The Peripheral

by William Gibson

  “Have them send it over in a car. Lowbeer wants it here.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t ask. You wouldn’t have either. She said that we need a male peripheral, soonest. I remembered that it was there.”

  “I suppose it’s the easiest way,” said Lev. “Who’ll be using it?” He looked at Flynne.

  “Bathroom’s in the back?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Excuse me,” she said. Stood.

  In the narrow steel toilet-shower room off the little room in the back, its door closed behind her, she looked into the mirror. Unbuttoned the black shirt, finding a bra she hadn’t been aware of and breasts slightly larger than her own. Not hers, and that was comforting, and so was the small flat mole over the left collar bone. Which was why she’d looked, she realized, buttoning up the shirt, though she hadn’t understood until she’d done it.

  She wondered if it needed to pee. She didn’t, so she’d assume that it didn’t. It drank water, Ash had said, but didn’t eat. Whoever had cut its hair had done Carlota proud.

  She turned, opened the door, and returned to the room Netherton had pretended was his office at Milagros Coldiron. He and Lev were gone. Ash stood by the window, looking out. “Where did they go?” she asked.

  “Up to the house. Netherton and Ossian will wait for it to arrive. I hope you like jaw.”

  “Jaw?”

  “It has a rather prominent jawline. Extremely high cheekbones. A sort of fairy-tale Slav.”

  “You . . . know it?” Was that the word?

  “I’ve never seen it with a human operator. Only with cloud AI from its manufacturer. It belonged to Lev’s brother.”

  “He’s dead, Lev’s brother?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” said Ash.

  Okay, Flynne thought. “Is it athletic? Like this one seems to be?”

  “Extremely. Quite off the scale, actually.”

  “Good,” said Flynne.

  “What are you up to?” asked Ash, her eyes narrowing until Flynne could only see her upper pupils.

  “Nothing Lowbeer doesn’t know about.”

  “Quite good at power relationships, are we?”

  “How long till it’s here?”

  “Half an hour?”

  “Show me how to call Macon,” Flynne said.

  48.

  PAVEL

  Lev’s entranceway was cluttered with parenting equipment. Miniature Wellingtons, coatrack clumped with bright rainwear, a push-bike reminding Netherton of the patchers, things to hit balls with, many balls themselves. A few stray bits of Lego edged fitfully about among lower strata, like bright rectilinear beetles.

  Netherton and Ossian sat on a wooden bench, facing these things. The end nearest him was smeared with what he assumed was partially dried jam. Anton’s sparring partner was expected momentarily, from Richmond Hill. Ossian had rejected his suggestion that they wait outside.

  “Had the nannies shitting themselves, that did,” Ossian said now, apparently apropos of nothing.

  “What did?”

  “Your buggy, there.” Indicating, Netherton at first thought, the burdened coatrack. “Against the wall.” He pointed. “Cloaked.”

  Netherton now made out the outline of a folded pushchair, currently emulating what happened to be nearest, in this case grubbily off-white wall and the brown tartan lining of a weathered jacket.

  “The grandfather had it sent from Moscow,” Ossian said, “when the girl was born. Diplomatic bag. Only way to get it in.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Has a weapons system. Pair of guns. Nothing ballistic, though. Projects very short-term assemblers. Disassemblers, really. Go after soft tissue. Take it apart at a molecular level. Seen footage of doing that to a side of beef.”

  “What happens?”

  “Bones. It’s autonomous, self-targeting, makes its own call of threat levels.”

  “Who would pose the threat?”

  “Your Russian kidnappers,” said Ossian.

  “It does that with a baby aboard?”

  “Being shown pandas against the trauma, by then. Headed home, nannies or no, in armed evasion mode.”

  Netherton considered the faintly visible, harmless-looking thing.

  “Zubov’s missus wouldn’t have it. Never gotten on with the grandfather. Sided with the nannies.”

  “How long have you worked here, Ossian?”

  Ossian regarded him narrowly. “Five years, near enough.”

  “What did you do previously?”

  “Much the same. Near enough.”

  “Did you train for it?”

