The Pedestal Read Online Free PDF Page B

surrounding Arthur as they listen with mouths round and agape—they’re like kids hearing their first ghost story. And believe me: in our industry, that’s exactly what this is.
    When I’ve finished, they whip into immediate action. For a solid half hour, they bounce from console to console, consulting our numerous nexus access portals in a blur. Finally, exchanging a glance of grudging defeat, they face me in tandem.
    “He’s gone, Wil,” Ryan confirms. “Completely gone. No GPS coordinates, no electro-magnetic proximity signature. No transaction history. No daygrid. No update log. Nothing.”
    “It’s like he never existed,” Tim adds with a scowl.
    I’m bewildered, and don’t mind showing it in front of these cranks—they’re used to dealing with dimwits; actually, I think that’s what they prefer. “How is that even possible?”
    Tim passes Ryan a sidelong glance, as if requesting permission. Ryan responds with a weak shrug. Tim looks back at me and clears his throat.
    “In theory? It’s not. You couldn’t destroy a NanoPrint if you tried—corpses from seventy years ago are still online.”
    “What about dodgers?” I ask. “They don’t even have implants, do they?”
    Ryan shakes his head. “That’s not how it works, Wil. Having your implant removed doesn’t take it offline. It may power down, but it’s always threaded in the system.”
    “Besides,” Tim adds, “dodgers usually have their implants hacked to maintain functionality. It takes a special kind of person to really go off the grid, you know? Dodgers usually just want a little more privacy.”
    “Oh,” I say, deflated.
    We stand there in silence for a few seconds—well, we didn’t speak; there is, of course, no such thing as silence in the racks. Ryan makes a sudden whistling sound between his teeth, which peters out into a clicking of his tongue. “You know ...” he intones, as if dangling a bit of candy to a child. Tim and I both peer at him plaintively, hopefully.
    Ryan smiles—one of those thin, crooked smirks that he must know annoys the pee out of everyone—and pauses for effect. My eardrums are beginning to smart, so I’d just as soon dispense with all the drama.
    “Spit it out, man!” growls Tim.
    Yeah, what he said! I add with an exasperated tossing of my hands.
    “I’m just saying,” Ryan explains reasonably, “I mean—it isn’t technically possible for a NanoPrint signal to disappear. As long as ...”
    Until 2086, the capital of Florida was ... anyone? Anyone?
    Tim’s eyebrows slowly rise, scrunching his forehead into an epiphany of skin rolls. He gets it now, even if I don’t. I clear my throat—my own dramatic contribution—which is only just audible above the noise. Turning to me, Tim blessedly completes the fragment of thought that I’ve proven incapable of completing on my own.
    “As long as it’s still on the planet.”
     

     
    I’ve been knocking on Uncle Stewart’s door for a while now with no response. He isn’t in the best of health these days. Now, I’ll grant that he’s pretty spry for a man in his seventies, but he’s been coughing lately. A lot, in fact. It’s hard enough to keep from dwelling on the looming of his eightieth birthday, when his NanoPrint will automatically shut him down. Lately, I’m not sure he’ll make it that long.
    I happen to know that Stew never enabled medical monitoring on his implant. It’s a shame he and Arthur never got along; they certainly had that in common. I’ve tried more times than I can count to steer the old man toward reason. He isn’t just stubborn; he’s utterly incorrigible.
    My knocking crescendos into pounding, fueled by a lifetime of abandonment issues. Behind the panic, I’m acutely aware that I’ve begun to draw some unwanted attention from the neighbors. But some things justify extraordinary behavior—like the idea that my uncle Stewart is lying in the throes of death, helpless to let me in. I’m on the verge of kicking