Warp by Lev Grossman Page B

a fish in water. It was a race to the edge of space.
    If only, he thought, if only I knew for sure it was a race I wanted to win.…
    After another five minutes Peters swung them up the on-ramp to the westbound Massachusetts Turnpike. When the plump middle-aged woman in the tollbooth leaned down to give Peters his ticket, her blouse fell open a little, and even from the passenger seat Hollis got a generous look at her freckled cleavage. She wore an ebony pendant shaped like a fish. Then they were through, and Peters pushed them up to eighty-five without the engine showing any sign of strain.
    â€œWhat are we going to do when we get there?” Hollis said drowsily. “I mean, shouldn’t we talk about it beforehand?”
    â€œGood question,” said Peters. “I don’t really know.”
    Hollis grimaced and closed his eyes again.
    There was a pretty girl on my vidphone screen.
    I’d never seen her before. It was the last time I was to see her alive.
    â€œEEC security is chiefly dependent on the Mendel algorithm for generating its passcodes,” she was saying. “Once you have the encryption chip, you’ll be able to walk right in the front door.”
    She started reciting a long list of interface parameters. The vidphone display showed a pretty oval face, with a high forehead and short brown hair wrapped up in a scarf. The room in the background was dark and indistinct.
    â€œYour Mitsubishi-Hirsch contact will be at the gate,” she went on. “He has a tattoo, here”—she touched a place on her neck—“that will register only with your augmented vision. Don’t break stride when you see him.”
    â€œWait,” I said. “Wait a minute. Who are you?”
    She cut me off. I realized only then that she couldn’t hear me. I was talking to a recording.
    â€œIf my status at EEC has not been compromised, I may still be alive when you receive this message. Do not try to contact me. For our mutual safety, we must never meet.”
    The girl’s eyes seemed to lock with mine, and there was a trace of pleading under the even coolness of her demeanor. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen.
    â€œWatch for the sign of the black fish.”
    The vidphone screen went dark.
    A two-by-four lying in the road flashed in the headlights for an instant, and Peters swerved nimbly to put it between the front wheels. Hollis watched him feel around with one hand for the cigarette lighter, then look down and punch it in.
    â€œI guess it should be me who goes in,” Peters said finally. “If they catch me I’ll be sort of fucked, because they know who I am, but on the other hand they probably won’t call the police or anything. They’ll just be a little weirded out—like, what am I doing robbing their house?”
    â€œGood question,” said Hollis.
    â€œEven if I step in, they’d probably call the police on you. That would be a disaster.”
    â€œI can’t imagine what you’d say.”
    â€œBesides, I know the house,” Peters said. “It’ll take five minutes. Max. You just stay in the car.”
    Hollis nodded and looked out the window.
    â€œWe’ll never make it there by dawn,” he said.
    The lighter popped back out, but Peters didn’t seem to notice.
    The elevated highway slowly descended towards ground level as they left the city. In the darkness, beyond the pale sand of the shoulder, a bumpy line of dark trees flew by. A wide, placid reservoir appeared, and it took almost a minute for it to slide slowly past in the moonlight. There was a tiny island in the middle, with trees that leaned out from the shore to overhang the dark water.
    Our island home is far beyond the waves.
    â€œIs it still daylight savings time now?” Hollis asked.
    â€œNot anymore, old sport. Look for a sign that says 128. 128 or 95, they’re the same thing. Jesus, it’s been ages since I did