  “I did,” Ossian said.

  “How?”

  “Misspending my youth. How did you train to stand up smart and lie to anyone?”

  Netherton looked at him. “Like you. Near enough.”

  A shadow darkened one sidelight. Chimes sounded.

  “That would be itself,” said Ossian, standing, tugging down his dark waistcoat. He turned to the door, squared his shoulders, and opened it.

  “Good evening.” Tall, broad-shouldered, in a dark gray suit. “Pleased to see you, Ossian. You may not remember me. Pavel.”

  “Quick about it,” ordered Ossian, stepping back.

  The peripheral entered, Ossian closing the door behind it. “Pavel,” it said to Netherton. Pronounced jawline, strong facial bones, eyes pale and somehow mocking.

  “Wilf Netherton.” Offering his hand. They shook hands, the peripheral’s grip warm, careful.

  “The garage,” said Ossian.

  “Of course,” said Pavel, and strolled ahead of them, toward the elevator, entirely at home.

  49.

  THE SOUNDS HE MADE

  This Pavel had cheekbones you could chop ice with, Flynne thought, but his voice was nice.

  “Personality’s AI,” the Irishman said. “We’ll have that turned off before your man moves in.”

  “I’m Flynne,” she said.

  “Pleased to meet you,” said the peripheral, eyeing the Irishman like he had no fucks to give.

  “Programmed to take the piss,” Ossian said. “Part of the sparring functionality. Makes you want to beat it out of them.”

  The peripheral shifted its weight. It was well over six feet, taller than Burton, pale hair pushed to one side. It cocked a blond eyebrow at Flynne. “How may I be of service?”

  “Go into the back cabin,” Ash said. “Lie down. Notify the factory that we won’t be needing the cloud.”

  “Of course,” it said. It had to turn its shoulders a little, to clear shiny walls almost the color of its hair.

  “I see why Anton kept murdering it,” Ossian said. “Mindless, but it’s always at you.”

  Ash said something to him in one of their weird private languages.

  “She says that that could be adjusted,” Ossian said to Flynne. “True, but Anton couldn’t be arsed. Not his way. I always hoped he’d do it sufficient damage that the factory couldn’t put it back together.”

  “Macon has everything ready,” Ash said to Flynne. “I have him now. He’d like to speak with you.”

  “Sure,” said Flynne. Ash’s badge appeared, then another beside it, yellow with an ugly red lump. Then Macon. “That a nubbin, Macon? Got your own future-folks badge already?”

  “Yours is sorry-ass,” Macon said. “Just blank. Get her to fix it for you.” He grinned.

  “Kinda busy,” she said.

  “Things okay?”

  “Not messed up the way I was the first time. Saw a little more of the place. He ready?”

  “Too ready, you ask me.”

  “Burton know?” she asked him.

  “As it happens,” Macon said, doing a side eye.

  “He’s there?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Shit.”

  “It’s all good. Set to go.”

  “Let’s do this thing.”

  “Ready when you are,” he said. The nubbin badge dimmed.


  “Ash and I go in,” Flynne said to Netherton and Ossian. “Not sure how he’s going to take this. Thing to remember is to cut him slack, okay? He gets excited, you better back off, fast.”

  Netherton and Ossian looked at each other.

  “Okay,” Flynne said to Ash, and walked into the corridor, three strides to the back room, where the peripheral lay on the bunk, ankles hanging off the end.

  “Pavel,” Ash said to it, around Flynne’s shoulder, “close your eyes.”

  It looked at Flynne, then closed its eyes.

  “Fifteen,” said Ash, Flynne presumed to Macon.

  Flynne counted down in her head. At ten, she imagined the wobble. Kept counting.

  “Zero,” Ash said.

  The peripheral’s eyes opened wide. “Christ on a corndog,” it said, raising large hands until it could see them. It wiggled the fingers of both, then each thumb touched each finger in turn, then back again to the index. Sat up like it was driven by a spring. Flowed to its feet.

  “It’s me, Conner,” Flynne said.

