‘Donato thinks I’m up to something,’ I say. ‘That means you guys are less than useless to me. Because if even a tiny bit of you thinks I’m part of the problem then your heads are up your arses. If you had any real information about who is doing this or how, then you wouldn’t be considering me a danger in any way. Straight logic, Roman. You don’t know shit. I’m calling O, make sure she got through the night OK. Stay there. I’m going on the roof.’

I walk out amongst the pigeons in the growing light. I call O, but there’s no response. I call the Princess Grace and they put me on hold.

I’m scared. I knew Elstree was trouble. Knew it from the way he tortured his boss with power tools and thought it was funny. And he’s wormed his way into O’s life somehow, with all this IP stuff. No wonder he came sniffing around after Bernard’s death. What if he did some kind of deal with BigSky? He may not even be acting in good faith on behalf of Bernard and Meera. Well, if he’s behind Bernard’s murder—

No, that can’t be right. I saw Daphne hack Bernard, and she doesn’t work for BigSky.

There’s been an attempt on my life – thwarted by Stack, bless him and his beautiful teeth. O’s in hospital so you’d think she’d be safe . . . but how can anybody be safe from getting attacked in their sleep? Whoever is doing this is the lowest of the low to prey on an elderly woman who is ill and frail. I’m getting angrier and angrier the more I think about it. And Mel. What did she ever do to anybody?

I have to act. I never should have left O there alone. I have to go and sit watch over her. And get help, in case I fall asleep on duty. We need, like, a chain of people to watch over each other’s sleep. How am I going to explain this when even O doesn’t believe me?

I ping Shandy but she’s still unavailable, working. I hate talking to her bots, especially Rodney. It says a lot about my state of mind that I’ve been clinging to Shandy to keep track of something like reality. If she’s out of the picture and O is in hospital and Antonio’s en route to Australia, who is left for me to lean on?

Finally, the front desk at the hospital pick up again. A cheerful man informs me that Olivia Ogiyevich discharged herself last night.

Knitters, cat-lovers, tea-drinkers

Knitters, cat-lovers, tea-drinkers

I hit O’s primitive non-Spacetime phone link, but I just get a message wall. I hit her text messages, too. Nothing. Why does she have to be so old-school?