remembered his family's trip to Disneyland Paris. They had camped—another money-saving strategy. The second night, the mother of thunderstorms had ripped the sky open and dumped a month's rain on the northwest suburbs of Paris in thirty minutes. When a flash flood of dirty, frothy water washed their folding chairs into the tent, Tejendra had scooped up sleeping bags, bubble mats, and Victory-Rose and bundled everything into the car. Dripping water onto the foyer carpet, Team Singh had booked the last family room at Hotel Cheyenne. That had been August. This was January, as far from lightning season as you could get. Think, Everett. If Everness could steal the heart of a thunderstorm, where else could she draw power from? Power lines. Of course. If only he had a map, a map of this world. The revelation was like a physical impact. They'd arrived in his home universe, so he would be able to call up a map on his cell phone. There was once again a world of information at his fingertips.
The on button on the smartphone felt like an old friend. The screen lit. Icons appeared across the top of the screen: mobile network, data network, 3G. An SMS: You are connected to SFR. You arenow roaming. Your data limit is 5 megabytes per day. Everett tapped into the apps and opened up Google Maps. He flexed his fingers, expanded the screen, again and again. It was slow, so slow. Paris: the banlieus , that ring of dismal suburbs that was the only thing darker and more gloomy than the smoke ring of coal-burning power stations that surrounded that other Paris shown on Everness 's maps. Now, exact location. He flicked on the GPS. Everett imagined signals bouncing up to the ring of satellites orbiting and back again. An icon appeared. This was him. This was his home world, with him on the bridge of an alien airship. Here. If he were to drag his finger across the screen, he would be able to look down on his own home, in Roding Road, see the blue circle of Victory-Rose's trampoline in the back garden, the patio furniture on the deck, the chiminea and the gas barbecue; he would be able to see everything as though it had been perfectly preserved on that clear August Sunday afternoon when the satellite had rolled through the sky and snapped its photograph. A time before panoplies and plenitudes and planesrunners, before the Infundibulum and the Order.
The idea came so sharp and sudden it was like a needle in his heart: call home. He had the number up on speed dial. His thumb hesitated. They'll be listening. They had to be listening. He would betray the entire plan. Everett flicked the number away and it was physical pain. But he had to call someone, send some message, let someone know what had happened to him, that he was alive and well out there in the Panoply of worlds. Colette. She was an ally—he knew that in the same way that he knew that the elegant and subtle Ibrim Hoj Kerrim was an enemy of Charlotte Villiers and her Order. But she was too close to Paul McCabe and his faction—she had saved him once, when Charlotte Villiers pulled a gun to try to stop him from fleeing through the Heisenberg Gate to E3. They would be watching her—if she was still on the Heisenberg Gate project. If she was still at Imperial. If she was still alive. Ryun. Ryun Spinetti. Best mate. He'd seen those other worlds on the video on the memorystick Colette had given him that night in the Japanese restaurant. Everett tapped up an SMS. His fingers hesitated over the touch keys. What to say in 160 characters?
Get this 2 Mum: am OK. Dad okay. CU soon. What else to say? What else did he need to say?
“French air traffic control is calling us again,” Sharkey said. “Charles de Gaulle airport is warning us not to enter their control space.”
“Mr. Singh?”
Send. Everett's phone gave a small beep. Gone, for good or for ill. Then he summoned up the Google Earth image, zoomed in on the little star that gave Everness 's current location, and worked it forward along
The on button on the smartphone felt like an old friend. The screen lit. Icons appeared across the top of the screen: mobile network, data network, 3G. An SMS: You are connected to SFR. You arenow roaming. Your data limit is 5 megabytes per day. Everett tapped into the apps and opened up Google Maps. He flexed his fingers, expanded the screen, again and again. It was slow, so slow. Paris: the banlieus , that ring of dismal suburbs that was the only thing darker and more gloomy than the smoke ring of coal-burning power stations that surrounded that other Paris shown on Everness 's maps. Now, exact location. He flicked on the GPS. Everett imagined signals bouncing up to the ring of satellites orbiting and back again. An icon appeared. This was him. This was his home world, with him on the bridge of an alien airship. Here. If he were to drag his finger across the screen, he would be able to look down on his own home, in Roding Road, see the blue circle of Victory-Rose's trampoline in the back garden, the patio furniture on the deck, the chiminea and the gas barbecue; he would be able to see everything as though it had been perfectly preserved on that clear August Sunday afternoon when the satellite had rolled through the sky and snapped its photograph. A time before panoplies and plenitudes and planesrunners, before the Infundibulum and the Order.
The idea came so sharp and sudden it was like a needle in his heart: call home. He had the number up on speed dial. His thumb hesitated. They'll be listening. They had to be listening. He would betray the entire plan. Everett flicked the number away and it was physical pain. But he had to call someone, send some message, let someone know what had happened to him, that he was alive and well out there in the Panoply of worlds. Colette. She was an ally—he knew that in the same way that he knew that the elegant and subtle Ibrim Hoj Kerrim was an enemy of Charlotte Villiers and her Order. But she was too close to Paul McCabe and his faction—she had saved him once, when Charlotte Villiers pulled a gun to try to stop him from fleeing through the Heisenberg Gate to E3. They would be watching her—if she was still on the Heisenberg Gate project. If she was still at Imperial. If she was still alive. Ryun. Ryun Spinetti. Best mate. He'd seen those other worlds on the video on the memorystick Colette had given him that night in the Japanese restaurant. Everett tapped up an SMS. His fingers hesitated over the touch keys. What to say in 160 characters?
Get this 2 Mum: am OK. Dad okay. CU soon. What else to say? What else did he need to say?
“French air traffic control is calling us again,” Sharkey said. “Charles de Gaulle airport is warning us not to enter their control space.”
“Mr. Singh?”
Send. Everett's phone gave a small beep. Gone, for good or for ill. Then he summoned up the Google Earth image, zoomed in on the little star that gave Everness 's current location, and worked it forward along
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