  “Know that. Macon showed me a screen-grab. You,” he said to Ash, “I saw something like you in a club in Atlanta. Boy there said it was a hyperspace elf, and technically an overdose.”

  “This is Ash,” Flynne said, “be nice. Colors okay?”

  “Colors? This better not just be a drug experience.”

  “It’s not tetrachromatic,” said Ash, causing Conner to peer at her suspiciously.

  “You feel okay?” Flynne asked.

  He grinned wolfishly, scary on the former Pavel. “Goddamn. Look at all these fingers.”

  “This way,” Flynne said, “but there’s two men out here. They’re with us. They’re okay. Okay?”

  “Fuck yes,” said Conner, looking at his hands again. “Jesus.”

  She took his hand, led him out. Ash was standing beside Ossian, Netherton behind them. “Conner Penske,” Flynne said to them, releasing his hand. “Conner was in the Marines with my brother.”

  The three of them nodded, staring. The peripheral had a different way of standing now. Conner looked from one to the next, seemed to decide handshakes weren’t in order, and stuck his hands into the pockets of his gray pants. Looked around the cabin. “Boat? Dry dock?”

  “Big fancy RV,” Flynne said.

  He went to the window, bent, looked out. “My ass, out of here,” he said, probably not to them. Flynne was right behind him as he yanked open the door. He didn’t bother with the gangway. Did an acrobat’s flip, sideways, over the railing, and dropped, a good fifteen feet. Came up running, maybe faster than anyone she’d ever seen run, straight out across the garage, down the long line of what they’d said was Lev’s father’s car collection. As he ran, each long arch lit up with its glow stuff, so shallow they might almost have been beams, to fade again as he passed below, and she hadn’t imagined there were so many, or how big this place was. And as he ran he screamed, maybe how he hadn’t screamed when what had happened to him had torn so much of his body off, but between the screams he whooped hoarsely, she guessed out of some unbearable joy or relief, just to run that way, have fingers, and that was harder to hear than the screams.

  Then one last arch faded when he ran beneath it, and there was only darkness, and the sounds he made.

  50.

  WHILE THE GETTING’S GOOD

  Should we go out to him?” Ash asked.

  Ossian, Netherton knew, had shut down the elevator, and probably other things as well. Anton’s sparring partner, whoever was operating it, would be staying on this level.

  “Don’t,” Flynne said, from where she stood at the top of the gangway, looking out across the darkened garage.

  “What’s he doing?” Netherton asked Ossian, who seemed to be peering narrowly at the locked bar, but was actually observing the former Pavel via some in-house system.

  “Pacing backward,” Ossian said, “then forward. Doing something complicated with his hands.”

  “Integrative workout,” Flynne said, coming back in. “Marine thing. Used to do that a lot, before he got disabled.”

  “What happened to him?” Netherton asked.

  “War.”

  Netherton remembered the headless figure on the stair in Covent Garden.

  “Dusting off his jacket,” Ossian announced. “Looking at his hands. Has mastered the thing’s night-vision toggle, by the way. Starts this way, at a relaxed trot.” He looked at Flynne, obviously seeing her now. “Quite the entrance, your man,” he said. “Military, was he?”

  “Haptic Recon 1,” said Flynne. “‘First in, last out.’ He’s maybe got stuff going on from the embeds, like my brother does. VA tried to figure it out.”

  “Victoria and Albert?” Ash asked.

  “Veterans Administration.”

  Netherton went to the door, saw the nearest arch pulse as the sparring partner came loping beneath it. He would have preferred cloud AI to whatever this instability might be, that Flynne was suggesting. Why had she brought this person, and not her brother?

  Now it was coming up the gangway.

  “Maybe dislocated a finger,” it said, in the doorway, the accent reminding Netherton of hers. Left hand, little finger extended. “Rest of it’s okay. More than okay. They all like this, these things?”

  “That one’s optimized for martial arts,” Netherton said, which caused it to raise an eyebrow. “A training unit. It belongs to our friend’s brother.”

  Ash produced the Medici. “Come here, please.”

  It crossed to her, finger extended, like a child. She placed the Medici against the finger. “Sprained,” she said. “The discomfort will be gone now, but try not to do much with it.”

