AI Negotiations

They’d driven all night, with Angie mostly out of it—Mona could definitely credit the drug stories now—and talking, different languages, different voices. And that was the worst, those voices, because they spoke to Molly, challenged her, and she answered them back as she drove, not like she was talking to Angie just to calm her down, but like there really was something there, another person—at least three of them—speaking through Angie. And it hurt Angie when they spoke, made her muscles knot and her nose bleed, while Mona crouched over her and dabbed away the blood, filled with a weird mixture of fear and love and pity for the queen of all her dreams—or maybe it was just the wiz—but in the blue-white flicker of freeway lights Mona had seen her own hand beside Angie’s, and they weren’t the same, not the same, not really the same shape, and that had made her glad.

 The first voice had come when they’d been driving south, after Molly’d brought Angie in the copter. That one had just hissed and croaked and said something over and over, about New Jersey and numbers on a map. About two hours after that, Molly’d slid the hover across a rest area and said they were in New Jersey. Then she’d gotten out and made a call from a frosty paybooth, a long one; when she’d climbed back in, Mona’d seen her skim a phone card out across the frozen slush, just throwing it away. And Mona’d asked her who she’d called and she’d said England.

Mona’d seen Molly’s hand, then, on the wheel, how the dark nails had little yellowish flecks, like you got when you snapped off a set of artificials. She oughta get some solvent for that, Mona thought.

Somewhere over a river they’d left the highway. Trees and fields and two-lane blacktop, sometimes a lonely red light high up on some kind of tower. And that was when the other voices had come. And then it was back and forth, back and forth, the voices and then Molly and then the voices, and what it reminded her of was Eddy trying to do a deal, except Molly was a lot better at it than Eddy; even if she couldn’t understand it, she could tell Molly was getting close to what she wanted. But she couldn’t stand it when the voices came; it made her want to press herself back as far from Angie as she could get. The worst one was called Sam-Eddy, something like that. What they all wanted was for Molly to take Angie somewhere for what they called a marriage, and Mona wondered if maybe Robin Lanier was in it somewhere, like what if Angie and Robin were gonna get married, and this was all just some kind of wild thing stars did to get married. But she couldn’t get that one to work, and every time this Sam-Eddy voice came back, Mona’s scalp would crawl. She could tell what Molly was bargaining for, though: she wanted her record cleaned up, wiped. She’d watched this vid once with Lanette, about this girl had ten, twelve personalities that would come out, like one was this shy little kid and another’d just be this total bone-addict slut, but it hadn’t ever said anything about how any of those personalities could wipe your slate with the police.

***

Mona Lisa Overdrive ch 39