazing.”
    â€œYeah, sorry. I’m totally going to eat it.”
    He smiled. “I would in your shoes.”
    PK Beck issued the virtual equivalent of an “ahem” and began assigning drones. The principle was the same as any eye-in-the-sky drone: they were autonomous but could be overridden by human control at any moment. Anyone in the network could examine the world around the drone through its many senses—in the regular world “anyone” meant literally anyone over eighteen, but around Crystal City it meant only those authorized by PK Beck—in order to guide the drone toward any sites of interest. Oz put in a few hours a week in random places around the world, and Clair had watched over his shoulder a few times. Once they had seen an actual crime, and the way the community of observers had converged on the scene had amazed her. Until backup drones and PKs arrived, there had just been the one drone, “controlled” by Oz and more than a hundred other people in a rapidly evolving consensus that was made possible by the same participatory algorithms that lay behind OneEarth itself. There were no leaders and no followers: everyone found the way together.
    Chewing on a stick of jerky,