  “What’s that?” asked the peripheral, looking down at the Medici.

  “A hospital,” said Ash, tucking it away.

  “Thanks,” said the peripheral, making a fist of its injured hand, opening it. It went to Flynne, put its hands on her shoulders. “Macon figured this was what it was,” it said.

  “Told him not to tell you much,” she said. “Afraid it might not work.”

  “It’s like I’m okay,” it said, taking its hands from her shoulders, “then I decide it’s a dream and I’m not okay.”

  “It’s not a dream,” Flynne said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a dream. Don’t know that any of us are okay.”

  “Never sprained anything in a dream,” the peripheral said. “Kinda got it, when I was out there, if I wasn’t careful I could break its neck.”

  “You could,” said Ash. “Assume it’s human. It is, genetically, for the most part. It’s also a very considerable piece of property, which we’ve borrowed in order to have you here.”

  It came to attention, with an audible click of its heels, massive chin tucked comically in, saluting crisply, then flowed back into that easy, perpetually off-balance stance that hadn’t quite been Pavel’s. “Macon,” it said to Flynne, “thinks this is the future. And Burton, he told me it was.”

  “He’s at your place, now, Burton?” Flynne asked.

  “Was when I left. Maybe gone now.”

  “He pissed with me?”

  “Doesn’t have time, looks to me. Somebody’s bought themselves the next level up, at the statehouse, and they’re leaning on the sheriff. Tommy wants to talk to me about some old Memphis boys.” Netherton found its grin terrifying. “Burton says they’re just doing it to fool with you and him,” it continued. “Said to tell you that needs some attention on this end.”

  “What kind of attention?”

  “Says they need to get them the governor now,” it said, “while the getting’s good. You don’t have enough money for that.”

  “That would be Ossian and Ash,” Netherton said, causing Flynne and the peripheral to both turn and look at him. “Sorry. But if it’s a matter of any urgency, I suggest you bring it up now. The London School of Economics, at your service. Some unofficial undergraduate aspect of it, at any rate.”

  Now Ossian and A
sh were staring at him.

  “It’s only money,” he said to them.

  51.

  TANGO HOTEL SOLDIER SHIT

  Lev’s backyard was the same as before, walls too high to see over, stone paving with a few flower beds. She’d come out here with Conner, leaving the others in the kitchen with Lev, who was making them coffee. A tall blonde she figured was Mrs. Lev had been there when they’d come up, but she’d left, fast, giving Wilf a seriously shitty look. They were telling Lev about money to buy the governor, and she’d had a feeling that wasn’t going to be a problem for them, but that they were telling Lev like it was. Then they’d get to tell him they’d solved it. She’d done that herself, working. Seemed to her Lev would be happier not having heard about it in the first place.

  The sky was duller, out here in the garden, than when they’d taken the copter to that Cheapside. Like a dome of Tupperware.

  “This the future, Flynne?” Conner asked.

  “Trying not to worry about it. Neither of us is crazy, and we both think we’re here.”

  “Thought I was,” he said, “crazy, then Macon came over and put that thing on my head. Opened my eyes and saw you. ’Cept it’s not you. That’s not crazy?”

  “Don’t frown. Too scary, on that thing.”

  “Say you got some guy who’s hearing voices,” he said, “so you matter-transport his ass to Venus, okay? So would he still be hearing voices, or would he think he was crazy because he was on fucking Venus?”

  “Were you hearing voices?”

  “Sort of trying to, you know? Just for something different to do?”

  “Shit, Conner. Don’t be like that.”

  “I’m not, now,” he said. “But who the fuck are those people?” Looking back into the house, through glass doors.

  “Big guy’s Lev. You’re in his brother’s peripheral. He borrowed it.”

  “Four-eyed lady?”

  “Ash. She and Ossian are gofers for Lev, or like IT? Other one’s Wilf Netherton. Said he was human resources, but the company he works for is mostly imaginary.”

  “Any idea what they’re up to?”

  “Not really, even if everything they’ve told me so far is true.”