Shakespeare, Milton, Thoreau, Keats; philosophy, history, even physics and engineering; but there were also at least two dozen software manuals spanning the entire life of computer technology, kept in meticulous chronological order, the most recent being a tome devoted to something called PHP.
Several weapons hung on the walls, all blades, including one that looked something like a samurai sword and a couple of long knives crossed over each other.
Ninja computer programmer?
She completed a circuit around the room, finishing at a large desk with a precise arrangement of electronics. Phone dock, MacBook, a set of Bose speakers designed for use with an iPod. Wireless mouse. Two external hard drives. There were also a few standard office supplies, including a slim silver pen that lay in a groove cut into the desk’s surface. The pen was engraved, and she risked picking it up to read the inscription: PRIME DAVID L. SOLOMON, PHD.
Ninja computer programmer doctor?
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Miranda’s heart stopped and she spun around, or at least tried to, though her body wouldn’t fully obey and she nearly ended up falling over. The voice had come from the doorway to her room, and she turned around to see the speaker standing with arms crossed, glaring at her.
It was a woman of Asian descent with long black hair in dozens of tiny braids, her brown eyes staring daggers at Miranda. She, too, wore the black uniform of the guards in the hall, but with the addition of a series of small silver pins on the collar, and several extra weapons—also blades.
Miranda started to stutter out another apology, but the woman cut her off. “I could be out in the city hunting for insurgents, but instead I am sent to check on the Prime’s new pet.”
Miranda felt the apology die on her tongue with a flash of irritation. “I haven’t lifted my leg on the furniture yet.”
Was it her imagination, or did the woman almost smile?
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
“I know,” Miranda said, flushing. “I was looking around my room and found the door. It wasn’t locked. I didn’t realize whose it was.”
She set the pen down where she’d found it and crossed the room, following the guard back into her own chamber, embarrassed to have been caught snooping. As she passed she noticed that up close, the woman was actually a hair shorter than she was, but a hundred times more imposing, weapons or no weapons.
Miranda made it back to her room before her legs got too weak to stand on, and she collapsed into the love seat with a quiet moan. She’d managed to forget the pain in her muscles and ribs for a while, but now it flared up again, and she leaned back to take pressure off her chest, shaky and exhausted.
When she looked up, the woman was staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. There was something like recognition on her face, and she reached into her pocket, retrieving a prescription bottle.
“These are for you,” she said. “Vicodin.”
Miranda regarded the bottle, which had her name in bold print across the label, issued by a doctor she didn’t recognize and picked up from a CVS on the west side of Austin.
“I also instructed Samuel to bring you food,” she went on. “I know you’re probably not feeling hungry, but you have to eat if you’re going to heal.”
Miranda didn’t bother to protest. She knew that this was not the sort of woman to argue with.
“Also, I’m to give you this.” The guard produced one of the wristbands that she and the others wore, and handed it to Miranda. “It’s a voice-activated communication device. If you find yourself needing help, say the code number of the person you want to speak to, and it will connect you if you have sufficient security clearance.”
“How do I know the codes?”
“Samuel is code nineteen. Helen, code twenty-three.”
“What about you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Star-three.”
“Why a star?”
“The Prime is Star-one, and
Several weapons hung on the walls, all blades, including one that looked something like a samurai sword and a couple of long knives crossed over each other.
Ninja computer programmer?
She completed a circuit around the room, finishing at a large desk with a precise arrangement of electronics. Phone dock, MacBook, a set of Bose speakers designed for use with an iPod. Wireless mouse. Two external hard drives. There were also a few standard office supplies, including a slim silver pen that lay in a groove cut into the desk’s surface. The pen was engraved, and she risked picking it up to read the inscription: PRIME DAVID L. SOLOMON, PHD.
Ninja computer programmer doctor?
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Miranda’s heart stopped and she spun around, or at least tried to, though her body wouldn’t fully obey and she nearly ended up falling over. The voice had come from the doorway to her room, and she turned around to see the speaker standing with arms crossed, glaring at her.
It was a woman of Asian descent with long black hair in dozens of tiny braids, her brown eyes staring daggers at Miranda. She, too, wore the black uniform of the guards in the hall, but with the addition of a series of small silver pins on the collar, and several extra weapons—also blades.
Miranda started to stutter out another apology, but the woman cut her off. “I could be out in the city hunting for insurgents, but instead I am sent to check on the Prime’s new pet.”
Miranda felt the apology die on her tongue with a flash of irritation. “I haven’t lifted my leg on the furniture yet.”
Was it her imagination, or did the woman almost smile?
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
“I know,” Miranda said, flushing. “I was looking around my room and found the door. It wasn’t locked. I didn’t realize whose it was.”
She set the pen down where she’d found it and crossed the room, following the guard back into her own chamber, embarrassed to have been caught snooping. As she passed she noticed that up close, the woman was actually a hair shorter than she was, but a hundred times more imposing, weapons or no weapons.
Miranda made it back to her room before her legs got too weak to stand on, and she collapsed into the love seat with a quiet moan. She’d managed to forget the pain in her muscles and ribs for a while, but now it flared up again, and she leaned back to take pressure off her chest, shaky and exhausted.
When she looked up, the woman was staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. There was something like recognition on her face, and she reached into her pocket, retrieving a prescription bottle.
“These are for you,” she said. “Vicodin.”
Miranda regarded the bottle, which had her name in bold print across the label, issued by a doctor she didn’t recognize and picked up from a CVS on the west side of Austin.
“I also instructed Samuel to bring you food,” she went on. “I know you’re probably not feeling hungry, but you have to eat if you’re going to heal.”
Miranda didn’t bother to protest. She knew that this was not the sort of woman to argue with.
“Also, I’m to give you this.” The guard produced one of the wristbands that she and the others wore, and handed it to Miranda. “It’s a voice-activated communication device. If you find yourself needing help, say the code number of the person you want to speak to, and it will connect you if you have sufficient security clearance.”
“How do I know the codes?”
“Samuel is code nineteen. Helen, code twenty-three.”
“What about you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Star-three.”
“Why a star?”
“The Prime is Star-one, and
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