Conversation lulls as they pull off 65, and at the exit there’s a man with a sign. He doesn’t even bother to check out their car. They keep their eyes straight forward; Larch signals left.
“See, that’s where the minimum wage can actually hurt people,” mutters Gina.
“Oh please,” retorts Larch. “That’s about as widely obeyed as the speed limit. I wonder if the immigrant walkout guys, lobbyists like that, if they consider food or cash under the table–not that he was getting either–”
Judd just fidgets. The WILL WORK FOR BANDWIDTH on his shirt feels heavy, hot and flat.
Chicago shows up at Grand’s, triumphant, smelling like rye.
“Nobody takes precautions,” she enunciates, lying back with her feet in the pool. “Nobody changes the factory password. Nobody locks both drawers in a desk.”
“Nobody expects a fifteen-year-old to be snapping pictures,” says Grand, amused, “through the glory hole in the storage closet.”
“Will now.” Chicago shrugs, wiggling her shoulders against the warm concrete. “Tooo laaate.”
“Tell me which of your victims is which someday,” says Grand, lighting a roach in its clip. He inhales, then proffers it.
“No way,” says Chicago, standing, swaying. “That shit’s bad for you.”
In Steganopolis everything’s a game.
“Because people like me started seeing the hidden patterns in everything, without our medication,” says Yevgeny. He twists the elevator button to the left and pops it open, revealing the biomet pad underneath. “They built this city so that, somewhere, it’d be true.”
“I can barely even beat the puzzler on my cell phone,” mumbles Minzhu. “I don’t think I belong…”
“You can read people,” says Yevgeny. “Their tells.”
“Yeah,” she admits.
“Then remember that everyone else here is playing for pennies.” Yevgeny scans his thumb; the elevator starts moving laterally. “You’re in the currency market.”