vehicles patrolling the streets. Birds sang in the tall trees around her. She felt deep in her bones how much she did not belong in this world.
She walked in the shadows of dark Gothic spires and massive brick fortresses. The place struck her as a kind of fantasy land, a pleasure park for a crazed trillionaire, full of castles pretending to be centuries old.
Raven reached the place where she would find the target--a glass-walled coffee shop on the ground level of a tall, blocky art department building, which did not fit the overall medieval look of the school campus.
She bought a cup of organic Costa Rican coffee and took an empty table at the back with a broad view of the shop.
The map's timestamps must have been pulled from old data, she reasoned, like phone and bank records. Soon, the monster would be here, using his phone or paying with a credit card. Her anticipation caused the minutes to pass slowly.
"Search Logan Carraway," Raven whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. She wondered what the Internet of 2013 might tell her about Carraway and his family. Her glasses returned a list of results. The text and images that seemed to float in the air in front of her, though they were projected inside her lenses.
The first names on the list was LOGAN CARRAWAY (1995- ), Grandson of Senator Archibald Carraway (Indiana) . She pointed her finger to select it.
More text, images, and blocks of video filled her vision. A transparent square floating near the center offered a Wikipedia article from 2013 about Archibald Carraway. He was born in 1941, currently serving his fifth term in the United States Senate, representing Indiana.
Raven skimmed to find Logan's name, but it was only mentioned in passing as one of Senator Carraway's grandchildren. There was no link for more information.
There was a link to another article about Logan's father, Martin Carraway. He had graduated from Yale in 1984 and taken a law degree at the University of Chicago three years later. He'd served two terms as governor of Indiana, then left public office to create a private company...
An icy chill shuddered through her. She swallowed and forced herself to read the sentence again:
After leaving office, Governor Carraway founded Providence Security , a private corporation providing security staff and related services to state and federal agencies. The Carraway family owns a majority of stock in the company.
Fearful memories flashed across her brain like chain lightning. First, the bikers who'd tried to kill her, with the golden Providence Security logo etched into their armor--an all-seeing eye inside a pyramid. Then she saw herself and her friend Kari firing at Providence Security troops from the windows of buildings already shattered by aerial bombs. In some of those memories, she was no older than eleven or twelve, firing machine pistols and lobbing thermal grenades at the company's sleek urban tanks and assault trucks.
Raven reached a shaking hand toward the blue Providence Security link, wondering what it would say about the company in 2013, but then she saw him.
A wave of students flooded the coffee shop, and she felt a jolt of sick recognition at the sight of his face. He hardly seemed to be the same person as the craggy old dictator, but the face had been burned into her mind all her life.
The eighteen-year-old Logan Carraway had an exuberantly healthy look, a tanned face with an easy smile, and electric green eyes that seemed to glow. He moved with a barely restrained vitality that made her think of a wolf in cage.
Logan tossed a rumpled dollar into the glass tip jar, and the pretty, dark-skinned barista behind the counter flashed him a smile and looked him over. He was already walking away, raising his paper cup in a mock toast as he approached an already overcrowded table. A few of the students there toasted him back.
A striking blond girl wearing a crisp white dress shirt and dark slacks stepped out to block his way,
She walked in the shadows of dark Gothic spires and massive brick fortresses. The place struck her as a kind of fantasy land, a pleasure park for a crazed trillionaire, full of castles pretending to be centuries old.
Raven reached the place where she would find the target--a glass-walled coffee shop on the ground level of a tall, blocky art department building, which did not fit the overall medieval look of the school campus.
She bought a cup of organic Costa Rican coffee and took an empty table at the back with a broad view of the shop.
The map's timestamps must have been pulled from old data, she reasoned, like phone and bank records. Soon, the monster would be here, using his phone or paying with a credit card. Her anticipation caused the minutes to pass slowly.
"Search Logan Carraway," Raven whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. She wondered what the Internet of 2013 might tell her about Carraway and his family. Her glasses returned a list of results. The text and images that seemed to float in the air in front of her, though they were projected inside her lenses.
The first names on the list was LOGAN CARRAWAY (1995- ), Grandson of Senator Archibald Carraway (Indiana) . She pointed her finger to select it.
More text, images, and blocks of video filled her vision. A transparent square floating near the center offered a Wikipedia article from 2013 about Archibald Carraway. He was born in 1941, currently serving his fifth term in the United States Senate, representing Indiana.
Raven skimmed to find Logan's name, but it was only mentioned in passing as one of Senator Carraway's grandchildren. There was no link for more information.
There was a link to another article about Logan's father, Martin Carraway. He had graduated from Yale in 1984 and taken a law degree at the University of Chicago three years later. He'd served two terms as governor of Indiana, then left public office to create a private company...
An icy chill shuddered through her. She swallowed and forced herself to read the sentence again:
After leaving office, Governor Carraway founded Providence Security , a private corporation providing security staff and related services to state and federal agencies. The Carraway family owns a majority of stock in the company.
Fearful memories flashed across her brain like chain lightning. First, the bikers who'd tried to kill her, with the golden Providence Security logo etched into their armor--an all-seeing eye inside a pyramid. Then she saw herself and her friend Kari firing at Providence Security troops from the windows of buildings already shattered by aerial bombs. In some of those memories, she was no older than eleven or twelve, firing machine pistols and lobbing thermal grenades at the company's sleek urban tanks and assault trucks.
Raven reached a shaking hand toward the blue Providence Security link, wondering what it would say about the company in 2013, but then she saw him.
A wave of students flooded the coffee shop, and she felt a jolt of sick recognition at the sight of his face. He hardly seemed to be the same person as the craggy old dictator, but the face had been burned into her mind all her life.
The eighteen-year-old Logan Carraway had an exuberantly healthy look, a tanned face with an easy smile, and electric green eyes that seemed to glow. He moved with a barely restrained vitality that made her think of a wolf in cage.
Logan tossed a rumpled dollar into the glass tip jar, and the pretty, dark-skinned barista behind the counter flashed him a smile and looked him over. He was already walking away, raising his paper cup in a mock toast as he approached an already overcrowded table. A few of the students there toasted him back.
A striking blond girl wearing a crisp white dress shirt and dark slacks stepped out to block his way,
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