Crashland by Sean Williams

beams and framework within. It looked like a giant dog had picked the building up and shaken it before dropping it back down again.
    The only movement came from drones circling the VIA building, monitoring every approach. Presumably the route up from the flooded subway was also being watched, and Clair took some comfort from the thought that the building wasn’t under attack. Yet.
    Her lenses reconnected, flooding her infield with a rush of news grabs and bumps. There were images of the devastation in Washington, with estimates of fatalities in the thousands. Speculation on who was to blame was running wild. Some thought it was an accident exacerbated by the absence of structural engineers, thanks to the crash. Others thought it was terrorists, perhaps WHOLE, taking advantage of the situation. No one mentioned the dupes—but they were mentioning Clair Hill.
    Her name appeared in a series of short pieces being forwarded widely through the Air. The main source was a gallery called “Clairwatch” that had sprung up in the last few hours. Its mission was simple. “She lied to you and now she’s trying to hide from you,” said the information page. “We’re not going to let her.”
    Every page contained data relating to Clair’s recent movements, activities, and communications, including blurry pictures captured from drones and PK feeds. From the climactic conclusion of her race to New York to the present, everything was covered. There was her removal from the plaza and parts of her interrogation by the PKs, lifted from the public record. There were details of Forest’s and Sargent’s careers, plus histories of Devin and RADICAL. There was her sudden appearance in Washington and the terrible flooding that had happened there. There was even a page on her current location, appearing within moments of the Faraday shield lifting. She’s back in the Big Apple! was the caption. What does she know that we don’t?
    â€œWhat do you know?” Ronnie asked Clair in a terse bump. She must have been watching Clair surf the Air, thanks to her close-friend privileges.
    â€œNothing,” Clair bumped back. “I’m as lost as everyone else is, I swear.”
    â€œBut you’re part of it somehow. You’re moving around like no one else can. What’s going on? Are the PKs lying to us about d-mat?”
    Clair didn’t know how much she should say. She could see Ronnie sprawled on her bed, surrounded by empty chocolate bar wrappers she hadn’t bothered to recycle. Both her parents had been on the other side of the world when d-mat failed. They were in constant contact with one another through the Air, and there were no fires or other disasters in the area. But still, Ronnie was trapped and alone. She didn’t know her neighbors, her best friends were either missing, potential criminals, or currently stuck in a jungle valley picking off giant leeches. The photos Tash was posting to her infield were terrifying.
    â€œLook up something called the shadow road,” Clair said. “That’ll explain part of it.”
    â€œWhat about Washington?” Ronnie reached for another chocolate bar. Anxiety eating had always been her greatest weakness. “And that space station? Are you a terrorist now?”
    â€œNo. If anyone tells you I am, they’re lying through their teeth.”
    â€œHow can I believe you?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Clair. She wanted to say that she was exactly the same person she ever was—even though she was a duplicate of the Clair who had killed herself in this very room—but how to explain that without sounding even crazier than people already claimed she was? If she could only go to Ronnie, she was sure she could convince her in person, but she doubted the PKs would let her do something so frivolous, in their eyes. In Clair’s, it was of utmost importance. If her friends didn’t trust her,