Null slid a Decca Drop Juice from his pocket. He removed his glasses and with his head tilted up he dripped a bit in each eye. Yu could see his eyes flutter as he fitted his glasses back on.
“That’s gross,” she said.
He shrugged. “Eyes get dry.”
“From the glasses?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s sorta more polite to do it in private.”
“That’s what I’ve been told.”
Overhead the sound of sirens screamed by. It was dim, but they both heard it.
“There was another riot at the docks tonight,” said Null.
“Is that why you’re waking me up?”
“No. I told you, I need an in at New Form.”
“And I told you, I don’t have one.”
“What if I told you I finally hacked the system.”
“I’d tell you you’re crazy. Nobody hacks the system. The system hacks you. They control everything, Null. They can’t be beat. Too big. All we can do is scratch the surface.”
Null smiled. His teeth weren’t great. She wondered why he’d never got them fixed. From the folds of his jacket Null produced his MOD. He was the only person she knew who still used his. He was also the only person she knew who wore glasses. Contacts or implants were much more practical.
“Look at this,” he said, handing her the small, round MOD.
On the screen were a spiraling list of apps. More than she’d ever seen—more than she’d ever heard of anyone ever having access to. At the top of the MOD was the green data bar. It was full, no data had been used, even though it was over halfway through the month. Where the remaining data number should have been was just a group of symbols Yu didn’t know.
She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again. Swiped the screen. Nothing happened.
“Been a while since you’ve used a physical MOD?” asked Null.
“Huh. Yeah. Forgot.”
She handed it back to him. “What does this mean?” she asked.
“It means I have every app and unlimited data.”
“That’s impossible,” she said.
Null shook his head. “Improbable.”
“Funny trick,” Yu said.
“How d’you think I got her so fast?” he asked.
Yu hesitated. The Bolt wasn’t operational at night. The corps shut them down to conserve energy when most people were asleep. “Took an Uber Fly,” she said. “Only way.”
“How did I get the money for that?” he asked.
She nodded without meaning to. But he was right, it would cost too much. Why would he take an Uber Fly all the way to her place just to pull a prank? She found herself agreeing with him, even though she knew this was impossible. Even though what he was telling her was a pipe dream—worse, a forgotten pipe dream. New Form had concluded it a waste of time a decade ago. Still, she hoped they were wrong and something in the back of her mind wanted to believe what Null was saying.
“Simic might be interested,” she said.
“Simic?” asked Null.
“He’s my in, he was the one who found me the job for them. And you ruined my credit with New Form last time I took you. We’ll have to start from zero—less than zero.”
The dead woman turned, and Theo turned. In the spot on Tudor Street where a Billabong store had just been, was a large dilapidated theater. White, but now gray with age, not even the slat shutters had escaped the inevitable creep of time–some slats were broken or missing altogether. There was no sign, no signal, no reason he should enter, but Theo was a mystic if mystics were right, which they weren’t, but Theo was, and he knew some things others didn’t. This theater was one of those things, and he knew this also. And with this in mind he walked with the dead woman, her shuffling feet, his dress shoes clipping, up the ten or so stairs to the double doors which would enter to a place he wanted to go.
Winter Station 