When he returned from the soda machines with a Dr. Pepper, Fields cursed. Avicenna had booted him again: he was going to kill someone. Avicenna was so tied up it couldn’t talk, and Fields was reduced to typing and waiting for a response.
login: rnfields password: •••••••
He put his earbuds in and was grooving and typing when he thought he saw – almost more like he felt – a shadow behind him.
Then, motion to his right made him jump. A bland man in pajamas was there, looking dispassionately at the monitors. Fields cursed and tore his earbuds out.
“This is the Arab physic?” the man drawled in a forgettable voice.
“Avicenna? This is?”
“Who are you?”
“You are the mechanic in charge of the machine?”
“Mechanic? I’m a bloody IT, if that’s what you mean!”
”’R.N. Fields’,” the bottom of the doughy man’s face nearly smiled. “Interesting coincidence, considering what is about to happen.”
Fields was going to stand up and reply.
Until Valdemar ate his soul.