MF1.0 - 20 - Data

As the data compiled and aligned itself into neat quadrants and easily read text and pictures, Stef stared at the data, pleased that it had worked so well. No, not pleased. Happy. Very happy. The kind of happiness that most people would ascribe to the act of procreating the species. The agent – she’d decided he was an agent, as it wasn’t very often that people had bright green eyes, unless they were contacts, which was always a possibility, so he might not be… ‘Are you an agent?’ she asked of the man in the lab coat. ‘Just so I can keep a track of who’s what and such.’ He gave her a deer-in-the-headlights look. ‘Er, yes, yes I am. Jones. Agent Jones. Technical division.’ She looked around the tech-Mecca. ‘The last part, I kinda guessed.’ He pulled at Prometheus and attached a couple of strange USB cables to it. ‘What are you doing to Frankie?’ ‘…Frankie?’ Ryan repeated. She looked back at him. ‘I name my computers, doesn’t everyone?’ The agent shook his head. ‘I don’t.’ Jones typed a few things, then the data appeared on one of the large screens on the wall. The kind of large that was wonderful, but impractical for an apartment. The data cycled for a bit, then froze up. After a moment, the data refreshed, when it did, she fell off the chair. A rough hand grabbed her from behind and pulled her to her feet, but she didn’t even look back at Ryan before running over to the screen. What had been simple text and bad seventies-style maps had turned into rotating, fully three-dimensional data, information and pictures. ‘Telemetry,’ she said as she absorbed the data, ‘it is telemetry. He’s going to find her.’ ‘Jones?’ Ryan said. ‘Mirrorfall?’ ‘Yes. The world was Dajulveed. The mirror is falling here, as I told you, in three days. With this radius, it’s good – shipping yards, no civilians.’ A feeling crept over her. The one feeling she hated. Feeling sad she could handle – handled by getting angry, of course. Feeling sick she could handle, medical science was something she trusted. Feeling dumb she couldn’t handle. Prickles of discontent ran up and down her back. ‘Mirror? Mirror falling?’ ‘Never mind.’

She’s just a human, don’t tell her anything. Sir, she’s not a zombie, she’s a cookie. A giggle escaped her. Did you hear what you just said? Teh dumb is infectious. GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT! Just shut up and try again. Sir, she’s not a human, she’s a zombie, give her a cookie and an explanation. As you wish, now Miss Mimosa, you see, when a daddy mirror and a mummy mirror… ‘Dear god my brain is a strange place,’ she muttered. ‘Gods,’ Ryan corrected, sounding as if he were on autopilot. ‘Dear gods my brain is a strange place,’ she repeated, and enjoyed the tired expression on his face. Until he decided to shoot her - which she’d decided was still a possibility – she intended to try and make him use that expression as much as possible. After all, every heroine needs a sidekick. Unless… Crap.