More important than the interface, though, was the fact that the images transmitted to his mind were being constantly analyzed and monitored—for children and animals at the edges of the road, for unusual actions or the blind spots of surrounding drivers, as well as constant comparisons to actual and posted speeds. Finally, the sleep function, which worked both ways, subtly manipulated his brain patterns to keep him alert.

It was just a taste of what was to come, though. By next year, Mercedes and a number of other car manufacturers would include compatible cameras with various visual enhancements, as well as links to cruise control, braking, and steering during emergency situations.

That is, if Christian Dresner didn’t destroy the company first.

“Call David Tresco,” he said aloud in the empty car. Unfortunately, it was still too lengthy a command for the Merge to deal with mentally.

“Cell, home, or office?” came the response in his head.

“Cell.”

There were no visual cues at all—most apps and icons were deactivated when the user was behind the wheel—but he could hear the quiet sound of dialing followed by ringing at the other end.

“Where are you?” Tresco said, not bothering to hide his irritation at what he had called “all this clandestine bullshit.” It was a judgment that he would be revising very soon.

The yellow path ahead broke right into a solitary gas station.

“I’m about to pull in.”

Bailer eased up to the man’s SUV, stopping only long enough for him to jump in before accelerating again.

“Okay. I’m here. What’s the hell is all this about?”

Tresco was a former oil industry CEO and now was one of Dresner Industries’ most influential board members. He was not, however, an easy man to deal with.

“We have some problems that I want to talk to you about.”

“I just read through your reports about the rollout. It sounds like we’re exceeding projections in every category. And the press has been more positive than any one of us could have hoped—even about the implants. What problems could possibly be important enough to drag me to a gas station in the middle of nowhere on Saturday? My goddamn grandkids are in town.”

“The development of the Merge was a lot more expensive and difficult than you’re aware of,” Bailer said simply.

He didn’t take his eyes from the road, but the fact that there was no immediate response suggested that his statement had been enough to put grandchildren out of Tresco’s mind. He was not a man accustomed to not having all the facts.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying to me, Craig.”

“We incurred expenses and debt that’ve been moved to subsidiaries and partnerships all over the globe.”

Tresco didn’t respond immediately. When he did, he spoke cautiously. “How much debt?”

“Enough to bankrupt the company even if we sell double our projected volume. If we’re clever, we might be able to meet our obligations next month. But the month after that, there’s no way in hell.”