BZRK: Reloaded (BZRK 2)

She was using a laptop, a highly secure laptop, of course— no one

hacks the president’s laptop. So she could write here, in the privacy of her office—not the Oval, that was the official office—she could write the truth or at least what she knew of the truth.

I don’t know . . .

Something happened . . .

Bad things happen . . .

Sometimes . . .

It was like bad haiku.

She swallowed Cognac. How had she ever disliked the stuff? Why did she like it so much now?

There was a bill in Congress to …something important. Very important.

Wasn’t it?

And one of the justices of the Supreme Court had been caught on tape making calls to a porn site. And that would blow up in the press.

The Iranians were. . .

The Euro . . .

Terrorism . . .

Rios . . .

I didn’t mean to hurt him.

I loved him.

I still do. I miss him. But something . . .

Backspace—erase.

There were six nanobots tapped into her optic nerve. Left eye. Getting actual visuals was hit or miss, but with multiple nanobots tapping simultaneously, sometimes you could get a pretty good picture.

Bug Man could see what she was writing.

He was in his twitcher chair, in the office space, and Jessica was standing beside him. He was showing her. She had never seen it before, never even guessed at what Bug Man did at his “job.”

“See, I’m down there inside her head,” he explained.

“What are you doing there?”

Why was he telling her this? If the Twins found out, they’d kill her. They’d flat out kill her. Or maybe not: maybe they’d make him do it.

Or maybe they’d make him rewire her even more.

Once when he was maybe six, seven, he’d heard his mother talking to her sister, his aunt, about some dude named Mills, an American. His mother and aunt had been drinking gin and tonics, not drunk but not sober, either. There had been a lot of laughing and he’d ignored it all, in the next room, paying a game. But when the laughing stopped and the conversation grew quiet, he’d put down the game and crept closer to eavesdrop.

When his mother talked about this man, this MIlls person, her voice grew heavy with emotion. It seemed like every three words there was a sigh. She had cried, and Bug Man’s aunt had comforted her and said things like, “You had him for a while, be grateful for that.”

“He loved me,” his mother had said.

“He loved you more than he loved life itself,” his aunt confirmed.