Chapter 0x0F

    Jester leads Mobius through the canyonlands of concrete and stone known as Brooklyn. Mobius feels oppressed in the urban superstructure. There are cams and mikes on every surface. The dense herds of noisy pedestrians are tiring to wade through. He can’t travel a block without another bot trying to pickpocket a micropayment, throwing another crumb in his data trail. “I can’t even pick my nose in this town,” he gripes. “A thousand eyeballs are watching me.”
    “It’s all in the name of security,” Jester smirks. “Whose security we talking bout? You know the answer to that question. The security of the powers that be, not the little people. Your security? Just look out for yourself, bra. You could get a shim stuck into you right in front of a police bot, and it still’d be ten minutes before a medic gets to you. Seen it happen.”
    They stop into Jester’s apartment, a single cell high up in a honeycomb of thousands of units. Jester’s place has two large windows with a view of Prospect Park. Its dimensions remind Mobius of a cargo trailer, but it’s clean. With the appliances and bathroom folded up into the walls, the space is empty except for a couch and a couple of beanbags, and gray Mid-Atlantic sunlight softly illuminates the wood-patterned plastic floor. Here he can relax slightly. There are no electric flies buzzing in his ear or AAMs projecting ads in his face.
    Jester goes through the modern rituals of the urban primate arriving in its nest: checking mail, flipping on Jester Channel. “Should we grab something to eat before we go out?” he says noncommittally, swinging the fridge out from a wall.
    “I’ll just have one of those drinks.”
    Jester pulls out a bottle and hands it to Mobius, who scans the label. It's a cultivated amino-protein shake. “Berry, yum.”
“Want a glass, or?”
    “Nah. So, when do we need to be there?”
    “Twenty-one. The guy never sees daylight. Probably just getting up at twenty.”
    “So, we’ve got about three hours.” Mobius takes a couple of chugs of the shake. It's not bad, except for the faint aftertaste of chlorophyll.
    “Well, man, the subway could take almost two.”
    “No problem, I’ll call a cab.”
    “Ha! When was the last time you took a cab in New York? That’ll take even longer. The peds, the bikes, the scoots, the bots… It’s insane. That’s why I rarely leave my hood.”
    “Air cab.”
    Jester raises his eyebrows. “Sure, if you have the bucks…”
    Mobius smirks. “It’s the company’s money.” He finishes the drink and drops the bottle on the counter.
    “Dude, are you a company man now? Did you sell out? Again?”
    “I’m an independent contractor. They managed to get me to do some outside research, but I’m not their slave.”
    “Just their part-time ho. I don’t do business with them,” Jester says. “If you start feeding me to the corporation, this relationship is over.”
    “I know, man.”
    “Those suits are liars, killers, and they brought down the USA, man.”
    “I know.”