Page 10

Reynard blinked, and looked away. “You did see the windows on the building when we arrived?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So, knowing my situation, you’re suggesting I should have an office on the top floor, surrounded on all sides by daylight? You don’t think that would be an uncomfortable risk?”

Ahhh. I was beginning to see the reason for why he might be in the basement. “I can see how being surrounded by sunlight might be an issue.”

Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers and eyed the plain walls. “Still, I’ve always occupied this office, but now I’m wondering if you’re right and I should inhabit a space more befitting my stature.”

Oh, Joyce was going to hate me if Reynard decided he wanted to up and move two minutes after I’d arrived. “You know what, this place is great. There’s nothing wrong with it. You don’t need to spend ages in an elevator, going up and down all day. What a pain. And then there’s the lack of daylight. Perfect for someone of your . . . you . . . your lordliness. Nobody wants to be a goldfish in a bowl, right? All those fingerprints on the glass. Ugh. Terrible idea. You have your desk, and a couch, and super-straight walls. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

His eyebrows pinched together. “I sense you are mocking me.”

“Oh no, I’m not . . . that’s not . . .” I sighed. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Victor. I’m sorry. Maybe we should start over and focus on fixing Tom?”

“Right. Indeed. Yes.” He pulled the chip from his pocket and held it up between his finger and thumb. “I’ll have the troubleshooting team look at it. Shall we walk there, as you don’t seem to like my office?”

Oh dear. “Sure.”

What followed was a tour of the entire building—through research and development, and marketing, and finance. It was all very neat and efficient, exactly as I’d expect from Reynard’s business. People said hello to Mr. Reynard, as they called him. A few had some ideas they wanted to run by him. He treated everyone equally, and gave them each a few minutes of his time, before asking them to speak with Joyce to arrange a meeting. We ended up somewhere in the middle of the building, in the faults department. This floor was a bit more chaotic, with phones ringing, and discussions firing off all around us at various booths.

Reynard handed Tom’s chip to one of the team and explained how his character programming had experienced a glitch, resetting it to factory defaults. The more they spoke, the more uncomfortable I became referring to our Tom as an it. He’d clearly been much more than a broken AI who liked to verbally assault his customers, and sometimes poison them. Like with Claymore, I’d neglected to notice how integral he’d been, until he was gone.

The guests were under my protection. I needed to do better.

The technician plugged the chip into his computer, tapped away, and ran a quick diagnostic—whatever that meant. It was all very technical, and all of it went over my head. Feeling like a third wheel to the wagon, I excused myself from the conversation and wandered through the department. Computers were clearly integral to everything happening at Reynard Technologies, but it all may as well have been some mystical magic for all the sense it made to me. Humans loved their technology. They wore it, carried it, spent most hours of every day with it, relied on it, talked to it. As a human, I should do the same, but I’d never gotten along with it. Technology was alien, but just as Reynard had said, technology spied on people. That was not a good thing for someone who was trying to hide.

My ambling brought me to a door marked: Research and Development area, authorized personnel only. As I approached, the red light on the wall by the door blinked green. Reynard’s guest badge must have given me access. What could a multibillion-dollar tech company be working on? Exciting things?

A quick look inside wouldn’t hurt. As the glass door swooshed back, it revealed a glass-lined corridor with several rooms either side, where skeletal machines assembled various contraptions. It soon became clear, the projects here weren’t TVs or phones. I’d watched a YouTube video once, of an old-style yellow robotic dog plodding through a forest, carrying a backpack. The equipment here was similar, but more advanced.

Then, through the glass, I spotted a research room with screens all over the wall, displaying people going about their days. But not just people. Lost Ones.

A shiver tracked down my spine. I’d known the city’s population was monitored, and knew to be careful around cameras, but here it was, in action.

After glancing left and right, checking I was alone, I popped open the door and ventured inside. It all appeared to be automated. When Reynard had said he had people trying to find Claymore, was this observation system what he’d meant?

The screens scanned face after face, and logged their identities, matching them up with personal records. It wasn’t illegal, since these people were all in public areas, but the squiffy feeling inside me didn’t feel right.

I spotted a request window open and typed in: Adam Vex. Records spilled onto the screen, including the marker: Person of Interest.

Interest to who?

I scanned the information, and my heart sank. The system had marked every single line as irregular. Address, occupation, race, all of it. Adam Vex was irregular. My heart lodged in my throat. I looked up, and around, checking I was still alone. People worked in the adjacent glass rooms, but nobody was paying me any mind. I discreetly shifted the curser down to the controls and hit delete.

Oops, no more Adam Vex.

Nobody would notice I wasn’t in their system. I wasn’t even worth paying attention to. Nothing to see here.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I sauntered out of the room, and clicked the door closed.

My heart thumped, veins growing hot. I needed to leave. Now. Dropping my gaze, I made myself small and insignificant, and hurried from the corridor.

I had to get out, get back to the hotel, where I was safe.

I stumbled into an elevator and jabbed the basement button.

It was time to leave Reynard Technologies.