The Receiver

2 4 - S A F E

Zander and I immediately disperse. While he goes into another room to call Zoa, Frank and I try to locate Iris.

"I'm sorry, miss," Frank says after a minute. "I don't see her anywhere."

"She has to be here," I say. "Keep looking."

"Yes, miss."

Frank has the bot circle the field two more times, using facial recognition tech to try and match one of the hundreds of images he has stored in his brainchamber to her physiognomy.

No luck.

Frank waits for further instruction while I think. It's not like her to separate herself from her gang sisters, especially with no other friends or family, pseudo or otherwise, to turn to. I look up at Frank who seems to have the same thought as me.

"I know somewhere she might be," I say, nodding.

Frank orders the bot to go into the city, cutting through the jungle of Central Park, heading south on Sixth Avenue at a decent jog, and toward home. Without hesitation, the bot uses his powerful back legs to spring like a frog onto the third car in a column stacked five high and pounces again onto the side of the building, scrabbling to find handholds as he free-scales straight up to the roof.

Glancing at some of the other views of the city displayed on the laserscreen panels around the room, I notice how much cleaning the sweepers have done since I last paused to look. The streets are mostly clear, the charred-out overturned cars piled as many as ten high and pushed to the side. With the creeper vines cut and moss scrubbed away, the city is a lot bleaker stripped of its green.

The tension tying itself into a knot in my lower intestines finally slackens when I hear Frank say, "She's here, miss."

"Thank Tesla," I exhale.

And he's right. Iris is here, standing frozen solid among the withered plants of our once flourishing rooftop garden, now all dead or dying.

It's taken very little time for the plants to start wilting, some of them bearing fruit that's ripened to the point of getting too heavy for the branches so they've fallen onto the concrete where flies and maggots have devoured them, leaving only juicy streaks behind, colored blue and red and orange. This time of the year wasn't always so hot, but with the ocean's ice cubes all melty it could easily be the early summer heat that's smothered them, but most likely it was just negligence.

"Can she hear me?" I ask.

"You may speak freely," Frank nods.

I take a breath and let it out. "Iris, it's Rho..."

"I figured," she says, turning to face the sweeper. "How are you?"
"I should be asking you."

A second later there's a glitch on the screen and Iris explodes like a bomb of pixels. I turn to find Frank and he's at the other end of the room, standing in the middle of a 3D-printed replica of the apartment roof.

"I just needed to get away from the crazy for a little while," Iris says as I walk over to the live projection of her gazing down over the edge of the roof.

I don't stop until I'm standing right next to her, raking a hand through her shoulder. She looks totally real except for a faint shimmer that passed through strands of her hair as they flutter in the breeze. I make a mental note to thank Frank later, for always knowing what I need before I ask for it. This on top of seeing Iris makes me want to cry.

We stand in silence for a few minutes. I try to focus on what she sees, but there's nothing new to see down in the street. This is when I realize she's focused on something inside her mind.