retail world. The kid glanced down at his computer screen and shrugged. “That’s what it is, sir. Fourteen thirty-nine.”
Sebeck leaned in against the counter. “Kid, I got a number two combo, and a number nine combo. What does that add up to?”
The cashier looked down at his computer screen. “Fourteen thirty-nine.”
“Stop looking at the screen and just
think
for a second.” He pointed at the wall-mounted menu. “How could a number twocombo, at three ninety-nine, and a number nine combo, at five ninety-nine, add up to fourteen thirty-nine?”
“Sir, I’m just telling you what it is. If you don’t want them both—”
“Of course I want them both, but you’re not getting rid of me until you do the math.”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, I’m just telling you that it’s fourteen thirty-nine.” He swiveled the screen so Sebeck could see it.
“It doesn’t matter what— Look, you’ve hit the wrong key or something.”
“You’re forgetting sales tax, sir.”
“No, I’m not forgetting sales tax. It shows sales tax
there
.” He pointed. “Listen, I want you to use your own mind for a second and think about this. Forget the machine.”
“But—”
“Three ninety-nine plus five ninety-nine is what?”
The kid started looking at the screen again.
“Listen to me! Don’t look at the screen. This is easy. Just round it up to four bucks plus six bucks—that’s ten bucks—then take away two pennies—that’s nine ninety-eight. Right?”
“You’re forgetting sales tax.”
“Kid, what’s five percent sales tax on ten bucks?”
“Sir—”
“Do it for me.”
“I don’t—”
“Do it! Just do it, goddamnit!” His shout echoed in the tiled restaurant.
People in the restaurant suddenly stopped talking and started watching what seemed to be an altercation.
“What is five percent sales tax on ten bucks?”
The kid started tapping at the machine. “I’ll need a manager to clear this.”
“Kid, do you really want machines doing all your thinking for you? Do you really want that?”
A balding assistant manager with a muscular frame emerged from the kitchen door. His name tag read “Howard.” “Is there a problem here?”
“Yeah, Howard, the kid has the price wrong, and I’m trying to get him to do the math.”
“And what did you order?”
“I ordered a number two and a number nine.”
The manager looked at the screen. “Okay, that’s fourteen thirty-nine.”
Howard was lucky Sebeck no longer carried a Taser.
______________
Sebeck returned to the car with a carryout bag and two drinks. Laney Price was still refueling at the sprawling interstate travel center. There were at least twenty pump islands around them, brightly lit. Traffic hissed by on the nearby highway.
Price was using a squeegee to clean bugs off the windshield of the Chrysler 300 the Daemon had assigned them the day before. He seemed to notice the look on Sebeck’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“Humanity is doomed, that’s what’s wrong.”
“Oh.” Price kept cleaning the windshield.
Sebeck tossed the food in the car and took over the refueling. “That was something Sobol knew, wasn’t it?”
“What’s that?”
“That people will do whatever a computer screen tells them. I swear to god, you could run the next Holocaust from a fucking fast-food register.” He pantomimed aiming a pistol. “It says I should kill you now.”
“I see we’ve had another unsatisfactory consumer experience.”
“There are times when I miss the badge, Laney. I swear I miss it.”
“Why, so you can intimidate the shit out of teen slackers? Besides, what you’ve got now is something better—a quest icon. You’re like a knight of the realm now.”
“Just get in the car.”
______________
Sebeck almost missed the turnoff. They were heading west on Interstate 40 about an hour outside of Albuquerque when his new Thread abruptly veered onto an exit ramp marked INDIAN SERVICE ROUTE 22. Sebeck
Sebeck leaned in against the counter. “Kid, I got a number two combo, and a number nine combo. What does that add up to?”
The cashier looked down at his computer screen. “Fourteen thirty-nine.”
“Stop looking at the screen and just
think
for a second.” He pointed at the wall-mounted menu. “How could a number twocombo, at three ninety-nine, and a number nine combo, at five ninety-nine, add up to fourteen thirty-nine?”
“Sir, I’m just telling you what it is. If you don’t want them both—”
“Of course I want them both, but you’re not getting rid of me until you do the math.”
“I’m not trying to get rid of you, I’m just telling you that it’s fourteen thirty-nine.” He swiveled the screen so Sebeck could see it.
“It doesn’t matter what— Look, you’ve hit the wrong key or something.”
“You’re forgetting sales tax, sir.”
“No, I’m not forgetting sales tax. It shows sales tax
there
.” He pointed. “Listen, I want you to use your own mind for a second and think about this. Forget the machine.”
“But—”
“Three ninety-nine plus five ninety-nine is what?”
The kid started looking at the screen again.
“Listen to me! Don’t look at the screen. This is easy. Just round it up to four bucks plus six bucks—that’s ten bucks—then take away two pennies—that’s nine ninety-eight. Right?”
“You’re forgetting sales tax.”
“Kid, what’s five percent sales tax on ten bucks?”
“Sir—”
“Do it for me.”
“I don’t—”
“Do it! Just do it, goddamnit!” His shout echoed in the tiled restaurant.
People in the restaurant suddenly stopped talking and started watching what seemed to be an altercation.
“What is five percent sales tax on ten bucks?”
The kid started tapping at the machine. “I’ll need a manager to clear this.”
“Kid, do you really want machines doing all your thinking for you? Do you really want that?”
A balding assistant manager with a muscular frame emerged from the kitchen door. His name tag read “Howard.” “Is there a problem here?”
“Yeah, Howard, the kid has the price wrong, and I’m trying to get him to do the math.”
“And what did you order?”
“I ordered a number two and a number nine.”
The manager looked at the screen. “Okay, that’s fourteen thirty-nine.”
Howard was lucky Sebeck no longer carried a Taser.
______________
Sebeck returned to the car with a carryout bag and two drinks. Laney Price was still refueling at the sprawling interstate travel center. There were at least twenty pump islands around them, brightly lit. Traffic hissed by on the nearby highway.
Price was using a squeegee to clean bugs off the windshield of the Chrysler 300 the Daemon had assigned them the day before. He seemed to notice the look on Sebeck’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“Humanity is doomed, that’s what’s wrong.”
“Oh.” Price kept cleaning the windshield.
Sebeck tossed the food in the car and took over the refueling. “That was something Sobol knew, wasn’t it?”
“What’s that?”
“That people will do whatever a computer screen tells them. I swear to god, you could run the next Holocaust from a fucking fast-food register.” He pantomimed aiming a pistol. “It says I should kill you now.”
“I see we’ve had another unsatisfactory consumer experience.”
“There are times when I miss the badge, Laney. I swear I miss it.”
“Why, so you can intimidate the shit out of teen slackers? Besides, what you’ve got now is something better—a quest icon. You’re like a knight of the realm now.”
“Just get in the car.”
______________
Sebeck almost missed the turnoff. They were heading west on Interstate 40 about an hour outside of Albuquerque when his new Thread abruptly veered onto an exit ramp marked INDIAN SERVICE ROUTE 22. Sebeck
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