Page 113 of Coldwire
“Careful,” I say, seizing partial control over my display when he opens too many tabs. “I need to see the driving instructions.”
Chastised, Kieren shifts everything to the bottom, where it’s less likely to interfere with my instructions. Just in time, the guide splatters a variety of arrows to push the left handlebar for a right turn, and Kieren has no choice but to follow suit when I lean right for balance, jolting onto the exit ramp successfully.
Night has almost fallen. The clouds hover low overhead, a watery true blue soaking darker with each second. The guide suggests applying brakes and slowing. We’ll be at our destination soon.
“How’s it coming along?” I call into the wind.
“Almost there. Birthday. Last name. Citizenship. And timer starts—now.”
All the extra tabs at the bottom of my vision blink away. I get a few seconds of clarity before new ones open, running scripts that look far more complicated. The traffic light ahead turns yellow. I push faster to get through, crossing on the red. When the owner reports his bike missing, I hope it voids all the traffic tickets that have racked up on his record too.
“You want to look young for your age, or older than expected?”
“I’m ethnically Medan, Kieren. You could pull the lever to forty and I’ll still look twenty.”
“Is that a challenge I hear?”
YOUR DESTINATION IS TO YOUR RIGHT,the guide reports, offering its final arrow with a flourish. I squeeze down on the clutch and apply the brakes, getting us parked at the side of the road with only a mild bump.
When the engine cuts off, the varying scripts running in my display disappear too. Kieren’s finished with his work.
“We’re here,” I declare. “Not bad, right?”
He releases me slowly. In all honesty, I’m shocked that we made it.
“Do you know,” he says, “how many times we almost got flattened?”
“But we didn’t.” I clamber off the bike. “We—”
My hands fly to my mouth. I try to hold in my appalled laugh, and end up spluttering into my palm, staring saucers at Kieren.
“I know,” he says. “I aged well.”
I yank my hands down, trying to get myself together.
“You absolutely messed around with your other filters,” I accuse. “Your jawline doesnotlook like that.”
He resembles every Atahuan movie star mashed together at once—the collated result of some early-century heartthrob who went on to become a philanthropist later in life as they focused on raising their family.
“All right, darling.” He takes my hand without the spit. “Ten minutes left on their timer. Don’t bite me again.”
I catch sight of myself in the reflection of the precinct doors as we approach, and from afar I can hardly see the difference. It wasn’t a stretch to say that he could turn the lever to forty and I’d still look twenty. The sort of features I have will always make me look younger than I am. It’s only once we get closer that I see the differences: the longer forehead, the sharper cheekbones. Before I can make a proper examination, Kieren is already opening the door, leading us through.
“Good evening,” Kieren greets the officer at the front desk, his voice booming. I can tell that he’s trying to channel his father. Headmaster Murray starts his assembly addresses the same way. “We’re here for our delinquent children.”
I squeeze his hand in warning. He squeezes back twice to communicate that he knows what he’s doing.
“Ah,” the officer says. “The military base lurkers.”
“The resemblance is that obvious, huh?” I say.
I must sound nervous, because Kieren steps on my foot.
“I suppose,” the officer replies. She hasn’t even looked at us directly.Whatever is on her display keeps her occupied, her gaze unfocused. “Our holding cells are empty save for those two.Mostpeople tend to behave in this neighborhood.”
Her eyes swivel to Kieren before returning to her display. Ah, I see. A little suspicious jab at his possible Atahuan origins.
It’s entertaining to be witnessing the other side of this, but it’s still not the same. People are only anti-Atahuan in Medaluo. People are anti-Medan across the rest of the world. Without casualties to log nor battles to bleed in, that’s the most foolproof way to track that Atahua is winning a cold war.
